Murder Unleashed by Elaine Viets

check the computer for Mrs. Barclay’s message?”
    “There was no message,” Helen said. “It would have popped up on the screen when I rang up the grooming fee.”
    “Unless you erased it,” Ted Brogers said. His eyes grew suddenly hard. “How much do you make an hour, Miz Haggard?”
    Helen didn’t tell him that her name was Hawthorne. “Six dollars and seventy cents,” she said.
    “Francis didn’t offer you a little bonus to keep the dog in a safe place, maybe give the wife a scare?”
    “I would never do that,” she said.
    “Then you should be more careful who you give your dogs to.”
    “I—” Helen started to say, then stopped herself. She couldn’t afford to argue with Brogers. “I will,” she finished. She was furious and frightened.
    Helen hung around outside the stockroom while Brogers questioned Todd and Jonathon. A curtain divided the room from the boutique, and she could hear everything. The two groomers knew nothing about Barkley’s disappearance. They’d been working on the dogs in the back room. They both denied taking any call from Willoughby instructing the shop not to give the dog to her husband. Brogers gave them both his card and said, “Call me if you remember anything useful.”
    Jeff trotted in next, running his fingers through his thick brown hair. He looked so worried, Helen was afraid he might tear it out. Helen knew he blamed himself for Barkley’s disappearance.
    At first Brogers sounded as if he couldn’t decide whether to treat Jeff as a Wakefield business owner or a potential dognapping conspirator. But Brogers knew who stuffed his pay envelope. He turned on the charm for Jeff. “Francis called and asked me if he could pick up the dog early. But that’s not unusual,” Jeff said.
    “Of course not,” Brogers said. The detective even slapped Jeff on the back as they walked out to the front of the store, where Willoughby was waiting.
    “This sounds like a marital misunderstanding,” the detective told Willoughby. “Don’t you worry now. I’ll drop by Francis’s place and have a little talk with him.”
    Willoughby gave him another grateful smile and Helen another glare. Detective Brogers escorted Barkley’s owner to her car, as if he expected attackers to be lurking in the lot. Helen and Jeff watched Willoughby walk across the parking lot, her pink purse swinging at her side.
    “She’s going to sue,” Jeff said.
    “How can she?” Helen said. “You didn’t know she was in a custody fight with Francis. She should have given you the instructions about her dog in writing.”
    “It won’t make any difference,” Jeff said. “This has been my nightmare. I’ve been afraid something like this would happen, and now it has—and with our most high-profile pup. Willoughby will sue. Her kind always do. The publicity will kill my store. I’ll lose everything I worked for.”
    Publicity? Oh, Lord, Jeff was right. This story was made for the media. Hour after hour, they would run clips from Barkley’s commercials. Helen’s name would be all over the TV. She was the idiot who’d handed over the priceless pup.
    That would be the end of her life in Florida. Helen’s ex-husband would find her, and so would the court. She could see herself in handcuffs, heading for St. Louis. She hoped the police would cuff her hands in front, not in back. The trip would be more comfortable that way.
    There had to be some way to hold back the flood of publicity, before they all drowned.
    “Why don’t you talk to Willoughby? Tell her you need time to find the dog. Ask her for mercy,” Helen said.
    “There is no mercy in that woman,” Jeff said.

CHAPTER 6
    F riends help you move. Real friends help you move the body. Helen had seen that on a T-shirt once. She wasn’t sure if Margery Flax would help her hide a body. But Helen could tell her landlady that she’d found a dead woman.
    Still, it took two glasses of wine before Helen got up the nerve—and it took nerve to drink