Chapter 22

Only the real dinner would have to wait. The Gate House signature appetizers of truffle fries and fried brussels sprouts were on the tables, and waiters came around with napkin-wrapped bottles of white and red wine. Lady Anthea had recovered well enough without the help of bracing fresh air and we sat down. At the last moment she made a sprightly little shift to the chair opposite mine and voila, there was room for John to sit next to me. The choreographed move told me she was just fine. Mayor Rivard and Valerie Westlake sat at the next table.

Lady Anthea complimented Valerie on how well Smoochie was doing in the class. This was either because the dog was indeed mastering tricks after just one lesson, which was unlikely, or because she wanted to turn away and leave me no choice but to talk to John. My money was on the latter, and I obliged and turned to talk to him. It was the least I could do after the awesome job she did keeping her feelings about the name Smoochie out of her voice. From my vantage point I had seen her nose wrinkle, but only a little.

“Did you get Billy B.’s safe open?” I asked him.

“Yeah, the contents that seemed relevant to the investigation are in our evidence locker. I’ll go back and look through it later tonight.”

“Can I look at it with you?”

“Why? You already found out what we needed to know. Martin doesn’t automatically inherit Billy B.’s share of the business.”

I had my reasons for not wanting to answer him about what I would be looking for, so when Valerie spoke, I turned my head to join that conversation. “I don’t know when I’ll have an elegant meal out like this again. I’d better enjoy it now!” She spooned a few fries and brussels sprouts onto her plate.

“The divorce settlement talks aren’t going well?” Mayor Rivard asked, helping herself to the hors d’oeuvres. “I thought everything was working out.”

“I did, too. Sandy gave me this bull story about how he was going to be coming into a ton of money. Now he says that’s not going to happen.” Fair or not, it was hard to see her and not think of Wags’s reaction to her husband. Then her angry tone reminded me of her message for Rick.

“Valerie, what did you mean today about Martin and Sandy’s scheme?” I asked.

“They wanted to use Smoochie for breeding.”

“Backyard breeding?” I asked. Lady Anthea’s head jerked up and I looked across to her. “You must think the same as I do on that topic.”

“I’m extremely opposed to it. It’s highly irresponsible,” Lady Anthea said.

Valerie was nodding furiously. “Sue, I read your newsletter article about it so I knew how you felt.”

“Was that his plan?” Betsy asked. “Doesn’t sound like much money in that.”

“No, it was something else, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was.”

“Did he tell you about our Monday morning trip to the Harbor of Refuuuu? Ow.” John had stepped on my toes under the table, but when I looked at him his face was sweet as a puppy’s. “You’re off duty. I’m not,” I whispered. I turned back to get Valerie’s answer. “Ow!” That toe-trodding had come from in front of me. If there had been the slightest doubt who the trodder was, the look on Lady Anthea’s face told me she was the guilty party.

“Betsy, I’m anxious to see some of the artifacts recovered from the Severn,” Lady Anthea said.

I had taken a sip of wine and spit it across the table. Later, when we were doing our serious sitting and talking, we’d definitely be discussing this sudden uptick of interest. John was leaning over with a napkin blotting at the tablecloth. Then he dabbed my chin. I took the opportunity to whisper to him, “You and she refer to the main piece of our collection as just the bottom of a broken wine bottle. Both of you laughed at us. Now she’s anxious to see our artifacts?” I drew out the last word the way they did.

My phone rang and I reached for it and stood. “I’m going outside to answer this—if I can still walk.” I could see from the screen that this was a call I wanted to take.

I had made time during the afternoon to learn what I could about Wags. Martin Ziegler wanted him and I was curious to find out why. Now a friend who worked at the American Kennel Club and was also a freelance writer was calling me back. Hopefully he’d had more success than I had. I sat at a table on the porch. The temperature had turned chilly but the winter ocean air was delicious.

Kyle O’Malley was his usual New Yorker hipster self trying to conceal enthusiasm for anything. “Sue.” It was a statement.

“Kyle.” Then I laughed.

“Promise I can write a story about this. Only me.”

“There’s something to write about?” I couldn’t even try the droll, no-enthusiasm thing after the hope I felt starting. I heard the tinkle of cutlery on a wine stem from inside the restaurant. Then Howard Fourie made a lame joke about his South African accent.

“He won at Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show,” Kyle said.

Now Fourie was introducing Mayor Rivard.

“You mean Best of Breed?” I asked.

“I mean Best in Show. He was America’s Dog.”

I heard laughter, the polite kind meant for dinner parties, not the real something was funny kind, and could make out the mayor’s feminine laugh contrasting with Howard Fourie’s full-throated guffaw.

