The dog was dead. There was no doubting that. It was lying on its side, eyes closed, beginning to stiffen and had a touch of oozy foam around its mouth. For some reason when Marks took the call he expected to arrive at the scene of the crime to find the dog lying on its back with all four legs sticking up in the air. As he thought of that image now, he had to suppress a smile.

Steve Marks was a detective with the Milton Police Department, Division of Major Crimes. This dog had been murdered, claimed the owners; therefore, it fell under the jurisdiction of the Major Crimes Division. Marks, a nine year veteran of the force, had been involved in murder cases before. They were major crimes, but this one involved a dog. Marks had never investigated a murder, or any other crime, with a dog involved. The call also came in while most of the other investigators were at lunch so Marks caught it. He had nothing else going on so he grabbed his young partner, Anders Campos, and they headed off to the address at Meadow Court.

The deceased animal, the murdered dog, was a sheltie. Even in death, it was a beautiful animal with a full body of brown and white fur. In repose, the dog looked healthy, not too fat, but not too skinny. Marks wasn't familiar with canine rigor so he wondered if maybe the animal was bloating. There wasn’t much more to investigate. The sheltie had died in his grassy, fenced in, dog run. The only other items in the run were some chew toys, a water bowl, half full, and a metal plate where food could be placed. It was empty.
The call to the police had come in from one of the dog’s owners, Edwin Colbert. At the moment, Edwin stood behind Marks and Campos. Mrs. Colbert was inside the house, inconsolable at the time, privately mourning her pet’s death. Not sure how any of this was going to go, Marks turned to face Edwin.

“Would you prefer to talk out here, Mr. Colbert?”

 Edwin was a tall man, slender man with white hair. He wore beige slacks and a navy golf shirt. I think that would be best,” he said, shifting his eyes toward the house. “Edith might not be up for any discussion at this time.”

“I see,” Marks said. Anders Campos came up to stand beside him. “What can you tell me about what happened to your dog today?”

“Francis.”

‘I’m sorry.”

“Our dog’s name was Francis. He was named after my wife’s first husband.”

Marks looked at Anders who shrugged.

“Francis McElroy, my wife’s first husband, died suddenly when he was thirty-four. A bad heart he inherited from his father. Even though Edith remarried me, she has not lost her love for Francis and I respect that.”
“That’s admirable,” Marks said. “What can you tell me about what happened to Francis, the dog, today?”
Edwin frowned. “It was really like any other day. Edith left at nine for The Literacy Advocate, where she volunteers. I put Francis out in the dog run while I went into the den to write. I am a novelist.”

Marks, not much of a reader, had never heard of Edwin Colbert or his writings. “So when you say that today was like any other day does that mean you put Francis in the dog run a lot?”

“Yes, every day. You see, Francis is a very nervous dog. If he is inside he will seek out whoever is home and try to garner their attention. It becomes bothersome while I work so I place him in the dog run.”

“Can’t you close the door to your den?” Anders asked.

“I can, but Francis will hang out outside the door and start to bark. It’s unnerving when you are trying to write something.”

“I can imagine,” Marks said. “So you put him out about nine and then what time did you check on him.”
“It was around eleven –thirty. I was going to break for lunch. I went to let him in the house for a bit, and I found him like this. I immediately called the police and then I called Edith. She came right home and got here just before you.”

Marks could pick up the sarcasm in Edwin’s voice. They hadn’t actually responded as quickly as if a person had been killed. They stopped at McDonald’s and grabbed lunch on their way. It had only delayed them fifteen minutes or so. “So what do you think happened to Francis?”

Edwin pointed towards the corner of the dog run. “I think someone got in from the gate. We must have left it open somehow and they killed Francis. That is the only guess I can make.”

Marks and Campos turned to look at the corner of the run. There was a gate that would lead you to the outside of the house. It was locked from the inside. “Did you touch or lock that gate since you found Francis?”

“No, not at all. I found him and called you and my wife.”

Again Marks looked to Campos. “I think, at this point, that we need to talk with Mrs. Colbert.”

