Dog Helps Those (Golden Retriever Mysteries) Read Online Free

Ahead of us was an 18 th -century stone farmhouse, the kind I’d daydreamed about living in when I was a kid and didn’t know about low ceilings and antiquated plumbing. Next to the house was a big red barn, and beyond that a field full of the same doggy gym equipment I’d seen in Rick’s back yard, but on a larger scale.
    Rick pulled his truck in beside a row of BMWs, Jaguars, and other pricey cars. “This agility stuff attracts a wealthy crowd,” I said, as we got out.
    “Rita manages an investment fund. A lot of these people are her clients.”
    I wasn’t comfortable being around a lot of folks whose cars cost more than my house, but if a blue-collar cop like Rick could fit in, so could I. We put the dogs on leashes and they tugged us toward the ring, where it looked like a Ralph Lauren ad was being filmed—women in pastel pedal-pushers and men in plaid shirts romped with a mix of big and small dogs, from black and tan German shepherds to tiny brown Chihuahuas.
    In contrast to the fancy cars and the elegant clothing Rita’s customers wore, the yard smelled like a farm, a mix of manure, mulch and fresh growing things. As we got close to the ring, Rita approached, wearing skinny jeans and a light-blue chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Her short, steel-gray hair seemed more appropriate with that outfit than with the fancy clothes from the night before.
    Rick introduced us and said that Rochester was a novice at agility training. “But he learns fast.”
    “You work at Eastern, don’t you?” she asked. “I saw you last night at that awful art exhibit.”
    Her accent was as strong and grating as it had been the night before.
    I nodded, unwilling to engage her in a debate about art or morality. “You can take your dog into the training ring,” she said, pointing to a circular area next to the main ring. “I’ve got to put King Otto through his paces.” She whistled, and a long-haired dachshund came running toward her on tiny little legs, his reddish hair flowing behind him.
    I couldn’t help noticing that the way she pursed her lips together matched the look on the dachshund’s face.
    “She names all her dogs after German kings and queens,” Rick whispered, as we followed her and the little dog over to the big ring. “Let’s watch how she does it.”
    A half-dozen spectators stood at the split-rail fence around the ring. Rick introduced me to Matthew Durkheim, an older man with a shaved head, wearing a form-fitting white T-shirt with the Louis Vuitton logo and a pair of dark slacks. I noticed a tattoo of a rising sun on his right bicep, and it took me a minute to recognize it as the Eastern College logo. Calum, his black and white border collie, sat up at attention as Rochester sniffed him.
    Then he turned to the other side and introduced me to Carissa Rodriguez, a Latin beauty, with a finely boned face and black hair, no older than thirty. She wore several gold necklaces, including one with a tear-drop diamond pendant that had to be at least a few carats; a woman’s Rolex watch encrusted with diamonds; and a gold and diamond tennis bracelet. In her arms she held a sleek Chihuahua wearing a braided leather collar.
    Rascal and Rochester nosed around the grass and then plopped down at our feet, and we all watched the show. Rita looked like a madwoman as she raced around the track with King Otto, snapping her fingers and waving her hands as the dachshund darted up and down and through the various obstacles. “At Rita’s level it’s about getting through the fastest, without making any mistakes,” Rick said.
    King Otto was graceful, though he caught his back foot as he jumped over the limbo pole, leaving it wobbling. “See, that’s a fault,” Rick said. “You lose points for that.”
    “I still think the whole thing is silly,” I said.
    “Don’t let Rita hear you say that,” Matthew said. “She’s obsessive about her dogs.”
    “She is obsessive about everything,” Carissa said, in