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Baxter was talking on the phone as I shut his office door behind me. From his end of the conversation, I gathered that the caller was trying to coax Baxter into giving a money-back guarantee for all six of her male dogs, should another dog-in-heat incident occur this year. Demonstrating his annoyance, he rolled his eyes as he negotiated the caller down to returning the admission fee for one dog, should her highest-ranking dog’s reputation be tainted somehow. I quietly took a seat, noting the lack of windows or a single spot of color or interest in the space. The metal desk, filing cabinet, and chair frames seemed to be circa 1980s or so. Finally the conversation ended. He smiled at me.
“Hi, sweetheart. Cooper Hayes is still a no-show. Apparently nobody has seen him since his firing-slash-resignation from my current position.”
“It doesn’t look like you’re having all that great of a time in the job,” I noted.
“Yeah. It pretty much consists of handling current complaints while trying to prevent future complaints. According to Kiki, they’d downplayed Cooper’s release from his salaried position by telling him that they needed him too much as the go-to guy for dog owners who needed to hire a presenter for their dogs. They told him they blamed the lower numbers of registrations on being unable to give their usual spiel about him being for hire at a reasonable price.”
“He’s certainly better-suited for that role. Cooper stops and chats with me whenever we bump into each other at dog shows. He strikes me as one of the gentlest, least-ambitious men I know. But maybe he was hurt even so and just decided to take a vacation, or something.”
“Maybe he’s pining away in a cabana on a Mexican beach.” He sighed. “So you’ll meet Waxy soon. His owner’s name is Gregory. There are two other Terrier owners who declined Cooper’s offer to bring in their dogs this afternoon. I called and left messages about Cooper not being available today, just so I could stay ahead of things.” He handed me a slip of paper. “Here’s their names and contact info.”
I glanced at the two names under Gregory’s. Neither rang any bells. “Did you give them my number as his substitute?”
“I said words to that effect. It’d be great if you could call them and introduce yourself and assure them plus Greg you’re ready to fill in for Cooper if he can’t show their dogs. You should probably add something like: ‘despite our expectations that he will indeed be here.’ There’s a fourth owner that Kiki said she was speaking to, but she didn’t—”
He broke off as Kiki Miller popped her head in the office doorway. “Hi, Allida.” She seemed a tad annoyed at my being here. Terrington Leach, looking resplendent in his tailored suit, stepped into the doorway beside her. Terrington was the exact opposite of Cooper. He was a dog hander for the stars, showing at Westminster and other prestigious shows. She grinned at him. “You’ve met Allie Babcock before, haven’t you, Terrington?”
“No, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he replied, smiling slowly and giving me a head-to-foot visual examination.
“We met at the show in Denver last spring.”
“Really?” He stared into my eyes. “I so rarely forget a pretty face.” He winked at me.
“I must have been having a bad-face day. That happens sometimes. When I don’t get enough sleep.”
“Allida...did you say your name was?”
Baxter cleared his throat. “Actually that’s what Kiki said her name was, and it still is.”
Baxter was not the jealous type, but his arms were crossed, and though his voice had been amiable, he was clearly annoyed at how Terrington was ogling me.
“Sorry, hon,” Baxter told me, “but Kiki and I have a meeting scheduled.” He held out his hand to Terrington, saying, “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too. As Kiki was likely about to tell you, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. I’m showing a future prize-winner in the Terrier class. Plus one in the Toy, Sporting, and Non-sporting classes. I’m guaranteed to have the Best in Show.”
Baxter gave him a nice smile and a nod, but I knew him well enough to be certain he found Terrington’s boundless ego galling. Baxter shifted his gaze to me. “Lunch in an hour?”
“Sure thing.”
I strode out the door, and Terrington followed, shutting the door behind us. A familiar-looking woman strode toward me. She was attractive, in her forties or so, but her wrinkles were permanent scowl lines. Terrington, meanwhile, put his hand on the small of my back. I whirled around, ready to karate chop his arm.
“Aha!” he said, grinning. “Most people call you Allie, right?”
“My friends do,” I replied. I glanced at the woman who’d stopped next to me. She was glowering at Terrington.
“I knew it,” Terrington continued. “I do remember you. And speaking of lovely women, this is my dear friend, Marsala Podna-something.”
“Podnowski,” Marsala growled. “That’s my ex-husband’s name, and I haven’t gotten around to changing it. No thanks to my dear friend, Terrington.”
“No thanks necessary,” he said in a rather odd non-sequitur. “Allie here is handling Jesse’s and Valerie’s Terriers in the agility trials this year. Marsala breeds Bull Terriers.” He winked at me. “I’ve been hoping she’ll breed them to Shih Tzu, and make a crossbreed called Bull Shihtz.”
He laughed merrily, but I’d heard that joke a dozen times. Marsala clenched her fists as if she wanted to punch his face.
“I remember you and your dog from last year’s show. She was judged the best Bull Terrier and was in solid contention for Best Terrier.”
“Yes, I have two lines of Bull Terriers with blue ribbons on both sides,” she answered. “To be honest, I truly thought Chardonnay was the Best-in-Class last year. With Valerie now competing again this year, I very much doubt there will be impartial judging this time either.”
