Ruff Way to Go (18 page)

When I got
to my office, the phone was ringing. I answered.

“Allida,” my
mother said excitedly, “guess who just called me.”

“Uh, Michael
Jordan?”

“No,” she
said testily. “Your friend Tracy Truett.”

“That’s
nice. What’s she up to?”

“Well, the
new owners of KBXD are reviving her show.”

“Great. I’m
glad to hear that.” I’d met Tracy when she’d hosted me once on her talk show.
She was the sort of person who enjoyed stirring up trouble, but she was
basically a good—albeit loud—person with a great sense of humor,
and I enjoyed her company. At least, in short doses.

“She wants
you to be on her show. She thought she might be able to generate a little extra
business for you if you’d be her first guest.”

“Really? I’m
honored. When is she on the air?”

“Today.
Right now, in fact. She said you could just pop your head in there anytime.”

Today?
This began
to strike me as suspicious. It sounded as though Tracy was awfully eager to
have me on the show,
given that she merely wanted me to talk about general dog behavior
tips. “I wonder why she didn’t call me at my office.”

“She said
she already tried and couldn’t reach you there. Oh, and she also wants to
recruit both you and Russell for the softball team that the station is
sponsoring.”

“Okay.
Thanks for the message. Listen, Mom, maybe you can do me a favor. I got some
odd vibrations from Susan Nelson, the Haywoods’ daughter. She got really
flustered when I told her about Harvey’s behavior last night, and I suspect she’s
going to confront him. I wonder if you can watch for her car and tell me if she
shows up there soon.”

“A beat-up
Galaxy 500? She just arrived a moment ago in such a hurry that she got the dogs
barking.”

“Already?
She must have been doing eighty miles an hour. You haven’t had any more
incidents from the Haywoods since I’ve been gone, have you?”

“No. As far
as I know they’re sleeping late, as usual.”

“I wish I
knew what was going on with that family.”

“Me, too. I
called Sergeant Millay and told him about our confrontation last night. He said
he’d talk to him.”

“Did the
sergeant give you any signals as to whether or not he still considered me a
suspect?”

There was a
pause. “Allie, you’ve got to trust me when I say that Sergeant Millay is both
intelligent and diligent. If he seriously thought you were a murderer, he’d be
hounding you mercilessly.”

“‘Hounding’
me? He’s a cat lover,” I muttered. More likely he was the type to keep watch
from a distance and pounce on me.

We said our
goodbyes, then hung up. My telling Susan about her father’s attempted breakin
had obviously upset her. The incident hadn’t done much for my spirits, either,
and I had a feeling we’d never learn what he’d been up to.

I turned my
thoughts to Tracy Truett and pictured her strong, broad face beneath her short
dyed-blond hair in its typical wet-looking kinky spikes. The thought of joining
her softball team was appealing. Despite my lack of height, I’d
played point
guard on my college basketball team and enjoyed team sports. I’d never
discussed softball with Russell, but maybe this would prove to be a common
interest.

What hit me
as odd was that this was a Thursday, yet now Tracy wanted me as a “first guest.”
The show had to have started on a Monday, and Tracy had not been so anxious to
get me on the show as to have invited me then. She knew I lived in Berthoud,
and she would have read the articles in this morning’s papers about the murder.
Was Tracy’s sudden interest in me related to the murder?

I had three
messages on my machine and pressed the button to listen. The first recording
was in Tracy’s deep, melodious voice:

“Hey, Allie.
It’s Tracy. Is it true that you found the body of that woman out in Berthoud?
Call me. I’ve got something important to discuss. I think we can generate a lot
of business for—”

I knew it.
She wanted me on her show to talk about the murder. I pressed the forward
button. The next two messages were from Tracy as well. Each was urging me to
call her at the station right away, that she had a great idea for something
that would generate interest in both her new show and my business. This was
trouble.

My agitation
already rising, I flipped channels on the portable radio I keep in my office
and found KBXD. Tracy Truett was saying, “...got the fright of her lifetime
yesterday when she not only found her neighbor dead in a grisly murder scene,
but discovered paw prints in the blood that might allow the police to help
solve this murder.”

Paw prints?
How the hell had she found out about that? Seething, I dialed her number at the
station. Her producer patched me through. After a short wait, Tracy got on the
line and said, “That you, Allida?”

“Yes, and
you’ve—”

“Hang on.” I
heard a click on the phone, then she said, “We’re on the air with Allida
Babcock, who’s consented to do a phone interview with me. Ms. Babcock is the
dog psychologist who discovered the victim in the gruesome murder
in Berthoud
two days ago. Have you recovered from the shock yet, Allida?”

“I did not
consent to a phone interview, Tracy. Now please take me off the air.”

“Our
listeners would like to know how it felt to suddenly find a dead body in the
yard right across the street from your home.”

“Tracy, take
me off the air,” I said, using the calm-but-firm voice that works wonders with
unruly dogs.

“Sure, but
could you just tell us how it was that you came to discover the body?”

The voice
might work wonders with unruly dogs, but wasn’t sinking through to Tracy. I’d
have to resort to threats. “Off the air, now. Otherwise, I’ll let loose with
ear-splitting whistles into the phone till all your listeners change channels.”

“Sounds as
though our show’s guest has woken up on the wrong side of the doghouse this
morning. I’ll see if I can do something to get rid of her bark. We’ll be back
after this break.”

A moment
later, the slight cavernous background sounds were gone as Tracy switched the
phone back to a direct line and said, “Hey, Allie. Hear the one about why
deejays have small hands?” Without giving me time to respond, she answered with
a chuckle, “Wee paws for station identification.”

“Heard it.
Tracy, what are you doing to me?”

