Collared For Murder by Annie Knox

furry head from Pris’s shoulder and hissed at me. For reasons only the cat understood, Kiki had never liked me.
    “Dear God, Izzy. I really don’t want to talk business right now. I’ve got more than enough to worry about.”
    “I didn’t come about business—though, now that you mention it, just give me a yell if you need any help at the cat show. Rena and I are happy to pitch in.”
    Pris took a step outside, scanning the street as though someone might be watching our exchange. “Come in,” she commanded.
    Entering the Olson house was like stepping into the pages of
Architectural Digest
. The travertine tiles of the palatial entryway were topped with a traditional burgundy and ecru Oriental carpet, gold-framed mirrors flanked the entryway into the überbeige formal living room, and the light from the crystal chandelierpicked up the hints of gold in the ivory damask wallpaper. I didn’t see any personal items at all. We could have been standing in the foyer of a model home.
    Pris fit here perfectly, but I had a hard time imagining her husband in this environment. Hal Olson was a big, blustery man, a former football player sliding from muscle to fat as he aged. Sun and wind had pickled his skin to a permanent ruddy tan, and he tended to lead with his head when he walked. I could imagine Hal enjoying a mile-high cold-cut sandwich dripping with Russian dressing, but I couldn’t imagine him enjoying it in this house.
    “Thanks for the offer,” Pris said, “but I think my girls can handle everything. I just made them promise they wouldn’t let Dee Dee Lahti touch the money. Or interact with customers. I mean, I feel sorry for the woman, but I’m not stupid.”
    “Well, if anything comes up.”
    “Will do.” Her features softened. “Really. Thank you.”
    “Of course,” I said. I scuffed the toe of my sneaker against the tile and shoved my hands in the pockets of my jeans. Her sincerity made me uncomfortable.
    “Well, if you didn’t come to talk business, what brings you all the way out to Quail Run?”
    There was no point beating around the bush. “I wanted to talk to you about the collar dangle and Phillip Denford.”
    All hint of softness fled as Pris’s face hardened into an enamel mask.
    “And why on earth would I talk to you about any of that?”
    “Because I don’t think you did anything wrong. Because, from what I’ve heard, you don’t have many people to confide in anymore.” I took a deep breath. “And because I’m determined to find out who the real perpetrator is.”
    She rolled her eyes. “You and your wacky pack are planning to solve another murder?”
    “You have to admit we have a pretty good track record.”
    Pris laughed, and some of the tension drained from her posture.
    “I don’t understand why you’re interested in helping me. Sean Tucker dumped me, so now I have to go out of town to find a decent criminal lawyer, and I suspect you had something to do with that. So far it looks like you’re doing your best to see me convicted.”
    I shook my head. “Absolutely not. The thing with Sean is . . . complicated. And didn’t he recommend someone in Wild Rapids to represent you?”
    “He did. And the new attorney has quite a solid pedigree. But I’m puzzled why Sean wouldn’t want the case for himself, and I tend to think he gave it up because you asked him to. Which raises the questionof why you would care about who my attorney is. Only answer I can come up with is that you want to throw me under the bus.”
    I know I was trying to get Pris to spill her guts to me, but I didn’t want to tell her about my glaring motive if I didn’t have to. It just wouldn’t be prudent. “Trust me when I say that I’m as motivated to find the real killer as you are.”
    “And what makes you so certain it wasn’t me? Do you think I couldn’t kill someone?”
    “Oh no. I think if you were pushed hard enough, you would absolutely kill someone.”
    Pris laughed. “I’m glad you