“Oh, come on, Marsala,” Terrington said. “You don’t seriously believe Valerie’s dogs have a chance. I’m not even presenting them this year! Furthermore, the judges all know she led the boycott that was responsible for the low enrollment. That’s like entering a beauty pageant with a big black eye.”
I wondered if his last statement was true. I honestly didn’t know how Valerie’s actions to date would affect the judging.
“Oh, Bull Shih Tzu!” Marsala snarled. “The judges are going to be cowed by her, just like always.”
“It’s Jesse’s rookie Airedale, Eeyore, that will be hard to beat,” Terrington said. He grinned at me. “I’m handling—”
“Jesse is enrolling a dog in conformation?” I interrupted. “I talked to him just yesterday. He was leaning toward not entering at that time.”
“He changed his mind this morning. He called me and begged me to show Eeyore.” He rolled his eyes. “Just a terrible name for a prized dog. Better than Dog Face, at least. In any case, Eeyore is going to be a very tough dog to beat. Especially since I’m his handler. I wouldn’t want to bet against us.”
Marsala glared at him with unmasked contempt.
He lifted his palms in response. “I’m just saying.”
“You’ve been ‘saying’ too much of nothing,” Marsala snapped. “I’d like to hear what Allie has to say about the elephant in the room.”
Terrington scanned our surroundings. “The St. Bernard?”
She clicked her tongue. “No, the conflict between Jesse and Valerie. One of them is lying about what happened, obviously. Allie, you’ve worked with both of them. Which one do you suspect?”
This was precisely the topic I’d been actively trying to avoid. Then again, I’d refused to give my opinion for a year now. Maybe my reticence was why it kept coming up again and again. “Frankly, I’m not convinced that either of them is lying. It could have been an honest mistake on the part of an inexperienced helper, who brought a dog in heat to the show. And it doesn’t seem at all unreasonable to conclude that the dogs jiggled their crates closer, or someone other than Jesse pushed the two cages together. Such as someone who wanted to create a feud between two first-rate Terrier breeders.”
“To get them both disqualified, you mean?” Marsala asked.
“Yes. That’s almost exactly what wound up happening, after all. In any case, I think we’d all be best served to take both of them at their word and let...sleeping dogs lie.”
Terrington chuckled. “I doubt that’s going to happen any time soon. Those two are far more likely to fight tooth and nail than to let go of their bone of contention.”
“Maybe so. But the rest of us can,” I replied.
Terrington merely smirked at me.
“I need to get to work,” I said. “I’m supposed to take a dog named Waxy on a stroll around the ring. It was nice meeting both of you.”
Marsala’s eyes widened. I assumed she’d recognized the name of a Bull Terrier. “I need to have a word in private with you, actually,” Marsala said. “It will just take a moment.” She crossed her arms and glared at Terrington. “It was nice seeing you again, Terry.”
“Yes, it was great seeing you again, my dear.” He placed his hand on my upper arm. “Let’s have a chat over coffee tomorrow. My treat.”
I wasn’t eager to spend more time with Terrington than necessary. “I’ll have to see how my schedule works out in the morning. I’m awfully busy with preparations for the show. Thanks for the offer, though.”
Marsala waited a beat as she watched Terrington leave. “Allie, believe me when I tell you, Terrington is a skirt chaser like nobody’s business. The last thing you’ll want to do is encourage him by taking him up on his offer of a coffee date.”
“Yeah, I picked up on that. Besides, Baxter and I made it clear to him that we are a committed couple.”
“Which is precisely why Terror Terrington is coming on to you. I’m sure you know he broke up my marriage.”
I sighed. No wonder Baxter was feeling less than chipper about this job. Dogs can be trained out of their bad habits! “Is that what you wanted to discuss with me? To stay away from Terrington?”
“No. I wanted to ask you to alert Baxter to the problems with the judge he hired to take Julie Cameron’s place. Mark Singer is about as corrupt a judge as I’ve ever seen. It was a shock to me that Baxter actually managed to find someone even less qualified to judge the Terriers.”
“Don’t you think it would be better for you to discuss this with Baxter yourself?”
She shook her head. “I’m trying my best to stay away from all men at this damned show. I was going to skip it this year, but, frankly when Jesse and Valerie were out of the picture originally, I thought this would finally be my big chance.”
She was making a case for herself having shoved the two dog crates together. “So you’re seriously not going to talk to Baxter or the male judge, even though you think the judge takes bribes?”
“Right. I’m going to avoid both of them. Whereas you, Allie, have a reputation of righting wrongs in the Front Range dog-lover community. I think the whole nonsense about Valerie’s and Jesse’s dogs mating last year was a deliberate distraction. Someone wanted to pull everyone’s attention away from the bribes that were being raked in by the crooked judges. Of which Mark Singer was leader of the pack.”
“You think all of the bad feeling in the Terrier Class last year was a coverup?”
“Bingo! I don’t know how deep it goes...if it’s all of the event management or just a couple of rotten-apple judges and dog breeders. But it’s a real thing, Allida. A real criminal thing. And now that I know how contemptible Terrington Leach is, I’d watch my back around him if I were you.”
