Hounds, Harvest, and Homicide Read online

  Hounds, Harvest, and Homicide

  A Pooch Party Cozy Mystery

  Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  Magnum Grace Publishing

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Other Books By Carolyn

  Author’s Need Love!

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Hounds, Harvest, and Homicide

  A Pooch Party

  Cozy mystery

  Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  COPYRIGHT NOVEMBER, 2019

  CAROLYN RIDDER ASPENSON

  COPYRIGHT INFORMATION:

  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

  Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).

  Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.

  No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.

  Created with Vellum

  Chapter 1

  Six fluffy, freshly bathed puppies pounced around the artificial turf with enough energy to light up all of New York City. I watched them as they played, wondering what it would be like to have that kind of energy. If only.

  Mary, the shelter manager, picked up the fluffiest one and kissed her nose. “Hey, little sweetie, you’re my favorite.”

  My eyes widened, and I feigned shock. “You have a favorite?”

  “Yup, all of them.” She set the dog down and picked up another one. “I want them all.” She nuzzled that one’s nose with her own.

  “I know what you mean.”

  “Uh, you don’t just want the puppies. You want all the dogs.”

  “Is there a problem with that?”

  “Nope, but the city might. They have those pesky laws and all.”

  I waved my hand like that meant nothing to me. “I know a guy.”

  She laughed and set the puppy down. “I know you didn’t bring them here to be adopted, but you brought some applications just in case, right?”

  “Do you really need to ask me that?”

  “Not really.”

  Mary and I had become friends over the past few years. Making friends was never easy for me. Sure, I had casual ones, but someone I confided in? I’d never needed that kind of friend. I’d always had my husband Sam, until I didn’t. That aneurism didn’t take just my husband, it took the life we shared, and left me with a strange, unfamiliar replacement life I still hadn’t quite figured out.

  She slowly and cautiously chipped away at my hard shell, taking care to not step on my toes, but to just be there when I had the urge to talk. I appreciated it, and I appreciated her.

  We chased after all six of the energetic little boogers and plopped them into the two crates we’d used to transport them to the community center. They weren’t tired, but us? We were already exhausted.

  Mary squirted a dollop of anti-bacterial gel on her hands and rubbed them together. “I’m going to run and freshen up. You okay here?”

  It was her first time at the annual fundraiser, and she was excited to dress up and party with the bigwigs in town. She wanted to make her goals for the shelter known and hint at a fundraiser for it. I wished her success and set her off to model up.

  Whoever had decorated the room for the fundraiser did an amazing job. It wasn’t a professional banquet hall, but from the looks of the room, you’d never know. Fall harvest themes usually meant corncobs and pumpkins, but instead of the standard Thanksgiving décor, the decorators used Christmas trees, just not with all the Christmas joy. Decorated in fall colors and filled with leaves, acorns and pinecones, the trees were absolutely stunning. Garland and white twinkle lights garnished the walls, giving the entire room a festive, harvest feel. The little details, like the cinnamon sticks twisted in the napkins, those added the perfect touch, and I loved it.

  The community took the women’s shelter fundraiser seriously, and since the women who lived at the shelter were invited, they worked hard to make it perfect.

  The fundraiser was a black-tie event, and every year the two hundred tickets available sold out in less than a day. Everyone in town loved to dress to the nines and drink champagne, and the fundraiser was the perfect place to do that.

  Volunteers touched up the final decorations just in time for the doors to open. Guests arrived first, but the shelter women made their grand entrance a little later.

  Five years ago, when the shelter first started throwing the fundraiser, a local bridal shop owner who also happened to be a shelter board member, offered to loan formal gowns to the women living in the shelter. She believed those women should be able to enjoy a night out, dressed in beautiful gowns and fancy shoes, and experience something they might not otherwise, all while having a peek at the community’s commitment to helping them get back on their feet.

  The idea took root, and over the next two years expanded to a fashion show for the women to show off their attire. It was voluntary, of course, but most seemed to love it. Three shelter staff counselors were always on hand to assist any women that struggled with the added attention. Each year several backed out at the last minute, but everyone understood, and the show went on with even two or three models escorted down the runway with a shelter volunteer by their side.

  Sam and I always attended the fundraiser. I’d never been particularly comfortable at large events like that, but my businessman and outgoing husband loved them. Going on his arm gave me the confidence and security I needed to feel comfortable, but when he died, I just couldn’t muster up the nerve to go alone, and I didn’t want to drag my daughter Hayden out from Atlanta to go with me. Bringing the dogs from the shelter to play with the resident’s children seemed like the perfect solution.

