Hair of the Dog (24 page)

“See anything you like?” I asked.

“Oh, Melanie, hello.” Douglas leaned down and kissed my cheek. “Look at these dogs. They're magnificent, aren't they?”

“They're certainly big.” Several feet away a Deerhound stood awaiting its turn in the ring. Its back was higher than my waist, and I was sure it outweighed me.

“Big? Of course they're big. They were bred in the Scottish Highlands to hunt wild stags. They needed to be that size to get the job done. Did you know this breed has been around since the Middle Ages? They've served for centuries as guards and companions of the Scottish lairds.”

“You're very well informed. Is this a new interest?”

“I've been studying up a bit.” Douglas smiled sheepishly. “I guess it shows.”

“You know more than I do.”

“No, I don't. But I hate feeling ignorant about something. I knew that if I were going to enjoy myself at dog shows, I needed to understand where all these different breeds came from, and why they developed the way they did. I bought several books and I've started reading.”

I stared at him incredulously. “You mean you know that much about every breed?”

“Heavens, no.” Douglas looked startled by the thought. “I'm just beginning my education, after all. I started with the breeds that looked interesting. To me that means the big ones, the ones that have been useful in some capacity. Once you understand how these dogs came to look the way they do, it's really quite fascinating. The Rhodesian Ridgebacks will be along shortly. Did you know they were originally bred to hunt
lions?
”

“No,” I said, grinning. His enthusiasm was infectious. Sometimes I get so caught up in the small world of Poodles that I tend to forget about all the other great breeds there are. It was nice to be reminded once in a while that there were other things in the world beside topknots, bracelets, and big hair.

“You think I'm silly,” said Douglas.

“No,” I said quickly. “I think you're charming. And I hope my aunt is making half as much effort to learn about your interests.”

“We're working on it. Peg doesn't take to compromise easily.”

“You've noticed, have you?”

We laughed together, then watched the rest of the hound breeds. Douglas kept up a running commentary on the breeds he'd read about. It was a refreshing change from the usual ringside chatter, heavy on fact and history, and totally unconcerned with current fads and who was beating whom.

Toy breeds were being judged two rings down. When Maltese were called to ringside, I kept an eye out for Terry and Crawford. It didn't take long for them to appear.

“Would you excuse me for a minute?” I said to Douglas. “There's someone I need to talk to.”

“By all means,” he said, eyes still trained on the action in the ring. Just like an old hand, I thought happily.

“Isn't that nice?” Terry said, seeing my smile as I approached. “A happy person. At a dog show, no less. I think you may be an oxymoron.”

“You're too young to be such a cynic.”

“But getting older by the minute. Here, spread this towel for me, would you?”

He handed me a thick terry-cloth rectangle in a wicked shade of neon green. The words
Bedford Kennels
were stitched along one end in script. In the ring, Crawford was showing his class dog. Terry had the Maltese special in his arms.

I spread the towel out on the ground beside the barrier and he carefully set the Maltese down upon it. The tiny dog was immaculate, its coat ice-white and silky smooth. Two small black bows held up the hair above its eyes. Terry took out a brush and fussed needlessly.

“About that item in
Dog Scene,
” I said. “Did you have any luck finding out where it came from?”

Terry shrugged as he knelt down beside his tiny charge. “The whole point of that gossip page is that it's anonymous. If people had to own up to what they were saying, there wouldn't be anything to print.”

“What they said about Viv wasn't true.”

“It didn't have to be. In fact, even though you read it that way, the item didn't even have to be about Viv. It never mentioned her name.”

I stared down at him. “You're not going to tell me, are you?”

“I would if I could, hon. Honest. I tried, but all I got was a dead end. I called the editor. Pat's a friend, if you know what I mean. I thought he'd help out. Instead, he gave me some nonsense about editorial policy.”

Terry shook his head sadly. “I want you to know I've lent that man my best pumps, and his feet were much bigger than he said they were. Ask me if those shoes will ever be the same.”

Sarcasm was desperately called for. I told myself that Terry was trying his best, and I held my tongue.

