Murber Strikes a Pose Page 12

  “She’s not my dog,” I automatically replied. We both watched the canine-feline drama unfold. Bella stared intently at the filing cabinet, softly whining. I wasn’t so sure about Betty’s “good with cats” comment. A far as I could tell, Bella would have liked nothing better than to sink her teeth into the feline hors d’oeuvre of the day. Diablo, on the other hand, flattened himself rigidly on top of the filing cabinet and glared at Bella, claws fully exposed and ears plastered against his head. I envisioned flying fur, slicing claws, and spraying blood in my future.

  “Maybe I should put Bella back in the car,” I suggested, pointedly looking at Diablo. Diablo was, after all, the Spanish word for “devil.” I was pretty sure I knew how that cat got his name. I didn’t know whether Bella or Diablo would win the upcoming battle, but I didn’t want to find out the hard way.

  Betty didn’t appear to share my concern. “Just leave them be,” she replied. “They’ll get used to each other soon enough.” Betty sat down behind her desk and ignored the two feuding animals. Bella reluctantly left the filing cabinet to lie down on the floor beside me. Diablo half-closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.

  Betty reviewed her notes. “So, this girl has EPI, eh? That’s too bad. A serious illness narrows down the adopter pool considerably.” She turned the page. “And you say she’s not good with other dogs?”

  “Hates them,” I replied. “And she’s not too fond of some men, either. She can be a real handful around a man she doesn’t like.”

  Betty set down the papers and leaned back in her chair. “Well then, we have ourselves a problem, don’t we? I didn’t realize she wasn’t good with men. That complicates things.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean?”

  “Aggression toward humans raises my risk substantially.” She put the cap back on her pen and laid it on the desktop. “There’s a certain amount of liability in running a rescue, but aggressiveness, especially toward people, makes it worse by a factor of ten. Most places would euthanize her.”

  Seriously? I’d driven all the way out here only to be told to put Bella down? To my horror, I started to beg. “Please don’t give up on her. It’s not all men, just men with beards. She’s a great dog and—”

  “Enough,” Betty said firmly, interrupting my plea. “If you want my help, you need to stop talking and let me finish.”

  I stopped talking.

  “As I was saying, most places would euthanize Bella. But I’m willing to work with you.”

  “Really?” I smiled hopefully.

  Betty didn’t smile back.

  “On two conditions.” She held up her index and middle fingers. “First, you need to foster Bella in your home until she finds a permanent owner, and that could be awhile.”

  My begging amped up to pleading. “But your web site says that you have foster homes all over the state! Can’t one of them take her in? They’re probably much better equipped to deal with Bella’s issues than I am. I’m not even a dog person—everyone knows I’m the crazy cat lady!”

  “Give yourself a little credit. Looks like you’re doing fine so far. Better than most, actually.” She reached over to scratch Bella’s ears. “In an ideal world, we probably would put Bella in a home with an experienced German shepherd owner. But our foster homes are all overfull, and they likely will be for a while. Do you honestly think I want ten dogs?”

  I sensed that was a rhetorical question, so I didn’t reply. She continued. “When I started this work, I thought I’d easily find homes for my special needs dogs. The reality’s quite different. Very few people will adopt dogs with significant health issues. Dogs with behavior problems, well, I might die of old age before I find one of them a good home.

  “Most of us here at Fido’s Last Chance end up being what are called ‘foster failures.’ We try for years to find homes for these dogs, then end up adopting them ourselves because no one else will. Eventually, even we reach our limits.”

  Betty put her elbows on the desk and laced her fingers together. “So, Kate, like it or not, it’s you or nothing. You’re all Bella’s got.”

  I knew I could change her mind; I simply needed to be strong. I stared her down, doing my best impression of an alpha dog asserting its authority.

  Betty stared right back, not even blinking. I can’t explain it, but I suddenly wanted to back up, look away, yawn, and lick my lips. If I’d been a golden retriever, I would have rolled on my back and shown her my belly in defeat.

