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with my arms full. I’d brought Jinx, my black-and-white Norwegian forest cat, to model my wares. She was penned up in a black wire cage to prevent her from slithering off into trouble, but she didn’t seem to mind. She groomed herself vigorously, ignoring the people who stopped to admire her fur-trimmed purple track jacket.
    “Let’s get this party started,” Rena said.
    I knew I needed to tell Rena about Phillip’s threat.Heck, it wasn’t even a threat. . . . It was a plan he’d already put into action, and my business partner had a right to know about it. But the time and place were all wrong. Rena had a good head on her shoulders, but she also had a wicked temper. I was afraid if I told her about Phillip in the midst of the ballroom, she’d storm off to find the man and punch him right in the face. No, it would be better to wait until we were alone and break it to her gently.
    “You betcha,” I replied, trying to muster some enthusiasm for the day.
    Even though the day’s events were all agility-based circuits and would be held out in the tent the hotel had set up in its scenic green space, the ballroom buzzed with excitement as breeders and owners took turns making the rounds, checking out the competition, collecting business cards, inquiring about goods and services on display, and, of course, stopping to admire the grand prize for the entire event.
    Despite being a total sleazebag, Phillip Denford had outdone himself. He’d had Jolly Nielson, our local jeweler and Rena’s girlfriend, create a custom collar dangle. According to Rena, the actual design had been conceived and drawn by Phillip’s artist son, Peter. This was no ordinary collar dangle: crafted of the most delicate platinum filigree and set with both a five-carat fancy-cut diamond and a five-carat Colombian emerald, it was a work of art. Very expensive art.Jolly had even made a platinum cage to house the accessory. Hanging from the top of the cage, the pendant could twist and turn ever so slightly, catching the lights surrounding it from a host of angles. It certainly looked expensive, but its true value wouldn’t be known until the end of the show, when it was presented to the grand-prize winner. At that point, a gemologist and an insurance adjuster would swoop in to make the determination of the dangle’s cash value and make sure it was insured before the winner even left the room.
    The prize had been artfully situated atop a table near the best-in-show ring. The table was draped with pale pink satin gathered in sensuous fabric curls on the table’s surface. The cage had been set atop tiered satin-covered boxes, and the whole setting was filled with crystal vases of pink peonies, white lilies, and delicate green Kermit mums. The arrangement looked like something out of a fairy tale, and it seemed out of place surrounded by the chaos of the show.
    The only thing marring the tablescape was a paper cup from Joe Time Coffee that someone had carelessly left on the corner. I walked over and snatched up the cup, still half-full of milky coffee, and walked it to the large waste can just behind our station. I thought about tucking it behind Jinx’s cage in case someone came back for it, but frankly, it smelled funky, like someone had dripped perfume into it. It reminded meof my friend Taffy’s Happy Leaf Tea Shoppe, a faintly musty and cloying smell. Near as I could tell, the stuff had gone off and should probably be tossed, and if someone still thought it was any good and came back to claim it, I would take the heat.
    “Thanks! I was just about to do the same thing so I could get a clean picture.”
    I looked up to find Ama Olmstead, a reporter for the
Merryville Gazette
, facing the prize table with her sleek digital camera in hand. The petite Danish woman, pixie cute, used to carry a slew of camera equipment with her back when her strapping husband, Steve Olmstead, had been available to help her lug it around. Steve and Ama were divorced