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The following morning, I, along with many counterpart agility handlers and presenters was getting the feel for the rings and the general layout. We wouldn’t receive the map of the agility course until Friday morning, the day of the trials. Even so, familiarity on the part of the handlers was integral to exuding the confidence that our charges would sense. I could take educated guesses on where the course itself would logically begin and end. Once I got the actual map, I planned on taking four short runs around the course—two while I was visualizing Sophie, and two while I was visualizing Dog Face.
I spotted Terrington, who grinned and headed toward me. “There you are, Allie. Let’s cash in on my offer to have coffee together, shall we?”
“Now isn’t a good time. I’m trying to do some advanced visualization of what the agility trial will be like. I’m also going to check out the competition in conformation. Maybe I’ll be free in another hour or two.”
“Scouting competition is a waste of time. You’d be much better served by taking some tips from me. Over a latte at the Brunswick Café. Afterwards, we can find a private spot where I can show you some of my moves.”
I let out a guffaw despite myself. “You can’t be serious.”
He grimaced. “That didn’t come out right. I meant how to hold the leash for the dog’s ideal head position and how to pivot effectively.”
“That reminds me. Have you heard if Cooper Hayes has been located yet?” Terrington’s face was blank, so I added, “The local dog handler for the conformation competition? Your peer?”
Terrington recoiled. “My peer?” He’s never as much as gotten a dog of his place in an opening round, let alone win a competition.”
“Well, that’s hardly his fault. The vast majority of dogs he handles are, by design, newbies in the dog show circuit, and their owners are enrolling them strictly to build up experience.”
Terrington shook his head. “Cooper is an amateur. Amateur dog handlers get amateur dogs to show. Almost always. Outstanding presenters lift the inexperienced show dogs’ performance levels so significantly, they become winners very quickly.”
“Oh, I don’t agree that it’s quite—”
“I won contests my first year of showing with dogs who were also in their first year. But then, that’s what makes me a Westminster Dog Show regular. I only do these Colorado dog-and-pony shows because I happened to be born here.”
How fortunate for Colorado dog breeders, I thought sourly. “That sounds like your results were truly exceptional.”
“Yes, they were. Thank you.”
“But because your results were the exception and not the norm, doesn’t that prove my point? Cooper shouldn’t be considered bad at what he does, but rather par for the course. Right?”
Terrington sneered. “True. He’s not bad, he’s simply mediocre.”
“Or he’s happily willing to teach younger canine students. Whose owners typically choose to advance his charges to highly accredited presenters once they’re at a truly competitive level.”
“I suppose that’s another way to look at him...as a puppy trainer.” He looked past my shoulder. “Speak of the devil.”
I gasped a little as I turned, happy to see that Cooper was indeed finally on the premises. My smile faded. Cooper’s left arm was in a cast and supported by a sling. I had truly not wanted to try to acquire the craft of dog presenting on the fly. Especially not when working with paying clients’ dogs.
Cooper was a tall, middle-aged man with a ring of brown hair and an ineffective comb-over. I had a warm spot for him, but in truth, Terrington was right about his being mediocre at handling dogs. He plodded when he walked and looked even less graceful when he trotted beside his canine charges. As he neared me, he appeared to be panting and looked truly out of sorts.
“Cooper,” I cried. “What happened?”
“Allie. Hi. You’re a sight for sore eyes. I’ve had the worst couple of days.” He tried to smooth his hair on the top of his pate. While he did so, he nodded in greeting to Terrington, who merely raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment. “I was on a hike in Gregory Canyon. I slipped and fell, head over heels.”
“Must have been one hell of a fall, by the looks of you,” Terrington declared.
“It was. I knocked myself out and broke my arm.” He ducked down to show us the large, square bandage on his scalp that his comb-over was partially hiding.
“Lucky for you,” Terrington said. “You’re already bald and didn’t have to have your head shaved.”
Cooper and I glared at him. He at least had the decency to look away with embarrassment.
“My dog, Matrix, woke me up, licking my face,” Cooper continued, turning a shoulder toward Terrington as if to exclude him from the conversation. “I’d dropped my cellphone. It took forever to find, and it was broken. I had to stay overnight with no provisions.”
“That’s dreadful,” I said.
