Sunflowers and Sabotage Page 11

  I moved on to a random search just putting in the name Ellen Joyner and found her listed on a lawsuit. Apparently, four years earlier, Ellen Joyner had sued, of all people, Horace and Belinda Crampton. I scanned through the mostly hard to decipher legal pages but was able to gather what the lawsuit was about. Ellen, the plaintiff, sued professional dog breeders Horace and Belinda Crampton, because as the suit claimed, she paid three thousand dollars for one of their standard poodle puppies, and the poor thing died just a few days after Ellen took it home. She sued to get back the three thousand dollars and legal fees. Ellen won the case.

  I sat back and thought about the brief dramatic scene Lola and I witnessed as we ate our taco salads. A lawsuit would certainly explain why the Cramptons seemed more than just a bit put out that Melody had left their precious dogs in the pen while tending to Ellen's poodle. Since they lost the case and had to pay damages, the sting of that loss would not easily be erased, even though four years had passed.

  I typed Horace and Belinda Crampton into the search bar and came up with a few blog posts from people prominent in the dog world. One of the posts took me to an old page on Ellen's blog where she was airing her grievances about the poodle puppy to her readers. The sudden death of the puppy had left her quite distraught. According to the post, she had been on a waiting list for one of the Crampton's puppies for three years.

  I clicked on more recent blog posts, including one from someone who called herself Dog Queen. She wrote an extensive piece about the rise and fall of Horace and Belinda Crampton. They had been the breeder of choice for show quality poodles until the tragic fiasco with Ellen.

  "Well, this is interesting," I said to myself. Nevermore was used to me talking to myself and didn't even raise his head. It sounded as if the Cramptons had had not only their livelihood but their entire reputation ruined by Ellen's lawsuit.

  I found another blog post mentioning the once renowned poodle breeders had switched to raising French bulldogs. One of their puppies had gone on to win many top prizes. That would explain why they seemed perfectly at ease and accepted at the Chesterton Dog Show. They had rebuilt their business and reputation with an entirely new breed. They had also begun dog training classes that were, according to the many reviews, a great success.

  I sat back to think about the information. It was easy to see why the Cramptons were speaking badly of Ellen Joyner at the dog show. They had obviously suffered great losses from the lawsuit. It apparently took several years to work their way back to the top. But they had done it, according to what I read. Could they still hold a big enough grudge against Ellen to kill her? Some people kept the thought of sweet revenge deep in their souls for years. Was it possible the Cramptons, even with their newfound success, still wanted that revenge?

  I closed the laptop and patted my computer. "Good ole' Mr. or Ms. Google. You've done it again."

  Chapter 24

  "That couple just put in an order for thirty centerpieces for a silver wedding anniversary," Ryder said as he popped his head into the office. "And they were both instant fans of Kingston, so I think your bird helped seal the deal. By the way, the woman, Charmaine, might have fed King just few more treats than usual."

  I finished my last purchase order and got up from the chair. "How many is more than usual?"

  Ryder looked sheepish. "I lost count after six."

  "Oh my gosh, he's going to be a grumpy bird for the rest of the day." We headed to the front of the shop. Kingston had, with some effort, gotten himself back up on his perch where he seemed determined to spend the rest of his day quietly digesting his treats. "That's what you get, Mr. Piggie. Still, you get bonus points for helping us sell thirty centerpieces." I turned to Ryder. "White roses?"

  "Yes, with baby's breath but we're only providing the flowers. They've ordered some specially engraved silver vases."

  "That'll be elegant. When is the anniversary? Please don't tell me next week because I just finished the purchase orders, and I didn't order more than two dozen white roses."

  Ryder picked up the order form. "The party is in October, so there's plenty of time. I'll go put this in the order folder. Then, if it's all right, I'm going to go to lunch early. Lola's parents are leaving tonight, so they wanted to go to Franki's for lunch."

  "I didn't realize they were leaving already. I haven't had a chance to talk to Lola. Have things calmed down?" I asked as I straightened our card rack.