“So I asked Pat, then who sets the policy? And he said, that would be the owners.” Terry rolled his eyes. “Pat can be a little dense when he wants to be. So I tried again. And who would they be, I asked?”

I glanced in the ring. Crawford's entry had just gone Reserve, and he was heading in our direction. “And?”

“And he said the owners of
Dog Scene
were Greyhound Publishing and Austin Beamish.”

Austin Beamish?

Funny, I thought, the way his name kept popping up.

“Thanks, Terry,” I said distractedly.

“Don't mention it, hon.”

Lost in thought, I wandered back to Aunt Peg's setup. Faith was lying contentedly on the table where I'd left her. Davey was coloring in his fire truck coloring book. Peg was putting up Tory's topknot.

“Where's Douglas?” she asked.

“Douglas?” I'd forgotten all about him.

“Melanie, what on earth is the matter with you?”

“I'm thinking.”

Peg frowned. “Well, apparently it doesn't suit you.”

“Did you know that Austin Beamish is one of the owners of
Dog Scene
magazine?”

“No.” Peg picked up a slender knitting needle and deftly parted Tory's long topknot hair. “I'd imagine that a man with his money has lots of investments. Does it matter?”

“I don't know. It just seems like every time I turn around, somebody else mentions Austin's name. Did you know that he bought a Chow from Ron Pullman and had Barry Turk finish it for him?”

“No, but Austin's had all sorts of dogs. Was it a good one?”

“Not according to Beth. He bought the dog because Viv recommended it to him.”

“Odd,” Peg muttered, mouth filled with rubber bands.

Belatedly I was beginning to realize that much of the time Austin's name came up, Viv's did too.

“Christine Franken told me that Austin dumped her because he was interested in Viv,” I said.

“Viv's married.”

“She was only engaged when they met.”

“That must have been several years ago.”

“It was. But Bertie says that Austin's a very persistent man.”

Aunt Peg laid down her comb and stared at me. “What are you trying to say?”

“I don't know exactly. But I remember a comment you made a couple of weeks ago about Austin and Ron. You said that for two men who didn't like each other, they certainly seemed to spend a lot of time together. Maybe we were missing the point. I always thought Viv was trying to keep those two apart. Maybe it was she who unwittingly brought them together.”

Aunt Peg considered that for a moment. “You could be right,” she allowed finally. “But that still doesn't explain who shot Barry Turk.”

“Austin did.”

“Why?”

I'd been afraid she'd ask that.

Peg reached out, took my hand, and placed it under Tory's chin to hold her head steady. While I thought, she finished putting in the topknot.

“All right, listen to this. Austin wants Viv. Viv wants Ron.”

“End of story.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Because although Ron wants Viv, he also wants Alicia. And now she's pregnant with his baby.”

“Which everyone thinks is Barry's.”

“Maybe not everyone. Maybe Austin knew differently.”

“How?”

I sighed windily. “I'm not a mind reader. Just go with me on this, okay?”

“All right, keep talking.” Topknot done, Peg removed my hand and set it aside just like the rest of her equipment. She popped the rubber band holding Tory's ear wrap and unbound the long hair within.

I perched on the edge of Faith's grooming table, nestled her head in my lap, and continued to think aloud. “Austin wants Viv to leave Ron and come to him. She's not interested. For a while there's nothing he can do about that but pine from afar. Then Ron screws up big-time and Austin sees his chance.”

“So he kills Barry to force Alicia to turn to Ron for support,” said Aunt Peg, finally getting into the spirit of things.

“Except she doesn't. She turns to Bill instead. Austin hasn't counted on the fact that Bill is happy to take her back. Bill doesn't even care that the baby isn't his.”

“So he has to kill Bill too.” Peg didn't look entirely convinced. “So what about the item in the gossip column? What was the point of that?”

“Let me think,” I said. There had to be a way to fit it into my theory.

“You're making this up as you go along!”

“Well . . . yes. But you can't say it doesn't make sense.”

“Maybe to someone with a very warped mind.”

“Can you imagine a murderer who doesn't have a warped mind?”

