Mary slowed the car, conscious of those behind her, impatiently wanting to pick up speed on Hwy 46, that were forced to slow. Her directions said turn left at the Golden Hills Winery. There it was, and there was a left-hand turn lane. She thankfully took it. The winery was large and impressive, and she slowed to admire it, but not for long. She’d been meaning to come out here for some time. Naomi Bliss and her husband, Bill, owned it. She and Naomi were on a committee together at St Mark’s, but somehow she’d never made the time to take the tour. It wasn’t going to happen today, either. She was already behind schedule.
The women at the Lutheran church fundraiser wanted information along with their muffins. Most of them knew – had known – Cliff and were visibly upset. How could anyone … Was he really … Was Mary sure he hadn’t had a heart attack? He hadn’t been well for some time – surely he hadn’t … Did Mary think … Was she really the one who found the body? Only one person mentioned the children. She glossed over the question about them quickly. The rest of the questions she tried to answer as best she could, but she didn’t have any real answers. She’d broken away as soon as possible. She wanted to get the pet food Bonnie collected so she could sit in on the interview – she refused to think of it as questioning – Dan was going to conduct with the children. Dan would never bully them, but he needed to find out what they saw. Sometimes the police – well, zeal could take over good sense. She wasn’t at all sure those kids knew what they’d seen, and too much questioning was only going to muddy the waters. They were sure about one thing: the puppy. Where he came from, she had no idea, but somehow he was important. So was finding the right street. This area was new, built up over the last year, and she had no idea where she was. She didn’t know anyone who lived out here. It was a new experience for her and one she found unsettling.
‘Blast.’ Mary glanced at her watch. She was running late. She hated being late. Her mother always said— There it was. Mary Beth Lane. Bonnie had said her place was a yellow Spanish-style stucco house set close to the street at the end of the cul-de-sac. A dry fountain and a flower bed that needed weeding sat between the street and the circular drive. A high board fence defined the boundaries of Bonnie’s pie-shaped lot, broken only by a wide gate along one side. It opened to reveal Bonnie, waving at Mary.
‘What? I can’t hear you.’ Mary rolled down her window and leaned out a little.
‘I said, come in here. It’ll be easier to load up the dog food.’
Mary eased the car through the gate. Bonnie trotted ahead, gesturing for her to stop in front of a long, shed-type building. High-pitched barks serenaded Mary as she climbed out of the car.
‘These are my kennels.’ Bonnie gestured at the long, one-story red board building. There was a white door in the middle, with several windows on each side, trimmed in white boards. The barks came from wire-fenced runs barely visible along the back.
‘The food’s in here.’ Bonnie opened the white door and entered. Mary assumed she was to follow but paused to look around. Bonnie’s property backed up to a vineyard, the vines just visible as they rose up the hill. Golden Hills? Probably. There was an old two-story barn inside Bonnie’s back fence line. The long metal pole once used to hoist hay bales into the loft was still there. So was an old rooster weather vane perched on top of the barn roof. The dirt driveway she’d entered on ran down the side of the property, past the kennel building, turned in front of the barn and continued down the far side of the property, toward the street, and ended in a parking area of some sort right behind the house. The driveway in front of the kennels was evidently a small spur. Did Bonnie keep dogs in that old barn as well? It would be a good choice. She doubted grapevines cared if dogs barked.
She entered the doorway and was in the middle of a wide aisle that ran the length of the building, chain-link fencing on the side facing her, closed doors into rooms that faced the drive on the other. The fencing on the kennels side was interspersed with gates leading into individual pens separated by smooth board fencing that ended a little more than halfway to the ceiling. Sliding doors open along the back revealed the long-fenced runs visible when she parked. What appeared to be a large exercise yard in the middle separating the runs contained a low automatic water bowl, an assortment of well-chewed toys and four puppies running circles, yelping as they ran. There were two black-and-white ones, one black and one a soft golden brown. The golden-brown pup was delicate looking, with an exaggerated indentation between the nose and forehead and large liquid-brown eyes. It looked at Mary, walked over to the fence, sat and cocked its head to one side. Her heart lurched. Quit it. The last thing I need is a puppy.
