twenty-nine

Clay called time, so Tom and the others returned to where they had left their dogs in out-of-sight stays. Jay and I found a chair by the adjacent ring where heeling practice was already underway. My conversation with Tom had left dancers clogging on my skull, so I got a cola from the machine, took two aspirins, and sat down for a moment. Marietta was in the center of the ring calling commands. She waved at me, then asked someone to take over for a few minutes. She stepped over the accordion fencing that defined the ring and sat down beside me. Jay leaned into her leg and she scratched the sweet spot over his hips, freezing him in place.

“What a screwed up weekend.”

I nodded. “What happened with the johnny business?” I’d gotten so wound up in Rasmussen’s demise that I had almost forgotten about the crazy portable-potty chase.

Marietta rolled her eyes. “Was that the stupidest thing you ever heard of ? I mean, sled dogs? I wouldn’t hitch a Pomeranian to a portable toilet, let alone two malamutes.” She let out something between a laugh and a snort. “Served her right. And John is threatening to sue her for damages. He says the unit is ruined.”

“John?”

“John Johnson owns Johnny-Come-Early, if you can believe that.”

“What’s in a name?” I asked. We both chuckled, and I went on. “At least no one was really hurt,” I said. “It’s a good thing he had just switched out the johnnies.”

“Took an hour to wash that crap out of her hair and off her skin.” Marietta said and wrinkled her nose. “Well, not actual crap. But that blue disinfectant stuff is clingy. Yuch. Had to use dog shampoo and stick her in the grooming tub. I hope I get my clothes back. I loaned her my favorite sweat pants. Gad, people.”

“Speaking of people … How long were the police here?”

“Hours. They finally let Clyde Williamson off the hook.” She was referring to the agility judge. “He flew in Saturday night and didn’t have a car, plus no motive. He was pretty cranky about the whole thing.”

“I noticed that.”

“Yeah, we won’t be hiring him again.” She stopped scratching Jay and told him to lie down. He looked at me for confirmation, then lay down across my feet. “The cops talked to me and to Jorge. He was pretty shook up,” said Marietta, “but I think that was more about those cats he’s been feeding than about what’s-his-name. What was his name? Rapscallion?”

“Rasmussen.” I wanted to ask her what else the police wanted to know, but my phone started to ring. “Shoot. I thought I turned that off,” I said. I checked my pants and jacket, then remembered that I had dropped the silly thing into my training bag. By the time I fished it out from under my spare leash, spilled liver treats, a dumbbell, a tennis ball, and a couple of toys I use in training, it was quiet. I looked at the missed-call number and said, “Hutchinson. Maybe I should call him back.”

Marietta didn’t seem to hear me. “Jorge was pretty mad at that guy, though. He saw him throw something at that little mama cat in the afternoon, and later in the evening, after you left, he said he saw the guy chasing the cat out near the agility ring.”

“No! He came back onto your property?” The image of Rasmussen sitting in his car across the street came back to me. At the time, I thought he was watching for Louise to leave. She was having pizza with Alberta and some other folks, and I had no idea how long that little soirée lasted. Maybe he got tired of waiting for her. “And chasing a cat? Why would he do that?”

“That’s what Jorge said, but it was dark out there, so maybe it wasn’t the guy, Ratsass or whatever. Maybe someone was out there running the course without a dog. Practicing their handling moves. Who knows?” Marietta stood and stepped back into the ring. “Jorge yelled at whoever it was, but he was bringing a forty-pound bag of dog food in from his truck so he didn’t go out there right then.”

“That’s so weird,” I said. “Who runs around an agility course in the dark?”

Marietta shrugged. “The main lights were off, but there was some light from the back of the building and the parking lot.”

“But Jorge wasn’t sure it was Rasmussen?”

“Oh, he seemed pretty sure. He sputtered and swore while he dumped the dog food into the bin. Then he went back out to police the yard and said he’d take care of it.”

“Did he see anyone out there?”

“He said he saw someone walking along the edge of the parking lot, but not on the agility course. It was odd, since almost all of the competitors had left long before that,” she said. “He did say it wasn’t Rasmussen though.”

