Death of a Dog Whisperer (9780758284570) (6 page)

“Anyway,” James continued, turning back to Bob, “Phil and I are going out to pick up supplies. Phil has a greenhouse that needs some repairs. I know how renovations go, I figured you might need something too.”

“No, thanks, I'm all set.” Bob slid his hand across the table and cupped it quietly around the ring. Unfortunately the movement had the opposite effect than the one he'd intended.

“Nice jewelry,” Phil said, eyeing the prize. He stepped closer to the table to get a better look.

“Yours?” James asked me. Now he'd noticed the ring too.

“No. It's Bob's. At least for now.”

Damn
. I gave myself a mental kick. I was just as guilty of blurting out something dumb as James had been. I knew right away that answer wouldn't satisfy him, and it didn't.

“For now?” James repeated.

“I found it earlier today when I was knocking down a wall,” Bob said.

“Sharp!” said Phil. “Can I see?”

Bob handed the ring over. He and I both kept an eye on it.

“So it's like buried treasure,” said James. “You're rich.”

“Not exactly,” I said drily. “For one thing, it's not worth enough to make anyone rich. And for another, it doesn't belong to us.”

“Finders, keepers,” James intoned.

Phil nodded. “That's the law.”

“Not around here,” I told them. “Bob and I are going to figure out who the ring belongs to and return it.”

“That's no fun.” James plucked the jewel out of Phil's hand and held it up to the light. “You ought to do some more digging around up there. Where there's one piece of loot, there's bound to be more. Let me know if you want my help.”

“No, thanks,” said Bob. “There's no need to get carried away. It's not like pirates stopped by and buried a treasure here. It's just one old ring, that's all.”

He held out his hand. James dropped the jewelry into it.

“Pretty, though,” Phil commented. “I wouldn't mind finding something like that around my house.”

“And you'd know better than to give it back,” James pointed out.

“I sure would,” Phil agreed.

“Nice to meet you, Melanie,” James said. He and Phil headed for the back door. “Do me a favor? If you don't mention that Poodle lady thing to Amber, my life will go a little smoother. If you know what I mean.”

“Consider it forgotten,” I said.

I watched the two men walk through the kitchen and let themselves out. “Don't you ever lock your doors?” I asked.

“Not when I'm here.” Bob shrugged. “It's not like this is New York. Or even downtown Stamford. Isn't that why people move to the suburbs? So that they can feel safe without having a million locks on everything?”

“I don't know about you,” I said. “But I'd feel safer without neighbors who felt free to wander through my house whenever they felt like it.”

“Don't mind James. He means well. The poor guy is just bored. As soon as the economy picks up and somebody gives him a job, things will go back to normal around here.”

“Or maybe you should just think about locking your doors,” I said.

K
evin and I were out running errands when Aunt Peg called.

“Melanie!” she sang out cheerfully. “You're a genius.”

There's nothing that pleases my aunt more than having one of her relatives succeed at something she considers important. She doesn't hand out accolades lightly—and almost never to me. So even though I had no idea what had occasioned that unexpected burst of praise, it seemed safer not to question my good fortune in case she might be tempted to change her mind.

“Thank you,” I replied. “I'm happy to be of service.”

“I'm not sure I'd go that far,” Peg retorted.

Of course not. I shouldn't have presumed.

“But you did introduce me to Nick Walden and that was well done. He's quite an interesting young man.”

“So I take it his visit to meet your Poodles went well?”

“I should say so.... Melanie, what is that noise? Where are you?”

We were on the Merritt Parkway approaching North Street exit in Greenwich. A driver in the left lane ahead of us must have seen the exit sign too late because he swerved to the right, heedless of oncoming traffic. Horns blared. He flipped the other drivers the bird and shot up the ramp.

“Kevin and I are running errands,” I told her. “But as it happens we're not too far from you. Should we stop by for a few minutes?”

Perhaps it was immodest of me to want to prolong the conversation. But seriously? I'm not in Aunt Peg's good graces often and I wanted to bask a little.

Besides, Peg's sweet tooth is legendary. And she
always
has cake.

My aunt lives in back country Greenwich. Her house, once the hub of a working farm, is situated on five acres of private, rolling land. The kennel building behind the house—which over the years had housed dozens of Cedar Crest champion Poodles—now sits empty. Due to the time and travel demands of her busy judging schedule, Peg has had to greatly curtail her own showing and breeding.

Her five remaining Standard Poodles are all house dogs. Among them are Faith's litter sister Hope, Eve's litter brother Zeke, and Beau, an older, neutered, male who is the love of her life. Since Aunt Peg is the one who got me started in Poodles, it's not surprising that our canine connection is as interwoven as our human one.