“And poor Francis?”

Marks wasn’t sure what Edwin meant. The dog was dead; there was nothing they could do for it. He looked at Campos who shrugged again. “I guess you need to call a vet. To be honest, this is my first dog case.”

They stepped into the house, a nicely decorated Georgian, where Edwin offered them a drink while he called the vet. As he talked on the phone, Marks and Campos drank their water in the kitchen. When he got off the phone Edwin look relieved.

“Everything okay?” Marks asked.

“Yes. They will send someone out to pick up Francis. They will take him back to their office and get him ready for burial. They said they will run some tests to determine the exact cause of death.”

Marks’ family had owned two dogs in his life. They both had grown old and gotten sick. His father had gone into the vet with them. When he came home he was alone. Marks wasn’t sure, but he guessed there hadn’t been much of a burial. “Is it okay if we speak to your wife now?”

“We can try. I only hope that she is able to convey her thoughts to you. She is very upset.”

They followed Edwin out of the kitchen to the front of the house and the living room. Mrs. Edith Colbert was sitting on the edge of a sofa with a gaudy print, crying slowly, dabbing her eyes with a tissue, looking off into space. Like Edwin, she had white hair, was slender and wore a light blue pants suit.

“Edith,” Edwin said quietly. “These two gentlemen are with the police and they would like to ask you a couple of questions.”

She looked up, past her husband, and directly at the two detectives. “Have you arrested Ed Garvey yet?”

Again the two cops looked at each other. “Who is Ed Garvey?” Marks asked.

“He is the one who killed Francis?” Edith responded.

“Let’s be certain of that, dear, before we make any assertions,” Edwin said. “Garvey is our neighbor to the south, the house closest to the dog run. He got very upset with Francis a month or so ago. He came over and there was a bit of an argument. He threatened, at that time, to kill Francis.”

Marks rubbed his chin. Francis, now dead, looked like he would have been fairly harmless when alive.

“What did Francis do to upset Mr. Garvey?”

“I think I explained to you that Francis was an excitable dog. When we would put him out in his dog run he would bark a little. Garvey had to work nights occasionally and he claimed that Francis’ barking woke him up.”

“There would have to be a lot of barking to provoke a man to want to kill a dog,” Anders said.”

“Ed Garvey has an unreasonable temper,” Edwin said.

“The man is a maniac, a menace,” Edith said. “Francis was still a puppy, only a year and a half old.”

Marks had only written down the name of Ed Garvey. “If not Mr. Garvey, are there any other possibilities?”

“Several,” Edith said. “There are the Wharton boys and also Sarah James. She has that damn boxer, and she was so jealous of Francis.”

“One person at a time,” Marks said. “Who are the Wharton boys?”

“They are triplet boys that live right in back of us,” Edwin said. “I believe they are about ten.”

“And why would you suspect them?”

“Because they are dreadful little things and that woman has no control over them,” Edith said.

“Edith, please,” Edwin said. “They are mischievous boys, you know tee peeing houses, smashing pumpkins at Halloween, and I think they may have egged Ed Garvey’s car once.”

“Anything more serious than that?”

“I think they just look for trouble. Their poor mother, Mary, has had a tough time. Her husband died a couple of years ago so she’s a single parent with three kids to raise. Not an easy task.”

“What about the lady with the boxer?’ Marks referred to his notes. “What about Mrs. James?”

“Very sneaky,” Edith said.

“In our local kennel club, Francis placed higher than her Butch,” Edwin said. “She has been very unfriendly lately. We think it’s all jealousy.”

“Jealous enough to kill Francis?” Anders asked.

Edwin shook his head. “I actually think it might me Thomas Forin. He lives in the house to our left as you face it. I caught him peering into the dog run on several occasions. I think he was up to something.”

“What would have been his motive?” Marks asked.

“Again, just his privacy. I think Francis would bark once in a while and get under his skin. I think he was trying to plan something. That’s why he was looking into the dog run.”

“Anyone else?” Marks asked.

“I think that will do it,” Edwin said.

