Free Rottweiler Rescue by Ellen O'Connell Page B

other breeds too, you know. Susan told me that most handlers don’t make a living from one breed.”
    Something flickered in his eyes. “What?” I asked. “You know something about that, don’t you? What?”
    “It’s an active investigation, Ms. Brennan.”
    “Oh, so I tell you everything, and you clam up? There’s no law that says I have to share, you know.”
    “There are a lot of other dog people I can talk to for background.”
    “But I’m the only one who saw him, who now has heard him, and who has a slashed neck to show for it.”
    “You’re something else, Ms. Brennan. You know that?”
    I didn’t tell him what he was, just met his pale blue gaze steadily.
    “Okay.” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “He didn’t make a living off the dogs. His grandparents set up a trust for him. Income only, he couldn’t get at the principal, but the income isn’t too shabby. Between the trust and what he made from the dogs, he lived pretty well. We wondered about that as soon as we interviewed another handler. Evidently they usually own their own kennel and live there. They have assistants and kennel help and do a lot of work with the dogs every day.”
    “He rented space in a kennel,” I said.
    “Yeah, and that means he didn’t make anything for a dog that was just staying with him. He didn’t do the work of keeping it and didn’t get the money either.”
    “He did work with his dogs, though.”
    “Sure, but it’s not the same.”
    We sat thoughtfully for a while, eating the coffee cake and drinking coffee in a fairly companionable silence.
    “Well,” he said finally, “I guess we’ll go over the interview reports and look for any sign of clients or business associates who might be afraid of Rottweilers. Maybe talk to some of them again and ask specifically. In the meantime, do you have a boyfriend you could move in with or someone else?”
    “Excuse me? Did a ‘boyfriend’ or any man, for that matter, save me at Jack’s place, or last night? Exactly what is a ‘boyfriend’ supposed to do to keep me safe, lock me in his closet?”
    “Okay, so you don’t have a boyfriend.” He grinned at me. “You still need to keep yourself safe.”
    “I’ll do that, thank you,” I said, standing up to let him know he was leaving. “After all, preventing my murder isn’t your job. You can investigate afterwards — if he kills me in the county.”
    He stood too, but didn’t move immediately. The humor was gone from his face.
    “I’m serious, Ms. Brennan. He’s going to try again, and the dogs won’t protect you when he decides to switch to a gun. You need to go visit family or friends for a while — out of town, or better yet out of state. I’ll have deputies drive by here as often as they can, but we can’t really protect you. You need to be sensible.”
    “I’ll be fine,” I said.
    We parted this time the same way we parted after our first encounter — very unhappy with each other.

Chapter 8
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    My meeting with the prospective client was a disappointment. The head of the small company would have hired me, I thought, but his office manager couldn’t get over the fact I was a one-woman operation and had neither partners nor employees, just a friend in the same business who covered for me now and then.
    Her concern zeroed in on the worst feature of my way of doing business. There was no way to assure them that emergencies with two clients at once never presented a problem, especially since the last frantic scramble was fresh in my mind.
    She wanted my cheaper hourly rate, but she also wanted the guarantee of availability only a company with higher rates would provide. I left them to make their decision and wasn’t optimistic about which way they’d jump.
    The meeting had been in the Denver Tech Center, where the last of summer’s flowers still bloomed in sculpted beds. Maples along the curving streets were starting to show fall colors, and the day was gorgeous, with just a few