A single black dog stood by the kennels next to the exercise yard. He stared at Mary without moving, his ears long and silky, feathers on his legs and sides without a tangle.
‘Oh. He’s beautiful.’ Mary didn’t know much about dogs, but there was no mistaking this one was special, and knew it.
‘That’s Champion Seaside Manor Over the Moon. Better known as Bart.’ The dog’s stub of a tail wagged slightly and his head came up. ‘He’s used to being admired.’ Bonnie’s tone changed as she smiled at the dog. ‘Aren’t you, big boy?’ The stub wagged harder. Bonnie’s smile faded. ‘He’s bored. He likes to show. He also likes to breed. He’s not scheduled to do either, which is a shame. A couple of bookings or a little prize money would help right now.’ She ran an arm over her brow, leaving a faint streak, then looked down at herself. ‘I’ve been cleaning pens.’
That explained it. Bonnie wore jeans that needed a trip to the washer, a sweatshirt that had been there many times and running shoes. Her usually immaculate red hair didn’t look as if it had been combed yet this morning. It was the first time Mary had seen Bonnie without a full face of makeup. She had to be somewhere in her fifties, and today it showed.
Bonnie flushed a little under Mary’s scrutiny and opened a door across the aisle from the majestic black cocker. ‘The food’s in here. If you’ll go pop your trunk, I’ll carry it out. I’m sure there will be someone at the can tree who’ll unload them for you.’
Mary glanced into the room, which seemed to be a feed and grooming room. There was a bathtub at one end and a table in the middle with a clipper that looked large enough to shear a sheep hanging from a hook above it. The side of the room closest to the door held brown sacks clearly marked ‘Stillman’s Special Mix Dog Food.’ The shelves above them were stacked with clean metal bowls along with pails and measuring scoops. Six cases of canned dog food were piled up close to the door.
‘Are you giving us all your dog food?’ Surely Bonnie wouldn’t do that, but she didn’t see any more around.
‘I don’t feed canned. The dry food in those sacks is specially formulated. We start the puppies out with the little pieces, then they graduate to the adult food, and that’s what they get the rest of their lives. Most people buy the kind you get in the grocery store, and that’s fine, but these are show dogs.’
That seemed to say it all. Mary nodded, walked out to her car and popped the trunk. Bonnie staggered out of the kennel building with two of the cartons in her arms. She grunted as she thrust them in the trunk and let them drop with a clunk. Mary winced but decided the floor of her trunk was designed to bear heavier burdens than a few cartons of dog food. Bonnie was back almost immediately with two more. This time she seemed a little out of breath.
‘Let me get one,’ Mary said.
Bonnie barely glanced at Mary. ‘I’m fine. I’m used to this.’ She disappeared and returned with the last two. This time she leaned against the car, pulled a handkerchief out of her jeans pocket and wiped her hands meticulously.
What should she say? ‘You have a wonderful place here.’ That seemed safe.
Bonnie smiled for the first time since Mary arrived. ‘Thanks. We’ve only been here a little over a year, but it’s working out great.’
‘Do you have dogs in the barn as well?’
Bonnie shook her head. ‘Too far away from the house. Todd uses it to store inventory for the hardware store.’
‘Oh.’ Mary couldn’t think what else to say. She needed to go, but Bonnie still leaned against her car. Mary tried not to fidget. Finally, Bonnie stood upright. Mary tried not to show her relief as she held out her hand, ready to thank her once more.
However, Bonnie wasn’t ready to let her go. ‘I’d like to ask you—’
Mary knew what was coming; the only surprise was she hadn’t asked before.
‘I’ve heard that Cliff – that you found him … Mary, was he really murdered?’
