Groomed For Murder: A Pet Boutique Mystery (3 page)

Just that: “No.”

“But . . .” Jack prodded.

“I, uh, wasn’t right by the door the whole time.” Jack’s eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. Ken held up
his hands. “Nothing shady, I swear. I just took a little walk down the alley. Stretched my legs.”

Jack was done dillydallying. But I tucked Ken’s comments away for further consideration. Assuming Dolly was innocent—and loyalty prevented me from assuming anything else—either the murderer was still in the building (heaven forbid), the killer had managed to sneak out back and through the alley without alerting Ken (which would be tough given that all the shops on either side of the alley had motion-sensor lights), or Ken West was, himself, the killer. Ken was a bit of a sleaze at the best of times, but his answers to Jack’s questions seemed especially cagey.

Weird.

Jack led the way up the back stairs, and through the open door to Daniel’s apartment. I called softly to Dolly as we made our way through the half-light.

She turned slowly, eyes glazed, hands trembling. With incredible care, Jack removed the gun from her hand and set it on an entertainment center out of Dolly’s reach, as though she might lunge for the weapon and start taking potshots at Jack and me.

“I’m sorry about this, Ms. Johnston,” he said as he gently raised her hands above her head and began to pat her down. He paused when he reached the pocket of the daring kimono-cut jacket she’d picked out for the wedding.

“Izzy,” he murmured. “Run downstairs and get me a paper bag and a plastic Baggie.”

I did as he said, clattering down the back stairwell as fast as my legs would carry me. I found a Baggie in a
drawer by the stove, and I grabbed one of the white paper bags Rena used to package her pet treats.

When I got back upstairs and handed the items to Jack, he shook open the paper bag with a loud snap. He then put his hand in the plastic bag, creating a makeshift glove, and reached gingerly into Dolly’s pocket. When his hand emerged, I was puzzled to see him holding a toothbrush. He dropped it into the paper bag, rolled over the bag’s top, shook the Baggie off his hand, and tucked it in the pocket of his twill pants.

I shot him a questioning look. He lifted his shoulders in the universal sign for “I don’t have a clue.”

By then, Dolly was starting to regain her faculties. “Is he dead?” she asked.

“Yes,” Jack replied simply, carefully studying her face for a reaction.

Poor Dolly’s shoulders drooped in misery. “Oh dear. This is all my fault.”

“What do you mean by that?” Jack asked.

“Not another word.” I hadn’t heard Sean coming up the stairs behind me, but I was glad he had. “Dolly? Do you want me to represent you?”

“Represent me?” she asked, clearly not grasping the gravity of her situation.

“Yes,” I said firmly. “You do want Sean to represent you.”

She still looked puzzled, but she shrugged. “Okay.”

Jack glared at Sean, who kept his expression carefully neutral. “My client will not be speaking with the police at this time.”

“Lawyers,” Jack muttered.

“Cops,” Sean muttered back.

Jack took a step toward him, and for an instant I thought they might come to blows. “You’re not doing her any favors by telling her not to cooperate.”

“Why don’t you leave the legal advice to me, big guy? You stick with the crime-solving bit.”

Jack growled low in his throat before turning away. He stepped around Dolly, and made his way gingerly up the stairs to my apartment, likely making sure the culprit hadn’t escaped up instead of down.

Sean walked over to my aunt, grasped her hands gently, and looked her square in the eyes. “Don’t you ever—
ever
—tell a cop that something is your fault.”

“But it is,” Dolly said, her voice soft but firm.

Jack reappeared on the second-floor landing, rocking on his heels to contain his nervous energy. He was ready to take Dolly in.

Sean glanced at Jack over Dolly’s head and sighed in frustration. “Right this moment,” he told my aunt, “I’m not concerned about the truth. I’m concerned about keeping you out of jail. Not another word, you hear me?”

Dolly’s gaze slid to the side, staring into the middle distance, but she nodded.

I’d never in my life seen my feisty aunt look so small.

Three

T
he rest of the evening passed in a blur. The police took extra time to ask Ama Olmstead about the pictures she’d taken, demanding copies of them all. Her husband, Steve, towered over her, protective of his petite wife. He had his finger in his mouth when I caught his eye, and he quickly removed it.

