Did I mention that I had lunged all the way to the floor? I was now in the undignified position of having lost not only my dog-and, by association, Susan’s-but also my balance. Unlike some women-including, no doubt, Susan-I don’t slide gracefully down. I topple. I tumble. I crash. From my position on one knee with the opposite foot turned sideways underneath me, there was no elegant way to get vertical.
Fortunately, a gentleman extended a hand. Perry Stiles smiled down at me. Correction: the man beamed.
“Now that’s what I call a ‘Spotlight Moment,’” he said as he gently returned me to full upright position.
I moaned, “That turned out way worse than I’d imagined!”
“Au contraire. Think about what happened here. Susan’s unattended dog caused your dog to escape. I hate to speak litigiously, but let’s be realistic. Should Abra fail to return, you might very well have grounds for a lawsuit.”
“Abra never fails to return,” I assured him.
Perry kept smiling as Susan bellowed for Kori; he seemed deviously delighted by the Breeder Educator’s dismay.
“Isn’t Kori the one in trouble?” I said.
“Susan will blame Kori, of course. But the buck stops with the owner. That’s the law.”
I gazed at the side exit.
“Why is that door ajar? I had to push it open when I went out earlier.”
“Handlers prop it open to hear what’s going on inside while they’re outside with their dogs,” Perry said. “Quite a coincidence, don’t you agree?”
I nodded although I had to ask what he meant.
“That Kori the handler is nowhere to be seen when Matt the handler turns into an action-hero.”
I nodded again, but I still didn’t get it… 'til Perry summed it up.
“Kori, bad. Matt, good. Kori is on Liam’s side. Matt is on Susan’s side. Somebody wanted to make sure Kori looked bad.”
“You don’t think Kori just screwed up?”
“Oh, she screwed up, all right. She won her round! Bad examples aren’t supposed to best the competition. So Susan had to even the score. With a little help.”
My head was starting to hurt. “Are you saying that Susan and Matt framed Kori by setting Silverado loose after making sure the door was open for his escape?”
Perry grinned wickedly. “Do I have to say it?”
“I thought Matt seemed kind of nice. Except for the illicit lover thing. He was friendly when I asked about grooming Afghan hounds.”
“Oh, Matt’s very friendly. Ask any woman here.”
Ah-hah. Perry had given me an opening. Unfortunately, I lost it to the chaos following my Spotlight Moment. Someone was paging Perry, no doubt to deal with the complications of a lost champion and a missing Bad Example. Counting Kori, that was two missing Bad Examples. Perry excused himself to tend to business.
Meanwhile, for what I assumed was the benefit of the crowd around her, Susan continued to rant about Kori. I heard her say, “My niece is showing her true colors now. And they’re not pink, they’re yellow! When it’s time to take responsibility, Kori is afraid to show her face!”
Susan seemed almost as theatrical as Ramona. Then it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen Ramona lately. Not, in fact, since the Breeder Breakfast. Abra had left too soon to cue Ramona’s opening remarks for our Walk of Shame.
Two ashen-faced breeders intercepted Perry before he could walk twenty feet. His smug expression instantly disappeared; in its place was a look of genuine horror.
Chapter Twenty-One
Perry Stiles dashed past me with such sudden speed that I couldn’t compute what was happening. His run was accompanied by a chorus of shrieking sirens. Also shrieking Afghan hound fanciers; they scurried through the side door after him. I joined the fray.
The scene of the crime was around the corner of the building, at almost the exact spot where I’d caught Kori kissing MacArthur (and MacArthur kissing her back). But there was nothing titillating about what had gone down since.
My height permitted me to peer over the heads of shorter mortals. A small crowd had gathered around the prone form of Ramona Bowden. She looked much as she had when she’d fainted in my driveway on Thursday, save three major differences: (1) Jeb hadn’t thrown himself on top of her for protection; (2) she was face down; and (3) there was a whole lot of blood.
Perry Stiles kneeled alongside the mound that was Ramona. He checked her pulse as everyone else formed a murmuring circle. I couldn’t help but notice that Ramona’s silvery pajama-like outfit, now splotched with red, showed no sign of a breath beneath it.
Since I don’t do well in the presence of body fluids, I quickly stepped back. To be accurate, I stumbled backwards and narrowly missed the team of charging EMTs, who arrived post-haste with black bags and sundry portable equipment.
Just as I wondered who had dialed 9-1-1, my peripheral vision snagged a glimpse of the cleaner-slash-bodyguard. MacArthur wasn’t lurking at the edge of the cornfield; he was standing there waving at me. Weakly I waved back. Then I realized that his gesture meant “Come over here!” So I went. Nobody in the crowd was watching anybody except Ramona.
MacArthur wouldn’t let me speak 'til after we’d receded into the cornfield. Our progress through the drying stalks wasn’t silent, but it was furtive. Despite telltale rustling, cornstalks provide good cover. The exhibit hall and the melee outside it had completely vanished from our view. Which meant nobody could see us, either.
“I’ve been alternating between watching you, Susan, and Ramona,” MacArthur began.
“Don’t forget Kori,” I said. “You fit her into your schedule, too.”
He smiled. “Every working man needs a break now and then.”
“Where is Kori, by the way? I hope you know that the dog she was handling took off after Abra!”
“So I heard. I had just finished my latest tour of the exhibit hall-“
“You were inside the hall? When?”
“I tour and secure it every hour on the hour,” he said.
“Then how come I’ve never seen you in there?”
“Because I know how to do my job. May I continue?”
I nodded.
“I slipped out the side door just before your dog and that champion. No sooner had I started my exterior tour than I heard a voice raised in anger. It was coming from the other side of the building.”
“Only one voice?” I asked.
“Correct. It was Ramona’s. She sounded agitated. Then she screamed. I rushed ‘round the corner and found her lying there-just as I heard the uproar from inside the building.”
“You mean, when Silverado went after Abra.”
“Presumably.”
“Did you call 9-1-1?” I said.
“Yes. I would have administered CPR, but it was not appropriate.”
“Because Ramona’s… dead?”
“No,” he replied. “Because she was breathing just fine… although somebody shot her.”
“Why would Ramona have been shouting at the shooter?”
“I didn’t say she was. If you looked closely, you would have seen her mobile on the ground.”
“Her cell phone?”
“Yes. I believe Ramona was arguing with someone on her mobile when she was shot. The two incidents may or may not be related. I checked her phone,” he added, “and reported the latest numbers to Jenx.”
“Will Ramona live?”
“I’ve never known anyone to die from a bullet wound to the arse.”
“But… she’s nonresponsive!”
MacArthur cocked an eyebrow at me. “Is she now?”
“She didn’t respond to Perry Stiles. And there’s so much blood!”
“It’s a flesh wound, and the woman has a lot of… flesh. That explains the blood,” MacArthur said. “As for her being nonresponsive, she used to be an actress. Off-Broadway. Strictly heavy drama.”