Sit, Stay, Slay Page 4

  “Why, the dirty little homewrecker,” Dixie said.

  Something in June Vannover’s eyes took me back to a year ago when I had learned my husband, Albert, was having an affair. I saw the same look of incredible disbelief in her that I’d worn for months when Albert dropped that bomb on me. Something in me immediately connected to June Vannover, and without thinking, I reached out and pulled her into a hug. Initially, she must have been as shocked by my action as I was. I held her stiff body and whispered. “I’ve been in your shoes.” Something in those words loosened the floodgates. She relaxed and gripped me with both arms and sobbed. We both sat there on the sofa in Dixie’s RV and sobbed until neither one of us had any tears left to cry. When we finished and broke apart, we looked at each other and laughed.

  Dixie, who had also sobbed, stood up and passed us a box of tissues. “We all look like a hot mess.”

  I looked from Dixie to June Vannover and saw eyeliner- and mascara-ringed eyes that were red and puffy from crying. Their previously perfect foundation was now tear-streaked.

  I glanced around at Red, who was quietly standing near the door, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else than trapped in an RV with three crying women. His expression made me laugh even more. Realizing that some of his anxiety was due to the fact that he was concerned for me made me want to give him a break. “I think we can handle it from here, if you want to—”

  “Yes. I’ll be outside.” He rushed out the door.

  Dixie, June, and I glanced at each other and laughed again.

  “That poor man,” Dixie said.

  June pointed. “He’s not the . . .”

  I scowled and shook my head. “Good God, NO! That’s Red . . . my boyfriend.” I suppressed a desire to giggle like a schoolgirl. I quickly shared my story of how my husband, Albert, had dumped me after twenty-five years of marriage.

  “Weren’t you upset? How did you . . . how could you move on? I feel so betrayed, but . . I don’t want a divorce. I know it’s all that woman!” She huffed and pointed in the general direction of Naomi Keller’s RV. “She bewitched him. She told him lies, and she’s just using him. She doesn’t care about Dixon. I know she doesn’t. She doesn’t have a heart.”

  “Initially, I felt the same way. I didn’t want a divorce . . . at first. I was comfortable. We’d been together for so long, I didn’t know anything else. I didn’t know what it was like to be on my own.”

  June stared at me as though I’d just unlocked the secrets to life. “How did you do it?”

  I smiled. “One night, I met a woman on a train named Miss Florrie. She was a wise older woman. She looked at me and said, ‘Honey, whatever he did, it ain’t worth all them tears.’”

  “How did she know it was a man?”

  “I asked the same thing. She said, ‘Only a man can make a woman cry like you was crying. And baby, ain’t no man worth crying over. Tears are a precious commodity. You shouldn’t waste them on someone that done you wrong.’”

  June gazed at me with wide eyes. “Was she a psychic?”

  I thought for a moment. “Honestly, I think she was just a wise woman who had lived through a lot and understood . . . people.” I shared how Miss Florrie helped me realize that Albert and I hadn’t been happy for quite some time and that life was too short not to be happy. “She’s the one who led me to Chattanooga.”

  “How?”

  “She told me I needed to find my happy place.” I shrugged. “I realized I didn’t want to live in Indiana anymore. I wanted to be someplace warm. I wanted to be around my friend.” I reached out and squeezed Dixie’s hand. “And . . . I wanted a dog.”

  June leaned forward. “So, you just left? You moved to Chattanooga?”

  I nodded.

  “What did your husband say? Didn’t he try to stop you?”

  “Actually, he was killed, so he didn’t really say anything, but it wouldn’t have mattered.” I gazed at her. “I’m not saying that’s what you should do.”

  “You can find your happy place,” Dixie said and smiled.

  “But what will I do? What if being with Dixon is what makes me happy?”

  “No one can answer that question for you,” I said. “You have to decide what makes you happy, but you can’t force someone to stay with you if that’s not what they want.”

  She nodded, but I wasn’t sure she fully believed me.

