Live and Let Growl (18 page)

Faith and I spent an hour running around to blow off steam, attending to necessary business, cleaning up after that necessary business, and then exploring the surrounding area. When the Poodle's energy finally began to flag, I found a small patch of grass and a bench where we could sit down for a few minutes. I gave Faith a drink of water from the bottle I'd brought with me, then waited while she got settled at my feet with a stick to chew on. Once she was happy, I pulled out my phone and called home.

To my surprise, Davey answered.

“Hey,” I said. “What are you doing home? I thought you were camping with your father.”

“I was,” Davey replied with the exaggerated patience of a preteen. “But I'm back now. You've been gone almost a week.”

Oh, I thought. Right. Time flies when you're on vacation.

“How was the trip?” I asked.

“Awesome! We went hiking and fishing, and we even scaled a couple of cliffs. Dad was great. He and I lived off the land.”

I bit back the first retort that came to mind. My ex-husband is no Nature Boy. Bob's idea of
living off the land
probably meant grilling a fish on his camping stove to eat along with all the other prepackaged supplies he'd brought from home.

“I would like to have seen that,” I said finally.

“Yeah, but you don't like to go camping. That's what Dad said.”

“He's right about that,” I admitted. “If God had meant us to sleep in tents, he wouldn't have invented beds.”

I heard Sam's voice in the background. “That must be your mother.”

“Yup. She's still in Kentucky.”

“Let me talk to her, okay? You can finish telling her about your trip when she gets back.”

“Bye, Mom! Love you!” Davey sang out. “Here's Sam.”

There was a few seconds pause as the receiver passed from one hand to the next, then Sam's voice came on the line. “I'm glad you called,” he said. “I was about to call you.”

“Oh?” I sat up. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything's great. Davey's back; you obviously already know that. He's in good shape aside from a mild case of sunburn. Kev misses you, but I'm letting him sleep in the bed with me at night so that makes up for it.”

“I'm glad I'm so easy to replace,” I muttered unhappily.

“Never.” Sam laughed. “I just figured I shouldn't pass up a chance to make you feel guilty for staying away for so long.”

“Aunt Peg's the one driving the minivan,” I said in my own defense. “Faith and I only go where she takes us.”

Could be that neither one of us was fooled by that statement.

“So Miss Ellie's funeral was today,” Sam said, changing the subject.

“That's right. We just got back. You should have seen the place. Half of Kentucky must have been there, including an ex-governor or two.”

“I'm not surprised, considering Miss Ellie's family connections. And actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. Give me a minute; I'm going to take the phone in my office. Hang on.”

I listened as Sam asked Davey to keep an eye on his little brother. There was the sound of muffled footsteps and I pictured him walking down the hallway. Thirty seconds later, I heard a door close behind him.

“Still there?” Sam asked.

“Right here,” I said. “What's going on? What don't you want the boys to hear? Now you're worrying me.”

“Nothing's wrong,” Sam assured me. “I just wanted a little privacy for the rest of our conversation. Remember when you called last week and I said that I had a vague recollection of some rumors years ago concerning Ellie Wanamaker?”

“Sure, I remember. Didn't we decide that they must have been about the car accident she was involved in? The one where Dunaway was killed?”

“That's right, we did. And at the time I didn't think anything more about it. Then Miss Ellie died and I started to wonder whether it might be worthwhile to do a little digging around.”

“I love you,” I said.

I heard Sam grin. Don't ask me how. I just did.

“So I made a few calls. Checked back in with some friends from that part of the country. It took me a couple of days to hear anything back, but earlier this afternoon I got more information about that car crash. It wasn't just Miss Ellie's dog who was killed.”

“I know,” I said. “There were other injuries as well, including a very serious one to her son.”

“Not just injuries,” Sam told me. “It was worse than that . . . A woman died. She was the wife of another exhibitor who'd been at the show. I wasn't able to find out who was to blame for the accident. Nobody seemed to have the full story. I gather that some Gates family influence was brought to bear at the time and the whole thing was hushed up pretty quickly.”