“Are you suggesting he’s in on bribing judges to select the dogs he shows?”
“Oh, I think it’s much worse than that. I think he gets information to use against everyone. I think he’s raking in money hand over fist. He flirts with abandon and thinks nothing of trampling over girlfriends and male buddies, and ruining people’s lives and careers.”
I had no reply.
She studied my features. “Just think about putting your weight behind the effort to clean up this show. Please.” She handed me her business card. “Call me any time.” She paused. “And, by the way, Waxy is a dud.”
She pivoted and marched toward the exit. I watched her leave, trying to weigh her words. Maybe she was being completely forthright with me. Or maybe she was being vindictive to the people she felt had mistreated her and misjudged her dogs.
“Allie.” I jumped at little, even though I recognized Baxter’s voice. I turned to face him. “I’m glad I caught you. Something else has just come up.”
“What?”
“Kiki has received a petition from a couple of the Terrier breeders—not Jesse or Valerie—who want me to replace two of last year’s judges. They’re basically basing their claims on bias toward particular breeders and handlers in previous shows.”
“Which could simply be a matter of personal preferences within AKC standards,” I added.
“Exactly. As Kiki already knew, I can’t fire a judge unless credible evidence is presented to the AKC, which they haven’t done.”
“Marsala Podnowski was telling me about Mark Singer. She’s convinced he’s crooked. She tried to recruit me to tell you that in so many words.”
Baxter furrowed his brow. “Marsala is one of the founders of the petitions. I’m going to go ahead and discuss this with Davis Miller. There’s no sense in making this decision on my own. It’s likely to backfire either way.”
Several minutes later, I noticed a man with a Bull Terrier on leash standing near the ring where Cooper had arranged for them to meet. Sure enough, the was Gregory and Waxy—who was a nice, complacent, overweight dog. We went through the rituals of walking around the ring and gaiting the dog—pretending the judge had asked me to have Waxy maintain a steady trot in typical patterns—a diagonal line from the judge’s vantage point, an L-shape, and a triangle. We then had him take a fictional turn on the examination table for a close inspection by the judge. I nearly lost my balance lifting him, and I suggested he try feeding Waxy green beans or canned pumpkin with a smaller amount of kibble, so Waxy would feel full but would lose weight. Greg was so pleased with my advice, he left in great spirits and told me he no longer cared if Cooper Hayes showed up or not.
After escorting Greg and Waxy to the exit, I joined Baxter in his meeting with Davis. To neither of our surprise, Davis spent several minutes lecturing us on all the negatives of reassigning a dog-show judge that we already knew. Baxter, in fact, had voiced those very points at the start of the conversation. Nobody is allowed to judge the same category of dogs that they own personally, although judges should have good knowledge about the class they are judging. As Davis stated, “They’ve all been given their assignments and schedules for weeks. We are giving them a vote of no-confidence before they as much as set foot on the premises.”
“Yet that’s already what the Terrier owners have given us,” Baxter said, “a vote of no confidence. That’s what I was hired to fix.”
“Not by insulting two of our most experienced judges,” Davis countered. “You’ll only be making things all the worse.”
“Not necessarily,” I interjected. “We can explain to them that changing assignments is merely the best way for us to put last year’s trouble behind us. None of us want that to happen again this year, including those judges. We’re simply distancing ourselves from all the personnel involved by giving the entries a new slate.”
“That’s a good point,” Davis said to Baxter, even though I’d been the one to say it. Changing judges was merely common sense. It was baffling to me that the management hadn’t taken care of this themselves before hiring Baxter.
“Allie and I will meet with the judges individually and find a way to make this work,” Baxter said. “Thanks for the advice,” he added, rising. I stood up as well.
“You’re welcome,” Davis replied.
Baxter ushered me out of his office and shut the door behind us. “Sorry I said you’d help me without asking first. I wanted to be sure you got a little credit. You don’t actually have to go with me.”
“I think I can squeeze it in. I’m not half as busy as you are.”
“Great. Thanks. I want to talk to the female judge, and I’d like both of us to talk to the male judge. I know it’s sexist, but I just think that will work the best. The guy’s been known to show favoritism to the young, pretty handlers.”
“Oh, gag me,” I grumbled.
“That’s why I want to be your wingman, in case he’s a real jerk. They both live in Denver. We’ll pay them home visits, then meet for lunch.”
“In that case, I might as well be your wing-woman with the female judge. We should just take one car.”
“Sounds good.” He paused. “We can have a picnic at Washington Park, and I’ll stop by a grocery store and get the food.”
“Your frugality reminds me...I accepted a job, training Bingley. Tracy registered him in the agility trials.”
“Are you serious?”
I nodded. “I’ll be working with Bingley all week at full salary.”
“It’s not possible to train a dog, who’s never so much as jumped over an obstacle, how to run an agility course.”
“She wants to produce some YouTube fodder,” I replied. “I suspect she’s largely doing it this so she has an excuse to pay me for training her dog.”
Baxter grimaced. “I hope this financial hiccup of ours doesn’t turn into serious illness.”