  We talked a bit longer, but eventually June Vannover said she was going to go home and talk to her husband and decide what she should do.

  I wasn’t sure she was ready to find her happy place, but I didn’t know what else I could say or do. Eventually, I decided to leave it up to Providence and went in search of Red.

  I didn’t have to go far to find him. When I did, I gave him a hug. “Thank you.”

  “What did I do?”

  “For being here. For being supportive. For helping me feel loved.”

  “My pleasure.” He held me tight and kissed me thoroughly. “Actually, I have an important question I’ve been trying to ask.”

  “What question?”

  He opened his mouth to answer, but a bloodcurdling scream echoed through the building. We glanced around to find the source of the disruption.

  Monica Jill stumbled inside. She took two steps toward us. “She’s dead.” Then she stopped and crumbled to the floor in a dead faint.

  “Not again,” Red mumbled as he pushed his way through the crowd.

  Chapter 5

  Monica Jill opened her eyes. “What happened?”

  “Thank God,” B.J. said and flopped into a chair, fanning herself.

  “You fainted,” Dixie said. She placed a wet compress on Monica Jill’s head. “We had to get two guys to carry you back here.”

  Monica Jill, resting on the sofa in Dixie’s RV, said, “I’ve never fainted a day in my life.”

  “Well, you certainly fainted today,” B.J. said.

  Monica Jill shook her head. “Nope. I don’t faint.”

  “Pig-headed,” B.J. mumbled.

  Dixie gave B.J. a frown and then turned back to Monica Jill. “She’s right. You absolutely fainted this time. Dr. Morgan looked at you. He’s going to take care of . . .” She looked around, unsure whether she should share the bad news now or wait. She glanced in my direction.

  I shrugged.

  “Dr. Morgan promised he’d come back and give you a thorough checkup as soon as he can.”

  “Oh, no, he won’t.” Monica Jill sat up too quickly and swayed a bit before lying back down. “I’m absolutely fine. I certainly don’t need to be checked out by a coroner.” She closed her eyes. After a few moments, she said, “I probably just need to eat something. I’m just going to lie here for a few moments until the room stops swaying, and then I’m going to go home.”

  We exchanged glances.

  B.J. leaned forward. “You listen here, you skinny little pageant queen. You are going to lie there and get examined by Dr. Morgan as soon as he gets back, and if you think we’re going to let you get behind the wheel of a car, then you have another think coming.”

  Monica Jill opened her eyes and stared at B.J. She must have noticed the steely stare she received and figured out that B.J. meant business. She sighed and felt her hair. “Why am I soaking wet?”

  Dixie and I stared at B.J.

  “We had to revive you.” B.J. turned to Dixie. “I’m going to need something stronger than coffee.”

  Dixie got a bottle of wine from one of the upper cabinets and poured three glasses and passed them around.

  “Where’s mine?” Monica Jill said.

  “You can’t even sit up.” B.J. took a sip. “You just lie back down there and wait until Dr. Morgan gets back, or I’ll tie you to that sofa.”

  For a half second, Monica Jill looked as though she wanted to challenge B.J.’s authorit
y, but a narrow-eyed glance from B.J. made her realize she didn’t stand a chance. She sighed and lay back on her pillow. “I can’t just lie here in wet clothes.”

  B.J. reached over and tossed a towel to her friend. “Stop whining, and be thankful I couldn’t get the defibrillator off the wall.”

  A look of pure fear crossed Monica Jill’s face, but she closed her mouth and dried her arms, face, and hair to the best of her ability while still lying flat on her back. When she was done, she folded the towel and glanced at us. “Is someone going to tell me what happened?”

  We exchanged glances, and Dixie sat next to Monica Jill on the sofa. “Do you remember anything?”

  Monica Jill squinted and frowned. “The last thing I remember is watching a beautiful cocker spaniel compete. It was dark brown and just a beautiful dog.” She looked at Dixie. “You know, we used to have cocker spaniels when I was growing up.” She thought a moment and then shook her head. “I don’t really remember much after the cocker spaniel.”

