CHAPTER
thirteen 
ON SATURDAY, I opened up my shop for a special appointment. I hoped that I could focus on work instead of fixating about the murder.
Lauren’s assistant waltzed into Hollywoof with Sterling right on time. The tiny Chihuahua looked a bit better than he had during his original visit. Though still cute as a button, he did a strange wiggle with his backside and scooted along the floor on his bottom.
Nicola, now out of yoga wear, wore a peach pantsuit. She completed her look with a giant statement necklace made of a triple layer of glittering diamond strands.
“How’s Sterling?” I asked.
“Not feeling so good. That’s why we’re here today.”
I peered at the puppy. “He doesn’t look dirty to me.”
“His fur is fine.” Nicola dropped her gaze from mine. “But Mrs. Dalton wants Sterling to feel his brightest, starting from the inside out.”
Oh no. I thought I knew what that meant.
Just then Marshmallow covered his nose with his paws. “Where is that stench coming from?”
Nicola played with the strands of her elegant necklace. “Mrs. Dalton wants his glands expressed.” She looked pointedly at Sterling’s rear.
As I’d suspected: emptying anal glands. This task might be the worst part of my job.
Nicola shifted her feet. “It’s for a really important social event she’s been invited to attend. An astronomy fundraiser with some top-name scientists. Mrs. Dalton’s dressing up for the Star Wars theme. She’s had her Rey outfit for over a month now.”
“I understand. And don’t worry—expressing glands is a routine task,” I said as I took Sterling to the back room.
Once there, I made sure to put on some heavy-duty gloves for extra coverage. Then I settled the dog in the industrial-size sink for further protection. That way the stinky fluid would flush down the drain and not spray everywhere. I didn’t want either my room or me smelling like sewage.
Thank goodness I hadn’t worn my favorite tee today. To prepare myself for the task, I took a deep breath in and held it. I positioned my hands at the four and eight o’clock positions, found the glands, and squeezed.
A dark liquid shot out. Unfortunately, I hadn’t mastered holding my breath for long periods. I inhaled, and the strong, foul odor made me stumble back.
It took more time than I’d anticipated to get all the messy liquid out. I wished I had clipped a clothespin over my nose. When I’d finished, though, Sterling looked quite relieved.
I made sure to sterilize all the surfaces, then rubbed my hands raw using scented soap and very hot water. I prettied up Sterling and took him to the front. He didn’t scoot on his bottom on his way out. Instead, he did a dignified limp toward Nicola.
I pointed at his dragging leg. “He still hasn’t seen the vet?”
Nicola shook her head. “Not yet. Mrs. Dalton’s calendar is so full with prescheduled functions. And she always insists on Sterling being at every one of the charity galas she attends. In fact, she bought him a matching BB-8 costume for the astronomy fundraiser.”
“She really should take him in to get checked. Sooner rather than later.” I petted Sterling. “I know for a fact Russ Nolan kept his dogs in terrible conditions.”
Nicola mumbled, “Maybe it’s because I found him through the classifieds when Mrs. Dalton asked me to find her a dog.”
“I’m surprised Mrs. Dalton couldn’t afford a better breeder.”
Nicola looked up and jutted her chin. “She thinks money makes her the queen. I can’t believe she had you clean her dog’s butt. Not that it should really surprise me. I’ve done a lot of degrading things over the past six months without any thanks.”
I touched Nicola on the arm. “Is everything okay at your job?”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to complain.” She plucked my hand off. “I’m probably keyed up because I was supposed to have today off.”
“Mrs. Dalton sounds like a tough boss.”
“Yeah. That’s why she deserved a lower-quality ADM pup.”
“ADM?” Those initials sounded familiar. “What do those letters stand for again?”
Nicola tilted her head at me. “American Dog Makers. Sterling’s certified through them. They’re not as well-regulated as the famous American Kennel Club.”
ADM was the agency Shirl had filed a complaint with to get rid of the barking dogs. Maybe the organization had rescued the puppies after all. Or at least they might have more info about where the dogs had ended up.
I handed Nicola the bill, and she overpaid it. Pressing the extra cash into my hands, she said, “This is for the extra dose of humility it took to complete the task.”
I watched Nicola as she left with Sterling. With her obvious bitterness, I wondered if she was the type of person to spit in her employer’s coffee. I realized how lucky I was to be my own boss and answer to myself.
