Give the Dog a Bone (8 page)

“I haven’t had the time to think about that yet.”

“Want us to call Animal Control? They’ll keep her at the Humane Society till you decide.”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I can always keep her at my house for a while. Have you contacted any of Ken’s relatives yet? I’ve got to see if there’s anyone who he might want to have take Maggie.”

He gave me what looked to be a haughty smirk. “Guess that’s your responsibility.”

“Pardon?”

“Mr. Culberson did tell you, didn’t he, about the codicil in his will?”

“Codicil?” I repeated.

“Yeah. He had a couple of my fellow officers witness the thing last night.”

“I remember him doing that, but I never saw it myself. And Ken didn’t tell me anything about his will.”

“The dog gets all of Mr. Culberson’s money. Last night, he appointed you as her temporary guardian. You’re to find her a permanent home with someone who knows her, and if you can’t, you’re to adopt her yourself.”

I scoffed in utter disbelief. “What? Is this some kind of a test?”

“No. We’ve got the will in evidence already, but I assure you, that’s what it says.”

“Oh, God.” I dropped my face in my hands, stunned at the implications of what this meant. I’d only just met Ken and Maggie yesterday. How could I possibly choose among his circle of loved ones who should have his dog?

“It’s not like we could be talking about a lot of money,” Officer Hobbes went on. “I mean, that trailer must be worth all of, what, ten thousand? Maybe less.”

Judging by what Ken had told me, he also had an enormous bank account. With an officer acting as if he suspected me, however, this wasn’t a great time to reveal that piece of information, which they could—and no doubt soon would—easily discover on their own. I sat up straight again. I knew I was innocent, damn it all. “Did they find the shoe box during their search?”

“Sorry?”

“He had a large amount of money in a shoebox. I told one of your fellow officers about it when we were at Ken’s home.”

That hideous scene in Ken’s bedroom popped unbidden into my consciousness. There was an empty shoe box in the corner of his room. Was this the same one that had been filled with cash yesterday?

“Roughly how much money would you say you saw in that box?”

I tried to make a mental image of those stacks of hundred dollar bills. “I have no idea. It was all in hundreds, or at least, the bills that I saw on top were. How many bills could you stack into a large shoe box? A few hundred? So maybe thirty thousand dollars. I don’t know.”

“It didn’t strike you as odd that a man in a rundown trailer would have thirty thousand dollars in cash lying around?”

“Of course it did. He told me he was well-off but didn’t care where he lived. That he’d made a batch of money on an invention of his.”

Again, the officer stared at me. Things looked horrid for me. I’d found the body. I was temporary guardian of Ken’s inheriting dog. A drug used to sedate dogs was apparently used in the crime, and I was a “dog expert.”
Shit!

I checked my watch. “I have an appointment with a client in about twenty minutes. Can I go?”

He leaned back in his chair while studying my face. “If you want to go, by all means.” He gestured at the door. “We’ll probably have a few more questions for you soon, but we know where to find you.”

My head spun at the thought of poor Ken, dying before his time, and how I could possibly get Maggie to readjust to the loss of an owner she’d bonded with so completely, let alone make it clear to the police that I was innocent. But I was determined to behave like the competent adult I knew I was. Okay,
tried
to be. Regardless, dogs in both my professional and personal life were depending on me.

I returned to the trailer park to collect Maggie, who was definitely delighted to see me. I attributed her enthusiastic response to her association of me with her owner. She was still hoping that I’d bring her back home, and that this time Ken would be his normal self. Yolanda greeted me with a host of questions about what had happened to Ken and what I’d learned from the police, although there was now no shortage of police officers in the neighborhood. Vowing to keep to myself any mention of crushed ACP in Ken’s kitchen, I answered, “They haven’t even told me if they consider his death a murder.”

She made a dismissive noise and said, “Course they do. They ain’t
that
stupid.”

“True, but the police tend to ask questions, not to answer them.”

She pursed her lips and nodded solemnly. “We all need to watch our backsides.”

No kidding, I thought. I wasn’t about to discuss how I’d been appointed to select the guardian of Ken’s now wealthy dog, and instead thanked her and told her I was in a hurry while pushing out the door.

