Catwalk by Sheila Webster Boneham Page A

starting to arrive when I got to Dog Dayz. I walked Jay around the exercise area for a few minutes and used one of my own poop bags to pick up after some dog-owner who was apparently too busy or fastidious or just plain rude to do it. As Jay sniffed every square inch of the grass and marked over nine or ten other “messages,” I scanned the parking lot. Tom’s van wasn’t there yet, but Alberta’s SUV was parked near the back door. A blue minivan with bumper stickers that said “Parents of twins do it twice” and “I ❤ Cocker Spaniels” sat next to it. I smiled at that. I was having a lovely time watching the Eckhorn twins, Meggie and Lizzie, grow from babies into girls, and their mom, Sylvia, was something special.
    I grabbed my training bag from the van, flicked the locks, and had Jay heel beside me as we entered through the back door and headed for the ring at the far front of the building. The pet owners were clumped together at one side of the back-most ring, their dogs sitting or lying or spinning in circles beside them while the instructor gave them their marching orders for the week. As I walked by, I heard her say, “You can’t expect your dog to be trained with one hour of class a week. So reinforce good behavior whenever you have the opportunity.” I’ve always thought that it’s too bad we can’t follow pet owners around and hand them cookies when they are good people and help their dogs learn.
    Sylvia waved at me from the front ring, where she was working with Tippy, her sweet parti-colored Cocker. The puppy that Sylvia had kept from her spring litter was shaking the stuffing out of a toy in an exercise pen set near the wall. I staked out one of the folding metal chairs to use as home base for the evening, told Jay to lie down and stay, and started fishing around in my bag for his dumbbell, thinking we could warm up and get in a few retrieves before the group practice session started.
    A teenaged boy slouched a few seats down fiddling with a cell phone. Texting or playing a game, I guessed. He glanced at me when my training bag thunked onto the metal chair and I said hello. He grunted and returned to his gadget. I was sure I had seen him before, but I couldn’t think where.
    â€œJanet! Oh my! I’m so glad you’re here!”
    The voice made me jump, not so much for its presence as its panicky tone. I looked up and said, “Alberta. What’s wrong?”
    â€œJanet, I’m so worried.” She laid a hand on her chest. “About Louise. You know, Louise Rasmussen.”
    I assumed her concern wasn’t based strictly on events of the night before. “Why? What’s happened?”
    â€œOh, my. I’m just so … Louise walks every morning. I always see her. Always. Even in bad weather. And I didn’t see her this morning, and I haven’t seen her all day.”
    â€œDid you try to call her, or go over there?”
    She shook her head. “Charles was home, at least his car was. And that was just weird. He’s never home on a week day.”
    She stopped to wheeze, and I took advantage of the opening to reorient the conversation. “Do you know who that young man behind me is?”
    Alberta peered around me and said, “Rudy. Rudy Sweetwater.”
    â€œCandace’s son?” I asked. Candace Sweetwater was in the prac tice ring with her Papillon, Butch. I didn’t know her well, but I loved that she had not given her dainty little dog a dainty little name.
    â€œThe very one.” Alberta’s tone caught me up short, and I looked a question at her. “He was probably one of the little snots in that car last night,” she said. “And I can’t prove it, but I think he egged my car and defaced my garage door.”
    I wondered whether he might have been the creepy figure who watched me at the pond.
    Alberta’s voice broke into my thoughts. “I think he’s