“Doing
to you? I’m
advertising your business. You should be thrilled.”

“I’m not.”

“I got that
impression, but—”

“Tracy,
listen to me for a moment. The police don’t have anyone in custody. Nobody but
me and the police knew about those paw prints. Furthermore, you’ve just
announced my identity over the air. Till then, the media had only disclosed
that ‘a neighbor’ discovered the body.”

There was a
pause. “Your mom’s the one that blabbed to me. You should be mad at her, not
me.”

“She’s not
the one with the radio show that broadcast the word to half the state of
Colorado.”

“Half the
state? I wish. More like ten people in the Denver-Metro area, but I get your
drift. This could put you in a bit of jeopardy, hey?”

“Yes,” I
said, not bothering to cover my exasperation.

“Holy crow.
Wish I’d gotten the chance to talk to you first. You should get yourself a
beeper. Well, no problem. I’ll get back on and correct this. Commercial’s
ending. Gotta go.” She hung up.

I turned the
volume back up on my radio. Tracy came back on and said, “Seems I was mistaken.
Ms. Babcock, our dog shrink friend, doesn’t know anything about the bloody paw
prints at the murder scene. I stand corrected. Let’s go to another caller.”

I hollered
at the radio, “That’s the best you can do, Tracy?”

“You’re on
the Tracy Truett show.”

“Hey,” said
a man’s voice. “I was wondering how come that last caller wouldn’t talk to you
on the air. Is she hiding something, or what?”

“She’s shy.
Spends a lot of time with dogs. Isn’t used to talking much.”

Too annoyed
to listen, I switched the radio off and paced. This was going to be trouble.
Sergeant Millay had specifically asked me not to reveal the information about
the paw marks.

Rather than
wait for the police to hear from someone else, I called the sergeant and told
him what had happened—that my mother had talked to a talk-show host, who
leaked the news about the paw prints over the air. He sounded annoyed, but no
more so than I was.

While we
were still on the phone, I heard the characteristic footfalls as Russell came
down the front steps to our shared front door. My heart fluttered in response,
which was ridiculous. I saw him constantly, after all. We shared an office. It
wasn’t as though it made any sense to get nervous whenever
he was near.
I thanked the officer, hung up, then turned to face Russell.

He was
neatly dressed, as usual—khakis and a short-sleeved blue shirt—but
wore no tie today. He must not have any client meetings on the day’s agenda.

“Morning,
Russell. How was the concert last night?”

“Oh, it was
great. From what I hear. I sold my tickets to a friend at the last minute.”

“You did?
Why?”

He shrugged.
“Just wasn’t in the mood to go. And I got another rush job, so I wound up
working instead.” He smoothed his mustache, then asked shyly, “How was your
evening?”

“Dull,
actually.”

“Really?” He
brightened.

“Yeah. In
fact, I spent most of the time—” I stopped, realizing what a huge risk I
was about to take if I admitted to him how much I’d thought about him during my
date with someone else. “Worrying about the murder.”
Coward!
“As far as
I know, there’re no new leads, and—”

The phone
rang. “Bet I know who this is,” I muttered.

“How was
that, Allie?”

I recognized
Tracy’s husky voice immediately. “Wretched.” I held up my index finger to
indicate to Russell to wait for me to get off the line, still determined to
salvage our conversation.

“Well, hey,
don’t pull any punches.”

“I won’t.”

“I’ll make
this up to you. How ‘bout you meet me at the parking lot of Centennial Middle
School next Wednesday at six
p.m.,
and
we’ll discuss what I can do?”

“You want us
to meet in a parking lot?”

At this,
Russell raised an eyebrow.

“And bring
your softball glove. Oh. And ask that guy that shares your office to come, too.
Russell.”

I grinned at
him. “Shouldn’t I find out first whether or not he has any interest in playing
softball?”

“Sure. That’d
be great. Ask him what position he wants to play.”

“Anything
else I can do for you?”

“Yeah. Bring
a blank check. I’m not sure how much the entry fee to the league is.” She hung
up.

I found
myself shaking my head in wonder. If the woman were a dog, she’d be a pit bull.
With rabies.

“Russell,
would you have any interest in joining a co-ed softball team with me?”

“Sure. I
love to play softball. When do we start?”

“Next
Wednesday’s the first practice. Six
p.m.
At
Centennial Middle School.”

“See you
there. Though...we’ll probably see each other before then, too.” His cheeks
colored a bit, and I realized with a start that he was acting just as nervous
around me as I felt around him. “We do have things in common. I...need to get
to work.”

“You might
want to close your door. I have an office appointment with a miniature
schnauzer mourning the loss of his life’s mate.”

“What are
you going to do for him?”

I shrugged. “Try
to distract him. The vet’s opposed to doggie-uppers. Unfortunately, it’s all
too common for the surviving dog to lose his will to live. Other times dogs
just have to be allowed to go through a grieving period, the same way people
do.”

“I’m sure he’s
in the right hands.”

“Thanks. I’ll
see you later.”

I watched
him and we exchanged a little wave as he closed the door, my heart still
fluttering idiotically.

A few
minutes later, the owner and his lethargic miniature schnauzer arrived. Before
coming to me for my services, the owner had rushed right out and purchased
another female schnauzer puppy to keep his dog company. Depending upon the dog’s
temperament, this is not always advisable, and I felt strongly that the older
dog should meet the puppy prior to making the decision. Indeed, it had
backfired in this case and the owner had to return the new would-be mate to the
breeder.

What I
advised was that the owner gradually change the daily patterns for the dog.
Dogs love routine, but in this case, the dog was refusing to participate. I
advised the owner to take him to different parks, making sure to keep his dog
food exactly the same, which otherwise could add physical digestive upset to
his broken heart.