Now that both Nicola and Shirl had mentioned ADM, I decided to research the company. I looked up the website for American Dog Makers, but no contact info existed except for a PO Box and a phone number with a Los Angeles area code. When I tried calling them, I received a message that their voice mailbox was full.
Returning to the website, I flicked through the various tabs until I found a link to upcoming events. A dog show was advertised for the following day.
As I stood staring at the screen, Marshmallow sauntered up. “Getting sucked into Candy Crush again?”
“Haha. I’m looking up details for a dog show I’ll be attending.”
Marshmallow shuddered. “A building full of prima donna dogs? My living nightmare.”
“Well, you can stay, but I’m definitely going,” I said. “It’ll be a great way to get dirt on Russ Nolan.”
Marshmallow cocked his head at me. “You’re not worried about what Detective Brown might say if he found out?”
Hmm, maybe I should invite Josh to come along just in case. I didn’t want to endanger my tenuous position with the police. But I felt like I kept interrupting Josh’s work with my problems, and goodness knows my pro bono case didn’t pay his bills.
I bit my lip, mulling over how I might justify the event to Detective Brown if he heard about it. “Hmm, I could always tell the detective I needed to go because of . . . grooming research.” He couldn’t argue with that reasoning.
The local fairground complex looked transformed when I arrived. At the entrance, a bright yellow banner decorated with paw prints flying high in the sky read, “ADM All-Breed Championship Dog Show.”
Instead of the usual hubbub of vendors and rides, there were people strolling around the large space with their dogs. I noticed an open area covered in artificial turf. Someone had created an obstacle course on the fake green.
A few trainers wearing the L.A. Lakers colors of purple and gold ran alongside their dogs. They wove around the field in their sturdy sneakers, shouting encouragements to their pups and directing them toward the next obstacle on the course. The dogs themselves scampered onto ramps, squirreled through tunnels, and leaped over hurdles. Cheering spectators watched the practice runs from nearby bleachers.
I wandered around the fairgrounds before finding more activity coming from inside a large warehouse. A multitude of owners stood near various portable tables, grooming their dogs.
I searched for a sign that would point me in the right direction and breathed a sigh of relief when I spotted one that read, “Toy Breeds.” Passing by different owners, I searched for someone who looked older, a person who’d been around these events for a while. I also sought somebody with an open face, an amiable breeder who wouldn’t mind shooting the breeze with me.
A gentleman in his fifties with wire-rimmed glasses looked like a good candidate. He bent down near his black short-haired Chihuahua, inspecting her already glossy coat from various angles.
I went over and greeted him. “You look like you’re an expert.”
“Yes, miss. I’m a veteran at these conformation events.”
I cocked my head at him. “What are those?”
“That’s what we professionals call these dog shows.”
I pointed at his beautiful dog’s immaculate coat. “Do you compete often?”
“I try to make it out to most events. My dog usually wins best of breed.”
I congratulated him and added, “I wonder—have you ever heard of a fellow breeder named Russ Nolan?”
He guffawed, tears springing to his eyes. He had to wipe off his spectacles with his shirtsleeve to clean them. “That arrogant newcomer. Thought his pup could beat mine.”
“Russ Nolan brought his dog to a show?”
“Yeah, one of the smaller events in town. About a few months ago. Of course, he never stood a chance.” The man reached behind him and brought over a wooden box filled with rosette ribbons that ran a gamut of colors. “Look at how many awards my darling has won over the years. At that last event, she placed first.”
“How did Russ Nolan fare?”
“His girl didn’t shine like mine. In fact, she looked downright worn-out. Quite odd at such a young age.” He shook his head. “Maybe she was inbred. A shame, because that kind of pairing hurts their health.”
I ran my fingers across the colorful ribbons in the box. “It’s too bad not all members in this breeding association have the same caring attitude as you.”
He beckoned me closer. “To be honest, I haven’t seen Russ Nolan ever since then. I think I know why, too.”
“What do you think happened?”
“Heard a rumor that someone important threatened to give ADM bad publicity if Russ Nolan kept his membership.” Finally, this chatty older gentleman had given me a lucky break in the case. Perhaps he’d also know where Russ Nolan’s puppies had gone.