He must have snuck a taste of the cake icing. I didn’t blame him. I could use a little cake right then . . . some sugar to bolster me through the rest of the evening. I sighed, realizing the cake would likely go to waste. What an awful evening.

The guests left after signing in with the police, and Ingrid and Harvey, still unwed, retired to my third-floor apartment. I think Harvey was more shaken than Ingrid, but she graciously claimed she needed to lie down.

That left Rena and my family: my sisters, Lucy and
Dru; my mom; and my dad. We quickly shooed Dad away, assuring him that we’d be waiting for Aunt Dolly and that there wasn’t anything he could do to help. He’d spent his adult years in a house full of women and was used to being ordered about. With a gleam of relief in his eyes, he left, bussing my mother on the cheek, hugging his three daughters, and lifting tiny Rena right off the floor into his embrace. By the time my mom joined him at home, he’d probably be asleep in his big recliner, one of his beloved history books in his lap.

Rena brought out five pints of ice cream and spoons for everyone—even an extra for Dolly when she returned from booking—and our little coven gathered around the cherry red farm table. At first, we glumly dug our spoons into the cartons of comfort food and tried not to watch as the coroner removed Daniel’s body from the floor of my store. Jinx and Packer were batting at the deflated helium balloons, knocking them all around the store. Eventually, Jinx managed to catch one with her claw, and we all jumped at the pop.

“Good heavens,” my mother said. “I think this evening has taken years off my life.”

Dru, the oldest and by far the most responsible of the stair-step McHale girls, reached out to take my mother’s hand and give it a comforting squeeze.

Lucy pulled out her phone to check the time. “Are you sure Aunt Dolly will get out of jail tonight?”

My mother moaned. “I certainly hope so. I could barely stand to see that officer manhandle her into that squad car.”

“Jack didn’t manhandle her, Mom,” Lucy said. “He didn’t even put her in cuffs.”

“Well, still, she won’t last a night in prison.”

My mom watched too much television.

“It’s the Merryville jail, not Oz,” I sighed. “And she should be here soon. Sean said they’d have to print her and take her picture, but that he’d call in a favor with Judge Lindsay and get her arraigned right away so she can bond out before bedtime.”

“What on earth was she doing up there?” Dru asked.

“I don’t know. Sean wouldn’t let her say a peep while Jack was in the room.”

“You know I love my sister, but she’s always been a little wild, and I think she’s getting a bit batty in her old age.”

I smiled at the thought of Aunt Dolly as a wild child. I wondered if she’d ever burned her bra.

“Well, we’ll have to wait until she gets home to ask her what happened,” I said.

The last word had barely left my lips when the bell over the front door tinkled, heralding my aunt’s return.

My mother dashed across the room to pull her sister into a tight hug. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”

Dolly tutted softly. “No one hurt me. It was actually kind of interesting.” She held up her hand to show off the ink on her fingertips. “I’ve never been printed before.”

“You crazy woman,” my mother chided. “Only you would consider getting arrested for murder an adventure.”

“You only get one ride in life. May as well make the most of it.”

“Enough of this chitchat,” Rena said, holding up a spoon for Dolly. “Sit down and tell us everything.”

Dolly took a seat, and we all leaned in eagerly. “Well,” she said around her first spoonful of cherry chip, “Sean said I shouldn’t talk to anyone. He said that what I confided to him was privileged because he’s my lawyer, but if I tell other people, it could be used against me in court. Something called a statement against my interests. That Sean boy is one smart cookie,” she added, directing a pointed stare in my direction.

Lucy laughed. “Like any of us would ever testify against you. What you say here, stays here.”

Rena nodded. “We’ve got your back, Dolly.”

Dru frowned. “I don’t know. People use lawyers for a reason. Maybe we should take Sean’s advice.”

My mother smiled fondly. “You’re such a sensible girl, Dru.” Dru rolled her eyes. She didn’t appreciate people pointing out how sensible and straitlaced she was. It didn’t help that Lucy and I—neither of whom would ever be dubbed “sensible”—teased her mercilessly for being such a stand-up citizen. “It may be more sensible for Dolly to keep her lips sealed,” Mom went on, “but I for one want to know what happened up there. And I sure won’t say anything. Scout’s honor.” She held up three fingers as a sign of her pledge.

