The Money Bird (An Animals in Focus Mystery) by Sheila Webster Boneham Page A

entrance long enough and pulled me toward the back door of Dog Dayz. I don’t let my dog drag me around, so I had him heel and walk into the building like a gentleman, albeit a wriggly bouncy gentleman. Tom waved from the far practice ring, where he was watching Drake search among six metal dumbbell-shaped articles for the one that smelled like Tom. On the other side of that ring, someone I didn’t know was trying to get her Miniature Schnauzer to do a sit-stay, but every time she turned her back, the dog stood up. Just when I hoped that someone would help her, I saw Marietta Santini, owner and chief instructor at Dog Dayz, walking her way.
    Collin Lahmeyer stood in the center of the biggest ring with his Curly-coated Retriever, Molly, lying at his feet. “Okay, people, let’s warm up with some heeling,” he said. I pulled my fanny pack full of treats out of my training bag, strapped it on, and entered the ring with Jay prancing in heel position at my left side. “Forward!” commanded Collin, and we were off. He followed up with frequent changes of pace—“Fast! Normal! Slow!”—and changes of direction that kept us, dogs and people alike, thinking and moving. After ten minutes or so of the group heeling, Collin assembled us into two lines for recalls. I spotted Precious, Giselle Swann’s Maltese, in one of the lines, but I didn’t recognize the woman holding his leash. Unlike Giselle, who was three hundred pounds if she was one, this person was more like my size, which is to say she could lose a few pounds. Okay, forty. But she wasn’t ungainly, and her black slacks fit well and were slimming. Giselle tended toward baggy or too tight. Besides, Giselle’s hair was long, stringy, and usually a day late for a shampoo, and this woman had a nice, shiny, layered bob. Still, I was sure that was Precious. I have a good eye for a dog, and while some people may think that all silky-haired little white dogs look alike, it isn’t true. I’d photographed Precious enough times to know his face, his size, and his way of moving on sight.
    I figured Giselle must be in the restroom or something, so I got in line behind Precious. I’d been hoping to talk to Giselle ever since the encounter with her cousin Persephone at the vet clinic, and now, after seeing the new Treasures on Earth sticker on Giselle’s car, I was even more eager for a chat. Jay and Precious are old friends and, although generally I discourage sniffing and greeting in training situations, I had Jay lie down so that Precious would greet him at his own eye level. Then the woman holding the little dog’s leash turned around and I nearly passed out.
    “Oh, hi, Janet. Umm, how are you?”
    I’m afraid I just stared for a few seconds before I could find my voice, and the woman smiled at me. I couldn’t believe that she was wearing soft pink lipstick and carefully applied, subtle eye makeup.
    “Have you had a good summer?”
    “Giselle!” I raced through my memory files. When had I last seen her? I realized it must have been in May at Greg Dorn’s funeral. Three months? Could a person change this much in three months? In any event, there she stood, a changed woman.
    My peripheral vision registered a man struggling with a Golden Retriever who wasn’t holding his stays. That’s what the practice time is all about—reinforcing training in the midst of distractions. They finally managed a short stay at a short distance, and rather than call his dog out of the stay at that point, the man returned to the dog and had her heel to the end of the line. Smart move.
    “I, umm, are you okay, Janet?” She squirmed a bit and pushed her hair to the side with her non-leash hand, gestures exactly like those of the Giselle I knew.
    I gathered my wits and said, “Wow, Giselle, you look fantastic. How on earth …?”
    “I’ve been away.” She smiled, a funny mixture of pride and embarrassment on her face.
    The line had moved along and Giselle and Precious were on