“We will talk to all of these people and see what we can find,” Marks said. He had a feeling they’d find little with the neighbors.

‘I would start with Ed Garvey,” Edith said. “He is a mean son of a bitch.”

Edwin hushed his wife as a small truck pulled up in front of the house. The wording painted neatly on the side of the vehicle said S. L. Gentry, Veterinarian.  They were there to pick up Francis, the dog.

“I’ve been working the midnight to eight shift so I sleep a lot during the day. I can usually get to about three thirty when the kids get home from school. Then there’s too much noise to sleep.” Ed Garvey looked normal. He was a big man and was wearing a pair of ridiculously colored pajama bottoms and a Blackhawks tee shirt. His hair was mussed and he needed a shave. “Today I just woke up and needed a drink. Probably the pizza I ate when I got home. Anyway, that’s why I was up when you guys rang the bell.”

They were all seated in Garvey’s kitchen. He was drinking a Diet Coke. The two officers didn’t want anything else to drink. “What time were you home this morning?” Marks asked.

Garvey shrugged. “Maybe eight -thirty, eight-forty at the latest. Why? What’s up?”

“Are you familiar with the Colbert’s dog, Francis?”

“Familiar with it. The dog should have been born an alarm clock. It barks every minute that its out in that dog run when is usually when I am trying to sleep. It actually doesn’t bark. It yipps. It’s too high pitched to be a bark.”

“Did you see Francis today?’

“I hardly ever see him. He’s in the dog run next to my room. I hear the little bastard. That’s about it.”

“So you didn’t see him at all today.”

“Nope. As a matter of fact I didn’t even hear him. Usually he wakes me a couple of times a day, but not today. Did something happen to Francis?”

“It looks like someone may have poisoned him. Regardless, he is now very dead.”

Marks thought he saw a smile emerging on Garvey’s lips. “I don’t know why they ever got that dog. Edith is never around and I don’t think Edwin likes it. He told me he puts him outside so he can work. I can understand that since that yipping will drive you nuts.”

“You don’t think Edith liked the dog either?”

“No, I didn’t mean that. When she was home she adored Francis. I was certain that she liked that dog more than she liked Edwin. If you saw them together she would talk to Francis like he was their child; she would talk to Edwin like he was a laborer. She never treats that man very well.”

Marks was listening while Anders wrote down notes on his pad. “So you were nowhere near the dog run today and you didn’t hear or see Francis?”

Ed Garvey spread his arms wide in a surrendering gesture. “Look, I didn’t care for that dog at all. He was an annoying little pest, but I would never harm him, and I didn’t hear or see him today.”

“Mrs. Colbert said you threatened to kill Francis some time ago.”

“That was nothing. The dog woke me up like three days in a row and I yelled at Edwin to shut him up. I may have said that. I don’t remember. It was just two guys jawing with each other, making stupid comments. You know.”

Marks nodded. He did know. He could see the big, sleep deprived Ed Garvey telling Edwin Colbert to shut up his dog before something happened, but something told him Garvey had nothing to do with Francis’ death. The man was more bark than bite. Marks smiled at his thoughts and thanked Garvey for his time.

Mary Wharton was a small, petite woman in her early thirties. She was wearing a Nike jogging suit when the detectives rang her doorbell. She immediately invited them into the living room.

“Are my boys in some trouble?” she asked.

“That depends,” Marks said. “What time did they leave for school today?”

“That’s easy. We leave about eight- twenty every morning.”

“Do they walk or take the bus?”

“Neither. It’s too far to walk and they are on probation from the bus. They’ve caused a little trouble, you see,” she said. “I have to drive them every morning.”

“Today was no different?”

“No, not at all. Can you tell me what’s going on here?”

“Mrs. Wharton, it looks like your neighbor’s dog, Francis, owned by the Colbert’s, might have been murdered. We are just checking with everyone to see if anyone saw or heard anything.”

“No, detective. You are just checking with me to see if my boys had anything to do with it.”

Marks blushed. Anders turned his head away to hide his smile. “I’m sorry,” Marks said. “We are just checking with the immediate neighbors.”

