Hot Dog (4 page)

The name meant nothing to me, but Sam looked surprised. “I've seen her show in the group,” he said. “She has some very nice dogs.”

“She does indeed,” Aunt Peg agreed. “She's a second-generation breeder, and her Dachshunds are every bit as lovely as her mother's were. Marian certainly knows better than to let a puppy of hers be offered as a prize to the highest bidder. Whatever's going on with that puppy, I can't imagine she would have agreed to it.”

“Excuse me! Coming through!”

There was a commotion at the end of the crowded hallway. A young woman holding a microphone, followed by an equally young man toting a video camera on his shoulder, elbowed their way toward us. Her gaze scanned the three of us briefly and came to rest on me.

“Are you Melanie Travis?”

So help me, I thought about denying it. If I'd had any inkling of what was to come, I'd certainly have done so.

Instead I nodded.

“Well, it's about time. Rich, get up here and get a shot of this. We've been all over this damn dog show looking for you.”

S
tartled by the disturbance, Eve slipped out from beneath my hands and leapt to her feet. Faith was trained to overlook such things, but Eve was just a puppy. If someone was playing a game, she wanted to play too. I placed a restraining hand gently on her withers to calm her as she danced in place on the rubber-matted tabletop.

“You've been looking for me? Why?”

The woman thrust out a hand. “I'm Jill Prescott from KZBN Cable in Norwalk. I want to do a story on you.”

“You're kidding.”

“No, I'm not,” Jill said earnestly. A tiny frown line furrowed her brow, but considering that she barely looked eighteen, it was going to be years before Jill Prescott had to worry about wrinkles.

Her ash blond hair was swept back off her face and held in place by a velvet headband. Her nails were manicured; her lipstick, perfect. Her smile was wide enough, and bright enough, to light our dark corner of the hallway.

“This is going to be so great,” she enthused. “Meet Rich, my cameraman.”

Rich had broad shoulders, spiked hair, and a pierced eyebrow. He held up a laconic hand in greeting. “Hey.”

As his arm lowered, it reached toward Eve. It didn't take a genius to see that he was about to mess up the hair I'd just finished brushing. I caught his hand before he could touch her and moved it gently away. “Sorry, I'm getting her ready to go in the ring.”

“Perfect!” cried Jill. “We'll get footage of that, too.”

“Footage for what?”

“To go with the interview.”

“What interview?” asked Peg. She glanced at her watch and then at me. “Time is passing, Melanie. Keep brushing.” Her gaze swung back to Jill. “Did you say you're from Norwalk, as in Connecticut?”

“Yes, KZBN Cable—”

“What are you doing in Rhode Island?”

“I looked on the Internet,” Jill said brightly. “And this dog show was the closest, so I figured you'd be here.”

A somewhat cockeyed assumption, I thought. But then again everything about Jill Prescott from KZBN Cable seemed slightly cockeyed. I picked Eve up, laid her down on her side, and went back to work.

“You really came all this way hoping to find me?”

“Of course. And now everything's going to work out perfectly because we can get some shots of you with your dogs. That's what you do, right? You show Poodles at dog shows. And you're a special needs tutor at Howard Academy in Greenwich—”

“Wait a minute.” My hand stilled. “How do you know that?”

Jill looked affronted. “It's not as if I don't have my sources.” She glanced at Sam. “Is this your husband?”

“No,” I snapped, then added belatedly, “and it's none of your business.”

“Don't mind me. I'm just nosy about things like that. And I figured since you have a child—”

“Stop right there!”

“Yes?” Eve lifted an ear at my tone, but Jill's smile never even wavered.

 

 

“Who
are
you and what do you want?”

For just a moment, she finally looked unsure. Not of herself, I was betting. More likely, Jill was questioning my mental capabilities.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I thought I explained all that.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Try explaining it again.”

Tar was lounging on his table now, finished except for the final hair spray, which would be applied shortly before he went in the ring. Sam nudged me aside, picked up the brush I'd been using, and went to work on Eve. Thank goodness the puppy didn't have much hair yet. At the rate things were going, it would be a miracle if she was ready in time.

“I want to do a story about you for KZBN Cable television.”

