Authors: Laurien Berenson

Dog Eat Dog (19 page)

BOOK: Dog Eat Dog

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“Two? What had she done?”

“Reported Paul and Darla Heins to the ASPCA for animal neglect.”

“She didn't!”

“She did.”

Aunt Peg's frown was ferocious. “What an appalling thing to do to those dear old people. If Joanne knew there was a problem, she should have spoken to the Board. Good Lord, Paul and Darla have been members of Belle Haven for thirty years. We'd have all pitched in and solved the problem. Joanne must have known that.”

“Maybe she did. But she took her complaint to the authorities, and she feels pretty self-righteous about it, too.”

“Joanne's been angling for a Board position,” Aunt Peg muttered. “But although we wouldn't dream of telling her, nobody feels she has the knowledge or experience. Maybe this was her way of paying us back.”

I slathered my second sticky bun with butter. It tasted even better that way. “Joanne told Monica what she'd done, and the Heinses got a note in their January newsletter.”

Aunt Peg lifted a hand and ticked the names off on her fingers. “Lydia, Joanne, Paul and Darla. Possibly Cy. There certainly seems to have been no shortage of motives.”

“You may as well sit back and get comfortable,” I told her. “There are more.”

Twenty-five

In the whelping box beside us, Chloe stirred. Aunt Peg offered her a drink of cool water and a few strips of boiled chicken. When she was satisfied the Standard Poodle was comfortable, Aunt Peg turned back to me.

“Who else?”

“Mark and Penny Romano. Penny told me about the note they got yesterday at the show. Apparently, Monica called her a lush.”

“I'd fault her for bad manners.” Aunt Peg chuckled. “But Monica wasn't revealing anything the rest of us hadn't already guessed.”

“And then there's Bertie.”

“Did she receive a note, too?”

“She says she didn't. But every time I try to talk to her about Monica, she sidesteps my questions.”

“Do you think she's hiding something?”

“Maybe.” I shrugged. “Maybe not. Bertie's smart, she's ambitious, and she's trying to make a name for herself in a tough profession. Under the circumstances, I can see how she might be wary.”

“I wonder what she would have to argue about with Sharon.”

“Maybe Louis.”

Aunt Peg looked up, surprised. “Louis?”

“Bertie was hanging all over him after the March meeting. Maybe there's something going on.”

“Bertie and Louis?” Aunt Peg was skeptical. “I'm not sure I see that. Louis has always struck me as a very proper man.”

“Maybe he felt it was time to break out of his shell. And if Bertie were involved with Louis, that might explain why she's been so defensive with me. Do you think Monica knew?”

“She's known about everything else. Incredible as it seems, when you run through the list of club members who were present that night, it looks as though every single one of them had a reason for wanting to keep Monica quiet.”

My thoughts, exactly.

“Maybe we should try looking at this from another angle,” said Aunt Peg. “Most of us were in the parking lot when the Beagles got loose. You and I were together. I'll bet other people were, too. Now if we could just figure out who was missing ...”

I was already shaking my head. “Unfortunately, it's not that simple. The club members I've spoken to were scattered all over the place. And with all the confusion, if anybody was lying about where they were, we'd never know.”

“This is getting us nowhere,” Aunt Peg said grumpily. Usually she likes puzzles. Maybe it was lack of sleep. “And don't forget about the other mystery. What ever happened to those missing dinner checks?”

“They still haven't turned up?”

“No. I talked to Lydia yesterday.”

“Do you think they're connected to the murder?”

“I don't see how. But that's exactly the point, isn't it? This whole thing is baffling.”

Peg and I don't always come to the same conclusions. For once we were in perfect agreement, so I decided to let the subject rest.

I reached into the whelping box and ran my fingers down the back of a sleeping puppy. Only hours old, its hair was already long enough to hold the beginning of a curl. Chloe lifted her head and sniffed my hand. She didn't push me away exactly, but she did decide she had a sudden need to tend to the puppy in question. I watched as she licked him from one end to the other with her long, pink tongue.