  “OK. I’ll keep Bella for now, but only until something else opens up.” I desperately hoped she was exaggerating about how long that would be.

  “That’s not all,” Betty added.

  “Second, you’ll have to invest in some training. We can put Bella in the system tonight, but placing a special needs dog with aggression issues is next to impossible. So if I were you, I’d start calling positive trainers first thing in the morning.”

  “Positive trainers?”

  “Yes. Trainers that use reward-based methods in their work. That kind of training may take longer, but it’s more humane and, I believe, more effective in the long run than punishment-based methods.”

  “Maybe I should keep looking for a shelter with space,” I said, discouraged.

  Betty’s years in rescue must have left her pragmatic. “I’m sorry, Kate, but I’m going to be brutally honest here. Even if you find a shelter that’s willing to take Bella, an environment like that is too stressful. You’d be torturing her. Sensitive dogs like Bella never make it.” Although she patted Bella with affection, her implication was clear.

  “You have a decision to make. If you can’t work with Bella, then you need to do what’s right and let her go.” In case I was completely oblivious, she added, “Go to doggy heaven, that is.”

  Betty and I stared at each other in silence. I thought about George and how much Bella had meant to him—how much she had enhanced his otherwise tragic life. Killing her wasn’t an option. I signed on the dotted line.

  “Beautiful,” Betty said, standing and slapping her thighs. “Now we have one final item of business. Bring Bella over here and let me scan her for a microchip.”

  “She doesn’t have one,” I quickly asserted, hoping against hope that would close the issue. I’d neglected to share a couple of minor details about Bella’s origins. I was afraid Betty wouldn’t take a stolen dog.

  Betty’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “How could you possibly know whether or not she’s microchipped? According to your story, you got her from a dead homeless guy, and he found her abandoned.”

  Busted.

  “Well,” I said stammering, “maybe abandoned was too strong a word. She was more like lost. But she was much too young to have a chip, I’m sure, and—”

  “Stop right there, child,” Betty said, holding up her palm. “I can tell when I’m being hoodwinked. Now the truth, please. Spit it out.”

  I don’t know why I expected her to be so gullible; Betty obviously knew people even better than she knew dogs. I reluctantly shared what I knew of Bella’s early life, her mistreatment, and how George “rescued” her from her own front yard.

  “So, you see, even if she has a microchip, Bella can’t possibly go back to those people.”

  “I can sympathize, but it doesn’t matter,” Betty replied. “Before I place a dog, especially a purebred dog, I have to look for a possible owner. If I got caught placing stolen dogs, I’d be out of business like that.” She snapped her fingers.

  “Besides, how do you know your friend told you the truth? Maybe Bella wasn’t abused at all. People steal puppies all the time. Sometimes they have the best intentions. They see a puppy tied up outside a grocery store and assume it’s abandoned. Other times they steal a pup right out of its yard, like your friend did. Not because the dog is abused, but because it’s cute.

  “My point is, Bella may have
a legal owner who wants her back. Her real family might have given up looking after all this time, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t wanted.”

  I listened to Betty’s lecture in silence. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it one bit. But how well did I know George, really? I agreed to the scan.

  As Betty ran the scanner over Bella’s shoulders, I closed my eyes and prayed. Please, God, please don’t let her be chipped. If you let this one thing turn out OK—”

  “Well, look at that!” Betty exclaimed. “I got a hit! We may be in luck.” She pulled up a web site and entered a number. “The office is closed right now, but I’ll give them a call first thing tomorrow.”

  My horrified expression betrayed my fears.

  “Look, honey, don’t worry so much,” Betty said, patting my hand. “If Bella’s original owners are the deadbeats your friend described, they either won’t be registered anymore, or they won’t want Bella back. If they do want her back, then they’re probably a lot better people than you think.” She stood up and grabbed a camera.