As always, Aunt Peg's Poodles alerted her to our arrival. She opened the front door and the pack came spilling out onto the porch. Together they galloped down the steps and raced across the driveway. I had unsnapped Kevin from his car seat and placed him on the ground but as the Poodles quickly surrounded us I reached down and hoisted the toddler up so that he wouldn't get bowled over by their enthusiastic greeting.

“Put down,” Kevin said firmly. Just like his older brother; if something interesting was happening, he wanted to be right in the middle of it.

With caution, I complied. Now that the race to welcome us was over, the Poodles' tempo slowed. They swarmed around our legs and sniffed our clothes. No doubt they were comparing notes on where Kevin and I had been before our arrival in their world.

“Zeke,” Kevin announced, pointing. The male dog wagged his tail.

“Hope.” He pointed again. And was right for the second time.

“Amazing,” I said.

Even at his young age Kevin was clearly a dog lover, but I'd never seen him do that before. There were plenty of adults who couldn't separate out a group of similarly bred, similarly groomed, black dogs with just a single glance.

“Bobo!” Kevin finished with a triumphant giggle. The Poodle in question sidled over and pressed his nose against Kevin's chest.

“Just Beau,” Aunt Peg corrected sternly. She had come down the steps to join us.

“Bobo!” Kevin repeated just as forcefully.

I could see this wasn't going to end well.

Aunt Peg hunkered down so that she and Kevin were eye to eye. “His name is Beau,” she said again. “Bobo sounds like the name of a clown. It's much too undignified for a Poodle of Beau's stature.”

“You're trying to reason with a two-year-old,” I told her. “That doesn't work.”

“Nonsense! There's no reason a child shouldn't respond to training just as a puppy would.”

Aunt Peg never had children of her own, can you tell?

“Bobo!” Kevin crowed happily. Now that he'd discovered that the name got a reaction from his aunt, it was his new favorite word.

Aunt Peg waggled a finger in his direction. “I said
no
.”

Wonderful. Two of the most stubborn people I'd ever met were facing off. Left to their own devices, they'd probably be happy to stand there and argue all afternoon. I swooped down and picked Kevin up.

“He's two, Aunt Peg. He thinks the word
no
is a challenge.”

“Indeed.” Peg snorted.

She made a swishing motion with her hand. Immediately the Poodles stopped what they were doing and preceded us into the house. Aunt Peg closed the door behind us, then cocked a critical eye at Kevin.

“Maybe you're not as good a parent as you used to be,” she said. “As I recall, Davey was better behaved at that age.”

“You didn't know Davey when he was two,” I pointed out.

I could see that Aunt Peg wanted to disagree. But then she thought for a moment, and nodded. When Davey was a toddler, she and I had been virtual strangers. Back then, the Turnbull clan had been hopelessly fractured due to a longstanding rift between my father and his brother, Peg's husband, Max. Ironically it had been Max's death that had brought Aunt Peg and me together. We'd worked as a team to find his killer and unexpectedly become friends in the process.

“Tell me all about Nick's visit,” I said ten minutes later. Peg and I were settled out back on the wraparound porch with iced tea and thick slices of shadow cake. “Did it go well?”

Below us, Kevin had followed the dogs down into the yard. He was holding his piece of cake cupped in his hands. The Poodles were too polite to steal it from him but all five were keeping a hopeful eye on the proceedings. The moment anything slipped through his fingers, it would be snatched up before it could hit the ground.

“It went very well,” Aunt Peg replied. “Despite that silly Dog Whisperer title, Nick is quite serious about what he does. I enjoyed watching him interact with my Poodles, and trust me, that's not something I say often. Many people think they understand dogs but unfortunately a good number of them are simply flattering themselves.”

I knew better than to inquire into which camp she thought I fell.

“Nick gets it,” said Aunt Peg. That was high praise in her book. “Maybe it's empathy, or perhaps intuition, but he possesses that rare ability to sense what dogs are thinking and feeling—perhaps even before they know themselves.”

“He really made an impression,” I said.

“You sound surprised.”

I shrugged lightly. “I liked Nick a lot when I met him. And he seems like a nice guy. But I guess I expected you to be a harder sell. Or maybe I'm not convinced that the ability to talk to dogs is as rare a skill as you believe it to be.”

“Perhaps I didn't make myself clear. It wasn't the way that Nick talked to the dogs that impressed me. Any pet owner can do that. But Nick possesses a much more important skill. He knows how to
listen
.”

“I see.” I stuffed a large bite of cake into my mouth. It tasted a little bit like crow. “So you'll introduce him to your friends?”

Aunt Peg nodded. “I thought I might throw a small party in a few weeks. Just a little something to put his name out there in the right kinds of places. Not that he appears to need my help.”

“No?” I said. “I thought that was the whole point.”

“Not as far as Nick's concerned. Apparently his Dog Whisperer business is rolling right along. It was your ex-husband who came up with the idea that Nick needed more clients. Bob's doing Nick's accounting now. Did he tell you that?”

