Sniffing out murder, p.3
Sniffing Out Murder, page 3
UGH!
“Of course, we called Dr. Freemont as soon as we left, and he told us that you turned in your resignation and that Clarice would not be held back.” Whitney smirked.
I seethed.
“I’m sure that Clarice will flourish with another teacher who is one hundred percent dedicated to their students, rather than one whose attention is split between other hobbies.” Whitney’s words dripped with sugary spite.
Hobbies? Deep breaths. Deep breaths. I was no longer a teacher. This wasn’t my problem, but it still burned my butt. I’d dedicated so much time and effort to all my students, including Clarice Kelley, only to have my principal ignore my recommendation to have Clarice repeat the year rather than moving her along and give in to parental pressure instead.
“I wish her luck,” I said through my teeth.
Aunt Agatha narrowed her gaze and glared. “Pris was a great teacher. All her students loved her, but she doesn’t need to teach. She’s a highly successful author.” She huffed.
Whitney Kelley glanced down at Bailey and frowned. “Hardly sanitary to have a dog in a restaurant.” She turned to Joseph. “On second thought, I think I’ll skip the sandwich.”
Aunt Agatha shrugged. “Have it your way.” She walked away mumbling, “Some animals have better manners than humans.”
Whitney held up her ring finger and flashed a massive diamond that looked to be at least three carats. It certainly dwarfed her not-unimpressive wedding ring, which was stacked below the larger diamond. “Joe and I have been ‘highly successful,’ too, you see. He’s a state senator and I just got elected to the local school board. I think it’s vitally important to give back to the community, and I intend to help cut out all the fluff from the school’s budget and make sure that Crosbyville is competitive in the national academic standings—”
“What fluff?” I asked.
Whitney halted in what was undoubtedly her election spiel and glanced at me. “Did you say something?”
“I asked what fluff you were talking about cutting? I was a teacher for the past five years in River Bend and then here in Crosbyville, and I can’t imagine that any schools around here have anything remotely resembling fluff in their budgets. The population of Crosbyville hasn’t increased a lot, and with inflation, the rising cost of infrastructure, advancing technology, and the dwindling tax base, I was just wondering what ‘fluff’ Crosbyville had.”
“Art, music . . . special programs, like that dog reading program.” She waved her hand as though swiping at a fly. “I heard your artistic friend, Maria—”
“Marcie.”
“Whatever.” Whitney rolled her eyes. “She coerced Amelia Cooper Lawson to fund that trivial program. If Amelia had talked to me before she wrote that check, I could have told her that she was tossing away her money. If students are struggling to read, then it’s up to their parents to find and pay for private tutors. Public schools can’t afford to foot the bill for programs like that when our students need to focus on math and science to be competitive in the global job market.”
I felt my chest constrict and my fists clenched by my sides. Five years of anger from paying for supplies from my own pockets and watching school boards cut humanities programs like art and music when they were deemed nonessential welled up inside, and I nearly exploded. Math and science were important, but I was frustrated by people who treated the arts like redheaded stepchildren.
“You can’t do that. The arts and special programs are important.”
“I can. And I will.” Whitney smirked and I knew that’s exactly what she would do. She’d always gotten her way and now that she was on the school board, she’d manipulate the other members of the board until she got exactly what she wanted, just as she’d just done to keep her daughter from repeating a grade.
“You won’t get away with it. Someone will stop you.”
She leaned closer so only I could hear her. “Who’s going to stop me?”
“I will. One way or another. I’ll stop you if it’s the last thing I do.” I could feel my blood pounding in my ears, and I knew my neck and face were flushed, but I didn’t care.
I thought Whitney was going to laugh in my face, but at that moment, the door opened and the new chief of police, Gilbert Morgan, walked into the café along with his daughter, Hannah.
Gilbert Morgan was tall, muscular with dark hair and eyes, square-jawed with a five-o’clock shadow and a rock-solid chest. Our new chief of police had rugged good looks.