Maggie was getting better at accepting her banishment to the back seat. When we arrived at my client’s house, I opened the four windows for Maggie and parked in the shade. I had no choice but to leave her there for an hour while I worked with a rather surly standard poodle named Redux.

Because Redux’s owner, a shy, elderly widower, had decided not to take charge of his pack, Redux had decided to stake out his territory by urinating on his master’s bed. “Master” was not pleased. This quickly escalated into Redux’s determining when he could and could not be petted, and he had snarled and snapped at one of the grand-kids when visiting for a weekend last month.

I explained things from his canine’s point of view and lectured the man on how important it was, for both his and the dog’s perspective, to establish that he—not his dog— was lord of his domain. He listened patiently, then said, “I kind of already realize it’s important. It’s pretty important to me not to have my bed peed upon.” I chastised myself for stating the obvious, then spent the rest of our session giving practical advice on how to set things right.

To my happy surprise, Russell’s car was in his parking space when I completed my house calls and returned to the office. Maybe he’d had a change of plans and didn’t need to go out of town after all. I rushed to park beside his avocado green Volvo, unfastened Maggie’s belt, grabbed hold of her leash, and raced down the steps, halfway pulled by Maggie.

Hoping to avoid a repeat of our first meeting in which she’d clunked her head on the glass, the moment she reached the bottom step I said, “Maggie, heel,” then gave the leash a tug.

Maggie promptly stopped and waited for me. “Good dog! There’s hope for you yet.”

My heart was racing as I silently pleaded with the universe to make it true that Russell wasn’t leaving town after all. I wrapped Maggie’s leash around a desk leg, gave Russ’s office door a rap, then opened it. He was seated at his desk. “Russell, hi. I thought your flight left at the crack of dawn this morning.”

He rose. “It did, but I got a later flight.” He glanced at his watch as he rose from his chair. “Really have to go now, though.”

“Did you forget something?”

“Yes.”

He gave me such a passionate kiss that my knees almost buckled.

“I forgot to kiss you good-bye,” he said.

I searched his eyes, now unable to stand the thought of having him leave. So what if we lacked interests in common? We could discover some as we went along. “Do you really
have
to go on this trip?”

He nodded. “If I want my business to stay afloat, I sure do.” He picked up his carry-on suitcase and handed me his key chain. “My spare keys, in case you need them for any reason. I’ll call you tomorrow or Thursday. All right?”

“Yes. Please. Do.”

He grinned at me, then pushed out the door. I watched him leave, then dropped into the nearest chair. Why was my heart on this constant yo-yo with Russell? “Who am I kidding?” I muttered to myself. I knew the reason for my indecision; I just didn’t want to admit to the after-effect of all those late-night talks years ago. My ex-fiance and I used to chat about our future home on its large chunk of land where we’d live happily ever after with a half-dozen dogs. Though I’d long since given up the man, I’d clung with both fists to the dream—to someday owning the homestead and the dogs. Russell, with his fear of dogs, would never fit into that picture. How was I to choose between love and the lifestyle I’ve always wanted?

After giving myself a moment to collect myself, I returned to my desk and freed Maggie from her leash. My schedule had been jumbled, thanks to the dreadful events of the morning. It was going to take some juggling to get things straightened out.

Checking a small appointment book in my purse, I noted with relief that I hadn’t missed any appointments yet. My mornings tended to be much lighter than my late afternoons and evenings. That’s because dogs primarily misbehave when their owners are out of the house, so my work often revolves around clients’ work schedules.

My office door squeaked behind me, and as I turned, Maggie launched into attack-dog mode. Her hackles were raised and she pulled so hard on her leash that she managed to move my desk slightly.

“Maggie, sit,” I said. The key to stopping barking is to distract the dog with a simple command, one that the dog both understands and knows can lead to a reward.

The woman, who appeared to be in her early fifties, was petite—my size—and had bleached blond hair but with dark eyebrows, currently set in a deep scowl. She looked a lot like someone I knew she couldn’t possibly be.

“Are you Allida Babcock?”

“Yes, I am. Did . . . we have an appointment?”

