Live and Let Growl (11 page)

“Nothing like a little levity to liven up the proceedings,” Aunt Peg said, recounting the tale with relish. She had snagged the dangling leash and returned the errant hound to its embarrassed owner. Their reunion had been accompanied by a large round of applause from the spectators.

Having judged Non-Sporting breeds on Thursday, Aunt Peg had a full slate of Toys to judge on Friday. Faith's and my morning routine was the same as it had been the previous day. She and I arrived at the show and went straight to Bertie's setup.

As we drew near, I saw a cluster of colorful cardboard boxes arrayed on an empty tabletop in Bertie's setup: Ritz Crackers, saltines, Stoned Wheat Crackers, Wheat Thins, water biscuits. There were enough crackers on the table to host an impromptu cheese tasting.

I looked over at my sister-in-law and lifted a brow.

“Crawford brought them for me this morning,” she said sweetly. “Wasn't that nice of him?”

“Crackers,” Crawford said from the next row over where he had a Bichon Frise out on a grooming table. “They're supposed to settle her stomach. I didn't know which kind she liked so I figured I'd better bring a selection.”

I might have stopped and stared. Even Faith looked a bit flummoxed by the handler's explanation. Even after all the time I've known him, Crawford can still manage to surprise me.

“
What?
” he said, grinning at the look on my face. “You think I don't know how to use the Internet?”

The handler returned to his Bichon. Terry, for once, wisely remained silent. I slipped Faith into her crate. Bertie sidled over next to me.

“I might have been a little annoyed that Crawford's still trying to boss me around,” she muttered under her breath as she reached for another saltine. “Except the damn things seem to be working. I feel better than I have all week.”

After that auspicious beginning, the rest of the day went swimmingly. Bertie put points on both her Mini bitch and a Bearded Collie. Crawford repeated his Variety wins in both Standards and Toys. I spent much of the day watching Aunt Peg judge. She ruled her ring with authority and sorted through her entry with such deft precision that even the exhibitors who didn't win knew that their dogs had been given every consideration.

Aunt Peg joined Bertie and me late that afternoon when she was finished judging. The three of us made our way over to the center of the pavilion where the group judging was due to begin shortly. Two side-by-side rings had been opened up and joined together to form one large space. The mats were repositioned and group markers situated in the middle of the ring. More than two dozen Sporting dogs—spaniels, setters, retrievers—all clustered near the in-gate.

Everything appeared to be ready, but some invisible hand stayed the dogs and handlers from entering the ring. Standing in front of the gate were several people I didn't recognize. The group was engaged in a heated discussion.

As we watched, one of the participants stepped away from the others. He hesitated briefly as if gathering his thoughts—or perhaps his courage—and then strode out to the middle of the ring.

“Who is that?” I whispered to Aunt Peg. I knew it wasn't the Sporting Group judge. That man had remained beside the gate.

“Ken Dolby, the show chairman,” she replied in a low tone. “I wonder what's going on.”

Mr. Dolby reached the center of the expanse and paused, as if he was waiting for silence. He needn't have bothered. The stillness around the ring was palpable. Even the dogs quieted.

“I'm afraid I have some sad news.” Mr. Dolby's voice sounded loud in the hushed room. “Today we have lost one of our own. A dedicated dog woman, a longtime breeder and exhibitor, Miss Ellie Gates Wanamaker was a friend to many of us here. She died today on her family farm in Midway. Godspeed, Miss Ellie. We know your Standard Poodles are waiting for you at the Rainbow Bridge.”

Chapter 11

“I
called the front desk and extended our stay,” said Aunt Peg. “I'm sure there will be a service in Miss Ellie's honor and I wouldn't want to miss it.”

She and I were back in our hotel room. Ninety minutes had passed since Ken Dolby's announcement had cast a pall over the remainder of the dog show. The Sporting Group began as soon as Mr. Dolby left the ring but almost nobody appeared to be watching the dogs compete for the coveted prize. Instead, most people were standing in small clusters talking among themselves

Aunt Peg had left Bertie and me and gone to see what she could find out. She'd returned fifteen minutes later looking grim, and unfortunately none the wiser. Everyone she'd spoken to was as shocked by the dire news as we were. But no one had had any further details to share.

The Toy Group followed the Sporting dogs and we all made a pretense of directing our attention back to the ring. Non-Sporting was after that. When the Poodles were defeated in both groups and thereby eliminated from further competition, we decided we'd seen enough. Bertie went to tend to her dogs and Aunt Peg and I slipped out and went back to the hotel.

“What could possibly have happened?” I asked yet again. I was sitting on the bed in Aunt Peg's room, cradling Faith in my lap. In times of stress, hug a dog. That credo has always worked for me.

Aunt Peg hadn't had an answer the first several times I'd voiced the question and she still didn't now. “Nobody knew anything about the circumstances of Miss Ellie's death,” she said. “I'm not even sure how the news made its way to the showground so quickly.”

“That's the least of my concerns.” I ran one hand down the length of Faith's body. “Miss Ellie was
fine
yesterday. How can she be dead today?”