Mary Wharton put her hands on her hips. “Like I said, we were gone about eight- twenty. It couldn’t have been my boys this time and, anyway, they would never harm Francis. I think they all liked him.”

“What did you think of Francis?” Anders asked.

“That dog is, or was, crazy. He would bark the entire time he was out in their dog run. It wasn’t even a bark. It sounded like someone was stepping on his paw. It was pathetic.”

“Ever hear anyone threaten the dog?”

“Well, Ed Garvey hated the dog. When Ed had to work nights the dog would keep him up. I could see Ed’s point. That would piss me off, too.”

“How about the Colbert’s? What kind of people are they?” Marks said.

Mary Wharton laughed. “Edith is an old bitch. The boys would have a ball go over their fence and she wouldn’t throw it back. She just wasn’t nice at all and she treated Edwin like he was a servant. Every time I would see them together, she would talk down to him and try and make him look inferior. It had to be degrading for him.”

“How did she treat Francis?”

She laughed. “Like royalty. She was always spoiling that dog, giving it treats, and pampering him. Francis got a lot better treatment than Edwin did. It was sad. The only thing she loved more than Francis was the Literary Advocate program she belonged to. She went there six days a week. I know there are a lot of people that need reading help, but she seemed to place that above everything else in her life, including her husband.”

Neither Thomas Forin, nor Sarah James, the boxer owner was home. Realizing that they would have to come back for questioning at a later time upset Marks. He was hoping to make quick work of this case, but it wasn’t working out. On the way back to the station they called SL Gentry, the vet, and asked to be advised of the cause of death as soon as it was known.

“Wasn’t it his heart?” the vet on the phone asked Marks.

“Why would it be his heart?”

“Mrs. Colbert told us that the dog would become so upset and excited when Mr. Colbert put him out in the dog run that he might have had a heart attack. She told us to pay a lot of attention to his heart.”

Marks shook his head. “Just call us when you have the reason.”

“We’re working on Francis right now and should know something soon.”

As they returned to the scene of Francis’ death the following day, Marks and Campos discussed their thoughts. Both had an entire night to review the case in their minds.

“I’m thinking if he was poisoned, it had to be Edwin,” Campos said.

“How’d you come up with that?”

“Everyone we talked to seemed to think Mrs. Colbert treated the dog better than her husband. Take that, plus the fact that Francis barked all the time, and maybe Edwin just had enough.”

Marks sipped his coffee, making sure he didn’t spill any down the front of his shirt. “When I told Tory about the whole thing, she was convinced it was the husband. Based on the constant barking and jealousy, there would have been plenty of motive.” Tory, an artist, was Marks live in girlfriend.

Before Campos could respond further, Marks’ cell phone rang. “Marks here,” he said, answering after one ring.

“This is Steven Gentry from SL Gentry, the vet.”

“Yes.”

“We wanted you to know that we completed our autopsy on Francis. We also wanted you to know that we had Francis in for a check-up about a month ago. At that time there was nothing wrong with him.”

“What did the autopsy show?”

“An extremely high concentration of arsenic in his blood. It was probably ingested in his food. I’m afraid, detective, that someone killed Francis.”

Marks thanked Gentry and turned to Campos. “Arsenic.”

“I don’t think Francis got into that on his own.”

Marks knew what Anders meant. Someone had murdered Francis.

The home of Sarah James was a small, well kept ranch. They could tell from the front of the house that the entire back was encased by a six foot tall stockade fence. They understood why when Sarah answered the door. Her dog, a full blooded boxer named Butch, stood almost four feet tall, sitting on his butt. He didn’t bark as the officers stepped into the house. He just sat there; the only thing that moved were his eyes as he followed the cops into the house.

Sarah James was an attractive woman in her late thirties. She was dressed in a short dress that revealed shapely legs. She was not happy that the two policemen were in her house.

“We’re sorry that we had to bother you this early,” Marks said. “We wanted to ask you a few questions.”
“This is about Francis, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. How did you know that?”

