It started raining a little before nine and continued all night long. Finally, at four fifteen, when our alarm went off, the rain had dissipated.
“At least I won’t have to carry Streetman into the park with him growling and squirming because he hates getting wet,” I said. “It’s supposed to clear up.”
“What about the wet grass?” Marshall asked.
“Hopefully he’ll be too preoccupied scoping out the other dogs to make a fuss.” If I’m lucky.
“What exactly does your mother think you’ll be able to glean from Cindy Dolton?”
“Anything and everything related to Betsy’s cold, stiff body. Cindy’s ears and tentacles have a wide reach and she attracts information like a black cardigan does with lint.”
“Information or rumors?”
“A little of both but we can sift through them.”
“In all my years as a detective, I never expected to go the gossip chain route. But if the past is any indication, I regret not doing it back in Mankato.”
“I regret every part of it.”
We both laughed and hustled to get going. Me to the park and Marshall to the office for an early morning meeting with Nate.
“Hold on, Phee,” my mother said when I started to walk Streetman to her front door. He was already leashed and anxious to get moving. “I have doggie boots for him. Cute little red ones. They match his tartan.”
“He’s not going to like them.”
“Once he gets used to them, he’ll be fine. He doesn’t like getting his paws wet.”
“I thought it was just his fur.”
“It’s everything. That’s why I enrolled him in doggie swim classes at Kimberly’s Doggie Spa in Surprise. He started a few days ago.”
“You what? Why would you do a thing like that?”
“Because you never know when he’s going to need that skill. What if he fell off an ocean liner?”
I was about to respond when something hit me. That dog could very well wind up on an ocean cruise if my mother takes one. Heck, she drags that little nipper everywhere.
“Um, good thinking ahead.”
“I bought him a doggie life vest. A nice orange one.”
“And he doesn’t mind wearing it?”
“He’ll get accustomed to it in time.”
I watched as my mother struggled with the little chiweenie to put on those boots. It was like alligator wrestling but with a smaller, cuter animal.
Yep, he’ll get accustomed to that life vest, all right! When the polar ice caps melt.
“There. All set.” She handed me the leash and we started for the door. Well, I started for the door. The dog bent down and tried to bite one of the boots.
“I’m carrying him, Mom. Much easier.”
With that, I went straight to the car, plunked him in the passenger seat and prayed for the best. At least it had stopped raining. When I got to the park, I noticed most of the people converged in one corner, along with Cindy.
Then I took a closer look and winced. A woman had one of those dog throw launchers in full force. Every time she let it go, she yelled “Wa-hoo” at the top of her lungs. A small tan and white dog chased after the ball while everyone else ducked for their lives.
“That’s the ‘Wa-hoo’ lady,” Cindy said. “She’s a snowbird from Washington. Said she left her hearing aids back there. But she said that last year, too.”
Wordless, I kept watching.
“She’s a lovely lady,” Cindy went on, “and so is Vincent, her dog. But oh, that noise! If I hear one more ‘Wa-hoo,’ I may lose it. Say, what’s Streetman doing over there?”
I turned to my left and watched as he furiously tried to remove a boot from his rear leg.
“My mother insisted on putting boots on his paws. Hey, at least he’s staying out of trouble for a few minutes. Listen, I hoped I could ask you what you know about that bizarre death in the auto restoration garage.”
“You mean Betsy Sprigs’s murder? You can say it. It’s been on the news.”
“What have you heard that wasn’t on the news? Her body was found under the car belonging to one of my mother’s friends.”
“Yep. Wayne something-or-other. Heard that, too. But what you didn’t hear was how those analysts figured out it was premeditated murder and not an accident. My brother-in-law is a failure analyst in Seattle and his company is the one working with our sheriff’s office.”
Hmm, they’re using the big guns on this one.
“What? What didn’t I hear?”
“The tech team studied the hoist device and concluded that its composition, wear and tear, and longevity did not contribute to the failure. It was totally hydraulic so that meant no cables or pulleys that could have been tampered with, but all someone needed to do was puncture a hole into the hydraulic line and that’s exactly what happened. No accident. It was sabotage.”
“So, you’re telling me the fluid leaked out and the car came down?”
“Yeah. Pretty much. And the impact of the car was what killed Betsy. I don’t know all the particulars but believe me, that investigation was thorough. They brought in a seasoned crew that worked twenty-four hours straight using the most accurate computerized diagnostic system. Of course, there’s more work to be done, but this preliminary finding won’t change.”
“Um, it sounds even more gruesome with all of those details, but were you able to home in on who might have been responsible? Surely the scuttlebutt was up and running.”
“Here’s where it gets interesting. Betsy had issues with everyone in the club and was going to be axed from her position, but were you aware that she was also axed from working bingo?”
“Yeah, heard that too.”
“Uh-huh, but what you haven’t heard is the real reason. She was accused of tampering with the bingo balls by switching them out to skew the results. Face it, thousand-dollar payoffs, even split a couple of ways, still adds up.”
“Could anyone prove anything?”