Aunt Peg finished unwrapping Tory's ears. She stood the Standard Poodle up on the grooming table and began to scissor. I kept working on trying to make sense of things.

“Do you remember when I told you about those accidents Alicia kept having?” I asked.

“Vaguely. There was a broken step, wasn't there? And a car that didn't run? I remember that it didn't seem like much at the time.”

“There was also a small fire. And you're right, it wasn't much. Not enough to seriously injure someone, but maybe just enough to really scare them. Especially a woman who was alone and pregnant.”

“You think Austin engineered those things to force Alicia out of that house?”

“Possibly. And maybe he planted the item in
Dog Scene
to make Viv look bad.”

“But—”

I held up a hand and didn't let her interrupt. “Ron has now become Alicia's only means of support. If nobody knew about the situation, the three of them could have worked things out quietly, leaving the Pullmans' marriage to go on the same as before. But once everything's out in the open, it practically forces Ron to choose. Will he go to the mother of his child, or suffer the embarrassment of staying with a woman who's rumored to be a murderer?”

“I don't know,” Peg said, frowning. “It all sounds quite Machiavellian to me.”

It did to me too, but that didn't mean there wasn't some truth to it. Things were finally beginning to fall into place. I was sure I was on the right track. “I need to talk to Viv.”

“The Pullmans aren't here today,” said Peg. “I told you that before.”

“Here we are,” said Douglas, striding back to the setup. “And in plenty of time too. I know how hard you've been working, so I brought you a snack.”

Peg eyed the plate of fresh vegetables he held as if she were afraid one of the carrots might leap up and bite her.

“She doesn't have time to eat right now.” I took the plate and set it on Tory's crate. I couldn't imagine how he'd managed to find carrots, celery, and broccoli at a dog show. Maybe he'd brought the vegetables from home. “The Poodle judging starts in fifteen minutes and she still has to spray up.”

“Later, then,” Douglas said easily. “What can I do to help?”

“How would you feel about watching Davey for a little while?”

“Young Davey?” Douglas's face lit up. “I'm quite good with children.”

Peg gave me a suspicious look. “Where are you going?”

“I told you, I want to talk to Viv. From here, I can get to Katonah in less than half an hour.”

“You'll miss the Poodle judging.”

“You can tell me what happened later.” I stood Faith up and she danced on the tabletop, eager to be included. “By the way, have you seen Austin today?”

Peg shook her head.

“Nor have I,” Douglas mentioned.

“That's odd,” said Aunt Peg. “He's almost always around somewhere when Midas is being shown. Do you want to leave Faith in Tory's crate?”

I glanced at the Standard Poodle. She was wagging her tail happily. “No, I'll take her with me. Viv won't mind.”

Crawford gave me directions to the Pullmans' house and told me I couldn't miss it. When I got there, I saw what he meant. The entrance to Pullman Manor—Lord, what a name—was marked by a pair of lantern-topped gateposts at the end of a long driveway. The house was a large white colonial, deliberately ostentatious, with a row of wide columns supporting an overly ornate portico.

The driveway forked as it reached the house. One branch led around the back, where there appeared to be several outbuildings, including a kennel. The other branch of the driveway formed a circular turnaround in front of the door. I pulled up to the house and parked.

It was too hot to leave Faith in the car. I held the door open and she leapt out joyously. We walked up the front steps together. The doorbell had a deep melodic tone that seemed to echo through the house. Nobody answered the first ring, so I tried it again, then waited another minute.

“What do you think?” I asked Faith. “Nobody home?”

The Poodle cocked her head to one side. She was looking at a window on one end of the wide porch. I wondered if she'd seen something there. Because it was easier than getting in the car and driving back to the show, I rang the bell again. This time the door opened.

Viv was casually dressed in a pair of tight white jeans and a chambray shirt with tails unbuttoned and knotted at her waist. She didn't seem surprised to see me standing on her front step. Perhaps it was she Faith had seen in the window.

“Hi,” I said. “Sorry to stop by without calling first. Do you mind if I come in?” I don't usually chatter on, but Viv's tight expression compelled me to fill the silence.

