Collared For Murder by Annie Knox Page A

so nice?”
    “Daily comb-outs to start. Then, the day before the show, Ranger gets a full bath: four lathers with complete rinses between each, then a blowout, followed by a bit of grooming just to make sure his coat is perfectly symmetrical: ear tufts, whiskers, and eyebrows. Day of the show, I comb through the Ducky White to freshen him up and try to cover that tarnishing a bit.”
    “So that’s what Pris would have done? The full bath?”
    “If I trusted a stranger with my Ranger, then yes. But I don’t. I always groom him myself, tip to tail. Though I seem to have forgotten my grooming kit, so that criminal will get some money out of me before the day is done. Or, at least, her business will.”
    That criminal
. Poor Pris. We’d both been hoping that this show would help our businesses really take off. I’d hoped to gain some more Internet business, and Pris had hoped that she could secure invitations to other M-CFO events where she could set up mobile grooming stations. But with the cat fanciers referring to Pris as “that criminal” instead of “that groomer,” I feared she—and Prissy’s Pretty Pets—might be doomed.
    “I won’t be happy about it, though,” she continued. “Pris doesn’t carry my brand of grooming shears. I only use Guttenheim shears. The kind that Mr. Denford sells on his Classy Cat Web site.”
    Ruth reached a finger through the bars of Ranger’s kennel and stroked the area beneath his mouth, what would have been his neck if Persians had real necks.
    “I’m surprised you’re not out watching the agility show. Ranger here only does conformation judging; I wouldn’t risk him getting grimy or falling on the agility course. But it is wildly entertaining to watch.”
    Ruth beckoned to a statuesque woman in a crystal-studded leopard tracksuit, her hair bleached beyondblond, her eye makeup more appropriate for a cabaret than a cat show. I recognized her as the breeder who’d gotten into a tizzy about her tabby’s markings on the day before the show was scheduled to start. She’d been in head-to-toe leopard then, too. Apparently, she had a very distinct sense of style.
    The woman squeed and rushed to our side, a happy little waggle in her walk.
    “Izzy, this is T. J. Leuzinger, owner of Cataclysm Cattery. T.J., Izzy owns Trendy Tails, the pet boutique here in town.”
    T.J. reached out and grasped one of my hands in both of her bejeweled mitts. Her hands smelled like coconut.
    “So great to meet you, Izzy. I’ve seen some of your designs in the showroom. You’re quite a hit.”
    Her comment did my heart good.
    “T.J., could you watch Ranger for a bit? I don’t want to leave him alone, but Izzy here’s never seen a cat-agility competition so I want to show her what we do.”
    “Of course. Be happy to. I haven’t had a chance to get caught up with this handsome fella in quite a while.”
    We left T.J. making cooing sounds to Ranger as Ruth led me out the side door of the North Woods Hotel and into a giant parklike setting. Although you could hear cars passing by, lilac bushes blocked thegreen space from any view of Beechnut Road. In the distance, I spotted a gazebo where many a Merryville wedding had taken place. Closer, though, a generous white tent had been set up about fifty feet from the door. A huge crush of people gathered tight around the perimeter of the tent. From the cheering, I guessed that the agility show was already in progress.
    Despite the crowd, Ruth managed to strong-arm her way to the front, securing the two of us spaces to stand just outside the velvet rope that marked off the course. I felt guilty about both our barging and my height, so I crouched down a little for the people behind me.
    I quickly took in the lay of the land. The agility course had been “carpeted” with a cheap green Astroturf, likely to protect the tender pads on the cats’ paws from dirt and rocks. At one corner of the course, a pudgy man in jeans and a “Cats Rule, Dogs Drool”