Death of a Dog Whisperer (9780758284570) (15 page)

Had Diana realized that? I wondered. And if so, when did she figure it out? For a woman on the hunt for a husband and tired of wasting her time, that realization could have come as quite a blow.

Despite what Diana claimed, she could have been at Nick's house that night. The neighbors wouldn't have thought twice about her presence. Her fingerprints were already all over Nick's place and Thor and Jojo would have accepted her company with equanimity.

I wondered if Diana had a temper. And if she owned a gun.

Nick's girlfriend hadn't seemed as distraught about his death as I might have expected. Maybe she was good at masking her emotions. Or maybe she was already lining up someone else to take Nick's place. Someone who didn't like dogs. Or whose lifestyle dovetailed more neatly with her own.

One thing I did know. My visit with Diana had raised more questions than it had answered.

 

We could have gone straight home from Greenwich, but honestly, I couldn't come up with a single reason why that would be a good idea.

Sam was undoubtedly there. It couldn't have taken him more than half an hour to drop Davey off at camp. A month earlier, it would have seemed like the most natural thing in the world for me to drive home and make lunch for the three of us.

But now when I pictured Sam and me sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, I couldn't imagine what we might find to talk about beyond some mundane topic like the weather or the price of gas. Everything else—in fact any subject of substance—seemed like it might be fraught with risk.

I still couldn't get past the festering resentment I felt about the cavalier way in which I'd been treated by my own family. Even worse had been Sam's complete dismissal of my feelings when I'd tried to discuss the matter. Sadly the end result was that I'd been left with no desire to talk to my husband at all.

So instead of going home, Kevin and I detoured to Alice's house in my old neighborhood. Over the course of the last decade, Alice and I have spent numerous hours sharing our problems and secrets, and our joys and frustrations. She and her husband, Joe, had been married for nearly fifteen years. Their relationship hasn't always charted the smoothest course, but somehow Alice always finds a way to make things work. Her methods rely on diplomacy, consideration, and perseverance, leavened with the occasional touch of brute force. If anyone could give me sane and sensible advice about how to reset my relationship with Sam, I was sure it was going to be Alice.

“Good,” I said when she answered the door. “You're here.”

Alice grinned and shoved open the screen door with a swing of her hip. She grabbed Kevin—whose diaper I'd changed when we got back to the car—and pulled us both inside the compact, cape-style home that had obviously been built from the same blueprint as Bob's house just down the block.

Alice planted a loud, smacking, kiss on Kevin's mouth, rubbed his nose with her own, then deigned to look at me. “You might have called first before driving over here,” she pointed out as Kevin squirmed in her arms and shrieked with delight.

“What, and ruin the suspense?” I said with a laugh. “Besides, Kev and I were already out gallivanting.”

“Oh, I loved that.” Alice sighed. “I used to gallivant. You know, when I was still young and carefree. Like you.”

She lowered Kevin to the floor. Immediately the toddler took off toward the back of the house. I had no idea what he was looking for, but he seemed to have an agenda. Alice and I watched him go. Neither of us was in a hurry to follow.

“Young and carefree,” I said. “What's that?”

“Says the baby of the group.” Alice huffed.

“Alice, we're the same age.”

“We are not. You're in your mid-thirties. I'm staring forty in the face.”

I shrugged. “So look the other way.”

“Easy for you to say.” Alice refused to be mollified. “When it's your turn, you'll understand how I feel.”

“When it's my turn,” I said with a grin. “I'll come to you for advice.”

“Perfect. I'm good at that.”

“I know,” I agreed. “That's why we're here.”

“Really?” Alice looked interested.

“That's one reason. The other is because Kev and I were just visiting a woman who lives in an all white condo and hates dogs and kids. After that, I needed someone to reacquaint me with the real world.”

“That's right up my alley,” Alice said happily. She started down the hallway and I fell in beside her. “Though I should probably confess that there are some days when I don't like dogs and kids either.”

“Is today one of those days?”

“Nope. You're good. Carly and Joey are both at camp. Berkley's entertaining himself in the backyard. So you arrived during the midday lull. Well, if you don't count the fact that I'm doing laundry and trying to get a pot of beef stew on the stove for dinner.”

