Paw and Order. V.M. Burns
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and nodded. “Yes, well. He was a good dog.”
She held up the poodle. “Well, who is this handsome fella?” Archibald Lowry pushed his shoulders back and stood taller. “That is Constantine’s son, Ildulb mac Causantin,” he said proudly. “He was the son of Constantine the second.”
Dixie cooed at the little poodle, “Now, Archibald, you know I can barely pronounce English, so there’s no way I can wrap my southern tongue around all of that.” She stopped cooing at the puppy long enough to flash a big smile at the puppy’s owner. “Now, what’s his call name?”
Unlike Dixie, I was relatively new to the dog world, but in my short indoctrination to the sport, I knew a call name was basically a nickname, what the owner called the dog, unlike the elaborate names the owners used to register their dogs with the kennel club. Those names were a mile long and usually included the name of the kennel where the dog was bred and some fancy name and any earned titles. The names were selected to amuse or impress when announced over the loudspeaker at big dog shows like Westminster or Crufts.
Archibald smiled smugly. “Indulf.”
Dixie chuckled. “I supposed that’s better than whatever you said the first time.”
Just then, Indulf started to climb Dixie’s shoulder, getting tangled in her hair.
I reached up and extracted the little poodle before he could cause any damage to Dixie’s hair, earrings, dress or to himself.
Indulf was a tiny poodle, smaller than my six-pound poodle, Aggie. He was a smoky gray with soft eyes and long eyelashes. He looked up at me and my heart melted. I snuggled the little poodle close to my face and spoke baby gibberish for a few seconds until I realized I was being observed. I looked up and saw Archibald Lowry staring at me with a quizzical expression. The expression was logical considering we had yet to be introduced. “I’m so sorry. He’s just so cute. I couldn’t help myself.”
“Where are my manners?” Dixie exclaimed. “Archibald Lowry, this is my best friend, Lilly Ann Echosby.” She turned to me. “Lilly Ann, this is Archibald Lowry.”
I extended a hand to shake, but Archibald Lowry ignored it. He leaned forward with both hands on his cane and inclined his head in a brief nod of acknowledgment.
I glanced down at Archibald’s kilt and noticed it was held together with a gold pin shaped like a sword with a ruby stone in the hilt and an intricate design which included clear stones which glinted in the light.
“What a lovely…brooch.” I stared at the stunning jeweled pin.
“It’s called a kilt pin,” he huffed.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
He sniffed. “Most Americans don’t know the proper word to use.”
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
He took a deep breath. “Few Americans understand the history of the Scottish kilt.”
I clutched the poodle to my chest.
Indulf licked my face and that small gesture softened something in Archibald Lowry’s eyes. He looked at me, sighed and then launched into a lecture on the history of kilts.
“In the Scottish Highlands, dating back to the sixteenth century, kilts were the traditional dress for Gaelic men and boys.”
He held up the elaborate pouch which hung from a chain around his waist. “Now, this is called a sporran.” The top had a gold arch which was heavily engraved and studded with red jewels. He ran his hand along it. “This is the cantle.” He moved his hand along the fur piece which extended downward. “This is Scottish goat hair, but I’ve also got them made from horse hair, rabbit and plain leather for less formal occasions.” He continued to explain the history of the pouch and the kilt pin, which included a story of how Queen Victoria invented the kilt pin when she was inspecting Highland troops on a windy day and noticed a soldier struggling to keep the aprons of his kilt from flying up. He leaned close and chuckled. “True Scotsmen wear nothing under their kilts.”
My mouth fell open and it took a nudge in the ribs from Dixie before I realized and closed it.
There was a moment of awkward silence and then Archibald Lowry laughed heartily. “I’m one of the wealthiest men in the country and people always ask me how I became so rich.” He gazed at me. “Do you know what I tell them?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t the foggiest idea.”
“I tell them I acquired my money the same way everybody else has.” He leaned forward so his mouth was within inches of my face. “I stole it.”
The shock I felt must have been reflected on my face because he guffawed for several moments. He leaned forward again, as though he was about to say something, but stopped. His gaze was fixed over my shoulder and his face registered recognition.
I turned to see what had captured his attention but didn’t see anyone I knew.
He scowled.
Dixie patted his arm. “Now, Archibald you’re going to need to behave yourself and stop trying to shock my friends.”
He laughed again, and then gave me a stiff bow. “Mrs. Echosby, it has been my pleasure meeting you, but if I can leave you with a word of warning: Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.” He tapped the side of his head.
I forced a smile and remembered I was still holding his dog. I gave the poodle a final cuddle and ear scratch and then handed him back over to his owner.
Dixie grabbed Archibald by the arm and escorted him into the main room of the museum.
Just as I turned to follow, I noticed a strange man enter the reception. I probably wouldn’t have noticed him, except he looked like he was watching Dixie but trying not to appear as if he was doing so. It wouldn’t be unusual for a man to look more than once at Dixie. There’s no question she was striking, but there was something about this stranger that sent a shiver up my spine. Suddenly, I sensed someone behind me, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Turning, I saw my boyfriend. “Red, you startled me.” I clutched at my racing heart.
He glanced into my eyes. “You really are scared. Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
I took a deep breath. “I was looking at that man.” I turned around to point him out, but he had vanished. “Well, he was here a minute ago.” I glanced around.
“Should I be jealous that you’re looking at other men?” Red joked.
I gave his arm a playful punch. “Don’t be silly. I’m serious. There was this weird guy looking at Dixie and he gave me the creeps.”
Instantly, his demeanor changed from playful flirting to serious, law enforcement mode. Red was stocky, but rock solid. He was five foot ten with dark eyes and sandy red hair which he wore in a cut which screamed former military. He still bore the scars, both internally and externally, from his years of service. The most visible was a scar across the right side of his face. The other scars were harder to see. Now he worked for the Tennessee Bureau of Investigations. Despite the fact that I found him to be a loveable teddy bear who could be extremely gentle and loved to cook, he could flip a switch and turn into a hard-nosed cop within seconds. I had seen the transformation before, in both Red and in my daughter’s boyfriend, Joe Harrison, also former military and now a member of the Lighthouse Dunes, Indiana, police force. I can’t put my finger on exactly what changes when the switch is flipped, but suddenly the air bristles with electricity and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Which guy? Can you point him out?”
We walked around the perimeter of the room, as inconspicuously as possible. I spotted Dixie talking to her husband Beau and Dr. Morgan, a short, bald man with an egg-shaped head that reminded me of the description of Agatha Christie’s famous detective, Hercule Poirot. Dr. Morgan was the coroner and one of the members of Dixie’s dog class. He was shy and socially