“Maybe she wasn't fine.” Aunt Peg sank into a chair near the room's wide window. “Didn't you tell me that she disappeared yesterday afternoon?”

“Well . . . yes. But not in an ominous way. Miss Ellie just said that she wanted to be by herself for a while.”

“Maybe she didn't feel well,” Aunt Peg mused. “I wonder if she had a weak heart or some kind of chronic illness.”

I'd been set down once for bringing up Miss Ellie's age. I certainly wasn't about to do so again.

“She must have made it back home though,” I pointed out instead, “because Mr. Dolby said that she died in Midway.”

“Not just in Midway, but on the family farm. I wonder what she was doing there.”

Yet another question for which I had no answer.

Aunt Peg looked over at me. Her expression was thoughtful. “You spent the entire morning with Miss Ellie yesterday.”

I nodded.

“I imagine you must have spent at least part of that time talking.”

“We did. We had a long conversation over lunch.”

“Did she mention anything about her family's rather contentious history?”

“I asked Miss Ellie about Green Gates Farm,” I admitted. “I wanted to know why she no longer lived there. She talked about some of the problems her father had had and told me that he'd lost his share of the property to his two brothers.”

Never one to sit still for long, Aunt Peg stood up and began to pace back and forth across the small room. She appeared to be deep in thought. Faith lifted her head and watched Peg's movements with interest. That made two of us.

Several minutes passed. Abruptly Aunt Peg stopped pacing. She turned to face us. “Did Miss Ellie say anything to you about a plan to get that land back?”

“No,” I replied, surprised. “Not a thing. Why?”

“I'm just wondering about a comment she made the other night when she and I were talking on the phone about Lucky Luna. Remember I called her to tell her how the visit to Six Oaks went?”

“Sure. That was when you convinced her to come to the show.”

“Precisely. But before that she wanted to know everything about Lucky Luna. So I tried to oblige her but seriously, how much could I possibly have to say about a
horse?
Especially one that I'd just met.”

If it was even one tenth of what she might have to say about a dog she'd just met it could have been a long conversation, I thought. The question must have been rhetorical, however, because Aunt Peg didn't wait for my reply.

“I was trying to think of things I could add and I happened to remember that comment Erin Sayre made about Miss Ellie. You know, when she was wondering whether Ellie had recommended that I move Lucky Luna to Green Gates?”

I nodded.

“Well, Miss Ellie gave an odd laugh when I told her about that. And then she said, ‘I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing now
,
but in the future, who knows? Even things that people think are set in stone can change.' ”

“Wow,” I said, sitting up straight. “That's interesting. Did you ask her what she meant?”

“Of course I did. But Miss Ellie just muttered something about old wrongs being made right again, and that I would find out soon enough and we would talk about Lucky Luna again. Before I could ask any more questions, she changed the subject. Next thing I knew we were talking about Poodles and the upcoming dog shows and you know how that goes
.
”

Everybody
knew how that went. Aunt Peg could wax poetic about her two favorite subjects for hours.

Aunt Peg frowned in annoyance. “It didn't seem worth pursuing at the time. Now I wish that I had forced her to elaborate.”

“As if anyone could force Miss Ellie to do anything,” I muttered. Faith flicked her tail up and down in agreement.

“I was
so
looking forward to this trip,” Aunt Peg said quietly. “Lucky Luna provided a convenient excuse for Miss Ellie and me to renew our friendship, but I'd intended to make sure that happened regardless. I hate not knowing what went wrong.”

Faith slipped out of my lap and down off the bed. She padded softly across the room and leaned her body against Aunt Peg's legs. Automatically Peg's hand reached out. Her fingers cradled Faith's muzzle. Her thumb stroked the Poodle's cheek. Aunt Peg exhaled a deep sigh. Faith closed her eyes and silently pressed closer.

“You're not judging tomorrow,” I said.

Approved for the Toy and Non-Sporting breeds, Aunt Peg had been hired to judge at three out of the four cluster shows. Saturday, she had off. We'd been intending to explore Louisville but now I suspected that we'd be heading back to the Lexington area.

The comment might have sounded extraneous but Aunt Peg immediately knew what I was thinking.

“You're right,” she agreed. “We ought to call on Miss Ellie's son and pay our condolences. It would be the polite thing to do. As I recall, he works at Green Gates Farm.”

“Along with the rest of Miss Ellie's family,” I mentioned. “Including that man you antagonized the last time we were there.”

“Perfect.” Aunt Peg blithely ignored my cautionary tone. “Everyone all in one place. Surely someone will be able to tell us how this terrible thing happened.”

* * *

Six Oaks Farm had been a showplace. Green Gates had the look and feel of a working farm, albeit a very large one. As we'd come to expect, the front gate swung open upon our approach. And once again the first structure we came to was the farm's office, this time a plain clapboard building beside an old maple tree.

I'd suspected this was going to be a long day, so rather than making Faith spend another chunk of time waiting for us in the minivan, I'd left her in Louisville with Bertie. The Poodle would be comfortable there and I wouldn't have to worry about her. From force of habit, Aunt Peg parked in a shady spot beside the building anyway.