  “In any case, we won’t know anything until tomorrow. For now, get Bella to sit pretty. I’ll take her photo and post her profile in the online adoption center. Then you should head on home and start calling trainers. If this microchip ends up being a dead end, you’re going to have your work cut out for you.”

  fifteen

  After a sleepless night of obsessive worry, I returned to the place I knew best: the wonderful land of denial. A kind, benevolent world in which Bella’s microchip would be a dead end. A land in which I, and I alone, would control Bella’s fate. In my fantasy, all Bella needed was a tiny bit of training. And if Bella needed training, by God, Bella would get training.

  A small-time trainer who posted on pet store bulletin boards would never do. So as soon as I finished teaching the lunchtime yoga class, I opened the studio’s desk drawer and pulled out the time-tested marketing tool of successful businesses everywhere: The Yellow Pages. I ultimately settled on the trainer with the biggest listing. I knew how much those ads cost; I practically cried every month when I wrote the check for Serenity Yoga’s tiny, three-line listing. If a business could afford an ad that size—in color no less—it must have lots of satisfied customers, right? And the quarter-page advertisement contained musical phrases like “Quick results guaranteed” and “We do the hard work for you!”

  The man who answered the phone was all too willing to work with me, in spite of Bella’s issues. When I asked him about the cost, he quickly assured me. “We’re not the cheapest, but you get what you pay for. And we take all major credit cards.”

  “Are you a positive trainer?” I asked.

  “Absolutely,” he replied. “I’m positive my methods work.”

  I hesitated a moment, underimpressed by his overdeveloped ego. But then I decided, what the heck? After so much negativity, Bella and I could use a little can-do attitude for a change. I set up an appointment for later in the week.

  That settled and Bella’s adoption profile online, I could finally focus on solving George’s murder. But where to start? Almost a week had passed since that awful night, so the killer’s trail was probably close to stone cold. I considered harassing Martinez and Henderson, but that seemed worthless; even if they were actively working the case, they’d be more likely to arrest me for obstruction than give out any useful information.

  Thinking about George made my heart ache. I missed him, and I wished he and Bella were outside causing trouble. For a moment, I allowed myself the luxury of daydreaming. In my imagination George waved at me, smiling, as Bella happily drooled by his side. I handed him a one-hundred-dollar bill and said, “Keep the change.” The paper’s prominent headline declared: “Yoga Teacher Wins Lottery and Donates Half to Local Homeless Charities.”

  I knew the day’s actual headlines said nothing of the sort, but it was my daydream, after all. Besides, I hadn’t bought a paper since George’s demise, so—

  Of course! I hadn’t bought a paper. But there was nothing stopping me from buying one, or from grilling its seller for information. A new Dollars for Change vendor had set up shop in front of the PhinneyWood Market. Who knew what interesting information he might be willing to share, especially if I made it worth his while? The snitches on all my favorite cop shows opened right up when the savvy detective handed them a bank note.

  I grabbed two ten-dollar bills from the cash box, vowing to cancel cable to make up for the expenditure. Watching television was a bad habit anyway, and I could always hone my detective skills at the library. If Advanced Investigation Techniques for Dummies and The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Solving Your Friend’s Murder hadn’t been published yet, they should have been.

  The new vendor didn’t remind me of George in the slightest. Young, blond, wearing frayed jeans and Birkenstocks, he looked like a down-on-his-luck surfer dude, dreadlocks and all. I could easily imagine him on Maui’s Baldwin Beach, living for the opportunity to catch the next big wave. A sweet, smoky smell emanated from his jacket—much sweeter than the average tobacco, if you know what I mean.

  Hoping to get in his good graces, I handed him one of the tens and took a paper. “Keep the change.”

  “Thanks, lady,” he said, pocketing the money.

  “I’m Kate. I work over at the yoga studio. You’re new here, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, I used to sell over by the Mini Mart, but this is a much better spot—more foot traffic and better tips.” He smiled, revealing a chipped front tooth. “Pretty sweet.”

