Fine Spirits [Spirits 02] Read Online Free Page B

“How many do you have now? It seems there are more than there were the last time I was here.”
           Mrs. Bissel loved anyone who loved her dogs. “I have a grand total of ten glorious dachshunds at this minute, Daisy, dear. Of course, I'm counting Lucille and Lancelot's pups in the grand total.”
           “Ah.” Ten dogs. The mind boggled. At least these dogs were small. Can you imagine if they were great Danes? “I see you have some brown ones along with the black-and-tan ones, too.”
           “Yes.” Mrs. Bissel sighed happily. “I bought two red dachshunds from a gentleman in Arizona and plan to breed them.” She took me by the arm and started leading me kitchenwards. “I'm hoping that one of these days, I'll have a Westminster winner.”
           Okay, here's the thing about rich people and their dogs. Most people like dogs.
I
like dogs. But people who have a lot of time on their hands, and most of them are the rich ones because the rest of us have to work all the time, like to enter their dogs in dog shows. There's a big dog show at Tournament Park in Pasadena every year, and I know Mrs. Bissel “showed” her dogs there.
           I'd learned from various clients over the years that the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show, held annually in New York City, was the be-all and end-all of dog shows, and the one everyone wanted to be entered into and win. If your dog earned enough points at other dog shows during the year, the dog could go to Westminster. More than one Pasadena dog owner has told me it's an honor for dogs even to be entered into the Westminster Dog Show. I say, more power to them, especially if they're dachshunds.
           Another rich lady of my acquaintance, Mrs. Frasier, bred feisty, frenetic little dogs she called miniature pinschers. Her main goal in life was to get these miniature pinschers recognized as a legitimate breed at the Westminster Kennel Club. I'm not sure what that entailed, but it sounded strange to me. I mean, since I'd met Mrs. Frasier, I could identify a miniature pinscher when I saw one. I didn't understand why the Westminster folks had trouble recognizing them. I could conceive of someone mistaking a miniature pinscher for a Chihuahua, but only until you looked at him more closely. Then you realized the pinscher had longer legs, less bulgy eyes, and a short, stubby tail. Both breeds were small and noisy, but they didn't really look that much alike.
           But I digress.
           “Would you like a cup of tea or anything before you confront our phantom?” Mrs. Bissel asked.
           “No, thank you. I'd best get to work at once.”
           “Good.” This short, pithy comment came from Ginger. “The sooner the better.”
           “Yes, that's probably the best thing. But do take Daisy's coat, Ginger. She won't need it, I'm sure.”
           “Sure thing, Mrs. B.” Ginger took my coat. The house was warm enough. “I'll hang it in the hall closet.”
           “Thank you, Ginger.” Mrs. Bissel gestured for me to follow her as Ginger went to hang up my coat. “There's a door to the basement from the kitchen,” she told me as we walked through the huge dining room and into the pantry. The kitchen lay straight ahead. “I'll take you downstairs from the kitchen.”
           “That's fine, Mrs. Bissel.”
           “We never hear anything during the day,” she went on. “So I don't think there's any danger right now, although the household help have taken to going downstairs in pairs or trios because they're all so frightened.” She glanced at me and I saw her lips quiver slightly. “So am I.”
           “I'm awfully sorry,” I said. And I was. Shoot, I didn't want to tangle with a real problem. Maybe it was just a cat. Or maybe it was a bear. Mrs. Bissel's house was right there up against the foothills. I suppose there were bears in the foothills. Or mountain lions. I