The announcement didn't make a whole lot more sense the second time she said it than it had the first.

“Why me?”

“Well, because you're a local celebrity.”

I most definitely was
not
.

“You know,” Jill said in a wheedling tone, “with your crime solving and all. You've been written up in the newspaper lots of times.”

Once. My name had been mentioned once. Well, twice if you counted the time I'd gotten hurt in a fire at Howard Academy. But that wasn't crime solving, it was more a matter of being caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“I don't understand what's going on,” I said. “Where did you get my name? Why do you know all this stuff about me? I have no idea what producer gave you this assignment, but I can assure you he or she was mistaken. I'm not a celebrity and there's nothing noteworthy about my life.”

“But there
is
,” Jill persisted.

She turned around and handed her microphone to Rich. Like we were going to be talking woman to woman now. Like we were friends.

“Look, let me be honest with you.”

“That would be nice.”

Aunt Peg lifted a brow at my sarcastic tone. Sam merely grinned and kept brushing.

“Nobody assigned this story to me. I found it for myself.”

A throat cleared loudly in the background.

“All right,” Jill amended, “Rich and I found it together. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get started in the entertainment industry? I went to college and majored in broadcast communications. My credentials are as good as anybody's. But I can't even get my foot in the door at the major networks. So I decided to start a little smaller.”

Presumably KZBN fit the bill. I lived two towns over from Norwalk and I'd never heard of the station.

Jill tossed her head. The artfully arranged blond hair fluffed and resettled. “So here I am, out in the boonies, working for a pittance, and I still can't get any on-air time. I want to be a reporter, but all the good assignments go to the people who have been there for years. Years! Let me tell you, I have no intention of devoting years of my life to moving up the ranks at some backwater cable station.”

“So you decided to speed up the process.”

“Exactly. That's where you come in. You're going to be the story that gets me noticed.”

“There's only one small flaw in your plan.”

Sam had his back to us, but it didn't matter. I could still see his shoulders shaking. He was laughing, damn him. Even Aunt Peg looked amused by this turn of events.

“I am
not
a story.”

“Sure you are.” Jill's sunny smile was back. “You're The School Teacher Mom Who Takes a Bite Out of Crime in Her Spare Time. Doesn't that sound great? I think that's going to be my lead.”

Her perkiness was really beginning to get on my nerves.

“Listen,” I said. “I understand your problem. But what I still don't see is why you've come to me. There are plenty of celebrities living in Fairfield County. Real ones, like Diana Ross, Paul Newman, and David Letterman. Those are the people you should go after. Not me.”

Jill hesitated briefly. Her cheeks grew pink. Obligingly, Rich leapt in to fill the silence.

“Those people also have managers, and publicists, and gated driveways,” he said. “You don't.”

Right. I should have known.

“I guess that means I wasn't your first choice.”

“Hell, no,” said Rich. That admission was followed by a yelp as Jill stuck a leg under the grooming table and kicked him in the shin. Maybe she was hoping I wouldn't notice.

“You were very near the top of the list,” she said determinedly.

“Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but like the other candidates who turned you down, I'm afraid you're going to have to take me off your list. There's no story here.”

“There is,” Jill insisted. “There has to be.”

Let me guess, I thought. This was what it felt like to be someone's last resort.

“Melanie?”

I looked over at Aunt Peg and saw that Eve had her topknot in and Sam was scissoring a finish on her trim. Considering her youth, there hadn't been that much preparation to do. Still it was nice of Sam to cover for me.

“I'm going up to the ring to get our numbers,” said Peg. “Be ready to go when I get back.” Figure this problem out, her tone implied. And make it go away.

I couldn't have agreed more.

As she left, I turned back to Jill and Rich. “Look, I don't have time to argue with you right now. My life is not the story you want, and I'm not going to do any interview.”

“Fine,” said Jill.

Her acquiescence came entirely too easily. A moment later, I realized why. Rich and Jill exchanged a look.

“Backup plan,” said Rich.

Jill nodded.

That didn't sound good.

I knew I'd probably kick myself later, but I had to ask. “What's the backup plan?”