“They're wonderful, aren't they?”

“Absolutely amazing.” Peg's voice, like mine, was hushed. “I've been doing this for longer than I care to think about, and each time a new litter is born it feels like a miracle.”

We sat in silence and watched some more. The puppies' eyes and ears were still closed, but their noses were working fine. They sought each other out and nestled together for warmth, with Chloe curled around the whole brood protectively.

Just observing made me feel oddly content. It brought back memories of Davey's birth. Back then, so new to motherhood, I'd spent hours simply staring at him while he slept, trying to figure out how such a miraculous baby had come to be mine.

And yet in eight short weeks, Aunt Peg would be placing most of these puppies in their new homes. After all the time and effort she'd put into these babies, she would have to trust someone else to continue to do their best for them. I thought of Davey and wondered how she could bear to let them go.

“They're so small and defenseless,” I said. “Don't you worry about them when they leave?”

Aunt Peg chuckled softly. “By the time these puppies go to their new homes, they'll be running the entire house and eating everything in sight. Caring for them will be a full time job.”

“But still ...”

She must have guessed the direction of my thoughts, because Peg stopped to consider her answer carefully. “When it's the right time to let go, you'll know. A mother has to learn to trust her instincts.”

I sighed softly, thinking about what Bob had said. The decisions I made now would effect Davey for the rest of his life. I knew what I wanted, but that didn't necessarily make it right. Bob was Davey's father. Was I justified in denying him equal time in his son's life, or was I only being selfish?

“Even a mother who isn't perfect?”

That earned me a hard look. “I've known a lot of mothers in my day,” Peg said sternly. “Canine
and
human. Some were mediocre by my standards, some were really quite excellent. But not a single one was perfect. Whatever gave you the idea that you needed to be?”

“Davey.”

“He's complained about the job you've done?”

“No, of course not. How could he? He's never known anything else. He's totally dependent on me. That's why I have to make sure I get everything right.”

“Nobody gets everything right. It's impossible. All you can do is try. From what I've seen, you're doing a wonderful job.”

“Really?”

Aunt Peg nodded. “Do you think I would have allowed you to have a puppy of mine if you weren't? How many families with young children do you think I sell to? Not very many. Children aren't easy, you know.”

The voice of authority, if not experience. Still, I was glad to have her vote of confidence.

Ten minutes later, Aunt Peg walked me out to my car. Chloe was resting comfortably, with no sign of any more puppies to come. The house Poodles followed us down. Clearly they were miffed at being excluded from what was happening in the bedroom. Aunt Peg opened the front door and let them race out.

The pack circled the yard, diving on a trio of soggy tennis balls under the limbs of the big Japanese maple tree. Three Poodles emerged victorious. The others gave chase.

“There's something I've been wondering about,” I said, watching them run. “At nearly every house we visited, we were inundated by dogs. At the Rubicovs', there wasn't a single one. What happens to their dogs when they're finished showing them?”

“That's no great mystery. Most of their dogs are probably leased.”

I turned and stared. “Like rented?”

“More or less. Say a breeder has a very good dog, but lacks the resources to give it the career it deserves. Someone like Cy has the money, but no need to use the dog in a breeding program. Through the lease arrangement, he gets the glory of the big wins, and in the end, the dog returns home to be a part of the breeder's kennel.”

“Oh.” I'd been hoping for something juicy, but that sounded pretty straightforward.

“The person you have
me
wondering about is Louis,” said Aunt Peg. “I can't picture him and Bertie together, and yet ...”

“Bertie and Sharon were arguing about something.”

“Precisely. I'm stuck here with Chloe, but you could go talk to him. Maybe tomorrow in his office. It's in downtown Greenwich, and you can catch him there without Sharon. Maybe he'll have something interesting to say.”

“Do you suppose I should make an appointment?”

“Drop in,” said Peg. “Catch him by surprise. And call me when you're finished. I want to hear everything.”