“Wow,” I said, “I didn't hear anything like that. Did you get the name of the other exhibitor? The one whose wife was killed?”

“You bet I did. He's a local Newfoundland breeder. His name is Arthur Ludwig.”

Chapter 18

H
oly crap, I thought.
That
would explain a few things.

“Melanie? Are you there?”

I exhaled so suddenly that Faith sat up and cocked her head. I reached out and gave her a reassuring pat.

“Yes, I'm here,” I said. “Are you sure about that?”

“Pretty sure. Like I said, there was some kind of cover-up at the time. So it's not like you can go searching around on the Internet to verify. Because actually I've already tried that and I didn't turn up a thing. But that's what people who were showing dogs in the area at the time have to say.”

“Arthur Ludwig,” I said. “Sea Haven Kennel.”

“You know him?”

“No, not exactly. But I saw him last week when Miss Ellie and I were at the dog show together. Arthur Ludwig looked absolutely horrified when he saw Miss Ellie there. She started to speak to him but he hurried away without saying a word. I've been looking for him ever since she died.”

“Of course you have,” said Sam. “Why doesn't that surprise me?”

“Ludwig lives in Frankfort,” I told him.

“That's nearby, right?”

“It's near Midway, the town where Six Oaks Farm is. Aunt Peg has an appointment there tomorrow afternoon. Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone.”

“I hope you're not thinking of leaving Peg at the farm and going to talk to Arthur Ludwig by yourself.”

I didn't like the sound of that idea either. “No,” I told him. “I'll take Aunt Peg with me.”

“Great,” Sam muttered. “In that scenario, which one of you is supposed to be taking care of the other?”

“Both of us.” I would never admit it out loud but I actually liked the fact that Sam cared enough to worry about me. “And we'll have Faith with us, too.”

“I guess that makes me feel a little better. I know you'd never let any harm come to her.”

He had that right.

“We'll be fine,” I told him.

“I hope so,” Sam said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. I'll give Faith a pat for you.”

“Tell her to hurry home. Things are too quiet around here with the two of you gone.”

I ended the connection and put the phone away.

“Sam sends his love,” I told Faith.

“Woof!” she said in reply.

* * *

While I'd been exercising Faith and talking to Sam, Aunt Peg had made a phone call of her own.

“Vurr-sales,” she said with a frown when we went back inside and stopped by her room.

“What about it?” I asked. The word meant nothing to me.

“That's how you pronounce Versailles if you live in Kentucky,” she informed me. “And since Midway doesn't have a police department of its own, that's where you call if you want to talk to the local Sheriff. Vurr-sales.”

“Well done!” I said. It was about time that someone encouraged the authorities to get involved.

“Not really,” Aunt Peg replied. She sat down and patted her lap. Faith trotted across the room and hopped up obligingly. “I miss my Poodles. Maybe Faith would like to sleep in here with me tonight?”

“I doubt it.” I grinned. “But you can ask her. So what did the Sheriff of Versailles have to say?”

“He said that what happened to Ellie Gates Wanamaker was a terrible tragedy and that his department had no intention of making things worse for the family by pursuing an investigation into something that was clearly a random accident.”

Oh. That was disappointing.

I sank down onto the bed. “Then I guess they're not going to want to hear what I just learned about Arthur Ludwig.”

Aunt Peg perked up. “Something interesting, I hope?”

“You might say so.”

I related the contents of my conversation with Sam and asked if she thought we ought to stop in Frankfort on our way to Six Oaks the next day.

I might as well have asked a Border Collie if he wanted to chase a ball.

“So now all we have to do is come up with a good excuse for showing up at Arthur Ludwig's house,” I said. “Since we can't exactly call ahead and ask if he'd like to discuss Miss Ellie's suspicious death.”

“Melanie, why must you
always
make things so complicated?” Aunt Peg reached around Faith and picked up her large handbag. After a full minute of searching around inside, she pulled out a phone. “Newfs, right?”