“It gets worse. By the time Matrix and I finally made it back to the trailhead, my car had been stolen. I hitched a ride home, spent the night in the hospital, and had to find a boarder for Matrix. I had to fill out the police reports with my left hand.”
“Good grief! What a terrible ordeal!” I said.
“What kind of a dog is Matrix?” Terrington asked.
“Uh, mixed breed,” Terrington answered over his shoulder, then continued, “I don’t know how the heck I’m going to present dogs when I can’t grip a leash in my left hand.”
“Maybe Terrington can take on some of your dogs.” I faced Terrington, who looked alarmed at that concept. “What do you think?”
“That’s not possible. This is my career. I charge my clients lots of money to show their dogs so that they can improve their chances of winning. It’s not like I can suddenly just...pick up strays and work for free!”
“I charge a hundred dollars, per dog, per showing,” Cooper said.
“Like I said, in my world, that is free for all intents and purposes.” Terrington eyed Cooper from head to foot. “Dear God, man! No wonder you’re always able to find dog owners willing to hire you.”
Cooper looked ready to throw a punch, despite his broken arm.
“If you want to prove your full worth to new clients, Terrington,” I said, “this is a golden opportunity. Think of how impressive it would be to take a neophyte dog from a backyard breeder and earn a ribbon. You can’t buy the kind of publicity that such a thing would bring.”
“I have plenty of clients,” he countered, “and I would be buying the publicity. I’d be paying with lack of commissions and I’d likely lose a client or two by virtue of not honoring my side of the contract with them. I have a set limit on the number of dogs I will show at the events. It’s part of my guarantee of the amount of care and time I’ll put in with each dog. I could hardly expect them to pay my lofty fees if I’m showing dogs that are in competition with one another.”
Probably due to my own personality flaw, I truly wanted to goad Terrington into demonstrating that the dogs themselves are massively more important than their handlers. “But your clients at this show wouldn’t be worried in the least about amateur clients upstaging theirs. They’d be impressed with your willingness to help out a fellow team member.”
“Actually, Allie,” Cooper interjected, “I heard you were already showing a Bull Terrier. I was going to ask if you would take on my two other Terriers. A Scottie and a Wheaton.”
“I’m already showing a Wheaton,” Terrington said. “And I already have Valerie Franks’ permission for her to show her Westie herself if the Wheaton advances to Best in Class. The fact that you’ve already scheduled three Terriers only goes to show how you always expect to lose.”
Once again, Cooper looked furious. “In that case, I’ll take both the Wheaton and the Scottie,” I quickly interjected. “Will that be okay with your clients, Cooper?”
“I already spoke with the owner of the Scottie. I’ll have to let you know about the owner of the Wheaton.” His teeth were clenched as he spoke, but I distracted him by exchanging phone numbers, then getting the contact information for the Scottie. I suggested he give me the information for the Wheaton as well, just in case. He shook his head and said, “I’ll get back to you this afternoon.”
“I’m glad you and Allie could work this out,” Terrington said to him. “No offense intended.” He held out his right hand to shake, which Cooper merely glared at.
“I can’t shake hands, Terrington. My hand is in a cast. That’s kind of what I’ve been trying to get across with my words...for the sake of anyone who isn’t blind, deaf, and dumb.”
Terrington merely smirked at him, then shifted his focus to me. “Well, Allie, we’ll take a raincheck on that coffee.”
I nodded, and Terrington strode away. As I watched his confident gait, I felt a horrible pang of guilt. I hadn’t stopped to think Terrington would only debase Cooper all the more, due to my efforts to goad Terrington into putting his money where his mouth was. That was never actually going to happen. The man was far too cagey for that.
“I hate that guy,” Cooper said. “What a jackass.”
“He’s quite the egotist. I’m sorry, Cooper. I put you in an awkward position by asking him to cover for you. He’d been bragging, and I wanted to bring him down a peg or two. I should have simply volunteered to take your shifts myself.”
“Quite frankly, it’s my worst nightmare that the jerk might actually manage a win with one of the dogs I should have been showing. The judges freaking love him.”
“I’ve been hearing some grumbling about the judging. What’s your take on the rumors that some of the judges are accepting bribes from some of the breeders?”