The single-storey structure consisted of just three rooms. Two offices with cluttered desks and worn furniture opened off the narrow reception room. Both offices were empty. A receptionist, seated behind a low counter, took a minute to finish what she was doing before looking up from her computer screen.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“My name is Margaret Turnbull,” Aunt Peg said with authority. Her impeccable posture and air of total assurance gain her access to all sorts of places that mere mortals—like me—would be denied. “We're here to see Gates Wanamaker.”

The woman glanced down at a sheet on her desk. “Is he expecting you?”

“No, but we are old friends of his mother,” Peg replied imperturbably. “Here in Kentucky for only a few days. I know he won't want to miss us.”

I wasn't even slightly surprised to see the woman pick up her phone and make a call. Dogs and humans both tend to jump to do Aunt Peg's bidding. I've been known to do the same thing myself.

The receptionist spoke for a moment, then replaced the receiver. “Gates is on his way,” she told us. “If you would go back outside and wait next to the fence on the right, he will be with you shortly.”

The day was warm and sunny for late March. In Connecticut, we'd have been wading through slush and hoping that winter's storms were over for the year. But in Kentucky, spring was already on the horizon. The grass was turning green and trees were beginning to bud. From the spot where we'd been told to wait, I could gaze out over a large open field where a group of mares and foals was grazing contentedly.

At Six Oaks, Erin had come to get us in a pickup truck. Gates Wanamaker arrived on foot. A long dirt driveway led from the other side of the fence where we were standing to a big center-aisle barn that was painted white with green trim. As I watched, a man exited the barn and hurried in our direction.

Gates looked to be in his mid-twenties and had the strong build of a person who worked outdoors for a living. His brown hair glinted with red highlights in the sun and he walked toward us with a slight limp. As he drew near, I saw that he shared his mother's sharp features and direct gaze.

“I'm sorry to keep you waiting,” he said as he approached. He unsnapped the latch on a nearby gate and motioned us through the opening. “I wasn't expecting visitors today.”

“No, I imagine you weren't,” Aunt Peg replied. She quickly made introductions. “I can't tell you how sorry I was to hear of your mother's loss. She was a remarkable woman.”

“Thank you.” Gates looked away from us as he carefully reclosed the gate. “It was kind of you to come. Shall we walk for a few minutes? I find I always feel better when I'm moving.”

He started back down the driveway that led to the barn. The farm road was narrow and rutted. I watched where I placed my feet as Aunt Peg and I fell in beside him.

“I knew you when you were a child,” Aunt Peg said to Gates. “It was many years ago. You probably don't remember that.”

Unexpectedly Miss Ellie's son smiled. “We met at a Poodle show in Pennsylvania. Dog shows were my mother's thing, not mine. But when she went away on long trips, I got dragged along anyway. I remember sitting under a big tent on a hillside and being bored stiff. All anyone wanted to talk about was Poodles.”

That sounded like our national specialty all right.

“You took pity on me,” Gates said to Aunt Peg. “You dug up a book of crossword puzzles from somewhere and found me a pencil. Over the next three days, I think I finished nearly every puzzle in that book.”

“You're right.” Aunt Peg sounded pleased. “I'd forgotten that part.”

“Your kindness made quite an impression on me.” Gates paused, then added, “As did the fact that you were one of the few people I'd ever seen who didn't let my mother push them around.”

I tried to smother a burst of laughter. Unfortunately I wasn't fast enough. Gates didn't seem to mind, however.

“Did you know my mother, too?” he asked.

“I knew who she was,” I told him. “In Poodle circles, Miss Ellie and the Gatewood Standard Poodles were famous. But we just met for the first time the other day.”

“I heard about your visit.” Gates turned back to Aunt Peg. “Mother was so pleased to hear from you and to know that you were coming to see her. My mother didn't have the easiest life.” He paused, swallowing heavily before speaking again. “I'm happy she got the chance to reconnect with an old friend. That morning you spent together was a wonderful bright spot for her.”

“And for me, too,” Aunt Peg said.

“Miss Ellie also joined us at the dog show in Louisville on Thursday,” I told him. “I know she enjoyed herself there.”

“And that made what followed seem all the more incomprehensible,” said Aunt Peg. “Miss Ellie was so very full of life that it's difficult for me to come to grips with the fact that she's gone. Do you mind telling us what happened?”

Gates's steps slowed. He stopped and gazed out over the verdant pasture beside the road. I saw his fingers clench, then he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and sighed.

“It was an accident,” he said slowly. “A stupid, senseless accident.”

“We heard that she died here,” I said. “On your family's farm.”

“That's right.” His gaze shifted back to us. “Since you visited the house, I guess you met her dogs.”

It didn't seem to be a question, but Aunt Peg and I both nodded anyway.

“ ‘The little terrorists,' she called them.” Gates smiled ruefully. “They're a yappy, scrappy bunch. She liked to bring them over here a couple times a week to run around and let off steam.”

Miss Ellie had mentioned that to me, I thought. I'd forgotten all about it.

“To tell you the truth,” Gates continued, “that was probably just an excuse to come to the farm. Mother always loved this land. She grew up here. I guess you already know that?”