The high-gloss red door swung open to Addison’s ridiculously enthusiastic smile.
“Hello. I don’t know if you remember me. My name is Addison Turner. I’ve come to do a brief survey on your experience with Pampered Puppies. Would you be interested in participating?”
Kitty Carlisle stood inside her classic San Francisco painted-lady home with its adorable olive scalloped siding and yellow trim, staring out with a blank expression on her pinched face.
“It will only take five minutes of your time,” Addison added. “And you’ll receive this complementary bag of free samples.” She held the frilly pink bag out, practically forcing Kitty to take it.
Once it was in her hands, Addison cheerfully barged her way through the front door and into the foyer. Even though the old lady creeped her out, she had to get a closer look. Felix wasn’t able to get into William Jackson’s house the day before—which might have been for the best—but she knew this time around she needed to get closer, much closer if she was going to investigate. After all, there wasn’t a lot she could uncover from the front stoop.
Kitty peered at the street behind Addison with her bulgy eyes, as though looking for other people. Or maybe witnesses, Addison thought with a shiver, remembering the lady’s crazed looks at the cocktail mixer.
“Oh, all right,” she relented. “Come in.”
But Addison was already inside, scoping out the place. Her gaze darted around the room. The entrance was full of fake flowers and framed pictures of what she assumed were the woman’s kids and grandkids. Then her eyes fell on Kitty’s bichon frisé sitting by the door. He’d been so well behaved that she hadn’t noticed him.
Squatting down, she reached out to pet him, but still he didn’t move. When her hand touched his white fur, it felt cold and hard. She snatched her hand back in surprise. It was a carved statue.
Kitty giggled. “So lifelike, isn’t it? I had that commissioned at the height of Elvis’s competitive career. I wanted him to have a reminder of the glory days.”
“It’s”—Addison hesitated—“beautiful.” She suppressed a shudder, but couldn’t stop from wiping her hand subtly on her leggings.
Kitty led Addison into the sitting room and invited her to take a seat on a green floral sofa covered in a layer of protective plastic. It squeaked under Addison’s butt as she sat.
For a moment she felt a flutter of panic beneath her chest and the urge to run screaming out of there before she was axe-murdered. But as she took in the rest of the room and saw the plastic sticker still stuck on the television screen, and the dog show trophies displayed in separate display cases, she realized the couch cover wasn’t to hide evidence. The woman was just fastidious.
Kitty sat quietly in her armchair waiting for Addison to begin, pug eyes watching her carefully. “What was it that you wanted to ask me?”
“Umm,” Addison referred to her clipboard—which she thought made her look very official. “How many dogs do you currently have?”
“Just the one. Elvis!” she called out. “Come here, Elvis!” There was a light jingling and padding of paws before Kitty’s dog twin floated into the room like a little white cloud on a sunny day.
“There’s my boy,” Kitty said, picking him up and placing him on her lap.
“He’s a beautiful bichon frisé,” Addison said.
“Thank you. Elvis here had a good run, but he’s retired now.” She indicated the row of trophies on the mantel.
That’s when Addison spotted the detailed painting hanging above the fireplace. What she’d mistook before as a portrait of Kitty with her white beehive, was actually a commissioned painting of Elvis. He sat nobly with his chin resting on his paw, replete in a green paisley vest, a cravat, a monocle over one eye, and a pocket watch to top the outfit off.
Addison almost laughed, but then she thought it was likely not meant to be cute and whimsical, but rather a serious rendition of Elvis, which made it even odder. She shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. Her butt squeaked on the plastic again.
Kitty nuzzled the dog’s halo of white fur. “We had a good run, didn’t we pookie?”
Addison cleared her throat and focused on her clipboard. “Do you think you’ll compete in dog shows again in the future?”
“Not anytime soon. It just wouldn’t be the same without Elvis,” she said a little sadly. “But I still attend the events each year and enjoy being part of the association. I’ve been on the judging panel for a few years now.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize that. That’s exciting.” Addison made a note of that, even though she wasn’t exactly sure what it meant for her investigation. If Kitty was a judge, surely she wouldn’t want to steal the dogs entering the competition.
