Chapter 14

“That’s cuckoo bananas,” I said. “We’ve already established that I didn’t even know I was going to be in the competition. Why would I murder Swendson?”

“Maybe he threatened to toss you out of the competition like he did Betty,” Bronson said.

“He didn’t, because I never saw him,” I said. “Besides, why would I care? It’s not as if I know what I’m doing!”

“Possibly you wanted revenge for the bad food he gave Freddy last year.”

“I didn’t even know Freddy until a few weeks ago,” I said.

Bronson stared at me. Clearly, he’d been running these scenarios through his head since talking to Penelope.

“Perhaps you were helping your fiancé exact his revenge on Swendson.”

“And why would I want revenge?” Harry asked. The look he sent Bronson was incredulous.

“Because Swendson argued with your aunt the night before the dog show began,” he said.

Harry looked at Aunt Betty and then back at Bronson. “So? So they argued? So what? We didn’t know that Swendson had her blackballed until registration the following morning, by which time Swendson was already dead.”

“Probably by opioid overdose,” I said.

Bronson went still. “How did you know that?”

“It was a guess,” I said. “Back in the day, when I worked in the hospitality industry at a major resort hotel, I dealt with a few cases where guests had overdosed. One was an old man who’d gotten confused and taken too many pain pills. The other was a young twentysomething woman, who’d taken some pills while drinking with her friends.

“Both cases were awful. The victims’ bodies, which I’d only glimpsed while waiting for the paramedics, had the bluish tinge to the lips and fingers, as well as the dried-up spittle from foaming at the mouth, just like Swendson’s body. I remember that the girl had been bruised all along one side, and we thought she might have been assaulted but the paramedics said she’d likely had a seizure on the cold hard floor of her bathroom. Was there any bruising on Swendson?”

“I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to discuss,” he began, and I said with him, “an ongoing investigation.”

“Right,” I said. I met Bronson’s gaze. I didn’t like what I was about to say but I felt it needed to be clarified. “Swendson didn’t commit suicide. Someone slipped him those pills the morning of the show. Someone who wanted him dead.”

Bronson tossed down the pen he’d been fidgeting with. “Damn it, that’s the same conclusion I keep coming to but who and why?”

I felt myself relax, as it seemed like he was bumping us down the suspect list, but only a little. There was still a murderer out there, after all.

“Don’t you find it interesting that Penelope knew exactly what time to say she saw Scarlett talking to Swendson to put her at the scene before the murder?” Aunt Betty asked. She reached down and patted Freddy thoughtfully. “Why, it’s almost as if she knew what time he was murdered.”

We all sat silently. I watched Bronson’s face. He gave nothing away. “That’s assuming that his murder took place in the morning.”

“He was found in the clothes he’d chosen that morning,” Aunt Betty said. “I heard that his housekeeper verified he was wearing the exact same outfit when he left his house. It has to mean he was murdered that morning.”

“How do you know what his housekeeper said?” Bronson asked.

“Gossip.” Aunt Betty shrugged. “Tilly let it be known that she spent the night at her mother’s because of a headache, how convenient, and she told someone that their housekeeper verified Swendson’s attire.”

Bronson looked frustrated by the rumor mill. I imagined it didn’t make his job any easier.

“Unless Tilly and her housekeeper lied. It could be that she’s the one who murdered him and delivered him here, and she’s paying off her housekeeper to back her story,” I said. “Maybe she murdered him late that night and dragged the body back in a new outfit.”

“There’s no way she could move him by herself,” Harry said. “He’s twice as big as she is. If she did murder him at home and bring him here, she had to have help.”

“Assisted by some strong young people who want to win a dog show more than anything?” I asked. I put the emphasis on “young” just to make sure Bronson didn’t miss it.

Bronson looked at each of us. “Thank you for your time. I’ll be sure to keep you apprised of anything else we learn.”

And just like that we were dismissed. I had kept my cool in the office but now I wanted to get me a piece of Mrs. Penelope Young. How dare she fabricate seeing me talk to Swendson in Finchley Park the morning of the agility tests? I wanted to stomp her, crush her, smash her into bits.

“Ginger, you okay in there?” Harry asked.

I scowled at him. I was pretty sure there was smoke coming out of my ears. I showed my teeth in an attempt at a smile.

“Great, just great,” I said.

“That looks even worse,” he said.

“He’s right,” Aunt Betty said. “You have to pull it together. You’ve got the final competition in thirty minutes. You need to get your game face on.”

“Fine,” I said. “But if I run into Penelope Young, I might just kick her on principle.”

“After the competition,” Aunt Betty said. She handed me Freddy’s leash. “Now, go freshen up.”

