Stay Calm and Collie On. Lane Stone
chuckled. “Uh, no. I am not in the Elvis army.” With that, he walked back into the restaurant.
I leaned closer to Lady Anthea. “Is there no end to that guy’s smart mouth?”
Turner stopped walking, but he didn’t turn around. His shoulders bobbed up and down. He was laughing, so I knew he could hear me. “We’re on the same team,” I said. “I have some very nervous pet parents. I’m afraid they won’t show up for the gala on Friday night….”
“Or that the unpleasantness will cause them to take their business elsewhere,” Lady Anthea added.
At that, Chief Turner turned back to face us and our eyes met. We had had the same reaction to her referring to the ending of a life as unpleasantness.
But that’s not what he spoke about next. “Why do you use that term, pet parent?”
Did I really want to get into that with him? I wasn’t up to any more eye rolling, so I just shrugged my shoulders. Besides I had just seen someone come in the front door that I wanted to talk to. “Good night,” I said.
I motioned for Lady Anthea to follow me and walked away. “Henry left Buckingham’s with four dogs. The pet parent whose dog Henry dropped off just came in,” I whispered to her. We pushed past the three-deep crush at the bar and made our way to the front door. “Dayle, this is my friend Lady Anthea Fitzwalter. We were just about to have dinner. Can you join us?”
She hesitated then nodded. “I would enjoy that, but I doubt I’ll be very good company. I’m pretty beat.” I wouldn’t have said it for the world, but she did look pretty wrung out. She was wearing a baseball cap with the LSD logo, Lower Slower Delaware, not her usual stylish self.
We snaked our way through the crowd to the hostess stand. “Long day?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Dayle answered, looking at the floor.
“Want to eat outside?”
They both did and the hostess accommodated us, seating us at a table on the deck and leaving us with menus.
I told Lady Anthea that many of the pet photographs at Buckingham’s had been taken by Dayle. There wasn’t much my partner could say since this was her first visit and I had dragged her out almost as soon as she walked in.
“I look forward to a more detailed look at all of them,” Anthea said diplomatically. Wow, there’s something to be said for this good breeding business.
Speaking of business, it was time to get down to it. It was just a matter of time before Dayle was on Captain Turner’s radar. I leaned in. “You heard what happened to Henry Cannon?”
“No.”
“Then you may be the only one in town who hasn’t,” I said.
Lady Anthea gave a snort, which was just this side of unladylike.
“You know how rumors start around here. Anyway, the fact of the matter is that he was killed this afternoon some time after bringing Dottie home.” The waitress had come to take our drink order. That was convenient because Dayle seemed to need a moment to get used to the idea that she was the last person, except the killer, of course, to see Henry alive. I almost forgot that I was at Gilligan’s, not at On the Rocks, and ordered an Orange Crush, but caught the error in time to order a glass of Chardonnay.
“How did he seem when he dropped Dottie off?” I asked.
“Fine.” Her left hand had flown to her lips and stayed there so she spoke through her fingers. One of those body language experts could probably say what that meant, if anything, but to me it looked like she might be sick.
Anthea put a reassuring hand on Dayle’s arm. “Dear?”
“I’m okay. This is quite a shock. Do you mind if I don’t stay for dinner?”
“Do you need a ride home?” Anthea asked.
“He didn’t seem nervous or …?” I asked.
“I can walk. My house is just a couple of blocks away. The night air will feel good.” She was getting up to leave, but stopped. “He was fine, just his normal self.”
She was off her stool, but Peter Collins was walking by and blocking her escape. “Oh, Peter,” she said to him. “I got your phone message. I’m sorry I haven’t had a minute to call you back. Can I telephone you in the morning?”
“No need. Everything’s been taken care of,” he said and walked on.
We waved goodbye to Dayle and watched her make her way back through the restaurant.
“Well, at least we found out Henry’s state of mind just before his murder,” Anthea said.
The waitress was back with our wine and took our food order. I ordered a crab cake—which you cannot go wrong with in Delaware.
“I’ll have the same.” I didn’t know if she really wanted that to eat, or if it was for expediency.
“Dayle said she’d had a long day, and she looked it. Don’t you wonder what a short day would look like if being home before five o’clock constituted a long one?” I mused.
“Hmmm.” She took a sip of her wine, then studied the glass. I noticed she’d almost emptied it. Finally, she looked up. “If it’s not too personal, may I ask if you’ve ever been married?”
“No, I’ve never been married.”
“You’re certainly attractive, so you must have had offers.”
“Yeah, I guess I’ve had my share of marriage proposals. How about you? Are you married?” I asked.
“I’m widowed. I was married to my soul mate.” Then she changed the subject back to me. “I enjoyed hearing your friends teasing you about being very picky about who you’ll date. Have you just never met the right person?” I guessed even an upper-class Brit would ask personal questions if you mixed jet lag with wine drunk too quickly in the summertime night air.
How much did I want to say? We were business partners and all our communications had been Pet Palace-related. “I’ve seen how cruel people can be to one another. How things can start out so right, and go so wrong. No thank you. I would rather be on my own.”
Something over my shoulder caught her eye, but she looked down right away. “Here comes the police chief. The young constable is right behind him.”
“What’s a young constable? Do you mean Wayne?”
She nodded.
John Turner sat down, uninvited. Wayne took the chair Dayle had freed up. Chief Turner was empty-handed, but Wayne had switched from beer to a mixed drink. Whatever happened to police officers eating donuts?
“Ms. Patrick. Lady Anthea.” The chief gave us each a nod.
We nodded back.
“We’ll be reconstructing the victim’s day. This business about taking dogs to their homes—do all the dogs get a ride home?”
“No, just when the owner requests it,” I answered.
“And pays a chunk of change,” Wayne interjected.
“Had he made any of his…?” John searched for a word. “Deliveries?” He hadn’t taken his eyes off me.
“Yes, one,” I said.
“Where was that?” His tone was very and where were you on the evening of blah, blah, blah.
I thought about how Dayle had looked drained and tired and not herself. I couldn’t sic this new police chief on her until she got some rest. “I’ll have to look at my records at the office,” I said. “I can do that in the morning.”
“It was Dayle, the pet photographer, with the dalmatian named Dottie,” Lady Anthea said. “We were just talking to her,