Sunflowers and Sabotage Page 10

  "I am too." He took my hand and pulled me closer for another hug.

  Chapter 21

  I had to admit I was frazzled. It was amazing what a short span of full panic could do to a person. Of course, it was nothing compared to thirty stitches and pain medicine.

  Once he'd been discharged, I got Briggs home and helped him change out of his bloody clothes into something clean and comfortable. I took Bear for a walk, fed him and tossed the ball around the small backyard for a few minutes before taking myself off to the store for some groceries. By the time I got back, Briggs was fast asleep on the couch. I fixed him a few sandwiches and wrote him a note with lots of hearts and Xs and Os (a momentary lapse into my teen years) and headed home to take care of my own pets. The whole drama had upset my stomach enough that I skipped dinner. After a hot bath, I went straight to bed with a book and cup of hot peppermint tea.

  Morning had come so quickly, it felt as if I'd hardly slept. After spending a few hours helping customers and answering questions from concerned friends who streamed in and out of the shop all morning, I decided I'd earned a long lunch. It would give me a chance to check on Briggs, and since he conveniently lived in Chesterton, it gave me an excuse to stop by Melody's Foxy Dog Salon. I was hoping to find out more details about the murder.

  I headed to the salon first. That way I could eat lunch with Briggs. If he had pulled himself out of his painkiller stupor. Melody's mobile grooming trailer was parked out front of the actual salon. It was a tiny commercial space squeezed in between an office supply store and an antique shop.

  A large, sad looking golden retriever was standing in a cage waiting for his turn in the bath. The dog looked at me with fresh hope as if he thought perhaps I had come to rescue him from his predicament. Melody was at the back of the room with her phone to her ear. She was facing the back wall and hadn't looked to see who had walked in yet. A cute, curly haired mutt was curled up on a pillow at the back of the room. The dog didn't even look up from his nap. "Just call me back, Barrett. I need to talk to you," she said before hanging up.

  The name instantly caught my attention. She was leaving a message for someone named Barrett. It was a name I didn't hear often, yet I'd heard it twice in the span of three days. In fact, the only reason I remembered the name of Avery Hinkle's boyfriend was because it was so unusual. Could it be Melody had some connection with Avery's boyfriend? Or was she leaving a message for an altogether different Barrett?

  Melody's gaze rightfully dropped to the floor near my feet. She was looking for a dog or some kind of critter to groom. "Can I help you?" she asked, slightly confused until clarity took over. Her eyes rounded. "You're the woman who helped me when I found Ellen—" She choked off her last words. "I never got a chance to thank you. I was so upset and such a bumbling mess. It was nice to have someone as calm and collected as you to help out."

  Inwardly, I smiled about being called calm and collected, especially after my parade down hysteria lane the night before. "I was glad to help. I'm sure it was extremely distressing. I never asked—were you close with Ellen?"

  She shrugged in a non-committal way. "I don't know if we were close, but I knew her well. There is sort of a tight knit community around the Chesterton dog world. You might have picked that up at the show."

  "Yes, it did seem everyone knew each other. It wasn't all friendliness and warmth though, was it?" I decided to leap right into my questions. I was anxious to get over to Briggs' house to check on him.

  Melody's lips curled in. It seemed I wasn't going to get much out of her. "I don't like to get too involved. There's a lot of backstabbing and—" she paused. "I don't know if you saw the scene up on stage."

  "Yes, I happened to be watching when they picked the winner. I saw Avery Hinkle struggle with her dog on stage. Is it true someone gave Belvedere peanut butter? He did seem to be frantically licking his mouth."

  "That's what appeared to happen. The judge couldn't really get a good look at Belvedere, so the trophy went to Pebbles. She's a great dog. She's always runner up to Belvedere, so the peanut butter incident was good luck for Ellen and Pebbles." She said it lightly, then frowned. "Oh wow, I can't believe I just said that. I mean Ellen's luck was short-lived."

  "What are people in the dog show circle saying?" I asked. "Do they think Ellen was the person to feed Belvedere peanut butter?"