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind,”

  “Time is money.” He looked at my purse. “Got another of those tens?”

  So much for my good graces strategy. Vowing never to pay up-front again, I pulled out the second ten-dollar bill.

  “I’ll give you this, but first we talk. I’m trying to find a new home for Bella, and I’m hoping you can help.”

  “Who’s Bella?”

  “She’s a German shepherd I’m fostering. She belonged to George Levin, the man who sold Dollars for Change here before you.” I lowered my voice. “Did you know he was murdered?”

  “Yeah, I heard.” He shuddered. “Gruesome. How’d you end up with his dog?”

  “It’s a long story, but I can’t keep her much longer. I thought one of his friends would take her, but so far I’m not having much luck.”

  “I’ve been thinking about getting a dog myself. Everyone knows a dog increases the take, especially near a place like this,” he said, nodding toward Pete’s Pets. “I might even make a sign that says ‘Need money for dog food.’ That gets ’em every time.”

  Note to self: Never believe what you read on signs.

  “But I’m going to get something cute, little, and floppy eared,” he continued. “You know, some mutt that’ll attract kids and chicks. I’m certainly not going to get a monster that looks like an overgrown wolf and acts like a wolverine. Everyone said George was crazy to keep that dog.”

  “So you knew George?”

  “Dollars for Change isn’t exactly a huge corporation, lady. Everyone pretty much knows everyone else.” He shrugged. “We weren’t friends or anything.”

  “Do you know if he had any enemies?”

  “Not that I know of, but like I said, we weren’t friends.” He looked at me suspiciously. “Why are you asking about George’s enemies, anyway? Are you seriously going to give his dog to someone he hated? That’s cold, lady.”

  My Miss Marple routine needed some work. I changed the subject before he stopped talking to me altogether.

  “Honestly, I’m just curious. I found his body.”

  My Surfer Dude friend shook his head, looked at the ground, and sighed. “That sucks, man. That really sucks.”

  Not very eloquent, but accurate nonetheless.

  “Yes, and it’s got me a little freaked out. I guess I
’m searching for a reason—you know—a reason why this happened to George and not me.”

  “It’s all about karma, lady. Payback. You can’t avoid it if you try.”

  Adrenaline surged from my fingertips to my toes. Now I was getting somewhere. Only twenty dollars and ten minutes into my investigation, and I was about to uncover a crucial clue. Not bad for a newbie.

  “Payback?” I said, edging closer. “Did George do something bad? Something worth getting killed over?”

  Surfer Dude frowned. “Nah, you’re not listening. I already told you, I didn’t know the dude. I have no idea why someone offed him. I’m talking about karma. Universal. Life. Karma.” He pointed toward the studio. “Since you work at the yoga place, you should know all about it. The crap that happens to us in this life is payback for all the stupid stuff we did last time. George must have been really bad in one of his past lives to get himself killed this go-around. Maybe he was a vicious dictator or a serial killer … Heck, maybe he was even a Republican.

  “But it doesn’t matter, lady. You can’t stop karma. You can only ride the wave and hope for a better trip next time.”

  I ignored my new friend’s flawed interpretation of Eastern philosophy. If Surfer Dude didn’t know anything about George’s death, maybe he could connect me with someone who did.

  “You’re probably right,” I said, pretending to be relieved. “I’ll stop worrying about it.” I held up the second ten-dollar bill. “But back to my original question, do you know any of George’s friends? I still need to find someone who’ll take this dog off my hands.”

  “Sorry, lady, like I said, I didn’t really know him. But if I were you, I’d go to the paper’s main office and ask around there. It’s not like they keep a lot of records or anything, but someone there might at least know if George had family.”

  “Thanks, I will.” I handed him the money and walked away.

  _____

  Before heading back to the studio, I stopped at the car to check on Bella. One look at me and she started to whine, squirm, and moan, acting like she’d been stuck in the car for a thousand years. That girl needed a walk, and she needed it bad.