Cindy shook her head. “No, but let’s just say more than a few people were furious. Ever watch one of those bingo games in action? Absolutely cutthroat. My guess is that someone got even. Someone who knew their way around an auto shop as well as a bingo parlor.”
“But why involve Wayne and his car?”
“Probably because it was convenient at the time.”
Tell that to Wayne.
I gulped. “Listen, that’s not the only inquiry I’ve got. Have you heard anything about a priceless doll that was stolen from the Phoenix Art Museum when it went on loan to the unity council?”
“Watched the special on TV last night. I was about to tell you that I thought your husband did a good job fielding questions from that reporter, but no. I haven’t heard anything yet. Yet. Give it time for the gossip train to leave the station. Someone’s bound to know something and no one can keep their mouths shut.”
“Thanks. I’ll be sure to check in again when—” And just then I heard an ear-piercing shriek. I spun my head around expecting to see Streetman engaged in one of his amorous “meet-and-greets” with another dog, but thankfully it wasn’t him. It was worse.
The “Wa-hoo” lady launched her yellow ball but instead of Vincent retrieving it, another, slightly larger dog went after it and snatched it up. The lady’s scream was louder than her “Wa-hoos.” Followed by, “Drop it! Drop it! Drop that ball this instant.” As if the dog understood.
Cindy and I watched in disbelief as the woman chased after the dog, hands flailing with Vincent scurrying behind her.
“Do you know who the dog’s owner is?” I asked Cindy.
“I’ve only seen that sheltie once or twice. Gee, there are at least fifteen people over there but no one’s making a move.”
They probably don’t want to get hammered by that launcher. It’s Sun City West’s version of a lethal weapon.
Meanwhile, the “Wa-hoo” lady tore after the dog like Alexander the Great’s army. But the soldiers in Alexander’s army weren’t running on slippery grass. At least I didn’t think so. I watched in horror as one of her feet skidded out from under her and she landed facedown in what I prayed was a pile of leaves.
To make matters worse, Vincent jumped on her back and started nuzzling her neck.
“I’ve got rubber mocs on,” I said, turning my head to Cindy. “For walking. Not running.” Don’t need to be the second person breathing in the who-knows-what on the ground.
“Take a look! The crowd beat you to it!”
Sure enough, the fifteen or so people who hunkered down at the far end of the park were now converging on the “Wa-hoo” lady, offering all sorts of suggestions.
“Get up on your elbows!”
“Move your knees in and stand!”
“Roll on your side!”
When none of that worked, two brawny-looking men rushed over and in their attempt to grab her arms, they managed to push her further into the ground. Her arms splayed apart and next thing I knew, she was facedown in the muck and mire. Or whatever it was.
Finally, she stood. Speechless. Cindy handed her one of the dog park towels that are used to sop up water messes by the benches. The woman recoiled and didn’t say a word. Then she took out Vincent’s leash and secured it to his collar.
“Is there anything we can do?” I asked. Her face had brown and yellow streaks running down from the forehead to her chin.
“What? I can’t hear you!”
“Do you need help?” I shouted, suddenly remembering she didn’t have her hearing aids.
“What I need is a shower. And better-behaved dogs at this park. Vincent doesn’t want anyone to touch his playthings.”
With that, she left the park.
“I hate to think what her car is going to smell like,” Cindy said.
“I’m just elated this was one incident Streetman wasn’t involved in.”
“Don’t say that too soon. Look!”
Sure enough, the little chiweenie had managed to extricate one of his red boots from a paw and was engaged in a tug-of-war over it with a Yorkie.
“Oh brother. Just what I need.” I walked over to the dog, leash in hand, just as the Yorkie’s owner approached. He put his hands on his hips and shouted, “Spartacus! Let go! Spartacus, stop!”
The Yorkie paid absolutely no attention and neither did Streetman.
“I’ll leash my dog,” I said. “Well, not my dog—because I’d rather own a tapir than Streetman—he’s my mother’s dog.”
The man cocked his head and squinted. “Weren’t you checking out Wayne’s Mustang at the auto club garage the night before Betsy Sprig’s body was found?” Before I could answer, he continued. “I volunteered to organize the paint cabinets. Should have brought my noise-canceling headphones to drown her and Holt out. Not the first time they sparred, but like I told the investigator they sent, I seriously doubt Holt’s her killer.” Then he glanced at Streetman and Spartacus. “Who wants to risk losing a limb getting them away from each other?”
“Hold on. I can remedy this.” I reached in my bag and pulled out a string cheese. I hadn’t even gotten the wrapper off when Streetman let go of his boot and lunged for the treat. The man immediately snatched Spartacus from the ground and pressed him to his chest.
“Thanks. Name’s Jared. Jared Loundsby. Been a club member for over ten years and Betsy was the last person I would have expected to see underneath a car.”
“Because she was murdered?”
“No, because she didn’t like messing up her fingernails. They had to be absolutely perfect. I was in the garage once when one of her bright red nails split and you would have thought an axle fell off of something. Nope, Betsy was more of a give-orders gal than a worker bee, if you know what I mean.”
“Hmm, guess it begs the question, ‘What was she doing under there?”’
“More than begs. It is the question if you ask me.”