“Right. Sea Haven Kennel.”

While I sat and watched, Aunt Peg made calls. Three, to be precise. That's all it took.

No need to inveigle an invitation when Aunt Peg was around. She just
fixed it
.

“Done,” she said with satisfaction. “Arthur is expecting us at ten-thirty tomorrow morning.”

“How did you do that?” I wanted to know.

“I have connections.”

In Poodles, sure. And also among the other Non-Sporting breeds. You could add in Toy breeds too since Aunt Peg judged those as well. But Newfoundlands were in the Working Group. That was a whole different collection of people.

“In
Newfoundlands?
”

“They're dogs, aren't they?”

Game, set, match, Aunt Peg.

* * *

“What do we know about Frankfort, Kentucky?” I asked the next morning as Aunt Peg, Faith, and I were once again speeding eastward on I-64.

Bertie had gotten up early and was already on her way back to Connecticut. Motivated by her departure, Aunt Peg and I had packed our own bags and checked out of the hotel as well. The Kentuckiana Cluster—our reason for being in Louisville—was over. If we were going to be spending the next day or two in the Lexington area, it only made sense for us to move there.

Since Bertie was no longer with us, by default I'd been restored to the minivan's front seat. It wasn't an automatic upgrade. Aunt Peg might have chosen to bestow the honor on Faith.

But instead, when it was time for us to set out, she'd gestured the Standard Poodle onto the back bench. “Much safer for you back there,” she told Faith.

So now we all knew where we stood in Aunt Peg's order of importance.

“Frankfort is the state capital,” she said, “even though as cities go it's relatively small. And Daniel Boone is buried there. That's all I know. Maybe Miss Ellie's man, Arthur, will be able to tell us more.”

“Is he expecting this visit to be a social call?” I asked.

“It
is
a social call. I don't know about you, but I'm a very sociable person. I expect that Arthur and I will find that we have quite a lot to talk about.”

Dogs were Aunt Peg's universal common denominator. She could hold forth on the topic for hours. And had, numerous times.

“Then I'll let you take the lead,” I said. “And after you get Arthur softened up with small talk, we can broach the tough questions.”

As might be expected for a man who bred large dogs, Arthur Ludwig didn't live in downtown Frankfort. Instead, his small, shingled house sat on several acres of land on the outskirts of the capital itself. The entire perimeter of the property was fenced. I had to get out and open a gate to grant us access. I closed it behind us after Aunt Peg drove through.

Arthur's two-story home had a covered front porch and three gabled windows evenly spaced along the roofline. At least a dozen dog runs extended outward from the back of the house. Though I didn't see any dogs, I could hear the deep-throated rumble of their barking as Aunt Peg parked the van.

Faith immediately hopped to her feet and peered out through the windshield. “You're going to have to wait again,” I told her regretfully as Aunt Peg lowered the windows for her. “But this time I promise we won't be long.”

Faith sighed and sat back down on the seat. Here's a tip: If you don't want a dog who's fully capable of indicating when your behavior isn't up to snuff, don't buy a Poodle. Much like Miss Ellie, Faith had her standards. And lately I wasn't coming anywhere near to living up to them.

Arthur Ludwig looked much as I remembered him: medium height, stoop shouldered, and slender bordering on frail. He had a smile, however, that lit up his whole face. That expression hadn't been anywhere in evidence when I'd seen him the previous week.

“You must be Margaret Turnbull,” he said, welcoming us both inside. “I'm happy to make your acquaintance.”

“It's Peg, please. And this is my niece, Melanie Travis.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” he said. Arthur's gaze rested on my face for an extra beat. “Have we met before?”

“No, I'm afraid not,” I told him. No use starting things on the wrong foot by bringing up our shared connection to Miss Ellie.

“Funny,” he said. “I'm usually very good with faces and you look familiar.”

“Maybe you saw Melanie at the dog show in Louisville last week,” Aunt Peg told him. “She was making the rounds with Ellie Gates Wanamaker. Perhaps you ran into them?”