Mary studied Bonnie’s face. The red-rimmed eyes. The tired lines around her mouth. Grief? Cliff was Bonnie’s vet when she first started to breed cocker spaniels. She was now one of the most successful breeders in Central California and showed her dogs all over the country. She’d even taken one to Westminster. She was a local judge and evidently in much demand. Losing Cliff, whom she’d known much better than Mary, must have been a terrible shock.
Mary hesitated. What should she say? She didn’t know much, and what she did know was bound to be on tonight’s news and was probably already in the local paper. ‘There was blood all over his front, and I don’t think it came from natural causes.’
‘Who would want to kill poor old Cliff? He suffered enough from all the … mistakes he made. I know he was trying to make up for some of it. How, I don’t know, but he was always there for me, even after he lost his license. He came out when one of my bitches whelped to make sure she was all right and check out the puppies, even though he knew I’d take them all in to Karl. He loved purebred dogs in particular and felt awful about the … what he did.’ She looked past Mary as if her eyes registered a scene only she could see. Then her eyes shifted back and she was her usual brisk self. ‘Was there really a puppy in the manger scene? Do you know how it got there?’
Startled, Mary didn’t answer for a moment.
Bonnie’s eyebrows narrowed.
‘Yes.’ This came out slowly. How did news of the puppy get out so fast? As far as she knew, only Dan and the group at her house last night knew about it. No. That wasn’t right. Father D’Angelo knew. Ronaldo had the dog with him when the posada stopped for the last time. Someone else must have seen it. She sighed. Probably lots of someones. ‘There was a puppy. Where it came from, I don’t know.’ That was absolutely true. What she suspected was another matter.
‘What kind of puppy?’
‘Kind? A black-and-white one. Cute.’
‘No.’ Impatience showed on Bonnie’s face. ‘What breed? Or was it just a puppy?’
‘Oh.’ Evidently ‘cute puppy’ wasn’t enough of a description for someone who knew about dogs. ‘Karl says it’s a cocker spaniel.’
Bonnie had let her hand rest on the side of Mary’s car. She now jerked it away as if it was burnt. ‘A cocker! No. That can’t be right.’ Her horrified expression softened a little, replaced with puzzlement. ‘Karl thinks it’s a cocker puppy? Did Cliff bring it?’ That last statement was almost an accusation.
‘I have no idea. I don’t think anyone does.’
‘Is Karl sure it’s a cocker?’
Mary fished her car keys out of her purse and edged past Bonnie toward the driver’s door. ‘Bonnie, it’s a puppy and it was in the sheep pen. How it got there and what kind of dog it is, I really don’t know.’ She managed to get the door opened and started to slide in.
‘Where’s the puppy now?’
Leave it to a dog lover to put the puppy before everything else. ‘Karl and Pat took it. I guess they’ll keep it until its owner shows up.’
Bonnie didn’t say anything. Finally, she nodded. ‘I’d better hit the shower if I’m going to make the can tree thing. Don’t worry about the gate. I’ll close it.’ She turned and walked away.
Mary shook her head as she started the car. Bonnie was often abrupt, usually because she was absorbed in what she was doing. She was president of the Santa Louisa Pure Breed Dog Club, head of the committee responsible for the all-breed dog show they put on every year, wrote a column for the paper about dog care and breeding, did volunteer work with the Humane Society and was largely responsible for the no-kill shelter the town recently instituted, as well as taking care of her own breeding business. Her husband, Todd, ran the only independent hardware store left in town and put in long hours. Bonnie was left pretty much on her own. Her almost rudeness just now was probably due to overwork, grief and concern about Cliff. This wasn’t going to be easy on anyone in town.
Mary pulled out onto the street, heading for town and the Mendosas’ house. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. There was something about that meeting with Bonnie that was very uncomfortable. The interview with the children wasn’t going to be easy, either. This was turning out to be a very difficult morning, indeed.