She narrowed her beady eyes. “No, though we’ll be seeing a lot of each other unless you give me my dog back.”

“
Your
dog?”

She gestured in Maggie’s direction without looking at her. “Maggie is my dog, yes. I’m Mary Culberson. Ken Culberson’s ex-wife.”

Chapter 8

I stared at the woman. Her wealthy ex-husband had died today, and now, a few hours later, she’d emerged from the dead. Could she have faked her own death in order to get away with his murder? Beside me, Maggie assumed an aggressive posture as she barked relentlessly. Her hackles were raised, her head lowered, and her paws spread wide. I understood the sentiment.

“Ken said that you were dead. That you died in a hit-and-run accident.”

She nodded, averted her gaze, and gave what I read as a play-acted sigh intended to rouse my sympathies. “I was badly injured and was in a coma for a few days, but I recovered. I felt I had no choice but to mislead him, for my own protection.” She gestured at the chair beside her. “Mind if I sit down?”

“Go ahead.” I made a halfhearted effort at quieting Maggie, but was too anxious to hear whatever Mary had to say for herself. Mary ignored the noisy dog and took a seat. Her features betrayed the obvious tension of someone deliberately pretending to be not at all affected by something especially bothersome.

“What do you mean . . . ‘for your own protection’?”

“Ken was a violent man, and I decided I’d be better off with him thinking that I was dead. Before he got the chance to make me that way himself.” She shut her eyes and took a halting breath. “Now
he
is.”

“Our impressions of your late ex-husband are vastly different. Mine was that he was the gentle-giant sort.”

“You weren’t married to him. He physically abused me several times.”

“Did you report this to the police?”

She shook her head. “He would’ve killed me.”

Her delivery struck me as well-rehearsed; she’d anticipated my obvious questions and was giving me stock responses. It
was
true, however, that I’d spent only a few hours with Ken, and maybe what she was saying was possible. Ruby had said Ken was dangerous, but Yolanda had said the exact opposite. The tie-breaker here was Maggie, who was still barking her head off at Mary.

“You’ve had run-ins with Ken’s dog, I see,” I said over the noise level.

Mary gave Maggie only a darting glance, then answered in clipped tones, “She’s my dog, now that Ken’s dead. She’ll get used to me.”

“How did you find out about that? He died just this morning. And you two obviously haven’t been in close contact. Understatement of the year, since he’d thought you were dead.”

“I own a police scanner. I happened to be listening to it this morning.”

Except for her annoyance at the dog’s barking that was tightening her features, her demeanor was so casual that I said in unmasked sarcasm, “The news must have come as quite a shock.”

“It did, actually.”

“How did you trick Ken into believing that you were dead?”

“That wasn’t by design. Someone at the hospital made a mistake, contacted him as next of kin and said that I’d passed away. When I found out about the error, I knew it was my ticket to freedom. I wouldn’t have to live in fear any longer.”

Her lines, delivered in a halting half whisper, struck me as overacting. “When did your accident occur?”

“A year ago last winter.”

This matched what Ken and Ruby had said. “Ken told me you were in a coma for a year.”

She shook her head. “It was only a few days. And, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine now.”

“Okay, but if someone at the hospital accidentally reported your death during your coma of ‘only a few days,’ the time line is way off. Ken thought you died last spring.”

She shrugged and let out a nervous laugh. “That Ken could never keep his facts straight. He always marched to his own drummer. And right into brick walls.”

“Ken would have known the difference between your having died eighteen months ago or a couple of months ago.” This was beginning to make sense now. “You were deliberately conning him, weren’t you,” I said, crossing my arms and leaning back in my chair. The woman repulsed me. “Let me guess. You found someone to pose as your nurse and tricked Ken into paying for full-time, in-home nursing care for more than a year. Then you faked being comatose whenever Ken came to visit you.”

The guilty look on her face told me all I needed to know, although she cried, “That’s not true! I
did
need a full-time nurse, because I was so badly hurt! And besides,
he
was a wife-beater! I felt in danger for my life. I let him think I was in a coma and then dead so he wouldn’t kill me!”

“How did Ken get the impression that
he
was driving the car that hit you?”