“How did he know?”

“Too small.”

Marietta resumed control of the practice ring and I just sat there for a few moments. I should have called Hutchinson right then, but I didn’t think I could stand to hear about any more friends being murder suspects and I couldn’t think of any other reason he would be calling. I closed my eyes and pressed the cold pop can against one temple, then the other, then my forehead. The icy pressure loosened the pain a notch, but the harder I tried to disentangle my thoughts, the tighter they wound themselves.

Jay whined softly and shifted off my feet.

“Okay, you’re right, Bubby,” I said, looking into his hopeful eyes. I strapped on my treat bag, and picked up my leash. “Come on, let’s work a little.” I’d say I did all this training and competing for Jay, to channel his high-energy mind and body into acceptable activities, but the truth is that I do it for myself. Working with my animals never fails to center me. Besides, they’re both so gorgeous, they take my breath away.

There were only a dozen human-canine pairs working in the main ring. Rhonda Lake and Eleanor were there, and several people I didn’t remember seeing before. Probably recent graduates of the basic obedience course, I thought. Collin Lahmeyer waved at me, his Chesapeake Bay Retriever, Molly, at his side. I stepped into a gap in the line circling the ring and glanced down. Jay looked up at me, already aligned in perfect heel position, a jaunty little bounce in his step.

“Fast!” said Marietta.

The people in the ring shifted to jog speed. The more experienced dogs sped up and stayed in position, adjusting their strides as needed. One of the new dogs, a big brindle boy who appeared to be some sort of hound cross, bounced up and down, started to bay, and took off at a run. His owner, a thirty-something blonde in desperate need of more secure footwear for dog training, pleaded, “Stop, Billy Bob! Billy Bob, stop! Oh!” Her cute little ballet flats pitter-pattered on the ring mats but gave her no traction at all. Billy Bob let out a long “Awooo!”

“Halt!” said Marietta.

Everyone pulled to a stop. Except Billy Bob. He was in full cry now, although I had no idea what he was chasing. Pure joy, probably.

“Billy Bob! Oh, oh, oh …” Billy Bob’s owner sounded like she might start a full cry of her own, but I had to give her credit for hanging onto that leash. Her dog probably weighed nearly as much as she did, and he had the advantage of two additional legs and a low center of gravity.

Marietta tried to intercept Billy Bob, but she was too far away and he seemed to be focused on something near the pop machine by the far wall of the room. A voice in my head wondered What is this, runaway dog week? I shifted my focus from the hound and spotted a display of collars and leashes and, just beyond, something new. A rack of stuffed dog toys. I turned my gaze back to Billy Bob just as he leaped, trying to clear the folding gates that defined the ring’s perimeter. It wasn’t much of a hurdle for a big, leggy dog. Billy Bob rose a few inches off the ground, but he was handicapped by the woman who still clung to his leash. “Awooo!” he cried, and crashed head-first through the gate. The diamond-shaped opening slid over his head and neck and caught against his shoulders. Billy Bob’s momentum slowed, but he kept running, bowing the center of the gate like an arrow, his own body the point he aimed at his target. The ends lifted off the stanchions as they stretched and flapped behind him like wings. His owner took several tripping steps, stumbled to her knees, and let go of the leash.

Giselle had appeared from the back of the building. For an instant she stood slack-jawed between Billy Bob and the toy display. Then she let out a scream, scooped Precious up from the floor, and scampered back the way she’d come in. Tom and the rest of the group in the other ring were turning toward the ruckus with various levels of comprehension.

Billy Bob folded his front quarters in an obvious attempt to stop, but he was off the mats and his elbows skidded across the smooth concrete. He crashed into the toys, knocking the rack up against the wall, and his wooden wings flapped and stretched open around him, wobbled, and finally stopped. Billy Bob pulled his head out of the gate and loped back to where his person crouched weeping on the floor. He sat in front of her, his body cocked sideways onto one hip and one long ear flipped rakishly back across his neck. He put a big paw on the woman’s shoulder, an oversized pink-and-purple octopus dangling from his mouth.