  Dixie patted her hand. “Don’t worry about trying to remember. I’m sure it will come back to you.” She hesitated. “Naomi Keller is dead.”

  “Dead?” Monica Jill propped herself up on one elbow and glanced at the group. “How did she die? What happened?”

  “We were hoping you could tell us,” Dixie said quietly.

  “Me?”

  “You found her.”

  Monica Jill flopped back on her pillow. “I don’t remember anything. I remember the cocker spaniel, and then I woke up here.” She glanced at B.J. “Soaking wet.”

  B.J. sipped her wine and ignored the dig.

  “Don’t worry yourself.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes and then talked about everything except the elephant in the room, Naomi Keller’s murder. After a strained, prolonged silence, Dr. Morgan joined us.

  He looked at Monica Jill’s eyes and examined her head for bumps, while we all watched anxiously. “She’s had a bit of a shock, but she’ll be fine.”

  Monica Jill swung her legs off the sofa and sat up. “Great. Thank you. Now, would you tell these prison guards I’m perfectly fine to drive myself home.” She stuck out her tongue at B.J.

  “Hold on. I didn’t say anything about you driving.”

  “Ha!” B.J. stuck out her tongue.

  Monica Jill looked crestfallen. “What? You can’t be serious. You said I was okay.”

  “I did say that, but you’ve also had a shock. You’ve fainted, and you’re suffering from short-term memory loss. I think you should allow one of us to drive you home, or I can call your husband to come get you. Take it easy over the weekend and make an appointment to see your regular doctor first thing Monday morning.”

  “But . . . I don’t need to see a doctor. I feel fine.” She pouted.

  “Do you want some cheese?” B.J. asked.

  Monica Jill frowned. “Cheese?”

  “I just thought you might want cheese to go along with all that whining.”

  Monica Jill scowled at her friend and then looked around to find her purse. “Oh, stop gloating and take me home.” She glared. “How many glasses of wine have you had?”

  “Not nearly enough,” B.J. said.

  “Where’s Jac?”

  “When you fainted, he started howling,” Dixie said. “We put him in a crate in the office so he wouldn’t disturb you.” She went to get him.

  B.J. stood up. “I better get Snoball.”

  When all of the women left, I turned to Dr. Morgan. “I haven’t talked to Red since all of this happened, but do you know how she died?”

  “It’s just a guess at the moment. We won’t know for sure until the autopsy, but I’d say she was strangled.” He paused. “With a dog leash.”

  Chapter 6

  B.J. drove Monica Jill home, and I went in search of Red. I ran into Madison Cooper inside taking names and addresses from the dog show participants. When she caught my eye, she finished up and came over and gave me a hug.

  “We have got to stop meeting like this,” she said.

  I glanced around. “Where’s Red?”

  She tilted her head in the direction of Naomi Keller’s RV. “He’s still working with the local police.”

  I leaned close. “Any idea who did it?”

  She shook her head. “If he knows, he hasn’t shared it with me. I’m just a peon stuck doing the grunt work.” She held up her notepad. “I don’t mind. I know I’m new and was only hired for my skills as a computer hacker, but . . . I probably know more about dogs than any of them.”

  “You think her death had something to do with dogs?”

  “I’m not sure, really, but that lead she was strangled with, it—” She stopped short, fearing she’d revealed a deep secret.

  I waved away her fears. “I already knew she was strangled with a leash. In fact, the way information spreads in the dog community, I’d say almost everyone here probably knows by now.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s just that—”

  “Are you Madison?” A uniformed policeman interrupted our discussion.

  She nodded.

  Steve Austin tugged at the end of a leash. “That TBI officer wanted to know if you could take his dog to someone named . . . Lilly?”

  I reached out my hand to take the leash. “I’m Lilly.” Steve Austin had already recognized me. He stood on his back legs and had both paws on my shoulders. He was licking my face and doing his best to hoist his eighty pounds into my arms.

  The policeman passed over the leash and made a quick exit.