  "Yes but only because they are leaving earlier than planned. Some rental house near the Alps had an opening, but they have to get there by tomorrow or lose the place." He walked to the back to put the order away.

  I glanced over my shoulder as the bell rang. I spun around. "James, what are you doing here?" He had traded swim trunks for a pair of running shorts. At least his t-shirt was on correctly. "I thought you'd be at home—"

  "Doing what? I couldn't take another second of sitting in my house." He walked over to say hello to Kingston. The bird hardly even moved his head in response. "What's up with you, grumpy?" he asked.

  "He bird schmoozed his way to six plus treats, and he's now living with the regret." I noticed his arm had new gauze around it. "Did you go to the doctor? What did he say?"

  "It's fine, just sore. I was feeling better, so I decided to head into my office to do some paperwork."

  "Then, since you're up and a little more clear-headed than the last few days, we can discuss the dog show murder case," I said with just a touch too much enthusiasm.

  "Whoa there, Sparky, what makes you think I know anything? I've been holed up in my house for a few days. The department makes a point of not bothering an injured officer with official stuff while he's recuperating."

  My shoulders sank. "So you don't know anything? Not even a teensy smidgen of something interesting?"

  "Sorry, I haven't talked to anyone. Like you said, this is my first clear-headed day since I got hurt." He walked over and took my hand. "But if I know my adorable investigative partner, she's probably got all kinds of theories and details."

  I pursed my lips side to side. "Not sure if I should divulge any of my information since it seems that on this particular case, I'm working completely independent from the police."

  "Lacey," he said with a raised brow.

  I shrugged. "I suppose I can tell you since it's nothing too significant. First of all, I went to see the woman who makes the pretty custom dog collars, like the one found around the victim's neck. I met her at the show because her vendor table was right next to Elsie's. Her name is Vivian. That particular collar was from her royal princess line, by the way. In case that's of interest to you."

  "Not particularly. Does the collar designer remember who she sold the collar to?"

  "No, in fact, after she thumbed through her fairly detailed receipts from the dog show, she discovered that she never sold it to anyone. The killer stole it off the table. There were a lot of people that day, so it would have been easy enough to do."

  "Guess that will make things harder. Although it would have been a fairly big misstep for a killer to purchase a unique, custom collar for the murder. And if you're already planning to commit the biggest crime of murder, it's probably easy to talk yourself into stealing."

  "All good points. I know the main focus is on Avery Hinkle, the competitor who lost her trophy to Ellen due to sabotage. Her dog was fed peanut butter just before they went on stage for judging."

  Briggs chuckled. "You have to admit, it's a pretty clever way to sabotage a dog show."

  "Clever, indeed, but it might just have resulted in the clever person's death."

  "So you think Ellen Joyner was the person to give the dog peanut butter?" he asked.

  "I did find peanut butter on her shirt. The strange thing about that, though, is there wasn't any on her hands. Still, Ellen had the most to gain from the peanut butter trick. Avery was very angry. It was quite the scene. However, my sleuthing expertise, namely a simple search on Google, provided me with another person, or I should
say persons of interest."

  I'd piqued his interest. At least I thought I had until his worried brow crease appeared. "Lacey, don't start chasing down suspects. Especially with me being"—he raised his bandaged arm—"as you so aptly put, vulnerable and all. Leave this to the Chesterton Police."

  "When have I ever chased down a suspect on my—" my voice trailed off. "Never mind, you're right. But this is different. I'm just going to talk to a nice, older couple, the Cramptons. They train dogs and breed champion French bulldogs."

  "Did you say Cramptons?" he smiled at the name. "That's one that was sure to get a few good jokes in elementary school. How are these Cramptons involved with the murder?"

  "The victim sued them for damages after she bought a sick puppy from them. She won the case, and their reputation took a hit." Just as I finished, the door swung open sharply.

  Les didn't even say hello. He went straight for James. "It's true then. Linda Burton walked into the coffee shop a few minutes ago and swore she saw Detective Briggs head into the flower shop." Les leaned down to get a good look at the bandage around Briggs' arm. "I heard it was a sharp knife." Les looked up. "And they nearly got your eye too. But you got the guys right? Put them all behind bars, I hope."