Wonderful.
That
was her idea of small talk?

“I saw Miss Ellie briefly.” Arthur's smile faded. “First time I'd seen that woman at a dog show in more than a decade. Briefly was plenty.”

“We heard that the two of you had some trouble in the past,” Aunt Peg said.

I might as well have waited in the minivan with Faith, I thought, because there was no point in my even opening my mouth. So much for their shared dog connections and Aunt Peg's social call. We were barely even inside the door and Peg was already launching an interrogation.

“ ‘Trouble' is putting it mildly,” said Arthur. “And now that woman is dead. Is that why you came today? You think I might want to talk about that?”

Aunt Peg nodded.

Arthur grimaced.

Since I was apparently superfluous, I just stood there and waited to see what would happen next.

After a minute Arthur reached around us and closed the front door. “I figured somebody would show up sooner or later to ask questions,” he muttered unhappily. “You'd better come in and sit down.”

We followed him into a cozy living room, whose wide windows looked out over the rolling countryside. A rustic brick fireplace held the charred remains of its latest blaze, testament to that fact that even though spring had arrived, nights in the Bluegrass could still be chilly. Tabletops around the room displayed a collection of Newfoundland sculptures and figurines. I also saw a Newfoundland lamp, a set of Newfoundland bookends, and several win photos featuring Arthur and his big black dogs.

Aunt Peg took a seat in a straight-backed chair. I perched on one end of a love seat. Arthur sat down across from us. His gaze traveled back and forth between us as if he was wondering which direction he'd have to defend himself from first.

Since I hadn't had much to say thus far, I figured I might as well jump in. “Why were you expecting someone to come and question you?”

“Isn't it obvious? Ellie Gates Wanamaker killed my wife. And now that she's fallen off a cliff, I figured somebody might wonder about that. Actually I was thinking it would be more along the lines of the police who'd come by. I wasn't expecting it to be you two.”

“The police think Miss Ellie's death was an accident,” Aunt Peg told him.

Arthur snorted. “Do you believe that?”

“No.” Aunt Peg and I both shook our heads.

“Me either. That woman was pure genius at making enemies. I'm just glad that one of them finally gave her the ending she deserved.”

“You must have really hated her,” I said.

“Maisie and I were married for thirty happy years. And we'd have been together for thirty more if not for Miss Ellie's negligence. I suppose that's reason enough for me to hate her.”

“The three of you were involved in a car accident,” said Aunt Peg.

“We understand that it happened on a rainy night, at the end of a long day at a dog show,” I added.

“Accident, hell!” Arthur swore. “Is that what Miss Ellie told you? I'm surprised she said anything at all. Far as I know, she never talks about that night. When everything was over and done with, she just put it out of her mind and went on with her life as if nothing had changed at all.”

That wasn't strictly true, I thought. After that night, Miss Ellie had had to devote a considerable amount of time to nursing her son back to good health. She'd also abandoned an avocation that had formerly meant a great deal to her. Her loss that night certainly hadn't had the magnitude of Arthur's, but it had been a loss nonetheless.

Arthur bounced back up to his feet as if he was too agitated to sit still. “If all you heard was what Miss Ellie had to say, then I'm betting there are huge holes in what you know.”

“That's why we're here,” said Aunt Peg. “Please fill us in.”

“Did she tell you that we were all at the showground late that night because both our dogs that had won their respective groups?” Arthur demanded. “Or that Dunaway and Sampson had been butting heads in the show ring all year long but that night it was her Standard Poodle who won the Best in Show?”

Miss Ellie hadn't mentioned that, I thought. But neither was I sure why the information mattered.

Arthur strode over to stand between Aunt Peg and me. He leaned down until his face was so close to ours that I could see the spittle on his lips. “Miss Ellie thought that beating my dog was great cause for celebration. And she was one lady who sure knew how to celebrate. I'm guessing Miss Ellie didn't mention how drunk she was when she got into her car to drive home that night, did she?”