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Authors: Laurien Berenson

Dog Eat Dog (26 page)

BOOK: Dog Eat Dog
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Thirty-two
“What?” I placed the two photographs side by side and stared at them, hard.
“I'm no specialist in Yorkies,” said Aunt Peg. “But when they're together like that, even I can see the difference. The woman looks approximately the same in each picture, but look at the relative size and shape of the dog in comparison. The Springfield show is in November. Central Maine is in January. Unless LouShar Lucinda shrank in size, gained in length and grew a whole new coat, there's no way these two pictures could be of the same bitch.”
I nodded slowly, finally able to discern what she wanted me to see. “Are you saying that Louis and Sharon can't tell their own dogs apart?”
“Not at all.” Aunt Peg smiled grimly. “My guess is, Monica caught them showing a ringer.”
I looked up, surprised. “People do that?”
“It's not a common occurrence, but it has been known to happen. Suppose a dog has almost finished its championship when something goes wrong. Maybe it loses its coat, or gets injured in some way. After all the time and money that's already been invested, it can be very frustrating to be left high and dry just a few points away from completing a title.”
“That's got to be illegal.”
“Of course it's illegal. It's fraud, for Pete's sake. It certainly would explain why the LaPlantes seemed so flustered when Lydia mentioned their win. They must have thought they'd sneaked off to some little out of the way show, where nobody would ever be the wiser.”
“Maybe nobody would have, if they hadn't won the group.”
“That's what's so odd,” said Aunt Peg. “The only way to pull off this sort of scam is to get the job done quietly. Presumably Louis and Sharon used a very good bitch as a substitute to make sure she'd win. But Best of Breed winners aren't required to go on to the group. I can't imagine why they have been so foolish as to call attention to themselves that way.”
“I guess that's Sharon handling,” I said, squinting at the picture. With no head and only a small portion of the body showing, it was impossible to tell.
“Sharon's not the brightest woman, but I didn't think she was stupid. And that's exactly what a stunt like this is. No wonder they didn't have any pictures to show off. They probably didn't have any taken.”
“Too bad for them, Monica was on hand with her camera.”
Peg nodded. “Monica always took pictures at the shows. She said they helped her with her sketching. Presumably, that's why she already had a shot of the real Lucinda at Springfield.”
We'd reached the end of the file, and she began to gather up the papers. “Louis must have been horrified when he found out there was a chance he'd be exposed. Of course his chances of ever becoming a judge would be ruined. But beyond that, would you trust your affairs to a lawyer who'd been implicated in a case of fraud? I wouldn't.”
She didn't say it, but we were both thinking the same thing. As far as motives went, Louis LaPlante had just shot to the top of the list.
Aunt Peg opened her large purse and slipped the incriminating file inside. “I wonder if Louis and Sharon are home this morning. Let's go find out, shall we?”
We passed by the living room on the way out. Mrs. Freedman was watching QVC on TV. She waved distractedly in our direction and we let ourselves out.
Like me, the LaPlantes lived in north Stamford. Unlike me, they lived in a large colonial on a wooded, two acre lot. Their yard wasn't fenced, but several large, gravel floored pens were visible around the side of the house.
Aunt Peg marched determinedly to the front door and rang the bell. Nothing happened. After a moment she rang again. This time we heard approaching footsteps, and after a minute, the door drew open.
“Yes, what is it?” Louis demanded. He was dressed in corduroy pants and a well-worn sweater, and had his teeth clamped around the stem of his meerschaum pipe. Holding the business section of the Sunday paper in one hand, he used the other to wave back two very fat Yorkshire Terriers who had followed him to the door.
“Oh,” he said, looking only slightly less annoyed when he realized who his visitors were. He removed the pipe from his mouth. “What brings you two all the way out here on a Sunday morning?”
“We need to talk to you and Sharon. Is she here?” Without waiting for an invitation, Aunt Peg walked past Louis and into the house. I supposed I was meant to follow along behind, and did. Louis closed the door behind us.
“Certainly she's here. We were just reading the paper. Is something wrong?”
His look of concern was genuine. I wondered whether he was trying to guess what we might have found out.
“Quite possibly,” said Aunt Peg.
Frowning, Louis led the way to a sun filled family room in the back of the house. The furniture looked plump and inviting, and sections from the Sunday
New York Times
were spread out over two low tables. A Vivaldi concerto played softly in the background.
Sharon was seated near the window, comfortable in an easy chair with her legs tucked up underneath her. She was chewing on the end of a pencil as she worked the crossword puzzle, and looked up inquiringly as we came in. She reached over and set the magazine section down on the table beside her.
She didn't seem surprised to see us, I realized. Too late, it occurred to me that perhaps I had not given this woman enough thought. I had spoken to Louis and Bertie, but I'd never bothered to question Sharon. It was beginning to look like that was an oversight I might regret.
Sharon unwound her legs and stood gracefully. “Shall I get us all some coffee?”
“I'm afraid this isn't a social call,” said Peg. “We've just come from Monica Freedman's house. We found her secret files.”
I was watching for a reaction, and got one from Sharon. She paled and went very still.
Louis was clearing away papers. He waved us to a seat, and said, “Files about what?”
“I believe I told you that Monica had been sending notes to some of the Belle Haven members,” I said. “She seems to have enjoyed engaging in a sort of emotional blackmail.”
“I remember you mentioning such a thing,” Louis said, nodding. “I thought at the time, that behavior like that was perhaps what had gotten her killed. But I'm afraid I don't understand what that has to do with us.”