“No,” I said, surprised. “I had no idea. I just thought they were friends.”

Aunt Peg sighed. “Melanie,
do
try to keep up.”

“I'm working on it.”

That's the story of my life unfortunately: I always seem to be two steps behind and running to catch up.

 

“Honey, I'm home!”

Sam stuck his head out of the living room, a bemused expression on his face. “
What?
”

“Just kidding,” I said with a grin.

I love watching classic TV. There's nothing like old episodes of
Leave It to Beaver
or
The Andy Griffith Show
to make me feel like all is right with the world. But since Sam doesn't share my fondness for last century sitcoms, my Donna Reed moments often go right over his head.

“Davey, front and center,” said Sam. “Your mom needs help.”

He skirted deftly through the sea of Poodles that was milling around the hallway and took two bags of groceries out of my arms. Judging by the sounds emanating from the room behind him, Kev's and my arrival home had interrupted a hard-fought video game battle.

I heard a virtual explosion, followed by Davey's outraged yelp. “Damn it!”

“Excuse me?” I said.

“Sorry,” my older son mumbled, appearing in the doorway.

Since Sam had the groceries, Davey was left with the choice of helping with either the dry cleaning or the library books. I was hoping he'd opt for the former, which needed to be carried upstairs and put away. Instead he bypassed the bundles I was carrying and grabbed his little brother's hand.

“Come on, Kev,” he invited. “Let's go play!”

“Not exactly what I had in mind,” I said. Sam and I both stared after the pair, who had disappeared back into the living room. “But it'll do.”

I threw the dry cleaning in the hall closet, then followed Sam back to the kitchen. Together we put away the groceries. When that was done, Sam retrieved a couple of tennis balls from the toy pile in the corner and opened the back door. The Poodles knew what was coming next. Running as a group, they raced out to the middle of the two-acre yard.

Sam cocked his arm and let fly. He sent the first ball long and wide toward a stand of trees. The second he hefted directly into the middle of what had once—briefly—been my vegetable garden.

“Good thing I didn't plant anything this year,” I mentioned as the pack split in half and three Poodles went scrambling in that direction.

“Correct me if I'm wrong,” Sam said mildly. “But I don't believe you planted anything last year either. Or the year before that.”

“Gardening is a highly overrated skill.”

“Says the woman with the black thumb.”

“Hey, at least I know my limitations.”

Casey was the first to return with a ball. She dropped it into Sam's hand. He waited for the other Poodles to get back into position, then threw it again. Tar was on his way back with the ball he'd fished out of the trees. Raven and Eve trotted along behind him.

“Beer?” I asked.

Sam nodded without turning around. He was busy lining up his next throw.

I was back in less than a minute and slipped the cold bottle into his hand. Sam was staring off into the distance. Noses lifted and sniffing the air, all six Poodles were now circling the thick trunk of the ancient oak tree that held Davey's tree house.

“Bad throw?” I inquired.

Sam shook his head. “Squirrels. Two of them. I think they're up in the tree laughing at all of us.”

I plopped down on a chaise lounge and stretched my legs out in front of me. “I'm sure they're laughing at Tar,” I said.

That silly Poodle was leaping up and down like a pogo stick at the base of the tree. Faith, the oldest and wisest of the crew, knew better than to waste her energy on a vain hope. She left the others and came back to join Sam and me on the deck. I patted the chaise beside me. Faith hopped up and lay down, pressing her warm body along the length of my legs.

“Bob called while you were out,” Sam said. He picked up a deck chair and angled it in my direction, then took a seat as well. “He wanted me to tell you that he'd managed to locate some people named the Morrises . . . ?”

“That's great,” I said. “It's about the ring.” I had told Sam about Bob's unexpected find the day before. “Dan and Emily Morris are the people he and I bought the house from years ago. We're hoping they might know something about how the ring came to be there.”

Sam nodded. “According to Bob, the family lives in Cos Cob. Right now, they're away on vacation with their kids. Home again in a couple of weeks, and happy to talk to you then. Bob said he didn't tell them what it was about, just that it had something to do with their old house.”

“That works.” I paused for a long, cold, drink. “The ring's been hidden for at least a decade and possibly a whole lot more. A few extra weeks isn't going to make any difference.”

“You have to wonder why the ring was never found before,” said Sam. “Surely whoever lost it must have looked for it.”

“I'll let you know as soon as we find out the answers,” I said lazily. “It'll be fun having a little project for the summer to keep me busy.”

Sam smiled. “Because two kids, six dogs, and Aunt Peg isn't enough?”

“Not to mention you.” I reached over, grasped his hand, and pulled him onto the chaise beside me.

Faith lifted her head and grumbled an objection under her breath as the chaise creaked and groaned beneath the three of us. Then she sighed and slipped off the other side. I scooted over to make room for Sam. He settled in beside me and I rested my head on his shoulder.