“You don't have to talk to me.” Jill stepped away, and Rich followed. “In fact, feel free to ignore us completely. We'll just be over here, blending into the background.”

“And doing what?”

“Observing,” said Jill. “That's all. You're convinced there's no story. I think there is. Let's see who's right. According to my sources, you have a remarkable propensity for stumbling over dead bodies.”

If I'd had the time, I might have taken exception to that characterization. Instead, I was busy stuffing my pockets with dried liver and squeaky toys that I would use to get and keep Eve's attention in the ring.

“One might even think that you attract trouble,” Rich interjected from his new post on the other side of the hallway.

Like that might make me feel better.

“So we'll just follow along and keep tabs on how things are going,” said Jill. “And the next time you find yourself in the middle of a mystery, I'll be the one who breaks the news. I'm not just doing this for myself, you know. My story will make both of us famous.”

“I don't want to be famous—” I broke off abruptly as Aunt Peg reappeared waving our numbered armbands and bearing the news that the Poodle ring was running early. Fast judging was often sloppy judging; I could tell Aunt Peg wasn't pleased. “Then again, maybe you'll get lucky and my aunt will murder the Poodle judge.”

“That's not funny,” Peg snapped. She hopped Zeke down off his table and let him shake out on the ground. Now that she was a judge herself, she felt obliged to conduct herself with the utmost decorum.

“Who's trying to be funny?” I asked.

I patted my pockets and unrolled Eve's leash. Sam grabbed Tar, and we were off.

 

 

We arrived at the ring in a rush and found our judge having her picture taken with the previous breed's winners. That gave us a minute to catch our breath and regroup.

I used my long comb to flip through the silky hair on Eve's ears. Sam pulled out his scissors and rounded the pompon on Tar's tail. Aunt Peg put some more spray in Zeke's topknot. Poodle exhibitors are like gypsies; everything we own follows us around.

Jill and Rich, I was pleased to see, had found themselves a spot all the way over the other side of the ring. Maybe they really would be content to remain in the background. After a couple hours of that, I'd think anyone would be willing to concede that my life was every bit as boring as I'd said it was.

For most show dogs, the long road that leads to a championship begins in the Puppy Class. In most breeds, puppies are shown for experience and admired by the judges, but not often considered for points. Not so Poodles. Being a flashy, fast-maturing breed judged on their temperament and animation as much as their physical structure, Poodles do a great deal of winning as puppies. The fact that many people—judges and exhibitors alike—prefer the look of the puppy trim to the two highly stylized adult clips doesn't hurt, either.

All of which didn't help Aunt Peg one bit under Rachel Lyons. The two women locked eyes briefly as Peg led Zeke into the lineup for the first class. Mrs. Lyons managed a tight smile. It's considered bad form to acknowledge friendships in the show ring. In theory, judging is supposed to be bias-free and totally objective. Nobody really believes that, but we all do a decent job of pretending.

I watched as Aunt Peg put Zeke through his paces. There were only two puppies in the class. The other was several months older than Zeke and a good deal hairier, but with a plainer face and feet that tended to go flat on the slippery floor. He moved with reach and drive, however, and did not, unlike Zeke, bounce straight up into the air every time his handler squeezed his squeaky toy. Aunt Peg didn't look entirely surprised to be placed second of two, and she accepted her red ribbon with good grace.

With no entries in the intervening classes, Open Dogs was next, followed by Winner's Dog, then Puppy Bitch. Unless the puppy won Winner's and Aunt Peg had to take Zeke back in the ring to contend for Reserve, he was done for the day. Five hours of driving, at least that much time spent grooming, and all she had to show for her efforts was a scrap of satin ribbon.

Aunt Peg, however, wasn't displeased. “For a baby, I thought he acquitted himself beautifully,” she said, rewarding Zeke with a piece of liver from the pouch on her belt.

Eve caught the exchange and wagged her tail hopefully. Poodles don't miss much, and staying one step ahead of them requires constant vigilance. I was supposed to be saving her treats for the ring, but I slipped her a small piece anyway.

“Beautifully,” Sam agreed. His hand lifted and fell, mimicking the puppy's exuberant leaps. “Especially if Mrs. Lyons wanted to examine him at eye level.”