  The golden retriever barked, reminding Melody that he was still in a cage. She walked over and plucked a leash off the wall, then she took the dog out of the cage. "Ellen seems like the logical choice. She was the person to gain the most out of a terrible performance by Belvedere." She walked the retriever to the area that was tiled off and set up with spray attachments for baths. The dog was reluctant to step into the tiled enclosure. Melody pulled a squeaky toy out of her work apron and tossed it into the bath area. The dog shot in to pick up the toy and while he squeaked away on his newfound prey, Melody calmly tied the leash to a hook on the wall.

  I laughed. "That's a good trick for getting them inside the tub."

  "When you've bathed as many dogs as me, you learn all kinds of tricks."

  The front door opened behind me. Melody leaned to the side. "Carrie, could you give Riley a bath? He's all ready to go."

  Carrie, a young woman with her hair braided down her back, walked past with two cups of coffee. She handed one to Melody and then went to the back of the room to put on her apron. Melody sipped her coffee and sighed with satisfaction. "I really needed this."

  Carrie returned to the bathing area. She pulled a bottle of shampoo off a nearby table and opened it. She poured some into the palm of her hand. The warm cloud of steam rising from the bath wafted the citrus fragrance my direction.

  I took a deep breath. "That smells good, like lemons."

  "Yes, it helps mask doggie odor," Melody said after another sip. "I formulated it myself. Leaves their fur soft and fluffy."

  "I thought everyone was using Ellen's Lavender Pooch shampoo. I have a sensitive nose I was nearly overwhelmed with the fragrance of lavender at the show."

  "I don't use it," she said somewhat curtly. "It gives me a rash. I think this citrus shampoo is much better."

  "So you're a shampoo maker too. There is certainly a lot of talent in the dog show circle. I guess that circle is smaller now," I noted, hoping she might have a little more to add.

  "Yes, it's sad. I think it might get even smaller. I'm not sure what will happen if both of the top dog owners are out."

  I stepped a little closer without passing her counter to hear her over the spray of water. "What do you mean both top dog owners?"

  She leaned forward. "I know the police haven't made an arrest yet, but I think it seems pretty obvious who killed Ellen. We all saw the scene at the show. Avery was pretty angry."

  I nodded. "She was, but do you think she was angry enough to commit murder? It's a pretty big leap from accusing someone of sabotage to actually killing the person." I was being devil's advocate, hoping to get more insider information about the group in general.

  "Yes, it's wild to think Avery resorted to murder, but she does have a temper. I've witnessed it on more than one occasion. She has a short fuse. That trophy and the championship was a pretty big deal to her." She went back to her task. "But what do I know? I'm just a dog groomer. I'm not all that involved with the competitors. I just make their dogs look glamorous." She had changed her tone from accusatory to light and airy.

  "I'm sure the police are looking into all possible suspects," I said. "I won't take up any more of your time. Thanks."

  Her face popped up. "What made you drop by the salon?"

  It wasn't a question I expected, but I quickly found my logical response. "Oh, I was in the area. You were so upset on Saturday, I decided to drop by and make sure you were all right."

  "That was very nice of you. I'm still a little shaken but I'm fine." She lifted her coffee. "Right back at work, as you can see."

  "Yes, indeed. Well, nice talking to you."

/>   Chapter 22

  I had seen James Briggs rugged, windswept, and rumpled but I had never seen him disheveled. His hair was combed but not with its usual part. His wrinkled t-shirt seemed to be on backwards. Either that, or it was a new style with a tag sewn on the front. And, yes, it was summer, but we were not planning a trip to the beach. Yet he had pulled on his drawstring bathing trunks.

  "I have learned something today," he said as I stepped inside and took in his interesting attire. "I've learned that my left arm is completely and utterly worthless, a mere appendage that I can use to hold up the left sleeve of my shirt. Did you know buttoning, putting toothpaste on a toothbrush and buttering toast are all impossible with one hand?"

  I pressed my knuckles against my lips to stifle a laugh. "I'm sure it can be done. After all, there are one armed individuals. It probably just takes practice. You certainly can't blame your left arm for putting your shirt on backwards."