Dolly waved her spoon through the air like a conductor. “I never had any intention of keeping this to myself. I trust you all completely.”

“So?” Rena prodded.

“After I sent Ingrid down the front steps, I headed toward the back, planning to slip in through the kitchen and catch the whole wedding. But when I got to the landing, I saw that Daniel’s back door was ajar. And you know how much I want to know what he’s doing in Merryville, right?”

We all nodded. None of us had been spared Dolly’s wild speculation about Daniel Colona. She’d pegged him for everything from a television host who was looking for a small town to make over to a terrorist.

“Well, of course I couldn’t just walk past that open door.”

Dru sighed. “You
could
have, and you
should
have.”

“But I didn’t,” Dolly snapped. “I thought Daniel had left for the evening, to avoid all the hubbub down here, and when I slipped into his bedroom, I didn’t hear anything except Daisy whining from her crate in the front room.”

“Daisy,” Lucy gasped. “Who’s going to take care of poor Daisy?”

Every eye turned in my direction.

“Wait. I’ve already got a rambunctious dog, a huge cat, and two cantankerous houseguests. I can’t handle Daisy, too.” It wasn’t just the extra work. Even though I ran a pet boutique, big dogs made me nervous. Ironic, I know, but there you have it.

Rena laughed. “Of course you can. This house is huge, stocked to the gills with animal food, and you know I’ll help you with walks and stuff. Besides, it will only be temporary. We’ll have to find Daisy a forever
home eventually. But we can watch her until someone shows up to collect her or we find someone else to take her in. Just a week or two. Three, tops.”

Three weeks. Great. But I sighed and nodded. I wasn’t about to send the poor dog to an animal shelter, and I knew no one else was in a better position to take care of her.

“Sorry, Aunt Dolly,” I said. “We didn’t mean to interrupt your story.”

“Well,” she said. “As I was saying, I didn’t hear anything other than Daisy whining. So I started poking around a little. Then, when I was in the bathroom—”

“The bathroom?” Mom squealed. “You were in a strange man’s bathroom?”

“Oh, loosen up, Edie. I was looking for something with DNA on it, and I wasn’t likely to find that in just any old place.”

DNA. That explained the toothbrush in her pocket. I wasn’t sure how Aunt Dolly thought DNA would help her in her quest to unmask Daniel Colona. I mean, it’s not like she had access to DNA databases or anything. But gathering Daniel’s DNA made about as much sense as her breaking into the apartment in the first place, so I decided not to raise any questions.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I was in the bathroom when I finally heard the voices coming from the living room. They must have been whispering before, but now they were talking in normal voices . . . maybe even a bit heated. Then I heard the gun go off. I froze in the bathroom door, and I swear I saw someone dart past the bedroom door and slip down the back stairs.”

“Well, who was it?” Lucy asked.

“I couldn’t tell. It was really dark in there. I hadn’t turned on any lights, and there was just a little ambient light seeping around those heavy curtains in there. There was a light on in the living room, but with the person in front of it, it didn’t help. I just saw a shadow, and only for a second. Couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman.

“As soon as the person went out the back door, I ran to the living room to see what had happened. Poor Daisy was whimpering in her crate, and Daniel was standing there holding his chest, this surprised look on his face. I tried to reach him to help, but before I could, he stumbled to the landing and fell down the stairs. That’s when I saw the gun on the floor and picked it up.”

“Dude,” Rena said. “Why did you pick up the gun? Major mistake.”

“Listen, young lady, you have no idea what you would do under those circumstances. I’d seen one person leave, but what if there were others? I was scared, and it was just a natural impulse to pick up something to protect myself with.”

I had this crazy image of someone charging at my frail aunt Dolly and her whirling around to shoot. Dolly may have fancied herself a modern-day Cagney and Lacey, but she was really a Minnesota housewife. And not the hunting and ice fishing kind of Minnesota housewife. I doubted she even knew how to fire a gun. Lord knows, I sure didn’t.

“So that’s what happened,” Dolly concluded with a shrug. “I didn’t do anything wrong—”

“Except for the breaking and entering,” Dru said.

“Uh, uh, uh,” Dolly said, waggling her spoon like a schoolmarm’s finger. “No breaking. Just entering. And some light theft. A toothbrush. Hardly counts at all. But I know I look guilty as heck. Who’s going to believe that wack-a-do story?”