“I saw Ed Garvey and he told me that the police were asking questions. He said you were trying to figure out who killed the poor dog.”

“That’s true. Any ideas?”

“Ideas? I don’t need ideas. I’d bet my house on it being Edwin. I’m surprised you didn’t figure that out already.”

“Why’s that?”

“Edith treated Edwin like he was the dog and Francis was her husband. She’s terrible to that man. He also has to watch that yipping dog all day while Edith is off with her literary volunteer program. Between that program, and Francis, she had no time, or love, for Edwin.”

“She was pretty bad towards him?”

“Bad isn’t the word. She was outwardly rude to him, bossing him around all the time and treating him like trash. It was embarrassing in public.”

“So you think Edwin did this to Francis?’

“Like I said, I’d bet big money on it.”

“What about the awards the Francis won at the kennel club?” Campos asked.

Sarah James head snapped toward Campos. Her nostrils were flared and eyebrows arched back. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Anders cleared his throat. “We heard Francis beat out…”

“Butch,” she said. “Yes, he beat out Butch for a couple of awards, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“There was some speculation that you might be jealous.”

She sat up straight. “Not jealous, detective. Furious is a better word. There was a judge at the kennel, Clark Rifford, another member of Edith’s literary crusade. He got the judges to side with him and vote for Francis. Butch should have won clearly, but the whole thing was fixed.”

“And you were furious?” Marks said.

“I was more than furious, but I see where you are going with this. I was upset with Edith and Clark, but not enough to injure Francis. I would never do anything like that. Anyway, I was with my sister the night before last in Chicago. I didn’t get home until last night. You can check it. I wasn’t even around when Francis was killed.”
 
Thomas Forin was a little man, barely over five feet tall, who was in his late fifties. He had jet black hair, obviously colored, and was dressed in clothes that a man his age should not have been wearing. The faded, pressed and creased jeans he wore were too tight. Coupled with this was a silk shirt, unbuttoned half way down his chest showing a gold medallion and less than a dozen hairs against a fake baked tan. Like Sarah James, he was not happy the police were there to question him about Francis.

“Am I a suspect?” he blurted once they were seated in his living room.

“No, sir,” Marks said. “We are just questioning all of the neighbors to see if anyone heard or saw anything.”

“Well, I can tell you that I neither heard nor saw anything with respect to Francis’ death. It is a sorry affair, but I could have told you something was going to happen to that dog.”

“Why was something going to happen to Francis?”

“The dog was an obnoxious little creature. His barking, if you can call it that, would pierce your inner ear and go right to your brain. It was non-stop when he was out in that dog run. It would drive you crazy.”

Marks looked over at Anders Campos. “So who would you suspect since you claim not to be a suspect?” Anders said.

Thomas Forin smiled. “Don’t think I didn’t ever consider killing the little mongrel. He drove me nuts. My pick would be any one of the neighbors. Sarah had a major problem with the way Edith and her friend, Mr. Rifford, fixed the last contest at the kennel club. I’m sure the Wharton boys would have loved to get at that dog just so they could brag about it. Finally, I talked with Ed Garvey. Francis would bark all the time and deprive him of sleep. He told me he wanted to kill it at times. I couldn’t blame him, either.”

“So you think it might be Garvey?” Marks said.

Forin put one finger into the air. “Might be, I said. He would not be my number one suspect.”

Marks and Campos said nothing, waiting for Forin’s great revelation.

“My prime suspect, I believe that’s what you call them, would be Edwin Colbert himself. Francis did not like him at all. Then there was the constant barking. The man is a writer, a minor novelist, and how can you concentrate with all of that noise? It was constant. That, alone, would make you take action, but that was not the only thing.”

“What else was there?” Marks wanted to know.

Forin smiled. “It was the way Edith treated Edwin. She was absolutely horrible to him. If the man has a shred of confidence left I would be surprised. She talked down to him like he was her slave and she lavished praise on Francis. Edwin was more the dog in the group. All of the brow beating and the way she acted around Clark Rifford would be enough for any man to lash out.”