Behind him, Sharon cleared her throat softly. “We got a note from Monica,” she said. “It came with one of the newsletters. I threw it out as soon as it arrived.”
Louis turned and stared. “What are you talking about?”
Aunt Peg and I exchanged a glance. Was it possible he didn't know?
“Monica was in Maine when Alicia finished,” said Sharon.
“Yes,” Louis snapped impatiently. “So what?”
Sharon's gaze skittered up, then down. She seemed to want to look anywhere but at her husband. It was warm in the room, but she crossed her arms over her chest and began to rub them as though she was freezing.
“I was afraid this would happen,” Sharon said finally. She addressed her words to Louis, as if Peg and I weren't even in the room. “She said the plan was easy, that everything would be fine. I should have known she'd be wrong.”
“What are you talking about?” Louis demanded. “She who? For God's sake, Sharon, what's going on?”
“You remember how Lucinda got that infected toe nail? And every time we got it cleared up, it came right back? She only needed a single point and should have had it easily, but it seemed like whenever I entered her, she turned up lame. She was due in season in February and I knew how much you were hoping to breed her. . .”
Sharon stopped speaking. For the moment, she seemed incapable of going further. Aunt Peg opened her bag, took out the two snapshots and handed them over to Louis.
“Lucinda,” he said quickly, glancing at the first. He looked at the second. “And that's Lorelei.”
“Turn it over,” I said.
Louis read the words to himself slowly, then lifted his head and stared at his wife.
“What did you do?”
“I didn't do anything!” Sharon cried. “It was all Bertie's fault.”
“Bertie?” I said, surprised. “What did she have to do with it?”
“It was her idea.” Sharon turned to me, looking relieved to no longer be facing her husband's wrath. “Bertie knew about the trouble we were having with Lucinda and suggested that she knew a way to take care of it. All I had to do was supply her with two bitches: one to win the point under Lucinda's name and the other one to lose. She said she'd take them out of the area where nobody would notice a thing.”
“That's why you didn't want me to come with you to the Maine shows,” Louis said in a strangled voice. He seemed to be having trouble taking it all in.
“I knew it was wrong, but Bertie said the plan was foolproof.”
Louis looked at his wife coldly. “If you believed that, then you're the fool. I can't believe you'd be so stupid as to get us involved in a shoddy business like this. My God, Sharon, what has gotten into you lately? It was bad enough when you lost the club checks—”
“I
lost the checks?” she cried in outrage.
“You know perfectly well I handed them to you to go in the briefcase. Damn it Sharon, there are times when I think you'd lose your nose if it wasn't fastened on. But this, this is an outrage. This is unconscionable!”
Louis stalked over to a bar behind the door and poured himself a drink. Scotch, straight up. It looked as though he needed it.
“How did Monica find out what you'd done?” I asked Sharon.
“That part was sheer idiocy,” she said, shaking her head. “Lorelei won the breed. I assumed we were done, and went off to get some lunch. I ran into Monica, who asked why I wasn't watching my dog in the group. Of course, I told her I didn't have a dog in the group. I was really quite adamant about it. Considering what we'd just done, there was no way I wanted to draw any wider attention to Lorelei by showing her further.”
Sharon glanced over at Louis. “Apparently Bertie had scoped out the rest of the Toys, and thought Lorelei had a chance to do well in the group. It was such a small show, you see. I imagine Bertie figured that if she could get another group win on her record, so much the better. Blind ambition coupled with stupidity, that's what that woman is.
“I went running right over to the ring, but it was already too late. Once Bertie had Lorelei in the group, I couldn't get her out. That's when Monica must have snapped the second picture.”
“Was that what you and Bertie were arguing about at Francisco's?” I asked.
“Yes.” Sharon sighed unhappily. “By then, I'd gotten the note from Monica. This was Bertie's mess. She'd gotten me into it, and I was determined she was going to get me out.”
I swallowed heavily and considered the implications of what she'd said.
Aunt Peg wasn't so reticent. “Are you trying to say you think Bertie was responsible for what happened to Monica?”
From the other side of the room, Louis spoke up. “Bertie couldn't have done it,” he said quietly. “She was behind us leaving the restaurant. And we'd only just reached our car when the Beagles began to howl. I don't think there's any way she could have gotten to Monica so quickly.”
“And you and Sharon were together?” Peg asked.
“Yes, we were,” said Louis, glancing at his wife. “We were together the whole time.”
Which disqualified all three of them. Or then again, maybe not. Judging by Louis's reaction, this was the first he'd heard of his wife's reckless disregard for
A.K.C.
regulations. Now that he knew her actions had placed his own reputation on the line, how willing would he have been to cover up for her? Or for Bertie, who might have tried to fix things on her own?
It was all a hopeless muddle. As Aunt Peg had said earlier, it wasn't that we didn't have enough clues; we had too many. The only thing I knew for sure was that trying to get them all sorted out was making my head ache.
Aunt Peg stood. Louis did, too. I glanced down at the two pictures. They were still on the table where Louis had dropped them. Aunt Peg made no move to pick them up.
“What will you do now?” he asked.
“If you're asking whether I'll be talking to the
A.K.C.
about this matter, I won't,” she said. I knew what she had to be thinking. When it came to indiscretions, her own family's record was not entirely unblemished. “You'll have to handle this yourself, Louis. Do what you think is best.”
Sharon stayed behind as Louis walked us to the door. We were almost there when I thought of something. “Can I have the file for a minute?” I asked Aunt Peg.
BOOK: Dog Eat Dog
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