  "Sure did, Les. How are you doing?" Briggs asked.

  Les waved his hand. "A lot better than you, apparently. If you don't consider all those big cholesterol blockages Elsie insists are squeezing the life out of me." Right then, as if she knew she was being spoken about, Elsie came nearly flying into the bakery.

  Again, I was just an invisible entity in my own shop as Elsie walked purposefully toward Briggs. "Linda Burton just rushed into the bakery and said that Detective Briggs was in the flower shop loaded down with bandages."

  "Linda Burton moves quickly when there's gossip to be shared," I quipped.

  Elsie examined Briggs' arm and then tiptoed up to scrutinize the bandage next to his eye. "The skin isn't red or puckered so that's good. Are you taking your antibiotics?" she asked.

  "Good lord, woman," Les said, "isn't it enough that you pester your own brother like a concerned hen? Leave James alone. He's not a child."

  Briggs snuck me a wink. "I'm taking my antibiotics, and it's all healing fine. Thank you both for coming over to check on me, but I just stopped by to let Lacey know I was heading down to the station for some office work."

  Les patted Briggs on his shoulder. "That's what you call dedication. Now that I've seen that our favorite detective is out and about, only a little worse for wear, I'm heading back to make coffee. Don't over exert yourself."

  "Thanks, Les, I won't. I'll walk out with you." Briggs turned and winked at me again. "I'll talk to you later and stay out of trouble."

  "Where's the fun in that?" I asked, then quickly assured him I was only teasing.

  The men walked out. Elsie turned to me with a look of grave concern. "He looked pale. Don't you think he looked pale?"

  "A little but then who wouldn't after being sliced and stitched all within a few hours. He's fine. How is everything at the bakery?"

  "Great. I'm all caught up with my work after spending Saturday at the park. Did they find out who killed the lady in the trailer?"

  "Not yet but Inspector Pinkerton is working on it."

  Chapter 25

  With my usual partner off the case, I relied on my other partner, the internet, to find out where and how I might meet up with the Cramptons. I was in luck. A quick search showed they operated their businesses, both the training facility and the breeding kennel, right out of their own home. It made sense that they lived on Maplewood Road just off of Culpepper. That area was all farms and old homes with big lots that were still zoned for agriculture.

  It would be an easy trip to accomplish on my lunch hour. Their website claimed visitors were welcome which was all the invitation I needed. It would be easy enough to pretend to be interested in their training program.

  I nibbled my homemade cream cheese and tomato sandwich as I drove along Culpepper Road. It was late enough in a hot summer that most of the pastures and vegetable gardens were already past their fresh green prime. Pumpkin patches were starting to become the crowning glory of the small farms I passed along the way. It wouldn't be long before the summer sun shifted to a different location over our pleasant planet, coaxing cooler temperatures and the explosion of fiery colors that came with it.

  It was at that point in summer where I was more than ready to say good-bye to shorts and sandals and high temperatures. I looked ever forward to summer, but I was just as glad to see it trudge lazily away so fall could take over.

  I turned on Maplewood Road, a small semi-paved path that rolled out between several farms. A sign at the end of the path was painted with the words H and B's Dog Training. While looking up the location of their training business, I'd discovered that they had called it H and B's rather than the Crampton's. That might have had to do with their struggle to rebuild their business after the lawsuit or it might just have been for marketing purposes. The name Crampton was sort of unique and memorable but it didn't exactly roll off the tongue.

  I parked my car in the smooth section of dirt marked for visitors. The farmhouse was the typical turn of the century kind that lined Culpepper Road. It had an expansive front porch that curled around to the side of the house. The wraparound porch, charming shuttered windows and robin's egg blue front door made the house worthy of the cover of a country lifestyle magazine. I had to admit, I experienced more than a touch of envy as I walked toward the picturesque house. It was the kind of home most of us dreamt of, or at least those of us who preferred the quiet, bucolic life country living offered.