Whitney glanced at the chief and then seized her opportunity. Bailey was sitting by my side with his back to her, and she stepped on his tail.
That’s when all hell broke loose.
Chapter 3
Bailey yelped as he turned and lunged at her.
I grabbed his collar, pulled him back, and got him calm.
Whitney screamed and cowered behind Joe, who stood by with a blank expression on his face.
“Chief Morgan, I want this dog removed immediately. He’s a loose cannon. I can’t believe she brings him around innocent children. He’s a danger to the public. At a minimum, he needs to be muzzled whenever he’s out. The reality is, he needs to be put down,” she yelled.
“Put down? Are you kidding? He didn’t do anything. You vicious shrew. I almost wish he were dangerous. You deserved it.” I was so furious I could barely see straight.
Chief Morgan came up behind me. “What’s going on here?”
“That vicious mutt nearly ripped my throat out. That’s what happened. Then Priscilla here threatened me. I want her arrested.” Whitney turned around and asked everyone in the diner. “You’re all witnesses. You saw and heard everything.”
Chief Morgan turned to me. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“She deliberately stepped on my dog’s tail. He wasn’t going to rip her throat out. He was surprised and it was just a reflex action. He’d never hurt anyone. He’s a registered therapy dog and gentle as can be.” I could feel the tears welling up behind my eyes, but I forced them back. I would NOT cry in front of Whitney Kelley.
“Gentle? He’s a menace to society and I expect you to do your job and arrest her,” Whitney shrieked.
Aunt Agatha came from behind the counter. “Now, hold up, Chief. This is my diner and I have a right to say who stays and who leaves, and as far as I’m concerned, Bailey stays.” She put both hands on her hips and glared at Whitney.
“Well, I never . . .” Whitney huffed.
“It’s about time someone told you that you’re not the center of the universe, Mrs. Kelley. The sun, moon, and nary one of the planets revolve around you. Now, if you don’t like how I run things in my diner, then you can just get to stepping.” Aunt Agatha pointed at the door.
Whitney looked as though she could bite the head off nails.
She narrowed her gaze, and I could see a cutting remark ready to come, but the look on Aunt Agatha’s face would have stopped a bear dead in his tracks. Whitney opened her mouth, but before she could speak, my best friend, Marcie, swept into the café.
“Pris! I’m so glad you’re here.” She walked past Joe and Whitney and hugged me. She whispered in my ear, “I don’t know what’s happening, but she’s just trying to get you riled up. Don’t let her.”
Marcie dropped to one knee. “Bailey, you are just the bestest doggy and I wuv you. Yes, I do.” She cuddled and scratched him in all his favorite spots as the drool dripped from his jowls.
When she stopped, he shook himself, flinging drool on Whitney’s perfect dress.
“Ugh. It’s completely unhygienic to have a dog in a restaurant. If you don’t do something about it, I’ll call the health department.” She spun around and marched out. “And I’m sending you my dry-cleaning bill.”
Joe Kelley stood awkwardly for a few moments before finally turning and following his wife. As the door closed, I heard him muttering about his chicken salad sandwich.
Marcie smiled and held up her hand to Bailey for a high five, one of the few tricks he knew. Then she turned to me. “Remind me to give him a big treat for that later.”
I shook my head. “You did that on purpose. You deliberately worked Bailey up into a lather, knowing he’d . . .”
Marcie gave me her most innocent, doe-in-the-headlights look. “Who, moi? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
After Whitney and Joe left, the tension in the diner dropped. Several of the patrons applauded. Everyone else returned to their meals and the noise level returned to normal.
Chief Morgan tipped his hat and returned to his daughter.
Aunt Agatha took a deep breath and then went to take care of the chief’s order, still muttering, though now about where Whitney could shove her dry-cleaning bill.
I was still shaking, and Marcie gave me a hug to steady my nerves and then pushed me back down into my seat and slid into the seat across from me.