I nodded. She was right. Freddy had worked so hard for this. He deserved my commitment to his final competition even if it was just him standing on a table and having his teeth checked.

Harry’s phone chimed. He held Bella with one arm while he checked it and said, “That’s from Viv. She and Fee are here and they’re saving us seats.”

Suddenly, I was nervous. Not just a little nervous—oh, no—this was like “teeth clacking, knees knocking, I have to pee really bad” nervous. Freddy was in the lead. He could totally win this thing if the judges found his overall appearance appealing. I glanced down at him and felt as if his entire future was resting on my shoulders.

“I can’t do this,” I said. Panic was making my voice wobble. I held out my hands for Bella and thrust Freddy’s leash at Harry at the same time. “I’ll go sit in the stands and you do the dog-show thing.”

Harry smiled at me. He shifted Bella and did not take Freddy’s leash. “I’m not dressed to present Freddy.”

I looked him over in his jeans and sweater. “You look fine to me.”

“But you look beautiful,” he said.

Well, bless his clearly-love-is-blind, foolish heart. The fact that he saw me this way made my heart sing, but I still didn’t want to do the dog show. There was so much at stake. What if I screwed it up? I didn’t want to be responsible for Freddy losing.

“Thank you,” I said. “I still think you should take him instead of me.”

“Nonsense,” Aunt Betty said. “It’s just nerves. You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t feel fine,” I said.

“Good. Then you’ll take it seriously,” she said. She made a shooing motion with her hand.

“Don’t worry,” Harry said. He kissed my forehead. “Trust Freddy. He hasn’t steered you wrong yet.”

I watched him turn and walk away with Bella and, dang, if that wasn’t the cutest thing ever, seeing my man with a puppy in his arms. I wondered what he was going to tell Viv about Bella and then I was pretty happy that I was back here with Freddy instead of breaking it to my cousin that Harry and I had adopted a dog.

Freddy and I went to await our turn in the handlers’ room. I tried to walk with a purpose and confidence I didn’t feel. I could feel the stares of the other competitors upon us. We were in the lead. The crystal bowl was ours to lose at this point. The thought made me queasy.

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*   *   *

Freddy and I found a quiet corner. I could feel my heart trying to punch out past my ribs and my hands were sweating, so I took a moment to breathe in slowly, hold it for four seconds and then exhale slowly, rinse and repeat until I felt like I wasn’t going to faint.

One of the PAWS people called, “Freddy and Scarlett Parker.”

Freddy perked right up, dancing on his feet as if he’d been waiting his whole life for this. I held his leash close to my side and together we trotted into the arena. The applause was deafening. It was clear Freddy was a favorite. I supposed people were tired of Muffin winning and really, who could blame them?

I refused to look for Harry and the others in the crowd, as it would just make me more nervous, especially if Viv gave me stink eye from one hundred yards for the puppy. Her stink eye is powerful like that. Instead, I focused on our walk across the arena to the judges’ table, keeping Freddy on my left, our gaits perfectly in sync.

The head judge was there, Claudia, and she looked as serious as ever. Freddy shot up the ramp onto the cloth-draped table, where he stacked. This was the portion of the event where he had to stand in place while the judges evaluated the overall look of him.

Because the PAWS dog show was a charitable event, they didn’t have the same conformation rules as the Westminster dog show. Aunt Betty had explained that each dog was evaluated by its overall appearance, using the standards set for its breed, or in the cases of mixed breeds, its contributing bloodlines. I had done some reading and knew what some of the corgi standards were considered to be. The list was daunting, however, so I’d pretty much forgotten everything but the personality, which was friendly and workmanlike. Corgis were generally never aggressive or anxious. I was hoping this would be a selling point for convincing Viv that Bella could visit the shop during the daytime when Harrison was at work. I glanced at the packed stands. Where were they?

No, no. I shook my head. Now was not the time to think about that. I forced myself to be as still as Freddy. When the judges asked to see his teeth, I moved his lips aside just as Betty had shown me. Freddy was tolerant through all of the manhandling. The judges walked around him in circles, studying his lines. His coat shimmered under the lights, his ears were perfectly matched and up as if he was listening to what they had to say about him.

“Run him around,” Claudia instructed.

“Beg pardon?” I asked.

She gestured impatiently with her pen, swinging it in a circle. “Run him around us. I want to see his gait, while walking and running.”

“Oh, sure thing,” I said. With little urging, Freddy came down the ramp.

I quickly kicked off my heels. I was not going to risk breaking an ankle while trotting a dog around the arena. Freddy stayed beside me and we walked a bit before breaking into a run. True confession. I am not a runner. In fact, I hate it. Unless there is cake at the end of a race, I really don’t see the point.