He studied my eyes. “That subject warrants a whole conversation. Someplace private. Or at least off-premises.” He scanned the immediate vicinity. “Listen, Allie, I have to go inform some dog owners of my current injury status and see if I can help them find a replacement. I think I could handle a miniature Terrier. If you hear of anyone needing a hand...ler, give ‘em my name. Okay? After warning them about—” He lifted his casted arm.
“Will do. Maybe we can meet off premises tomorrow.”
He nodded. “I’ll call you.”
I watched him walk away, feeling worse than ever. I hoped he would call me. He was a really nice person, not merely the consummate dog-lover, but an appreciator of dog owners. He was the direct opposite of Terrington Leach. Despite how repellant Terrington Leach was, I might get valuable information from him. I was curious about the charges that Marsala Podnowski had made yesterday. Not only could it make Baxter’s efforts more effective, I did indeed want to expose whoever was causing the upset in the dog show.
Deciding to take the opportunity to spend some time with Baxter, I headed into the main building. Just as I was a few steps from Baxter’s office, I crossed paths with Kiki. “If you’re trying to catch Baxter, he’s in a powwow with my dad.”
“Okay.” I stopped, pondering if I should leave him a note.
Kiki let out a little sarcastic chuckle. “You don’t have to get all defensive, Allie.” She squeezed my upper arm. “Stop being so sensitive.”
I opened my mouth to tell her I had no idea what she meant, but decided there was no point. I did my best to disguise a growl of irritation by clearing my throat. “Thanks for the info,” I said as we went our separate ways. Not trusting her, I switched directions and stood close to Baxter’s door, listening. It did indeed sound like he was in a conversation with Davis.
Maybe I should get my coffee with Terrington off my to-do list, after all. I consulted an email from Fort Collins Dog Club, found his number, and called. He answered with a cheerful, “Allie!”
Simultaneously, I noticed there was a competent-looking woman taking a Schnauzer through his paces in the otherwise deserted ring ahead of me. “Hi, Terrington. I’m back in the main building. Are you here by any chance? We can go get that coffee.”
“As a matter of fact, I am indeed still here. I got waylaid by a couple of fans while I was in the parking lot. How ‘bout we meet over at the Brunswick Café? It’s directly across the street from the front parking lot. I’ve got a few things to finish up first, but I’ll see you there in say...fifteen minutes.”
He had spoken with a disturbingly flirtatious tone of voice, yet I really did want to ask him some questions. “Sounds good.” I hung up and called the Scottie owner, who told me that she didn’t care that I was inexperienced myself; she was only entering ‘Scottie’ because she’d promised her ten-year-old daughter she’d do so. “He’s just a nice family dog, you know? Please don’t feel like you need to take your time to get to know him in advance. We aren’t even planning on getting to Fort Collins until Friday. We’ll get together then.” I agreed, grateful now that Terrington hadn’t been the one to place this call. He would have rubbed Cooper’s face in it relentlessly. I focused my attention on woman practicing her presentation with the Schnauzer.
* * *
I’d been fortunate to watch three different handlers practicing with presenting the dogs. I found myself visualizing myself in their place, with Waxy and Scottie, followed by a Wheaton, as the dogs. Some woman I didn’t recognize whatsoever was practicing her presenting skills on a gorgeous sable Collie. He reminded me of Sage, my mom’s Collie. I was immediately captivated. The woman smiled at me. I realized then that I’d lost track of the time. I checked my cellphone and stamped my foot in frustration. I was already five minutes late.
I strode out of the building and into the parking lot. Though I was probably just kidding myself, I couldn’t help but think I’d have been kept on time by Pavlov, if only she’d been here with me. The line of thought always battered me; I started playing what-ifs with myself—if only I hadn’t gone to work that day and had gotten her to the vet sooner, or if I’d sensed her time was coming soon and could have taken a few days off to pamper myself with her presence.
I saw Marsala in tears, running toward her car in the parking lot. She had just crossed the street at the crosswalk I was now heading toward. Oddly, Mark Singer was running after her. He was once again wearing his safari vest. “Marsala! Wait! I already called the police! We’re both witnesses!”
“Leave me alone!” she sobbed, turning. She turned my way. So did Mark. They both stopped and looked at me.
“What’s wrong? What’s happened?” I called out.
“Cooper killed Terrington,” Marsala answered, still sobbing.