“Can I help?” I asked.

“No, you can sit and talk to me. In fact, I'll sit too. We'll drink lemonade.”

“How very civilized.”

Alice grimaced. “At least you didn't say sedate. We older women are sensitive about things like that.”

“Yeah, right.”

We found Kevin rooting through Alice's kitchen cabinets, pulling out pots and pans and lining them up on the floor. Based on past experience, I guessed he was either planning to construct a teetering tower or grab a wooden spoon and make music. Alice took in the scene and offered a suggestion.

“How about if I set him up in the living room with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a DVD? Then we can talk in here.”

“Sounds perfect,” I said.

Five minutes later, Kevin was chortling over cartoons in the other room and Alice and I were parked at the kitchen table.

“Start at the beginning,” she said. “And don't leave out a single detail. I want to hear everything that's wrong.”

“T
his could take a while,” I told her.

“That's okay, I have time.” Alice looked at me across the table. “Are we going to talk about Nick?”

“No. Claire.”

“Who's that?”

“Claire Walden. She's Nick's sister.”

“Oh my God.” Alice sounded shocked. “Is she dead too?”

“Thankfully, no,” I said quickly. “Claire is alive and well.”

“But she's a problem?”

“Not of her own making. Actually she's more like an innocent bystander in this whole mess.”

“Okay, so there's a mess.” Alice was pleased to be moving the story along. “I'm good at messes. What does this one involve?”

“Mostly me and Sam,” I replied. “But also Bob, and Aunt Peg. And of course Claire.”

Alice nodded. “So we're talking about a
big
mess. Start with you and Sam.”

“I wish I could, but it makes more sense if I start with Bob and Claire.”

“Just so long as you don't start with your Aunt Peg. She scares me.”

“You're in good company,” I said. “Aunt Peg scares most people. I'm pretty sure she does it on purpose.”

“So tell me about Bob and Claire,” Alice prompted.

“They're in a relationship. Probably a semi-serious one. They've been together for several months.”

“Bob's allowed,” Alice said carefully. “Right?”

“Of course,” I agreed. “Bob can do whatever he wants with whomever he wants.”

“So what's the problem? Is it Davey?”

I heaved a sigh of relief. Trust Alice to cut straight to the heart of the matter. She got it. I had known she would.

As Alice had requested, I went back to the beginning and explained everything. She leaned back in her chair, sipped her lemonade, and listened with her heart open and her mouth shut. By the time I reached the end, she looked disappointed. And maybe a little sad.

“So there you have it,” I said. “What do you think?”

“For starters, I'd have expected better of Sam.”

“Me too,” I admitted.

“And Bob needs a swift kick.”

“Not for the first time,” I muttered.

“As for Peg . . . I'm not even going there.”

“Okay, but here's the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. Now what? Where do Sam and I go from here?”

“First thing,” Alice said practically, “is that you two need to talk.”

“I've tried that. Sam doesn't think we have anything to ‘talk' about.”

“
Men
.” She snorted.

“That's what Bertie said.”

Alice nodded. Men and communication were not a good match. We all agreed on that part.

“Keep thinking,” I said. “What's your second idea?”

“Forgive and forget?”

I shook my head. “I'm not that nice a person.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Good try.” I laughed. “No. I'm not. And besides, if I let Sam slide this time, what's to prevent him from doing something stupid like this again in the future?”

“He thought he was acting in your own best interests,” Alice pointed out.

“So what?” I replied mulishly. “He was wrong.”

“He meant well. Surely that counts for something.”

“But he was still wrong,” I repeated.

“But maybe that's not the most important thing. Stop and think for a minute, Mel. If you really want to hold on to your anger, then keep telling yourself that Sam was wrong. And every time you do that, you'll get mad all over again. But what are you really accomplishing?”

“Damn,” I said.

“Now what?”

“I'm doing just what I told Bertie I wouldn't do.”

“Which was?” Alice asked curiously.

“Making this about winning and losing.”

“Bingo,” said Alice. “Give the girl a gold star.”

“Forgive and forget,” I mused. “So that's what you would do if this was you and Joe?”