Rubbing my chin, I asked, “Do the dogs get taken away if somebody loses membership?”
The man shrugged. “I’ve never had to think about that scenario.”
“Do you know if I can meet any of the ADM staff?” I glanced around the warehouse. “Are they in this building? Or maybe at an info booth outside?”
“The officials will be too busy running the show to answer your questions. You can try headquarters, though. It’s not far from here.”
Great. I’d capitalize on my lucky streak and swing by the place next.
The ADM office looked more like a garage than an actual business site. The inside of the building featured exposed rafters and dangling fluorescent lights. However, the company made itself look more legit by placing a small security camera above its doorway.
I found a bored-looking teenager on the premises. He sat on a stool near a scarred worktable with a monitor on it, displaying live footage of the outside through the security camera. He didn’t glance at the screen even once. Was the guy even an official ADM staff member?
He didn’t acknowledge me when I entered. Instead, the scraggly young man seemed more intent on gobbling his sandwich than on doing any actual work.
I waited for him to finish his bite before speaking. “Do you work at ADM?” I’d better ask to make sure.
“High school volunteer,” he said. “Got stuck doing this for my mandatory community service.”
Ah, that explained the glacial service and lack of commitment.
A mustard mustache stained his upper lip. He proceeded to lick it off. “Everyone else is out at a dog show.”
“Well, maybe you can help me with some information,” I said. “About Russ Nolan.”
He squeezed his sandwich by accident. A shot of mayonnaise flew onto his arm and splattered the worktable. He didn’t bother to wipe it up.
“You recognize that name?” I edged closer to him.
The volunteer stuffed the rest of the sandwich into his mouth. He wiped the crumbs from his lips with the back of his hand. “I might have heard of him.”
“What happened to the dogs he bred?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
I leaned in close. “Russ Nolan’s neighbor complained about their incessant barking to your organization. Could ADM have taken them?”
He rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. “No rescuing is done here. We only push paperwork.”
I looked him in the eye and steeled my voice. “I need to see those dogs’ records.”
“The files are secured.” He gestured to a small metal filing cabinet underneath the mayo-marked worktable.
Perhaps the volunteer needed more motivation to allow me access. “Do you know Russ Nolan is now dead?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “No.”
“He didn’t just die. The man was murdered. And that paperwork could be essential to finding the killer. I have a tight connection with the lead investigator.”
His face blanched, and he put his hands up in the air. “Tell your friend it wasn’t my fault. Russ bribed me with cold hard cash.”
“Wait. What are you talking about?” I knew the answers lay close to me, right there in the filing cabinet. I couldn’t resist and reached for it.
The volunteer didn’t stop me. He sat there dazed, wringing his hands, while I yanked on the drawers.
Not much security after all. The cabinet was unlocked. Rifling through the folders, I found one marked “Russ Nolan.” Not caring if it got me in trouble, I took out the most recent papers and read through them, flipping past an official-looking complaint with a scrawled signature and on to the dog-breeding records.
The documents listed a batch of puppies registered to Russ Nolan, but the name of the sire was crossed out. I brought the papers up to the light and could make out the typed print beneath the slashes of ink: “Bogart.”
I let out a low whistle. “So Magnus Cooper did partner with him.”
The volunteer shook his head hard. “No, he didn’t. Russ paid me to insert the sire on record.” He looked at me with pleading eyes, with a droopy face as sad as a hound dog’s. “But I didn’t put in Bogart’s name myself. Russ typed it. That makes me actually innocent of doctoring the papers, right?”
“Sorry. I’m not a lawyer.” I pointed to Bogart’s name on the sheet. “Did Magnus know about this?”
“That’s why it’s crossed out. I wasn’t here when Magnus stormed the office. Thank goodness, because I heard he’s massive.” The volunteer started trembling again and almost fell off his stool. “He could probably crush my skull with his bare hands.”
I returned everything back to the file cabinet. After promising the volunteer I would keep him out of the murder investigation, I left.
But the young man’s comment left me with a disturbing image. Magnus did look strong enough to smash a skull . . . and I knew that Russ Nolan had died from head trauma.
Magnus also seemed to have a huge motive. After all, Russ Nolan had faked Bogart’s name in a public record, threatening Magnus’s once-stellar reputation.