Dog Days Murderous Nights: Winnona Peaks Mysteries Book 1 Read Free

never get what she needed for breakfast.
    Yes, she remembered the first time she spoke with J.W. that morning.  She was about to walk out past him on the porch when she overheard him choosing that stupid beagle to be winner at the show.  That sealed it.  She refused to go outside to look at the scenery with the owner and act chummy on the porch.  How could she? She instead turned on her heels and sat in the antiquated lobby.  She didn’t need that kind of company.  The difficult part was deciding how she was going to spend the rest of her afternoon.  Dog shows had so much wasted time.  It was always hurry, hurry, hurry, groom, feed and transport.  Then it was just move around to groom, hurry up and wait.  All for a couple of laps around a blue arena and a shot at a year supply of dog food.
    “Do all of these damn chairs have to squeak when you sit in them?” she mumbled to herself as she adjusted her weight and balanced Mable in her lap.  She so deplored the accommodations she had to endure in these back water little towns.  Her little Mable was worth the sacrifice but Nori was going to be infinitely happier after the show back at their summer on the 14th hole of the golf course. 
    This perky hostel owner did not make it any more bearable.  It took all Nori could muster to control herself from giving J.W. Augustine the tongue lashing of his life.  Someday he was going to get what was coming to him. Just because he discovered his second wind career in deciding to dabble in judging and photography it didn’t give him the right to judge a true champion.  She knew what it took.  A champion is made or destroyed in the smallest detail.  That’s why an owner had to be willing to do whatever it took.  She just hoped J.W. never got in her way.  Right now he was just a minor annoyance.  The day was young.
    Mable was sired by the royal line of Gundar’s Desire.  She was one of the last terriers to have traces back to the original AKC registration in 1887.  How could he know that?  He didn’t care.  J.W. was just unbelievable flirting with all of these younger women and chatting up the judges with his square chin and dimples.  Years of dog shows and fame in the AKC had worn Nori’s nerves to a thin place and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could take this.  Her grandparents lasted until they were in their seventies but they had each other.  Nori’s husband, Henry, said he loved the dogs but it was soon apparent that he loved golf more. Every time the PGA came to town he even rented out their bedrooms.  They had such a big fight that she eventually gave up and slept in the kennel until the PGA left town. 
    A slim 50 she was told early in her career that photographs showcasing the dogs around red and gold gave them an edge. She went out the next day and replaced her entire wardrobe with red and gold.  It worked. She won the national title after her sire Dom Perignon’s Star Child won the trophy.  The whirlwind photo shoots and magazine covers had died down quite a bit.  She clutched Mable as her last chance, and some days felt like she was starting all the way over.  Nori fancied herself a bit of a Jackie O’ in red and gold all those years but she could see the look in their eyes when her pale skin came across Mable’s hair.  She definitely knew that Henry was no J.F.K.  These kids didn’t know what it took to make a champion anyway.
    “Are you sure you don’t need anything, Mrs. Deswood?”  It was the perky hotel owner.  What part of leave her alone didn’t she get.
    “I noticed that you used those Nature’s Goodness organic doggie treats for Mable.  I had a few of them left from last weekend.  Would Mable need a treat?”
    Looking down her nose, Nori snarled, “Mable is not a common American mutt.  She is a champion.  She does everything on a schedule and we strictly control her diet.  I can’t believe you would even suggest such a thing.” 
    Christy kept smiling.