“Who is this Clark Rifford?”

“Clark? He is an old money child. His family owned a number of drug stores. I don’t think he’s worked a day in his life. He spends his time between the country club, race track, kennels and, of course, The Literacy Advocate. Whenever he is around Edith she treats him like a celebrity and she does it right in front of Edwin. Between Francis driving him crazy and the way Edith treated him, I don’t know how Edwin could take it.”  

It was later that day when Marks and Campos pulled up in front of the lavish home of Clark Rifford. Rifford lived in an old remodeled farm house off the sixteenth green at The Village Country Club, one of only a few houses on the course. For a man who was single it was a very large home on a big piece of land. Marks couldn’t understand how anyone would want to live alone in such isolation.

Clark Rifford was a tall man, dressed in neatly pressed gray slacks and a white oxford shirt. His gray hair and mustache were perfectly trimmed and combed. The only thing that didn’t look stuffy about him, thought Marks, were his choice of footwear. He was wearing beat up old slippers.

“You have a very nice house, Mr. Rifford,” Anders said.

“It is very quiet,” Rifford said.

“Ever get lonely?” Marks asked.

“No, I don’t believe so.”

They were seated in a large room across from the living room. The room contained wall lined book shelves that were crammed to capacity, two brightly lit lamps, an old desk, two leather chairs and a leather sofa, a desk chair and a fireplace that glowed on this cool night.

“I don’t think you have come out here to discuss my loneliness,” Rifford said.

“No, you are right. We came out here to discuss the Colberts,” Marks said.

“Lovely people,” Rifford said, “especially Edith. She does wonderful work at The Literacy Advocate.”

“What about Edwin?”

“A nice man. He struggles a bit with his identity.”

“How so?”

Rifford laughed. “He is a very minor novelist, largely unread, but I know he spends a tremendous amount of time on his craft. It must frustrate him that he has not gotten better.”

Marks wasn’t interested in Edwin’s writing career. “Are you aware of the tragedy that they suffered yesterday?”

“Of course. I heard from Edith almost immediately. What a shame and what a cowardly thing to do.”
“What’s that?”

“Edwin killing poor Francis. She would tell me all the time that Edwin had no use for the dog. She was greatly concerned that he would try and harm Francis. I guess her premonition finally came true.”
“She accused Edwin?”

“Almost right away. She sounded if she had no doubts.”

“What was your relationship to Mrs. Colbert?”

“Like I said, she was a tireless volunteer at The Literacy Advocate. I am on the board of directors for the charity.”

“I see, but what about personally?”

Rifford stared hard at Marks for a few moments. “She is a lovely lady. I enjoy her company immensely. Unfortunately, as you two detectives may have figured out, she is married.”

“Oh, no, we figured that part out. Can you tell us what happened at the dog show at the kennel?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Didn’t Francis win?”

“Yes, he did. He was the best dog that night.”

“With no help from you?”

Again a small peep of laughter from Rifford. “I see you have talked with Mrs. James. I was a judge and the competition was very tight that night. I may have swayed a vote or two towards Francis. I don’t really like Mrs. James.”

“You did this for Mrs. Colbert?”

“Yes, I did, but this is not Westminster. This was the Milton Kennel Club. Edith has helped me tremendously. I was returning the favor. It is what friends do.”

“Edith didn’t care for Mrs. James or Butch, either?”

“She found Mrs. James to be, pardon my expression, a snooty bitch. She thought Butch had the same personality as his owner.”

“You don’t work, do you?”

 The question seemed to catch Rifford off guard. “I do not currently have a job that pays me a salary. That became unnecessary when my family sold all of their drug stores and pharmacies to a national firm.”

“But you used to work there?”

“For many years, detective. I worked through high school and college in one of my family’s stores. I know every aspect of the business. I worked in the stock rooms and in the pharmacy department. I’ve seen and done it all.”

“Most people think it was you who killed Francis,” Marks said to Edwin. They were seated in the living room of the Colbert’s house. It was almost nine-thirty and the couple was dressed for bed.