“It’s okay. Whitney Baxter was always a mean girl. Now Whitney Kelley is a mean woman. How is it you’ve been back for nearly a year and haven’t run into her?”
“Good luck?” I shrugged. “According to Clarice, Whitney’s been out of town quite a bit the last few months. She’s been helping Chelsea move back.”
“I forgot about that. The only person more dedicated to Whitney Kelley has to be her younger sister, Chelsea.” Marcie shuddered.
“Whitney’s awful. She deliberately stepped on Bailey’s tail. Can you believe that? She deliberately hurt my dog. I was so furious I could have strangled her.”
Aunt Agatha brought Marcie a large chocolate shake, which she knew was her favorite. “You want a chicken salad sandwich?”
“Absolutely, Miss Agatha. You know I love your chicken salad.” She glanced at my dishes. “Is that corn chowder?”
Aunt Agatha smiled. “One chicken salad sandwich and a cup of corn chowder coming up.”
Marcella Rutherford and I had been best friends since we were five years old, when my parents both died suddenly and I was brought to Crosbyville to stay with my grandmother and my aunt Agatha.
My mom joined the Peace Corps right after college. She had been a teacher, which is probably why I became one. My dad was a doctor. I’m proud of their commitment to service. From everything I’ve heard about my mom, she was always giving. That generous spirit and desire to help led both of my parents to Africa, where they met, fell in love, and had me. Their commitment also led to their death, when disease broke out in the tiny village where they worked. My parents made the decision to stay and help the villagers but sent me to a convent until arrangements could be made to send me home. Neither of them survived the outbreak. Isolated at a convent, I stayed with the Sisters of the Holy Cross until a missionary was cleared to bring me to stay with my family in Crosbyville.
I looked around the restaurant and caught several of the diners staring at me. I gazed at myself in the mirror behind the counter and confirmed that the heat I’d felt rush up my neck had settled in my face. I stole a glance at the chief and our eyes locked. He smiled, and I drew my glance away and prayed the ground would open and swallow me alive.
Marcie gave my arm a squeeze. “She’s a horrible person who likes making others feel bad, but a wise woman once said, ‘No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.’ Don’t give her your consent.”
“Eleanor Roosevelt.” I took a deep breath and wished I could shake off the poisonous cloud that Whitney Kelley had left just as Bailey had done. Joe hadn’t been wrong—I’d lost fifty pounds since high school, exchanged my thick glasses for contacts, and reinvented myself. Yet, two minutes with Whitney Kelley, and I was a fifteen-year-old, chubby, four-eyed teen again, with a mouth full of metal and zero self-esteem, who was looking for a hole to crawl in to hide.
“Forget about that witch. If we’re lucky, maybe a house will fall on her, but if it does, I’m calling dibs on those shoes. Did you see them?” Marcie joked.
I laughed. Marcie was always able to find the bright side of any situation. Her glass was always half-full, and she was a perpetual optimist. “Those were some pretty amazing shoes. Maybe we could arm-wrestle for them.”
“Deal.” She chuckled. “Now, let’s eat. We need all our strength for your big move tomorrow.”
At twenty-eight, Marcie and I were the same age. Unfortunately, that’s where the physical similarities ended. Marcie was almost six feet tall and able to maintain a perfect model-thin figure regardless of how much she ate. While I was barely five three with more curves than a snowman, regardless of how little I ate. Marcie had a smooth, dark complexion, which she inherited from her Nigerian mother, and straight, dark hair and dark eyes, which were gifts of her Taiwanese father. She was stunning but didn’t realize it. My skin wasn’t smooth like Marcie’s. My face was prone to acne unless I watched my diet like a hawk and limited dairy, fried foods, chocolate, and Diet Coke, which I seldom did. My eyes were light gray like my dad’s and my hair was dark and curly like my mom’s, but my wavy locks had a mind of their own with a tendency to frizz at the slightest sign of humidity. Our interracial lineage was probably one of the things that drew Marcie and me together as children. A shared interest in mysteries, dogs, and old movies cemented our long-term friendship for nearly a quarter of a century. Marcie was an art and music teacher in Crosbyville, so after I’d recounted the entire argument to her, she shared in my furor over Whitney’s goal to eliminate special programs and the arts from the Crosbyville schools.