  "Yes, yes I can. I noticed it right away when the tag started rubbing my neck, but it was so tough putting it on in the first place, I decided to leave it this way. Might start a new trend."

  I walked to him for a quick kiss. "I'm just glad to see you up and around. Besides, it's kind of cute seeing you all vulnerable."

  "Great, so now I'm vulnerable. What happened to battle weary and scarred? I think I liked that character stage better."

  I walked the bag of cold sodas to the kitchen. "Again, you really need to pick up a romance novel now and then." I turned back. "Every battle weary, scarred hero has a moment or two of being vulnerable. It usually stems from almost losing the love of his life to some rich baron and it is rarely caused by not being able to butter toast, but in your case, we can make an exception. I thought we could eat those sandwiches I made last night for lunch." I opened the fridge and found myself staring at the cold pizza, now a day older. No sandwiches.

  "Sorry, I ate both of them this morning. I think those drugs made me really hungry."

  "I guess that's a good sign that you're on the mend."

  He took my hand and pulled me closer. "I'm definitely on the mend now that you're here." He rested his forehead against mine, it seemed more for necessity than for affection. He was definitely tilting side to side some and his speech was slower and less crisp than normal. "Since there is no food, I thought we could take up the lunch hour with a little hanky and maybe some panky. Preferably both, since I've generally found that hanky is much better when accompanied with panky."

  I giggled at his drugged attempt at seduction. "I think those pills are working just a bit too well. Maybe you should sleep them off. Besides, I'm hungry. I mean for food," I added before he could turn my words into something more flirtatious.

  I patted his chest and stepped out of his embrace. Bear immediately slipped in to stand between us. He peered up at me with big brown eyes, pleading for some attention. I scratched him behind the ears. (The dog, not the man.)

  "Did you drive all the way over here on your lunch hour just to check on me?" Briggs asked as he reached for a water glass. He grabbed one and looked at it. "What do you know? I found something I can do with my left hand."

  "See, so you're not so helpless after all. You can still get a glass of water and drink it in your backwards shirt. And, to answer your question, I did drive out here to check on you. But to be perfectly honest, I also went by the dog grooming salon to talk to Melody, the woman who found Ellen in her trailer."

  Briggs filled his glass. "Who is Ellen?" He shook his head. "Wait, it's coming back to me now. She was the woman with the bag over her head."

  "I guess that spares me from asking the next question about what you've learned about the case." I headed out to his sparsely furnished living room. His house was decorated, using a loose definition of the word, in what I liked to refer to as testosterone basic. He had everything he needed to be perfectly content, no frills, no fancy fabrics, no stylish curtains or pretty paint.

  I sat on his easy chair. He plopped on the couch as if it had reached up and grabbed his shoulders to yank him down. He lifted his arm. "Ouch. It's strange but it seems every nerve in my entire body is somehow connected to this right arm. This morning, I kicked the leg of the sofa, and I swear to you I felt more pain in this arm than in the toe that took the hit."

  I couldn't hold back my smile. Nothing about the way he was acting was the usual James Briggs.

  "You're laughing at my plight. Some girlfriend you are." He tossed the pillow he'd been using at me.

  I caught it and fluffed it up. The scent of his shampoo puffed off the pillow case. "I can come back by tonight and bring you some dinner."

  "I'll be fine. You might have noticed the long list of phone numbers on the refrigerator. Contrary to rumors, those are not women's phone numbers. They are a list of all the best restaurants that deliver food." His head rested back, and his dark lashes fluttered down. He was too tired to keep his eyes open.

  I stood up and put the pillow on the couch. "Who started the rumor about the women's phone numbers?" I asked as I gave him a little nudge to rest his head on the pillow.

  "I don't know," he said sleepily. "Maybe it was me."

  He snored lightly as I put his feet up on the couch. I leaned down and kissed his forehead. I got a closer look at the stitches near his eye. The knife missed it by mere millimeters. The close call sent a shiver through me. I kissed him again, then pulled a bone out of the cupboard for Bear before heading out the door.