“Sometimes marriage is about rolling with the punches—metaphorically speaking, that is. You can't always fix things to your own satisfaction so there's no point in insisting that you can. Sometimes you just have to put stuff behind you and move on.”

I sighed once again. I wasn't in love with the idea, but it made sense. And it might be the only viable alternative I had.

“And then if it were me,” said Alice, “for the next month I'd burn Joe's dinner and overstarch his shirts. You know, just because.”

I looked at her and laughed. “You have an evil streak.”

“I should hope so.”

Alice raised her glass. I raised mine. We clinked in the middle.

“To moving on,” she said. Then she cocked a brow in my direction. “And all that other stuff. Peace on earth, good will toward men.”

“I'll work on it,” I told her.

My cell phone rang as I was finishing my lemonade. It was Bob. “Are you busy?” he asked.

“Always,” I replied. “But I think I can spare some time. Are you at home?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I'm right down the block. Kev and I will see you in ten minutes.”

We walked the distance between the two houses in less time than that, even with Kevin stopping every few feet to examine a crack in the sidewalk or a wayward leaf. At his age, the world is endlessly fascinating. If I could recapture even half the wonder he finds in everyday objects and events, I'd be a happy person.

Bob's front door wasn't locked; no surprise there. It would have been more polite to knock and wait to be admitted, but having spent nearly a decade calling that house my home, it felt entirely natural for me to simply let us in.

Bob's Siamese cat, Bosco, was lying draped along the top of the couch in the living room. Awakened by our intrusion, he opened his eyes and stared at us standing in his hallway. What is it about cats that they always seem to be judging me and finding me wanting?

“Pretty kitty,” said Kev, immediately spinning in that direction.

Bosco slowly sat up. His long tail lashed up and down. I could swear he was sneering at us as I caught Kevin's hand and pulled him back.

“Pretty kitty has claws,” I said.

Undaunted, Kevin continued to tug. Luckily Bob saved us from the argument that was about to ensue.

“I'm up here,” he called from the second floor. “Come on up.”

Kevin is great at going up steps and it didn't take much to redirect his energy toward the staircase. I let him lead the way. If he got distracted and missed a step, I'd be right behind to catch him. Climbing with both hands and feet, Kev set a speedy pace.

“Hey, kid, good to see you.” Bob was standing in the bathroom doorway. He squatted down and opened his arms and Kevin ran right into them. “Look how much you've grown.”

“Big now!” Kevin announced happily.

“Yes, you are. Want to come in the bathroom and see my tools?”

“Tools?” I hurried up the last few steps to follow close behind. “
Real
tools?”

“Sure.” Bob smirked. “For breaking down real walls and putting up real tile.”

“Cut it out. That's not what I meant. Nobody's casting aspersions on the quality of your renovations . . .” I paused and sucked in a startled breath. “Wow, this place looks great.”

The small, dark, bathroom that Davey and I had lived with was now only a memory. In its place was a room that had nearly doubled in size and had a new, larger window bringing in more light. There was cream-colored paint on the walls, an elegant new vanity with brass hardware, and an updated shower and tub.

“I should hope so,” Bob said. “I've done a ton of work in here.”

“It looks it.” I ran my finger along the smooth marble countertop. “I'm impressed.”

“I still have the new floor to install and a bit more tiling to do, but it's beginning to come together.”

“Hammer,” Kevin said suddenly.

While Bob and I had been admiring his handiwork, my son had been digging through the tool chest on the floor. Now he stood up and swung around. Both of his small hands were gripping the handle of a full-sized hammer and as he spun, the heavy tool lifted. Its face just missed smacking Bob in the knee.

“Yikes!” Bob jumped back. “That kid has an arm on him.”

“That's what I meant about real tools,” I said. I crossed the room and gently unwrapped Kevin's fingers from around the hammer's grip. “His next trick might have been to bash in your pretty new vanity.”

Bob considered that. He moved toward the still-open toolbox. “Then I guess we don't want him playing with a screwdriver either.”

“Nope.”

Kevin puckered up his face and thought about crying as I removed the hammer from his grasp. Then he got a better idea. He turned around and looked at Bob hopefully.