She balled her fists and said nothing for a moment. “Look Allida, I’m not here to get the fifth degree. I just want my dog.”

“That’s another thing that’s really puzzling. How did you know where to find Maggie?”

“After I heard about Ken’s death, I drove out there . . . to see if the police needed my help. I saw you pick Maggie up from Yolanda’s, and I followed you. So that I could get my dog back.”

“Well, you wasted your time, because there’s no way I’m letting you take Maggie.”

She snorted. “There’s no way you can stop me. She’s my dog, not yours.”

“Ken officially appointed me as her guardian in his will.”

Her eyebrows shot up. She was momentarily nonplussed by my statement, her features tensing and splots of red forming on her cheeks. She made a fist and pounded her thigh. “He had no right to do that. He and I bought Maggie together while we were still married, and our divorce entitled me to half of everything we owned in common,
including
the dog. When Maggie was a puppy, Ken told me he was leaving her his money in a trust fund, so that
I
could take proper care of her. That’s what he wanted. Only he thought I died first.”

Disconcerted at the ramifications of her story, I glanced at the dog, who was still letting out the occasional
woof
from her stance beside me. Damn it all! Yesterday I’d made a crucial mistake during my standard procedures when taking on a new client. I’d neglected to have Ken fill out my customized form that would give Maggie’s full background. Talk about something coming back to bite me! I needed to compare Maggie’s purchase date with the date of Ken’s divorce. Maggie seemed to be about two years old. It was possible that the divorce had been finalized less than two years ago, so her claim could be authentic.

I feigned indifference and countered, “According to my records, Ken bought Maggie after the two of you were already divorced. And even if what you’re saying is true, I’m not releasing this dog to anyone until I have the chance to determine where Maggie will be best taken care of.”

She let out a puff of indignation, then rose and stepped toward me. This also meant that she was nearing Maggie, who resumed barking. “Let me get this straight. You’re basing your decision on who should inherit a couple of million dollars on a
dog’s
best interests?” she asked, emphasizing the word “dog” as if she considered canines to be inanimate objects.

A couple of
million
dollars? For an instant, I weighed the notion of keeping Maggie myself—buying that large homestead where Maggie could be a happy member of my canine menagerie. But that hadn’t been what Ken had stipulated; he’d wanted me to choose someone from his and Maggie’s circle of friends and family. Besides, that’s not how I wanted to earn my money. I answered firmly, “Yes. According to Ken’s instructions in his will.”

She shook her head and gestured as though she intended to grab me by the shoulders, but thought better of it when Maggie snarled at her. “That dog is half mine.”

Maggie bared her teeth and growled at Mary. I decided not to correct the behavior.

“Unless you can prove that to me and get some court order to stop me, I’m proceeding as if Maggie had been strictly Ken’s dog, which is certainly the way she’s behaving.”

She gestured at Maggie. “That’s Ken’s doing. He deliberately kept the two of us from bonding.”

“That must have been very disappointing to you.”

My sarcasm clearly not lost on her, she pursed her lips and visually sized me up. “Let me give you a friendly little warning. Don’t mess with me. I have friends in high places.”

“Since Boulder is more than a mile above sea level, most of us can make that claim.”

Meanwhile, Maggie was again barking away, and out of frustration more than anything else, I murmured, “Maggie, sit.”

To my surprise, she did; plus she quit barking. Just testing, really, I then said, “Maggie, lie down.”

Again, to my happy surprise, she obeyed.

“Good dog, Maggie!” I was so delighted that I knelt and gave her a hug around the neck. She looked at me with those big brown eyes, full of devotion, and I knew I was hooked.

Mary, however, clicked her tongue and muttered, “So big deal. The dog can finally do what any idiot dog can do. Christ almighty! Watching you react, you’d think she just delivered the Gettysburg address.”

I eyed her at length. “I’ve got to say that I can’t really picture you and Ken together.”

She snorted. “He had certain charms.”

“Such as his money?”

She smirked at me, then whirled on a heel and marched out my door. Maggie promptly stopped barking and wagged her tail, giving me that eager expression that resembled a prideful smile.

