Bichoned to Death: A Dog Lover’s Cozy Mystery (Barkview Mysteries Book 2) by C.B. Wilson

Author:C.B. Wilson [Wilson, C.B.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2021-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Russ and I parted at our vehicles. He headed to the police station while I drove to Petronics to meet with Alan Thorpe. I envisioned Howard’s sardonic grin as I passed J. Tracker’s glaring corporate presence enroute.

Today a handful of cars filled Petronics’ parking lot. No trouble locating Alan’s white Escalade. The ‘Just Throw It’ Golden Retriever flyball decal gave it away.

Like many Barkview business leaders, Alan Thorpe and I attended many of the same charity events. Other than exchanging greetings, we’d never really talked, necessitating Aunt Char to arrange the meeting.

After clearing security, Alan met me inside. The man’s dancing brown eyes framed by bushy blond brows and shiny bald head reminded me of a happy Buddha in a MMA wrestler’s body. His Golden Retriever, Hawn, stood serenely at his side. At least, she appeared tranquil. I sensed a pent-up energy in them both bubbling just beneath the surface.

Alan politely shook my hand, reserving a truly warm greeting for Bayle. He scratched the dog’s head and threw a red tennis ball with major league precision down the flyball-framed hallway. Like a runner in the blocks, Hawn sprinted into action. Not to be beaten, Bayle darted after the larger dog, quickly making up ground, his smaller legs somehow matching pace until the ball bounced off the wall. Midair Bayle snagged the ball, spun and started back strides ahead of the Golden Retriever.

Alan’s jaw-dropping awe said it all. “Whoa. Howard was dead on about Bayle.”

His words and the faint smell of rich cigars clinging to his golf shirt distracted me for a second. “You doubted him?”

Alan shook his head. “Seeing is still believing. Practice is tomorrow at 6 p.m. sharp. Don’t be late. I’m a dog short. Possibly two if Bolt isn’t up to speed.”

I must’ve gaped at him. His boss had just been murdered and Alan worried about a flyball practice? Was this pure fanaticism or something more?

Alan spoke quickly. “I mean no disrespect. Howard planned for this moment for years. My honor demands I execute his vision.”

I believed him, I realized. Apparently, Howard didn’t have exclusivity on manipulation. If I refused, would this meeting end differently?

“Sure.” Rayelle had better be free by then.

“Howard was a true visionary and friend.” He caught Bayle before the dog skidded into the wall. Hawn backpedaled to a stop at my feet. What Alan lacked in hospitality, his Golden Retriever made up for in tail-shaking excitement and a nosedive to my private parts.

I leaped back. Hawn kept coming. “Hey. Hey.”

“She’s just shaking hands.” Alan’s smile softened his frown.

“Can she do it from over there?”

“Hawn. Down.” The retriever lay down at my feet, panting.

If only Bayle listened that well. “I, uh, know you are busy. Thank you for seeing me.” Not that he would’ve missed an opportunity to meet Bayle.

“You have no idea. Petronics is a family business.”

I understood all too well after Aunt Char’s past illness. “How long have you worked with Howard?”

Alan tossed the ball again. Both dogs bolted as he ushered me toward his office.

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