Was there ever a time when she hadn't?

When I got home, Bob and Davey were both asleep in front of the TV. On a beautiful spring day, no less. A stock car race was droning around a track and I switched off the set. Faith's barking upon my arrival hadn't awakened them; but for some reason, that did.

“Hey,” said Bob, struggling back to consciousness. “Is the race over?”

“Yes,” I lied. “The white car won.”

I'd stopped at the supermarket on the way home and my arms were filled with groceries. Bob didn't leap up and offer to help, but he did eye the bags speculatively.

“Am I invited to dinner?” he asked.

“If you want to be. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and carrots. It'll be ready in about an hour.”

“Great.”

Faith hopped up and snuggled next to them on the couch. Everybody was warm and safe. In a little while, they'd be well fed. It wasn't up to Ozzie and Harriet's standards, but it made me feel good.

The law offices of Stickney, LaPlante, and Goldblum were located in a beautifully restored frame house on Mason Avenue in downtown Greenwich. I hadn't been sure about dropping by unexpectedly and, judging by the look on the receptionist's face, she didn't think much of the idea either. Her gaze slid from me to Davey and back again, before she inquired about the nature of my business.

I gave her my name and told her the visit was in reference to Belle Haven Kennel Club business. She pursed her lips and disappeared into the inner sanctum. Davey and I had a seat. The appointments in the waiting room were sumptuous: leather furniture, wooden tables, and a profusion of healthy potted plants.

I'd brought
The Cat in the Hat
for Davey, and he opened the book eagerly. He can't read yet, but he's heard most of his favorite rhymes so often that he knows them by heart. Tuning the pages as he says them aloud, gives him the illusion being very grown up.

After the chilly reception, I was prepared to be kept waiting. To my surprise, Louis came out personally only a few moments later. I introduced him to Davey and they shook hands solemnly. After instructing the receptionist to keep an eye on my son, he ushered me back to his office.

It was a large room with a high ceiling, framed by antique molding. Louis waved me to a chair, then sat behind his desk. A wide expanse of polished teak separated us. The leather bound blotter was empty; the gold pen set beside it, neatly aligned. His pipe was in a holder beside the phone and the sweet aroma of his tobacco hung in the air.

Louis folded his hands and assumed a solicitous pose. “Ms. Greeley said you had Belle Haven business to discuss. I do hope nothing's wrong.”

“Nothing new. I don't suppose the missing checks have turned up?”

“No, I'm afraid not. It's beginning to look like we'll have to make the money up.”

“That's too bad,” I murmured. Louis wasn't the only one who could make concerned noises. “Would you mind if I asked you a few questions about Monica Freedman?”

“Not at all. From what I hear around town, the police investigation is all but stalled. It's in the club's best interests to have Monica's killer found and brought to justice. I'm happy to help in any way I can.”

It was an impressive speech. Convincing, too. I wondered if his firm handled litigation. No doubt Louis would be great in front of a jury.

“Were you aware that Monica was practicing a kind of emotional extortion on a number of the club members?”

“No,” Louis said, frowning. “This is the first I've heard of such a thing. Are you sure?”

“Quite sure. So you never received any extra notes from her, maybe something that was included with your club newsletter?”

“Not that I saw. My wife usually opens the mail, but I'm sure she'd have mentioned something like that:”

“Speaking of your wife,” I said slowly. “She and Bertie were observed arguing loudly after the February meeting. Do you know what that was about?”

Louis's brow creased. “Sharon and Bertie, arguing? I can't imagine what they would have to disagree about at all, much less loudly enough to make a scene.”

“Maybe about the fact that Bertie is a very beautiful younger woman ... ?” I let the thought dangle. “A woman who's a little more affectionate than she needs to be with some of the male club members?”

“Is she?”

Surely that didn't come as a surprise to him. “I saw her after the meeting last month. You and she seemed very friendly.”

“That's just Bertie's way,” said Louis. “It doesn't mean anything.”

BOOK: Dog Eat Dog

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