“What a bitch,” I murmured. “No offense, Maggie,” I said, giving her a pat. She looked at me with her adorable eyes. “Don’t worry. Bet you dollars to dog biscuits she would have said she’d be right back with proof of your date-of-purchase and her date-of-divorce if what she was claiming were true. In the meantime, I’m fighting back.”

I fetched Officer Hobbes’s business card and snatched up the phone, explaining to Maggie, “I have a feeling that the police will want to look into how Mary Martin Culberson was bilking your owner, don’t you?”

Maggie sat down and looked up at me, the fur of her tail sweeping along a wide arc on my floor.

The next two hours were taken with client appointments at my office, so I let Maggie take over Russell’s office. Afterward, my confidence about preventing Mary from getting Maggie was on the wane. She had to be familiar with the messy state of Ken’s trailer. That would zap anyone’s bravura to pronounce that she’d provide documentation momentarily—even if she did know it existed. Plus, I’d remembered that Joanne Palmer, Maggie’s veterinarian, had said that she’d met Mary.

Joanne would surely have records indicating the birth date and ownership. I called her office and left a message with her receptionist asking that she call me back. Considering our contentious first meeting, it struck me as unlikely that she’d rush to do so.

After examining Maggie’s claw marks in the wood, I put
Buy Russell a new door
on my list of things to do. Then I called Yolanda to see if she could shed any light on whether Ken and Mary had still been married when Ken purchased Maggie. If so, Mary and I might be in for a legal battle, because there was no way I would ever allow that woman to take custody of Maggie.

Yolanda answered on the first ring. I identified myself and asked whether or not the police were still investigating next door.

“Oh, you better believe it. Got the whole place dug up now.”

“They’re digging up Ken’s lawn?”

“Mmm-hmmm. It’s like they’re digging for oil.” That was interesting. They must be looking for more bones, though the bigger issue would surely be how and why someone’s stolen bones had wound up in some construction site in Ken’s neighborhood. “I was wondering how well you knew Mary, Ken’s ex-wife.”

“Miss Hoity Toit? Oh, she’d never associate with the likes of me. No one could figure out why she’d associate with the likes of Ken either, for that matter.”

“Were you in the neighborhood before they moved in?”

“Before she moved in, sure. Ken was here long before either of us, though.”

“How about Maggie? Was she Ken’s before or after their divorce? Do you know?”

“Can’t say for sure. But Mary never lived here with Maggie. I do know that much.”

“So she had moved out by the time Ken brought Maggie home?”

“Right. Weren’t like her to take to something soft and cuddly. That kinda described Ken, too, now that I think about it.” She sighed. “Poor guy. Wrecked his life when he met that . . . woman.”

“Did you ever see Mary with Maggie?”

“Just enough to know she hated that dog.”

I was curious about whether or not Yolanda had any suspicions about Mary’s faked death, so I asked casually, “Did you go to her funeral services?”

“They didn’t hold ’em in Colorado. ’Cording to Ken, the services were held back east or someplace, wherever her people are from. Not that I would’ve gone even if they were right next door, mind you.”

There was no hint of deceit in her voice. She truly seemed to believe that Mary was dead, too. She also appeared to have had no idea that Ken Culberson had been wealthy. Testing, I asked, “Did you get the impression that Mary had married Ken for his money?”

“Did you say ‘his money’?” She laughed heartily. “Oh, right. That must’ve been it. She just took one look at that luxurious trailer of his and was swept right off her feet.” She had another laughing fit. “Matter of fact, ever since my Robert passed away, I gots to beat off suitors with a stick for that very reason.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, her words made me smile. Also, it was reassuring to know that there was at least one person in Ken’s life who’d apparently cared for him for his own sake and not his money. “Thanks for speaking with me, Yolanda. I’d better let you go now.”

“If’n you’re having trouble finding someone to take his dog, I’d be happy to. Unless you want to see the dog stay in the family, that is.”

“Did he
have
family?”

“Mmm-hmm. His brother Arlen lives in the area. He and Ken had a falling out, but he still came over to visit Ken once a month or so.”

“Do you happen to have Arlen’s address or phone number?”

“No, sorry.”

“That’s okay. I’m sure there’s only one Arlen Culberson in town. Thanks again.”