  The pooch parties were a fun way to get shelter dogs out into public to interact with citizens. Sam’s hefty life insurance policies afforded me the opportunity to give back to the community in a way that I could personally participate, not by just handing them a check. I’d taken classes in various dog training techniques to train the shelter dogs to increase their odds of adoption. Taking home a shelter dog overwhelmed some people but knowing that dog was trained made a huge difference. I had the money to fund the program, and figured it was worth a shot. That shot had been successful so far.

  The shelter’s adoption rates skyrocketed, and because of it, I’d been working on additional options to expand the program.

  The women’s shelter fundraiser wasn’t meant as an adoption event for the dogs. Since most of the women had children, many of them young, the event manager opted to allow the children to attend the event. She’d set up a small area in the back of the large room as a play area, and I’d brought the six puppies purely for the kids’ enjoyment. No child liked being in a room full of adults dressed in fancy clothes. The dogs were the perfect and fun way to keep them occupied.

  Mary and I finished setting up an hour before the event opened, laying out the small section of artificial turf and plastic white fencing around it. The fencing wasn’t actual fencing. I’d purchased several kid gates online and we hooked them together. They stored easily and weren’t a problem to transport, so they worked perfectly. The last thing we needed were six little seven-week-old collie mix fluff balls running around a room full of high heels. I shuddered at the thought.

  Since I hand
led the pooch party, I didn’t have to dress up, which I didn’t mind at all. I considered the whole idea a win-win. I was able to attend and support a program both Sam and I loved, eat some excellent catered food, and most important of all, give the kids living in the shelter and the puppies a night filled with attention, kisses and snuggles.

  Marvin, one of two of the males in the litter, jumped on the latch of the crate and moved it over just far enough to open the door. The three puppies in the crate wandered out, Marvin taking off like a bullet in the front of the pack.

  I chased after him. “No, you little troublemaker, get back here!” I picked him up and nuzzled his teeny little nose. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.” He licked my face, and I breathed in his puppy breath, something I loved.

  “Are public displays of affection appropriate at a fundraiser, Ms. Kingston?”

  I grabbed the other two escapees and returned them to their crate. “Puppy PDAs are always appropriate.”

  Max Hoover laughed. “I think you’re probably right about that.”

  I walked over to him and tightened his tie. The slight intimate gesture on my part surprised me, and I backed away, feeling uncomfortable and awkward. “I’m a little surprised you’re here.”

  “Because of the vote or the storm warning?” he asked.

  “Both.”

  He shrugged. “If I went to every event in town where someone didn’t like me, I’d never go anywhere.”

  He had a point. As a city council member, Max had a lot of friends, but probably just as many enemies. The women’s shelter fundraiser was different though. City council recently voted against an expansion to the shelter that would have accommodated an additional thirty women. Max initially raised concerns and ultimately voted against it. The town was divided on the subject, and he was stuck in the middle of a political battle. I did not envy him that position.

  “It’s pretty brave of you. I’m sure a lot of people coming tonight were in favor of the expansion.”

  A gray-haired man with a matching beard stood behind us on the other side of the plastic gates. He cleared his throat. “I know I was.”

  Max sighed as we turned around. “Nice to see you, George.”

  I gave him a small smile. “Mr. Watson.”

  George Watson returned the smile and opened the gate, a stretch for the unusually tall, thick man to bend down and reach. I wondered if he suffered from back problems. His height must have been an issue his whole life. “Missy, please. It’s George. Sam was my friend. We’re not stuck on formalities now, are we?”

  He stepped over and gave me a brief hug. I hugged him back even though I wasn’t a touchy feely kind of person. “Of course not, George.”

  “I see you’ve brought some of your dogs. Looking to grab a few adoptions tonight?”

  “There’s always the chance, but that’s not why I brought them. They’re for the kids living at the shelter to play with.”

  His eyes sparkled. “Wonderful idea, Missy. Just wonderful.”

  “It’ll keep them away from the fancy dresses,” I said. “Women get a little uncomfortable wearing expensive dresses with kids around.”

  There was a moment of awkward silence that Max finally broke. “Should be a good turn out tonight even with the weather.”

  George eyed the crowded room and exhaled. “There are a lot of things working against these women, but a little snow isn’t going to stop supporters from coming out for them.”

  Max was at least four inches—if not more—shorter than George, but he stepped closer to him defensively anyway. I grabbed onto his arm to stop him from saying something he might regret. It worked.

  The passive aggressive jab at Max aside, George was right. The community wanted to help the women get back on their feet and the money brought in from the fundraiser would go far toward that goal. Some of the women left their situations with just the clothes on their backs, and some needed jobs or educations, or just the essentials to get on their feet, and the money raised helped fund those needs.