“Pliers?” Bob asked, dangling a pair just above Kevin's reach. “No sharp edges.”

“But they pinch,” I pointed out.

“Oh. Right.”

Bob withdrew the pliers and tucked them away. Deprived of a second toy, Kevin's lower lip began to quiver. Any second now, we were going to be treated to a full-blown meltdown.

I nudged Bob aside and had a look for myself. There had to be at least
one
child-friendly item in that damn tool chest. If not, we were in trouble.

“Oh look!” I cried, treating Kevin to my sunniest, happy voice. “Bob's work gloves! I wonder if they might fit on your hands? Let's see, shall we?”

Kev didn't even stop to think. He held up his hands and I slipped a thick suede glove onto each one. His small fingers were swallowed up inside; the gloves reached all the way to his elbows. Kevin flapped his hands from side to side and giggled happily.

“Crisis averted,” Bob said with relief as Kev sat down on the floor to play with the gloves.

“For the minute,” I told him. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Bob reached over and slid open a drawer in the new vanity. A velvet jeweler's pouch was nestled within.

“You're keeping that ring in your bathroom?” I said.

“Sure, why not? Where else would I put it?”

“A safety deposit box maybe?”

Bob shrugged. “It's safe enough here. Nobody's going to go pawing around in a half-renovated bathroom looking for expensive jewelry.”

I gave him a scornful look. “Except maybe your acquisitive next door neighbor.”

“That's another reason why I'm keeping it close,” Bob told me. “I needed to have the ring on hand because I talked to Dan and Emily Morris. It isn't theirs. Emily even stopped by this morning and had a look to make sure. She said she'd never seen the ring before.”

“So much for the easy answer. I guess we'll just have to keep digging. Did you think to ask her if she remembered the name of the people that she and Dan bought the house from?”

“I did,” Bob confirmed. “But she didn't. Apparently that was twenty years ago.”

“I'm pretty sure we can get that information at the Town Hall,” I said thoughtfully. “Probably from the Town Clerk or the Register of Deeds.”

Bob nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. I'll try and stop down there sometime this week.”

Kev was beginning to fidget again. There was only so long that he was going to be entertained by a pair of floppy gloves. Now he tossed them on the floor and pushed himself to his feet. When he headed for the stairs, I turned and went after him. At his age, going down steps is much harder than going up. Hand in hand, we descended to the first floor.

Bob followed us and opened the front door.

“Let me know what you find out,” I said as he walked us out.

“I will.”

Bob glanced at his driveway, then out at the curb. Finally he sent a puzzled look my way. I could understand his confusion. The Volvo was still parked down the street in front of Alice's house.

I was explaining that when a battered pick-up truck came rolling down the road and turned into the Fines' driveway next door. The truck's engine sputtered and wheezed as if we were hearing its last gasp. James was sitting in the passenger seat. His buddy Phil was driving.

Phil turned off the engine and the truck coughed, jerked twice, then quit. The side door creaked as James pushed it open. He came bounding out and sketched us a wave.

“Hey, neighbor!” he called. “Find any more hidden treasure?”

“Not today,” Bob answered with a tight smile. You didn't have to be a relative to hear the annoyance in his tone.

Momentarily distracted, I realized too late that I should have been holding Kevin's hand. Before I could grab him, the toddler took off toward the neighboring driveway. For someone so small, he could move with surprising speed when he wanted to. Now his little legs pumped up and down like pistons as he raced headlong toward his favorite thing in the world.

“Big truck!” Kevin cried happily.

Phil had climbed out of the driver's seat and come around the back of the pickup. “Hey, little guy,” he said as the toddler came barreling toward him. “What's your name?”

“Kevin,” my son announced. He barely spared Phil a glance. “Big truck!”

“Big enough,” Phil agreed. “Do you want a ride?”

“No, thank you.” I moved quickly to intercept my son. “Kev doesn't need a ride.”

James had lowered the tailgate and I saw that the bed of the pick-up was filled with pre-cut lumber, large tools, and gardening supplies. James leaned in, grabbed a heavy bag of potting soil, and hauled it back toward the opening.