“I do,” Lucy said. We all nodded in agreement.

“Did you find anything?” Rena asked. “When you were searching the apartment?”

I’d been so focused on the murder part of the story it had never occurred to me to wonder whether Dolly’s ill-fated snooping had yielded any information.

“Not much. He is . . . He was definitely a reporter. I found a binder of newspaper clippings from the
Madison Standard
and a stack of photos he’d taken around Merryville. And I almost broke his camera. One of those big ones that newsmen use.”

Lucy raised her hands above her head and crowed in victory. “I won! Investigative journalist. That’s what Xander and I have been saying all along.”

My mother shushed her with a quelling look. “Lucy, this is hardly the time.”

Irrepressible Lucy smirked. “I know. But I
did
win.”

“What were the pictures of?” I asked, curious about what would bring a reporter from Madison to our sleepy town.

Dolly raised one bony shoulder. “I just thumbed through them, but there were lots of things. Pictures of the downtown shops, some wildlife photos, a series of a dark-haired little boy playing at Dakota Park, and a
few of our more colorful local characters. Basically, the type of pictures that any tourist might take.”

“Forget the pictures. What did you tell the cops?” Rena asked.

Dolly sighed. “Sean wouldn’t let me tell them much. In fact, he got mad when I said I would have used my own gun.”

“Your own what?” my mother gasped.

“My gun,” Dolly said with a shrug. “The derringer I carry in my pocketbook. I didn’t have it with me tonight because I was carrying that tiny beaded purse Lucy gave me for Christmas.” She leaned across the table to pat Lucy on the hand. “You have such good taste, dear.

“Anyway, I told them if I’d planned to kill Daniel, I would have brought my own gun instead of hoping I’d find one there. I was a Pioneer Girl back in the day, you know.”

My mother sighed in frustration. “The Pioneer Girls are a church group, Dolly. They never once suggested we bear arms.”

Dolly waved her off. “Whatever. I like to be prepared. I wouldn’t have shown up for a gunfight without a gun.”

Poor Sean must have nearly stroked out when Dolly blurted that out to the cops. I could picture him, slouched down in the chair next to Dolly, elbows on the table and his head resting in his hands, his dark wayward curls standing up in alarm at her pronouncement.

“Did they say whose gun it was?” I asked.

“It was his. Daniel’s. They found the open gun safe in the living room where he was shot.”

So whoever approached him didn’t necessarily come armed. But something about their conversation made Daniel worried enough to get his own weapon . . . only to have it used against him.

“I don’t know about the rest of you,” Dru said, “but I’m exhausted. And Aunt Dolly’s had quite a day.”

My mom insisted that Dolly stay at my folks’ house that night, and Dru and Lucy left with them while Rena and I cleaned up the remnants of our ice cream feast.

“What are we going to do with that cake?” Rena asked, pointing at Ingrid and Harvey’s beautiful tiered wedding cake.

“I don’t know,” I sighed. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll figure out what to do with the cake and how to prove that Aunt Dolly is no murderer.”

*   *   *

Soon I was rattling around the big house at 801 Maple on my own. Even from the first floor, I could hear the call-and-response of Ingrid and Harvey snoring. Packer and Jinx had each looked up the stairs, ears twitching, before choosing to bed down on the first floor. Packer had done the three-circle-and-sniff dance around his fleece dog bed, and Jinx had picked her way up to the top of the oak armoire before settling into a cat-shaped loaf, her tail brushing lazily against the side of the wardrobe.

“Thanks, guys,” I muttered. Ungrateful wretches, leaving me to face the ruckus Ingrid and Harvey were making on my own. Part of me wanted to bed down
with them, and not just because of the noise. I was spooked about walking past Daniel’s apartment, past the place he died.

But it was Daniel’s plight that ultimately forced me up the stairs so I could retrieve poor Daisy May. Even if I’d been willing to step over Daniel’s final resting place, the police had blocked off the front stairs with yellow tape. Jack had assured me it would be gone by the next day, so I wouldn’t have to explain it to my customers. At that point, though, the tape forced me up the back stairs—the stairs the killer had probably taken to and from the apartment.