Edwin looked like he swallowed his tongue. “Me? That’s preposterous.”

“Everyone we talked to said they thought you were the prime suspect,” Anders said.

“That’s ridiculous. I found Francis to be annoying, but I would never kill him. I know how much he meant to Edith.”

During this short period of questioning, Edith Colbert had sat with her arms crossed over her chest, a disgusted look on her face.

“What do you think, Mrs. Colbert?” Marks said.

Edith snapped to and looked at him. “What do I think?”

“Yes, what do you think? Do you think Edwin is our prime suspect?’

She looked at her husband who had a look of horror on his face. “I hadn’t given it that much thought, I guess.”

“But you would if you heard your neighbors. They all told how you fawned over Francis and treated Edwin like he was a second class citizen. That seemed to be the consensus opinion.”

“Those people are all fools.”

“And a couple,” Marks continued, “seemed to think you spent an inordinate amount of time at The Literacy Advocate and that you spent a lot of time in the company of Clark Rifford.”

“The Literacy Advocate is an important charity and Clark and I are just good friends.”

“Why did you ask the vet to pay special attention to Francis’ heart?”

“I was thinking he may have had a heart attack. He was such an excitable dog.”

“You knew Francis had been to the vet not long ago and didn’t have any problems. You thought for a minute that you might be able to throw them off course from what you did. Isn’t that the truth?”

“Wait a minute, detective,” Edwin said.

“Who puts the food in Francis’ bowl every morning, the bowl that is in the dog run?”

Edith didn’t answer. She looked over at Edwin and lowered her head.

“Edith puts the food and water out each day before she goes,” Edwin said.

“When did you ask Clark Rifford about the effects of arsenic poisoning and how to put it in food?” Marks asked.

“I, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sure you do. You asked him the night of Francis’ win at the Milton Kennel Club. You were joking with him, so he thought, about how to put Butch, the boxer, out of his misery after losing. You told Clark that Butch shouldn’t have to suffer anymore with being around Sarah James. He told you all you had to do was to get a hold of a little arsenic and put it right in his food. Isn’t that right?’

Edith lowered her head and closed her eyes. She began to shake. She wrapped her arms tightly around her.
“Why would you do that to Francis, Edith?” Edwin said.

The answer was not coming from Edith. She was wound up tight, eyes closed, tremors riddling her body.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Colbert,” Marks said, “but I’m fairly certain that Mrs. Colbert was trying to frame you for Francis’ death so that she would have a reason to leave you. If you were found guilty of killing Francis, she would have plenty of reason to divorce you. No one would question her about that or think it improper. Then she would be free and could spend all of her time pursuing Clark Rifford.”

Edwin looked at Edith. She was not getting any better. He smiled faintly. “Poor Francis,” he said. “If you wanted out, all you had to do was ask, Edith. It didn’t have to take this much effort and you didn’t have to kill poor Francis.”

Marks and Anders were seated at the bar at Billy’s having a beer, before heading home for the evening.

Marks had just read a text from his boss and friend, Lou Wasserman, congratulating them on solving the great dog caper. Marks answered with something less than professional and closed his phone.

“What does she get for dog murder?” Anders asked.

“Well, it’s not Michael Vick like, but it was pretty cruel. I think there will be fines and potential jail time. Considering her age, the judge might be lenient.”

“Maybe he should just stick her out in that dog run for a month and let her eat bad dog food.”

Marks laughed. “I’m not sure, but I do know one thing.”

Anders finished his beer. “What’s that?”

“People murder seems a lot easier to work on than dog murder. For a time, I didn’t care about Francis, and then I got mad and had to figure out who did this. With people, you’re mad from the start.”

BIO:
John Sturgeon is a semi-retired insurance agent who lives in Wheaton, Illinois with his wife, Mary, and their family. His only previous writing credit was a non-fiction piece for Amusement Magazine. This is his first piece of published fiction. “The Murder of the Yipping Dog” was inspired by a neighbor’s obnoxious dog and the thoughts of quieting him.  John is currently working on a novel based in Chicago’s notorious Levee District.