  Steve Austin was in dire need of attention and was in no mood to wait.

  I struggled to get the large dog off.

  Thankfully, Dixie came over. “OFF.” She took the leash and gave a correction and then gazed into the dog’s eyes.

  To my surprise, Steve Austin sat and returned Dixie’s gaze. Butt and all four paws on the ground, he didn’t move. After a few moments, Dixie smiled. “Good boy.” She reached into a pocket and gave the dog a huge jackpot of dried liver.

  Red walked up. “I don’t know how you managed it, but I need to know your secret.”

  Dixie petted the dog. “He’s a good boy. He just needs more training.”

  “No, seriously. How did you do that? Did you hypnotize him?”

  Dixie gave him a long stare. “When you’re on the job, there’s something about you that changes. Lilly says you flip the switch and go into law-enforcement mode.”

  He shrugged. “I guess, but I don’t even realize I’m doing it, but . . . okay.”

  “I’ve watched, and you become very . . . authoritative.”

  He chuckled. “You mean bossy.”

  “Not exactly, it’s just you know you have a job to do, and you do it.” She glanced down at the pit bull/Labrador mix. “Dogs are pack animals and need a leader, an alpha. It’s the leader’s responsibility to look after the pack and keep them safe. As the owner, that’s your job.” She narrowed her gaze. “Keep in mind, I’m not saying you become harsh or abusive, but you need to be authoritative. Dogs recognize that authority and respond.”

  We gazed down at Steve Austin, who was scouring the floor for crumbs.

  “If you worked with him, I think he has the potential to be as good as Turbo and maybe could be useful in policework.”

  Red’s eyes widened. “Turbo is a trained police dog.” He gazed down at Steve Austin, who had devoured every crumb but was sitting calmly gazing at Dixie, waiting for another treat.

  “Turbo wasn’t born trained to do search and rescue and Schutzhund. Joe worked hard to train him. If you worked with Steve Austin, he has the drive and the personality to do it too.”

  “Remind me again, what’s Schutzhund?” Red asked.

  Dixie went into teaching mode. “Schutzhund is a German word meaning ‘p
rotection dog.’ It’s been around since around the early 1900s. Police and military use it, but it’s also a dog sport. It focuses on tracking, obedience, and protection.”

  We all gazed at the dog.

  Red let me know that he had several more hours of work. “Just because I have to stay doesn’t mean you do.”

  “I think I’ll take Aggie home. Would you like me to take Steve Austin?”

  His eyes lit up. “Yes, please. I’ll stop by to get him as soon as I can get away.”

  I packed up the dogs and drove home. I was thankful for a large, fenced-in backyard. I let Aggie and Steve Austin out and allowed them to run and play before I let out Rex, my tiny Toy Poodle puppy.

  Rex was a small, silver poodle I’d adopted a few months ago when his owner was murdered. Aggie and Rex were small, especially when compared with the other dogs in our circle of friends. Between Dixie’s two Standard Poodles, Dr. Morgan’s German Shepherd, Monica Jill’s mixed breed, Jac, and my daughter Stephanie’s Golden Retriever and her boyfriend Joe’s Plott Hound, Turbo, there were a lot of large dogs. Initially, I was concerned about the small puppy getting injured. However, I was amazed by the tenderness I saw demonstrated whenever the dogs were all together. Occasionally, one of the big dogs would be unable to make a sudden stop when running and would roll one of the smaller dogs, but I was astonished that the larger dogs often worked hard to avoid deliberately colliding with the smaller dogs. After watching the dogs burn up energy running and playing, I felt confident that Rex would be fine.

  My phone rang, and I smiled when I saw my son David’s picture appear on the screen. “Hey, how is everything in the Big Apple?”

  David was an actor who had just returned from a successful tour in Italy and was, I thought, preparing to head to Australia and New Zealand.

  “Hi, Mom. Things in general are great in New York.”

  My mom radar went up with the distinction. “Okay . . . how are things, specifically?”

  “I’m fine, but I can’t say as much for the plumbing in my apartment.”