She held the door partway shut and stood, blocking the small opening. “It's not a good time.”

“I think we need to talk.”

Something that almost looked like panic flickered in her eyes. “Not now.”

Viv started to close the door. I braced my palm against the solid panel and pushed back, catching her by surprise. Apparently nothing in her southern upbringing had prepared her for rude guests who didn't know how to take no for an answer.

“Are you okay?”

Her gaze skittered away, up, down, and sideways. She didn't answer.

“Are you alone?”

Beside me, Faith stiffened. Her feet tightened and arched. Whatever was wrong, the Poodle sensed it too. Hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Suddenly I wanted to be anywhere but there.

“Why don't we go for a drive?” I suggested. My voice came out sounding high and unnaturally bright. “My car's right here. Come on.”

Abruptly the door drew back. Austin appeared in the opening, standing just behind Viv. “That won't be possible,” he said. “Viv's busy right now.”

Though he was smiling, Faith growled softly. The sound rumbled deep in her throat. I agreed with her assessment. Whatever was happening here, I didn't want any part of it.

The only problem was neither, apparently, did Viv. She looked at me imploringly. I thought of Ann Leeds, who'd hoped to find safety in numbers but had been disappointed by the women she'd turned to for support. Now Viv was turning to me. I probably should have stopped to consider, but I didn't. I shoved the door aside and walked inside the house. Faith, like the well-behaved Poodle she was, trotted at my heels.

“I suppose there's time for a short visit,” Austin said, frowning. “Perhaps your Poodle would rather wait outside.”

“I can't leave her out there,” I said. “She'll run away.” I was lying, but I figured he wouldn't know that. After all, his own dog hadn't even recognized him.

“Really?” Austin glanced at Faith dismissively. “I thought they were supposed to be smarter than that. I've never had a Poodle myself. I couldn't stand the thought of dressing a dog up in that silly hairdo.”

He held out his hand, fingers extended, for Faith to sniff. She did so briefly, then turned her head away. No doubt she was sensing the same undercurrents I was.

“Viv?” I asked. “Are you all right?”

“Of course she's all right,” said Austin. “I'm here, aren't I?”

In my mind, that was precisely the problem. “Maybe she could tell me so herself.”

“I'm fine,” said Viv. “Everything's fine. Really.”

She didn't look like she believed that any more than I did.

“I thought you'd be at the show today, Austin. Isn't Tom Rossi showing Midas?”

“He'll win whether I'm there or not. He always does. Today I had something more important to do.” Austin glanced in Viv's direction. Pointedly, she looked away.

“Really, what was that?”

“Viv and I had a few things we needed to settle. You're the first to know. She and Ron are splitting up.” He paused, looking at me shrewdly. “Or perhaps you'd already guessed.”

For a moment I was so startled by his announcement that I couldn't think of a thing to say. Austin mistook my silence for denial. “Oh, come, Melanie,” he chided. “I know you've been asking questions about me.”

No I hadn't, more's the pity. What I'd been doing was asking questions about Barry Turk's murder. And Bill Devane's.

“That must have been a recent decision.” I glanced over at Viv. Her eyes were wide with fear. She looked like an animal who'd been caught in a trap and was contemplating gnawing off its own foot.

“It isn't ... I mean I'm not ...” She stumbled over the words. Austin reached out a hand and Viv shrank back as though the thought of his touch repelled her. Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Melanie, it was him. He's the one who did it.”

“There, there,” Austin said soothingly. “You're just overwrought. Once I get you away from here, everything will be fine, you'll see.” He turned and looked at me calmly. “You'll have to excuse Viv. She seems to be a little confused.”

“I am not!” Her voice was louder and edged with emotion. “He's the one who's crazy. He killed Bill and Barry. Ask him, he'll tell you!”

One look at Austin's face, and I realized that any questions I might have posed would have been superfluous. It was one thing to suspect, quite another to confront the truth head-on. Worse still, in that instant of recognition that passed between us, he knew that I knew. I felt my stomach plummet.