The judges were watching, however, so Freddy and I did our best to look like one functioning unit. We slowed to a walk again and rejoined the judges. Claudia gave me a quick nod. It was the first time I didn’t feel disapproval pouring off her toward me. Of course, it might have been a pity nod because I was shoeless, light-headed, sucking wind, and my face likely resembled a small, bitter, root vegetable. Did I mention I hate running?

I slipped on my heels and staggered from the arena to go wait in back with my competition. On my way, I passed Andre, who was looking at the display on his digital camera and shaking with laughter.

“Oh, Scarlett,” he said. “I’m sorry, but . . .”

He was laughing too hard to finish the sentence. I took the camera and glanced at the pictures. Oh. My. God. He had caught me in my full glory, red hair streaming behind me while I tried to show off Freddy. My cheeks were blown out like a puffer fish, my face was on fire, and my eyes looked wild.

“You will delete these,” I said. “They will never see the light of day.”

He glanced at the screen again and started laughing. “But the memes I could make.”

“No!”

“All right, all right,” he agreed. The next dog was called up and he squeezed my hand. “All photographic evidence aside, you and Freddy did really well out there.”

“Uh-huh,” I said.

He was gone before I got the second syllable out. I glanced down at Freddy.

“Well, for better or worse, we’re done,” I said.

I sagged against the wall. I needed to catch my breath. Competitors had been told that after competing in today’s event they were to wait in the back room and not sit out in the stands. Partly, it was because it was a packed house but also, I believe, they wanted to build up the suspense.

A vizsla named Tucker was up and he trotted past Freddy and me, looking confident but smelling a bit gassy.

Oof. I looked at Freddy but he didn’t seem fazed. Mouth-breathing, I took the opportunity to study the people out in the arena. Behind the judges’ table sat Mary and Tilly Swendson, along with Liza Stanhope in the VIP section. What an odd threesome, I thought. Mary was the only one who had seemed to actually mourn her brother, but from what I’d heard about him, I wasn’t sure why.

He’d borrowed against the company to build that monstrous castle for his young wife that she was now stuck with and if it was true that she didn’t inherit half of the company, she had no way to pay for. It seemed like it must be a punishment for the lover that everyone seemed to know she had. I glanced again at the people sitting in the VIP section. There were several gentlemen, other sponsors and PAWS board members, but none that I could imagine being involved with Tilly. Then again, as I glanced at her and saw that she was drinking a glass of wine and sending scathing glances in Mary’s direction, I doubted any sane man would want to take that on. Maybe Gerry Swendson had killed himself to get away from her. It was an uncharitable thought, and I almost felt bad about it. Almost.

I supposed it was possible that Gerry Swendson had killed himself. Maybe the crushing debt and the pending lawsuit had made him take the first available exit. I glanced at the dais where his body had been found. Except for that problem. The dais. Why was his body hidden beneath it? If it was a suicide, why was there no note?

I shook my head. There were too many people who wanted Swendson dead. It could have been suicide, but I seriously doubted it.

Freddy and I left the arena and made our way through the corridor to the back room. I saw Richard Freestone with Muffin. They looked calm and composed. He certainly didn’t seem too upset about the possibility of coming in second this year. I wondered if maybe when all this was over, if Aunt Betty finally won, perhaps she’d give Richard a chance. After all, they were of an age and they both loved dogs. Many relationships started with less.

As I leaned against the wall, I saw the Youngs with Henry. I glared at Penelope. I couldn’t help it. That load of bull she’d told Bronson made me think she was trying to deflect suspicion from her and Jasper. Of all the competitors, those two were the worst, and given how mean Henry was, it wouldn’t surprise me at all to discover they were murderers. Okay, maybe that was a little dark but why had Penelope gone to Bronson about me? Was she just trying to cause trouble for me or did she have something to hide?

There was only one way to find out. Before I could think it through, I was striding across the room to confront them.

“Oy, Ms. Parker!”

I heard the voice calling my name. I did. But I chose to ignore it. Three days of being stressed out on top of finding a dead body and I was at my end. I wanted to kick some booty and Penelope Young’s was as good as any.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Richard Freestone popped up in front of me with Muffin at his side. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Nope,” I said. “I’m just going to have a little conversation.”

“Really?” he asked. “Because the way you’re flexing your fist looks like you have about five points to make. It would be a shame to lose this for Betty over an unnecessary altercation when you and Freddy are so close to a win.”

I glanced at him and then down at my fist. I unclenched my fingers and shook out my hand.