“Upholding the standards are important to me,” Kitty told Addison. “And if you ask me, they’ve been slipping under Judge Walter Boyd’s watch.”
She remembered the large man Phillip had introduced her to at the cocktail mixer. “How have they been slipping?”
Kitty huffed. “Oh please. His Best in Show choice last year? Alistair’s beagle?” She scoffed at the ridiculousness of it. “Who was Walter kidding? Everyone could see there was favoritism there. Judge Walter’s own dogs are hounds, you see. Lilly’s rein should have ended the year before last.”
The plastic squeaked as Kitty leaned in close like someone might overhear them in her own sitting room. “Between you and me, Alistair was beginning to look a little ridiculous continuing to show Lilly. She was past her prime. He needed to move on. It was becoming a little embarrassing.”
“Oh.” Addison considered this for a second. It didn’t exactly make Kitty suspect number one, because she’d heard Phillip say something similar at his fundraiser. She mentally tucked it away, though, to scribble it down in her notebook later. It would be too obvious to do it right in front of Kitty.
For now she moved down the list of questions on her clipboard. “In your experience with Pampered Puppies, on a scale from one to ten, what was your level of satisfaction with the results?”
“Oh, ten. Elvis’s fur hasn’t been this soft in years.”
Addison beamed. “Oh, that’s the jojoba and coconut oil cleanser. It prevents tangles while increasing luster and flexibility. It’s our most popular product,” she rambled off, excited to talk about business. “On a scale from one to ten, how safe did you feel leaving Elvis with Pampered Puppies?”
“Oh, well,” Kitty’s eyes dropped, considering Elvis cuddled in her arms. “You’re always nervous leaving your pet. Elvis is like my child.”
“I feel the same way about my Princess. I understand.” Addison understood more than the woman was outright saying. She could see the apprehension in her eyes. Kitty was an anxious woman to begin with, but the dognapping probably had her on edge. It had everyone on edge.
Kitty’s eyes flicked to Addison. “Is it true?” she asked. “Did all those dogs really get stolen?”
“It seems that way.”
“How?” She held Elvis closer, like maybe Addison would snatch him from her arms in broad daylight and make a run for it.
Of course she suspected Addison. Kitty had been there the night of the cocktail mixer; she’d heard the rumors. Who hadn’t? That was what made their little undercover investigation so difficult. No one trusted her or Felix.
“They weren’t certain until it happened again this weekend at Phillip Montgomery’s fundraiser. The police suspect it was an inside job. One of the staff or a guest at the party.” Addison observed the woman for a sign, a twitch, a tell. Maybe just as closely as Kitty was watching her.
“Well, thankfully I don’t need to worry about that.” She kissed Elvis on the head. “He’s twelve years old now. Not coming out of retirement. He’s no threat to anyone.”
Addison stared at the woman. “So you think it’s someone who wants to win the contest taking out the competition?”
Kitty’s painted-on eyebrows rose. “Certainly. It’s not like we haven’t all thought about it.” She laughed like it was an obvious conclusion, and the titters sent shivers down Addison’s spine. She didn’t want to think what Kitty might have done for all those trophies lining the mantel.
Kitty tilted onto one buttock to lean in close. The plastic on her chair groaned, sounding like a fart. “You want to know the truth about conformation? It’s rife with jealousy and bitter competition. Prohibited plastic surgeries, opponents snipping out patches of fur on other dogs or scratching the pads of paws so they can’t walk properly. Opponents will try to oust the competition in any way.” She covered Elvis’s ears so he wouldn’t hear. “Even by nobbling.”
Addison twitched, the word rubbing her the wrong way. “Nobbling?”
“Disabling the competition by drugging or poisoning. Food tainted with laxatives, sleeping pills, or even chocolate. It leaves a nasty film around the mouth, you see.”
Addison had completely forgotten about her list of questions. She stared at the woman in disbelief. “But you’re talking about dog lovers. How could they do something to harm another animal?”