  I attempted to change the subject. “Isn’t the storm south of us?”

  George scanned the room as if he’d find a TV tuned into the Weather Channel on one of the walls. “That’s what the news says.” He shrugged. “But they said the same thing about Snowmaggedon, so who knows?”

  Atlanta had no hopes of living down Snowmaggedon. The colossal surprise ice storm paralyzed the city and surrounding suburbs for several days. Weather reporting got it wrong, and by the time everyone figured it out, it was too late. The mass exodus of people couldn’t drive on the inch thick ice, opting to abandon their vehicles across interstates, highways, or wherever they were, choosing instead to walk home in their business shoes and light jackets.

  No one in the greater Atlanta area owned an actual winter coat.

  It was several days before things got back to normal, and the rest of the country had a field day with us, tagging the event Snowmaggedon and creating memes of abandoned highways resembling video shots from the Walking Dead. It was kind of funny, but only after everything was back to normal. Atlanta doesn’t experience that kind of weather often, and none of the state is set up for something of that caliber. With the flack local governments received, I’m sure they’re better prepared, but we’re not Minnesota or any state that deals with snow and ice on a regular basis, so we’d never reach their level of expertise.

  “Let’s hope we don’t have another one of those,” Max said. He smiled at me but didn’t look at George. “I’ll come by and see how things are going later.”

  “That would be great Max. Thanks.”

  George shook his head. “Can’t believe he had the audacity to show up here tonight. This event is supposed to be positive. We don’t need his kind bringing it down.”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant by his kind, but I let it slide. “Max supports the shelter. You know that. He just doesn’t agree with the need for the expansion, and apparently, another city council member or two doesn’t either.”

  George straightened his shoulders. “Two council members did support the expansion, so it wasn’t a unanimous vote.”

  I shrugged. “Doesn’t have to be to pass.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “I gather you support the decision.”

  “I support our process, and if the expansion was voted down, then I have to believe there was a valid reason.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “You didn’t ask me a question. You made a statement.”

  He eyed me cautiously. “Very well. Pay attention tonight, Missy. Things are going to get interesting, I can promise you that.”

  Things always got interesting at town events.

  After the forty-five-minute cocktail hour, the guests all took their seats to watch the shelter women model their dresses down the catwalk for the fashion show. The emcee, a local businessman, thanked everyone for coming, and gave a shout out to each of the fundraiser sponsors.

  “We would like to give a special thanks to George Watson for his rather large donation of both time and money to this year’s event, not to mention the shelter in general.” He waved his hand out and glanced down at the catwalk. “George designed and built our new catwalk. Isn’t it wonderful?” He stared out into the crowd. “George? Where are you?”

  George Watson waved from a table in the center of the room. He didn’t need to. His height had inches above the rest of the crowd even while sitting.

  “How about we give him a big round of applause?”

  George waved them off. “It was nothing, really.”

  Someone in the crowd said, “It was something George, and you know it.”

  “Speech, speech,” a few people cheered.

  “Yes,” the emcee said. “How about a few words from our top sponsor?”

  What George did was great but making the event about him turned me off. It was supposed to be about the women, though I doubted any of them would want to be singled out in front of a crowd.
r />   George walked over to the podium on the catwalk to a cheering audience. He waved them off again like he was some celebrity.

  I swallowed hard.

  “Thank you everyone.” He cleared his throat again. “Many of you know why this shelter is so important to me, and I’m so grateful each and every one of you is here tonight to support such a wonderful program. I know my Sophie would have been thrilled to have a place to go. Somewhere where she could feel safe and supported like the women in our shelter must feel. Now that she’s gone, I feel it’s my duty to ensure women in her type of situation get that help and support.”

  The crowd sobered with the mention of Sophie Watson, George’s deceased daughter.

  Mary whispered in my ear. “What happened to his daughter?”

  Mary moved to town a little over two years ago. She wasn’t around when Sophie was killed, nor did she quite yet know the who’s who or the what’s what in town.

  “Sophie’s ex-boyfriend was abusive and had repeatedly threatened her. He told her if she told anyone, he’d kill her family. He’d stalked her for months. She quit her job, moved to another town, did everything she could to get away from him, everything except tell anyone. One night he came over with a gun. No one knows exactly what happened, but she called 9-1-1, and he shot her. Killed her while she was on the call, and then shot himself.”

  “Oh my gosh, that’s horrible.”

  “It was awful. The worst part is that no one knew. She never told anyone what was going on. The only reason it all came out was because her mother read her diary. George vowed publicly to do whatever he could to help women like Sophie, and he’s been a big supporter of the shelter ever since.”