  One of the French bulldogs, either Hamilton or Caprese or possibly even a matching sibling, was sitting on the top step of the porch staring down with his oversized eyes. His ears reminded me of a bat but the rest of him was all adorableness. Not that bats couldn't be adorable in some ways, to certain people, anyhow. I supposed it was the same with Kingston. I adored him and considered him adorable, but I had seen plenty of customers look askance at the big black bird as they walked into the shop. Then there was the delightful town mayor who despised my bird nearly as much as he despised me.

  "Hello, are you here for a tour?" a voice called from an outbuilding. The voice belonged to a youngish woman who was wearing khaki shorts, a t-shirt and short work boots.

  I walked her direction. Sometimes it was easier to get information out of an employee or friend than it was the actual person of interest. Her nametag said Sharon. In gold print, under her name, were the words 'head trainer'.

  "Hello, yes, I just wanted to see the facility and find out more about the training program."

  Sharon had glittery brown eyes and a nice wide smile. "Sure thing. I'm Sharon, head trainer. What kind of dog do you have?"

  It was the next logical question and one I hadn't prepared for. My mind went straight to Bear, the only dog in my life at the moment. "He's a big mutt. We found him on the street. I'd say he's one and a half years old. We don't expect him to do pirouettes and make our coffee in the morning, just sit and stay and not steal food off the counter. The basics. Oh, and if you have any tips about dogs getting along with cats," I tossed in at the end, thinking I might as well make my lie worthwhile. Briggs and I still hadn't found the courage to put Bear and Nevermore in the same room after their first disastrous meeting where Never ran straight up a tree to keep away from Bear.

  "The dog-cat relationship can be tricky, but I think you'll find once your dog learns the basic commands, it's much easier to keep him from terrorizing the cat. Although, I can't help you the other way around. Cats are their own masters, and, as you probably know, they don't take orders from anyone."

  I laughed. "I have noticed that, yes."

  "If you follow me, I can show you some pamphlets describing the different training courses we offer." We stepped into a small office. A black and white French bulldog lifted his big head from a plush pillow.

&nbs
p; "We're not here to see you, Sheba," Sharon said lightly. "Go back to your nap." As if the dog understood every word, she dropped her head and closed her big eyes. Sharon began to pull pamphlets out of a rack on the wall.

  "How are the Cramptons doing after that terrible dog show on Saturday? I still can't believe how it ended," I said casually.

  Sharon turned around with her brochures. "Were you there? It's awful to think someone was murdered right in the middle of all the activity." I followed her to a counter where she laid out the pamphlets.

  "I was there helping a friend. It was my first time at a dog show. I assume they don't all end like that. Did you know Ellen Joyner?" I asked. "I saw her win the show. Then there was the scene that followed with Avery Hinkle."

  "I wasn't at the show. I had classes to teach, but I heard the whole dreadful thing from Belinda. The Cramptons weren't friends with Ellen"—she gave a little smirk—"far from it, in fact. But they were both quite shaken when they got home. No one expects a dog show to end in murder but then there has never been such a blatant act of sabotage either. Ellen wanted to win so badly, it seemed she resorted to cheating."

  "See, I don't know much about the dog show circuit or the people involved in it. I just thought the whole thing on stage, with the one woman yelling at the winner, was just a case of bad sportsmanship. So the woman who was murdered cheated her way to the trophy?"

  "No one knows for sure, but it does seem most likely that Ellen did it."

  Sheba woke from her nap and walked over for a greeting. I leaned down and gave her a good rubbing on her back. I was hoping to pick up the scent of her shampoo. I pretended to itch my nose after I straightened. "Hmm, I smell peppermint."

  Sharon's eyes rounded. "Wow, you have a good nose. Sheba hasn't had a bath in at least two weeks, yet you can still smell her shampoo."

  "Yes, it's very fresh smelling. When I was at the show, I noticed most of the dogs were using Ellen Joyner's Lavender Pooch. I guess the Cramptons don't like lavender?"