“They say these tactics exist only in the minds of disgruntled owners that have lost a competition, that there’s no truth to them. Only rumors. But I’ve seen enough in my day to know it exists. But this,” she said. “These dognappings are bold. This reeks of desperation. Of insanity.” Her pug eyes bulged out of her head.
Addison suddenly felt cold, her fingertips tingling from lack of circulation. If Kitty Carlisle deemed it “insanity,” then Addison was afraid of what she and Felix might uncover.
Elvis had been very still on Kitty’s lap for some time, as though he’d been replaced with the statue in her entranceway. The only way she could tell he was alive was by the occasional blink of his dark eyes. His constant stare was beginning to freak her out.
Kitty sat upright in her chair again, her air of aloofness settling back over her. “I hope they find whoever is doing this. It makes a mockery of what the association and the shows stand for. At the heart of it, it’s about discovering and preserving the best genetics of any particular breed. And because,” she said simply, “we truly love our dogs.”
That much was apparent. Maybe a little too much in Kitty’s case.
As though Elvis could understand her, he leaned back and gave her a kiss on the chin to let her know he felt the same way.
It was interesting to see the other side of the coin. The local animal activist group that her friend Piper used to volunteer for demonstrated against the dog shows because they loved animals. Meanwhile breeders continued to support dog shows for the same reason. Addison didn’t know which side she stood on yet. All she knew was she loved every dog. Perfect genetics or not.
There was a click from the wall as the cuckoo clock struck four. Instead of a bird to signal the time, a dog leapt out of a miniature doghouse. Addison jumped at the mechanical barks. Elvis continued to stare at her with those bottomless black eyes.
“Was there anything else?” Kitty asked, drawing her attention back.
Addison mentally shook herself, but she stiffened, anxious to leave. “Oh, yes.” She glanced at her clipboard. “On a scale from one to ten. How likely are you to use Pampered Puppies’ services again or recommend it to a friend?”
Kitty reached out to touch Elvis, as though weighing the risk of someone stealing him versus the featherlike caress of his jojoba-infused fur. Now that Addison knew what people in her world were willing to do to win, she didn’t blame her.
“I think I’ll stick to my regular girl for now.”
Addison nodded and held back a disappointed sigh. The fact that Kitty had even considered meant she was interested in the services, but the speculation surrounding the dog disappearances had everyone on edge. And if the roles were reversed, Addison wouldn’t want to risk anything happening to Princess either.
But the “for now” gave her hope. It meant that maybe once Addison’s name was cleared, Kitty would reconsider. And others might follow. That was, if her business survived that long.
Addison was shown to the door. Elvis took a seat next to his younger clay rendition where they both watching her steadily as she walked through the door and turned back.
“Well, if you reconsider,” Addison said, “here’s a ten-dollar-off coupon, along with some free samples of my homemade jojoba coconut cleanser.”
Kitty’s pug eyes widened as she peeked into the bag. “Oh, thank you.” She bent down and picked Elvis up to wave his little paw at Addison. “Good luck with your survey.”
Addison returned to her Mini parked on the street, a smile on her face. Maybe things weren’t so bleak. Maybe she could repair her reputation, one customer at a time. Ground up sort of thing. It would be hard work, but she could do it.
When she climbed into the convertible, Felix eyed her expression from the passenger seat. “So? How did it go?”
“Okay. Kitty doesn’t want my services. But I’m hopeful. If I can just clear my name—”
“No, I meant is she our dognapper?”
“Oh, that. It’s tough to say.” She took out her notebook and mulled it over. “Her passion for dog shows borders on obsession. But she seems to truly love dogs, so I’m not sure if she’s capable.”
Addison reviewed everything that was discussed during her shakedown. As crazy as Kitty seemed, Addison thought her an unlikely culprit, but she wasn’t ready to scratch her off the list quite yet.
“But she did mention one name,” Addison said.
“Who’s that?”
“Judge Walter Boyd. She complained that he’s letting the judging standards slip. I don’t know if it means anything, but it isn’t the first time I’ve heard that.”
“Well, then I guess we know who to talk to next.”