“Sure, you can write about him.”

“Not so much about the dog,” Kyle said. “I’m interested in his previous owner.”

Valerie’s voice drifted out, but not loud enough for me to make out any words. Then I thought about what she’d said. I imagined model train cars clicking together. Captain Sandy Westlake and Martin Ziegler had planned to use Wags for breeding. After all, if Westlake wanted to breed Smoochie, why not try to breed Wags also? Then another click. I thought about Wags’s fearful reaction to the man. Captain Sandy had taken Wags to the lighthouse and left him there. Did this mean the timing of the trip out to the Harbor of Refuge Lighthouse to get him was a coincidence? It had been all about the dog? Chief Turner and I hadn’t been lured away from Lewes. The dog abandoned on the lighthouse had nothing to do with Billy B.’s murder. But I hadn’t been the only one speculating that the dog abandoned on the Harbor of Refuge Lighthouse had something to do with the murder. Hadn’t Chief Turner said, over and over, something about law enforcement professionals not believing in coincidences? The boat pilot had seen the dog and alerted the authorities and that was all I knew for sure.

“Sue?” This time it was a question.

“Sorry. She was an opera singer, right?”

“She was one of the most famous German opera singers of the last century,” Kyle said.

Something was in front of me and I couldn’t see. I almost screamed but I caught myself when I realized it was John wrapping his sweater around my shoulders.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

I nodded. Then I thanked Kyle and told him goodnight. I looked up at John. “Let’s talk.”

He pulled the chair next to mine closer and sat. In the background, Howard Fourie was introducing his son with humble bragging. It had something to do with UNESCO and I figured Lady Anthea could fill me in later.

I told John what I’d learned about Wags’s illustrious backstory. He leaned back and stretched his long legs. Then he just looked at me.

“Well? Aren’t you surprised?” I asked.

“At what? I don’t get why anyone would want a dog, much less steal to get one.”

I rolled my eyes and blew out a puff of air in exasperation. “Wags is famous. And he’s living in Lewes under an assumed name.”

John moaned and ran his hand over his short hair. “What?”

“How many people, other than Lady Anthea, would think of Wagner, when they heard Wags?” I asked.

“You realize you’re saying that Billy B. gave his dog an alias that hid his identity as America’s Dog.”

“Who else? It’s not like the Pug went around town saying, ‘Call me Wags.’” I started laughing.

“Maybe he had business cards printed up,” John said. Then we were both laughing. “This only interests me because it might be a motive for Martin Ziegler to kill his business partner. And that’s highly unlikely. What is likely is that Martin killed Billy B. either in anger over the theft of the car or to get his share of the business.”

I heard oohs and ahs coming from the dining room and saw flashes of members of the wait staff going from the kitchen to the tables, so I stood up. “I guess we’d better go back in.”

John stood but hesitated, rather than following me. Once inside I turned back to see him approaching Julie and David’s table. He positioned himself so I couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“Allow me. I’ll order a drink.” Lady Anthea whispered. My wingman chose that moment to go to the bar where she could eavesdrop more productively.

“Where are you sitting? We’ll bring the wine to you,” the bartender said. Would she be thwarted in her mission?

“I just wanted to compliment you all on the, the, those drinks you served on the porch,” she said and returned. No, she would not be.

John was on his way over to us and Lady Anthea spoke quickly. “He wants to interview Julie Berger in the morning. She doesn’t know if she’ll be up to it. Junior says….”

“Want me to take the story from here, Lady Anthea?” Chief Turner said.

Her nod said, “Be my guest.”

“David Fourie says she shouldn’t do anything that will upset her further.”

All three of us rolled our eyes. We stopped speaking when the waiter delivered plates with salmon and grilled vegetables.

Lady Anthea spoke first. “Do you think that fainting spell was put on?”

I shrugged. “Looked real to me, but what do I know? Maybe she’s just that fragile.” I held my wineglass up to John. “You can say I told you so, if you want to.”

“Why would I do that?” he asked.

“Because there weren’t any photos of her in Billy B.’s condo. Not a single one,” I said.

To avoid looking him in the eye, in case he was gloating, I scanned the room. David had switched sides of the table from his chair to the bench. Now he was sitting next to Julie instead of across from her. He reached his arm over the seat back, so it was around her shoulders. Then he leaned closer. Now he was facing us and I could hear them better. I had to stop myself from thanking him.

With his right hand he got out his phone. “I’m not trying to big time you. What’s your number?”

She laughed.

“Seriously, I’m gonna call your phone.” I was struck again at how he could talk like a guy in his twenties.