“You’re right,” I said. “Thank you for reminding me of the bigger picture.”

“No problem,” he said.

“Henry and Penelope and Jasper Young,” the PAWS person called from the door.

I watched as Penelope and Jasper made their way over. For once, Henry was walking obediently instead of being dragged. He tried to nip a poodle on his way out the door though, so there was that.

When the door closed behind them, I turned to Richard. “So who do you think killed Gerry Swendson?”

He looked surprised that I’d asked. He blinked and then he blustered a bit. “I’m not sure what you mean. It’s not been declared a murder, has it?”

I gave him an exasperated look. “What do you mean you don’t know what I mean? It’s all anyone has talked about for two days, you must have some thoughts about it. And of course it was murder. He didn’t shove himself under the dais.”

“Is that what the police think?” he asked. His eyebrows shot up.

“Yes,” I said. I sounded more certain than I actually was, but I wanted information and Richard had been around for years. Surely he had to know something.

“I prefer to leave this sort of thing up to the police,” he said. I stared at him. Hard. He sighed. “All right, now that you mention it, it did occur to me that the person with the most motive is probably Tilly.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s always the spouse,” he said.

“All right, but if it wasn’t her, then who?” I asked.

“You want me to have a number two?”

“Yes, and a three if you can manage it.”

“I can’t,” he said. “I only offered up Tilly because who else could it be?”

“I’m glad to see you’ve put so much thought into this,” I said. How had he not been consumed by this?

“Again, isn’t that what the police are for?” he asked. “That Detective Inspector Bronson scowls his way around the room, sniffing out suspects and motives. I feel like he might be part bloodhound.”

“Well, if it helps to track down the killer, I’m all for it,” I said. “Also, I don’t think it was Tilly.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because apparently she’s not inheriting anything but debt,” I said. “It wasn’t to her advantage to kill her husband.”

“Even if it means she’s free to be with her lover?” he asked.

“You knew about that?”

“Everyone knows about that.” His tone was dry and I laughed. “I’m only surprised Gerry didn’t kill Claudia first.”

“Claudia?” I blinked. “The head judge? Why would he?”

“As I said, everyone knows,” he said. “Except for Gerry, but maybe he found out and that’s why he’s dead.”

I felt my jaw sag open. I was trying to picture the pampered and pouty Tilly Swendson partnered with the serious and severe Claudia Curtis. It did not compute.

“Wow, I didn’t see that coming,” I said. “But if everyone knew, that makes it even more unlikely that she killed him. She must have known she’d be the prime suspect.”

“If not Tilly, then who do you think killed Swendson?” he asked. “Claudia?”

“No, and for the same reasons I don’t believe it was Tilly—it’s too obvious,” I said. “If I had a clue, I’d be badgering the police to make an arrest. Do you suppose it has something to do with the lawsuit?”

“Lawsuit?” He gave me a cautious look.

“I heard you talking to Liza Stanhope,” I said. “I know you know that there’s a lawsuit in play from some of last year’s competitors, suing Swendson’s Dog Food for making their pets sick.”

His eyes went wide. “No one is supposed to know about that.”

“Well, clearly some people do, if you know, and I know, and Liza Stanhope knows,” I said. “Don’t you think one of the people in the lawsuit could have gone off the rails and killed Swendson? I mean, people can get pretty crazy about their dogs.”

“But murder,” Richard said. He bent over and scratched Muffin’s ears. The bulldog shook her head and a little slobber settled on Freddy’s coat. Ew. “That’s a hefty price to pay for substandard dog food.”

“Like I said, pet owners can be crazy.”

“Indeed,” he agreed.

The doors opened and Jasper and Penelope entered. Jasper was carrying Henry under his arm like a basketball. I got the feeling the evaluation didn’t go so well.

“Muffin and Richard Freestone.”

At his name, Richard smiled at me. “Well, that’s us. See you on the other side.”

“Good luck,” I said. I was surprised to find that I meant it. Richard was a nice man and Muffin was a charmer in her own jowly, drooly way. Of course, she was nowhere near as awesome as Freddy but that might have just been me.

“Thanks,” he said. “Come on, Muffin.”

Freddy and I watched them leave. I glanced across the room and saw Penelope and Jasper hissing at each other. It looked like there was trouble in Youngville. This did not bother me at all. They were hands down the most obnoxious couple I had ever met and their dog was a bit of a jerk, too. The only reason I didn’t hold him responsible was because I was certain he was a product of his environment and if he was in a different home, he’d likely be a perfectly lovely Jack Russell.

As I watched, he lifted his leg and peed in the water dish of the whippet beside him. Okay, nature versus nurture, it was a toss-up.