* * *
* * *
When I graduated from high school, I couldn’t wait to move as far away from rural, midwestern America as possible. I wanted to move to a big city with skyscrapers, nightclubs, museums, concerts, and a diverse population filled with people who looked more like me. At least, that was my original plan. When the time arrived, I chickened out. The two popular state colleges in Indiana were both bigger than Crosbyville, and I felt lost in the crowd. So when I was accepted at a prestigious private university less than an hour from home, I accepted. The University of Our Mother by the Lake was a Catholic university in nearby River Bend. Our Mother was a great school, and River Bend was the third-largest city in the state, so even though I was a lot closer to home than I planned, I was still in a larger city. Turns out being closer to home was a good thing. My grandmother and my aunt respected my privacy and didn’t visit too often . . . well, not after my freshman year anyway. Plus, I appreciated being able to come home on weekends whenever I was feeling homesick for family and a home-cooked meal. When I graduated, I got a job teaching in River Bend before moving back to Crosbyville six months ago. Now, if I was honest with myself, I had to admit it felt good to be home.
“How excited are you about buying your first home tomorrow?”
The smile that broke out over my face answered that question without my saying one word. “I love living with Aunt Agatha, but there’s nothing like having your own place.”
“I wish you could have moved in with me. I would have loved having you and Bailey around more.”
I barely noticed the whine at the end of that phrase. “If it were just me, I would have moved in a heartbeat, but . . .”
“I know. I know. My apartment’s too small.”
“Not to mention the fact that your landlord hates dogs. There’s no way we could hide a one hundred–pound bloodhound without her noticing.”
“I know, but I really want a dog and I love Bailey so much.”
“Well, you’ll get to see him as much as you like. I’m only going to be a few blocks away.”
We chatted a bit longer, but then went our separate ways. Marcie helped to calm my nerves, but I was still shaky from the altercation with Whitney. The short drive home to the colonial house where I lived with my aunt Agatha wasn’t long enough to bring peace, either. I tried to push the incident at the diner out of my mind, but it kept popping up like a jack-in-the-box. Just when I thought I’d moved on, “Pop Goes the Weasel”—I was back in the midst of my argument with Whitney. Each time, I came up with a hundred stinging retorts that I wished I’d said. It was too late now.
Sleep was elusive, and my tossing and turning must have distracted Bailey, because he eventually stood on his hind legs with his front paws on the bed and gazed into my eyes. When I looked back, he leaned closer and licked my nose.
Nothing like getting a sloppy kiss from a dog to wash away all your troubles.
I wiped my face with the pillow and couldn’t help smiling. “Thanks, buddy. You’re right. Everything will be all right.”
Bailey barked, wagged his tail, and looked at me expectantly.
Eventually, I caved, sliding over to make room, and he jumped up on the bed. I had been working to keep him off the bed, but my goofball always knew how to get exactly what he wanted.
He stretched out next to me and I snuggled up and held him close. Within minutes he was snoring. It took me a little longer, but feeling the heat from his body, watching his chest heave up and down with each breath, and listening to his snoring made me sleepy, and before long, I was drifting off into dreamland. My last waking thought was Maybe, the next book in The Adventures of Bailey the Bloodhound, Pet Detective, should feature Bailey’s defeat over Cruella de Vil, a villain who bore a striking resemblance to Whitney Kelley.
Chapter 4
The next morning, I was eager to get up and get the day started. I glanced at Bailey. “We have a lot to do today, buddy. So, this morning’s walk is going to be superfast. No marking every tree. No tracking critters, and no putzing around.”
He yawned and did a full-body stretch.