  Chapter 23

  Sometimes my days were so hectic, the quiet solitude of my cute little house, or cottage as I preferred to think of it, was so wonderful I could almost convince myself never to leave. It seemed every acquaintance and their family had dropped by the flower shop, not to buy flowers but to find out about Detective Briggs. I knew in our small town, he was somewhat of a celebrity, mostly because he played such an important role in Port Danby's security, but the outpouring of genuine concern warmed my heart.

  I'd called Briggs before I closed up shop to see if he needed dinner, but he had ordered Chinese food at three in the afternoon, so he wasn't hungry and was planning to go to bed early. I had been slightly relieved not to have to drive to Chesterton.

  I picked up my plate with the gnawed crusts of a peanut butter and banana sandwich, a perfect dinner for a quiet night at home, and carried it to the sink. On my way home from work, I'd decided to contact the infamous Mr. Google (or was it Ms. Google?) to check for possible leads in Ellen's murder case. Since Briggs was not involved with the case, I was on my own. I needed to turn over leaves anywhere I could find them, and I'd discovered, many times, that there were plenty of leaves on the internet. It was a veritable forest of unturned leaves.

  I grabbed my laptop from my room and sat on the couch. Kingston was fast asleep. Evening was always Nevermore's special mom time without the pesky black bird to get his beak in the way. Before turning my undivided attention to the computer screen, something that occasionally frustrated my cat enough to cause him to climb onto the keyboard and flop down, I spent a good ten minutes scratching his ears, the spot over his tail (his particular favorite) and under his chin, a place that always started up his purr engine. One thing about cats, or at least my cat, as much as he loved the attention, it quickly irritated him. After a prolonged rub behind his ears, he finally let me know the affection party was over with a swat of his paw. He curled up next to me and began his nightly grooming session. That was his way of telling me I could now divert my attention to my mundane human activity.

  I opened the laptop and went straight to Ellen Joyner's dog grooming supply site. It was a nicely set up site complete with blog posts from Ellen that discussed everything from giving your dog vitamins to etiquette at the dog show. Seemed as if her killer had missed that particular piece, I thought wryly.

  Ellen's last post on the Friday before the show let her readers know that she was packed up and heading to Chesterton Park. 'Wish me luck' she said at the end of her post. Several of the comments beneath
her post said things like 'Pebbles deserves that trophy' and 'this is your year, Ellen'. One comment went so far as to suggest 'maybe Belvedere will come down with a tummy ache or get gum stuck in his fur'. It always amazed me how rotten people could be in the comment section. They were always more brazen online than face to face, which was probably a good thing. I'd hate to see people walking around in everyday life completely at ease being as nasty and insulting as they were online.

  Ellen's Lavender Pooch Shampoo had its own banner and top spot on the page. It had over three thousand ratings and was at a very respectable four and a half stars. One bottle cost twelve dollars, which seemed pricey for dog shampoo, but the label boasted that it was chocked full of botanicals and oils "guaranteed to leave your pooch smelling like a field of lavender". That was not an exaggeration. It had taken me a good run of sneezes just to clear away the after affects of Ellen's Lavender Pooch, and that was long after I'd left the dog show.

  I clicked on the reviews and scrolled through the plethora of five star generic 'great product, love this shampoo, my dog feels so soft and my little Bingley smells just like a field of lavender'. Bad reviews were few and far between, but there was only one single star review. It was from an anonymous review account that read—'I wish I could leave zero stars. This product is terrible. It gave me a painful rash. I would never trust it on my dog. Do NOT buy this shampoo!' the reviewer stated emphatically. It certainly did stand out in the stream of almost all glowing reviews. Interestingly, it wasn't the first time I'd heard someone mention it gave them a rash. It was exactly the reason Melody wasn't using the highly adored shampoo in her salon. Or maybe Melody had written the review. It might have been why she posted it anonymously, so as not to upset her friend. At least I thought they were friends but then it seemed the social connections in the dog show world were complex at best.