Authors: Laurien Berenson

Tags: #Suspense

A Pedigree to Die For (24 page)

BOOK: A Pedigree to Die For

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“Nice to meet you,” she said. “Don't mind me. I'll be in the kitchen, making do.”

Before Susan had even left the room, I was already backing toward the door. At some point Sam must have closed it behind me because now I ran right into it. I reached around and fumbled for the knob.

“Look, I'm really sorry. I never should have stopped by like this. It was a stupid ideaâ”

“It wasn't a stupid idea.” Sam followed me out onto the step. “And you don't have to leave.”

I stared at him as if he were crazy. “Of course I do.”

“First, tell me why you came.”

What was I supposed to say to that? Because I was hoping we might spend some time together? Hardly.

“Your water's boiling,” Susan called from the kitchen. “Do you want the pasta in?”

It's too bad I was one of the involved parties. Otherwise I might have found the expression on Sam's face to be almost comical.

“Look,” I said firmly, “I didn't mean to intrude and I'm out of your hair, right now.”

If I'd gone down those steps any faster, I'd have fallen on my face. Then it would have had a reason for being so red.

“I'll call you,” said Sam.

Yeah, right.

Twenty-five

I could have headed home, but then I would have had plenty of time to dwell on what had just happened. Distraction seemed like a better idea. I drove west instead and made my second unannounced visit of the evening at Bedford Farm, Crawford Langley, Prop.

Langley seemed just as surprised to see me as Sam had been. But at least he was alone. He opened the door in stocking feet, carrying a glass filled with two fingers of scotch, neat. The nightly news was playing in the background.

Before I could introduce myself, he cocked his head slightly to one side and said, “Travis.” Then a moment's thought produced a first name. “Melanie. You're the lady with the bitch.”

“Yes. How nice of you to remember.”

He frowned slightly, peering around behind me. “Don't tell me she's in season now.”

“Oh no, nothing like that. Actually I've been trying to reach you on the phone. I was hoping we could talk.”

“I guess.” He stepped aside so I could come in. “But I've just gotten back from a show, and I have another tomorrow, so it can't take long.”

Langley switched off the television set, then paused next to a bar cabinet holding a selection of tumblers and bottles. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Coke?”

While he was pouring, I got straight to the point. “The last time we met, I wasn't entirely honest with you.”

“Oh?” He handed me the glass and we both sat.

“I am looking for a stud dog, but I had a particular dog in mind. My aunt is Margaret Turnbull. I've been trying to track down the whereabouts of her dog, Beau.”

For the second time, I'd succeeded in surprising him. “And you suspected
I'd
taken him?”

“At the time, I thought there might be a possibility. Of course as soon as I saw your dog, I knew I was wrong.”

“About that dog. I have others as I'm sure you know. Is that why you're here?”

“No.” There didn't seem to be any way to say this nicely, so I didn't even bother to try. “I'm here because I want to know what your relationship is with Tony Wass- ” erman.”

“I don't see that that's any of your business.”

“You're right,” I admitted. “It isn't. But I've spent the last two months trying to find a dog that doesn't seem to be anywhere, and one of the few things I have managed to discover is that Peg's next-door neighbor, who claims to have neither seen nor heard anything the night Beau was stolen, is very probably hiding something. If you know what that something is, I want you to tell me.”

Crawford stared down at the tumbler in his hand, shifting it from side to side so the amber liquid swirled in the light. “I've always admired the Cedar Crest Poodles,” he said finally. “Your aunt is a fine woman.”

“Then you'll help me?”

“I couldn't help you even if I wanted to. I'd heard that one of Peg's dogs was missing, but I have no idea where he is.” He stood up and walked over to the bar. “I'm afraid you've come here for nothing.”

No, I'd gone to Sam's house for nothing. Perhaps if that experience hadn't been so fresh in my mind, I would have backed down. But that would have meant that my entire evening had been a waste of time; and I was just irritated enough by the way things were turning out not to let that happen. I had a hunch about what the two of them were hiding, and I played it.

“You and Tony are . . . involved, aren't you?”

Langley turned slowly to face me. “What a quaint way of putting it.”

“All right then.” If he wanted me to spell it out, I supposed I could manage. “Having an affair.”

Crawford sipped at his drink. A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “It was much more than that.”

“Was?”

“Was . . . is. Who knows? I've never been one for static relationships.”

I thought back furiously. “Doris said she and Tony had never been to a dog show.”

“Quite right, I'm sure.”

“Then how did you meet?”

“At Max and Peg's, of course. Isn't it ironic? They had a party several summers ago, and fate stepped in. Tony took one look at me and fell like a ton of bricks.”

“What about Doris?”

“Ah yes.” Crawford sighed. “There was that little complication. At first it didn't seem to matter. Tony was . . . motivated, shall we say, and he proved very adept at juggling.”

“And now?”

“Now it's gotten to the point where Doris barely lets him out of her sight. I can't imagine why he puts up with it, but I certainly don't have to. I've told Tony it's over. Several times, in fact. But then he pleads for another chance and, well . . .” His voice trailed away as he readdressed his scotch.

I thought about what he'd said. It answered everything except what I needed to know. “What does this have to do with Aunt Peg's dogs?”

“That's what I've been trying to tell you. Nothing. The only reason Tony is so angry about those Poodles is because when he's sitting at home with dull, stolid Doris, their barking reminds him of me.” Langley smiled. “It's not hard to imagine where he'd rather be.”

He stood, and I figured my time was up. On the way to the door, I tried one last question. “I heard that you do some showing in Canada. Were you up there this year?”

“No. I used to go because one of my clients enjoyed it. Now that his account is gone, I don't bother.”

“Which client was that?”

“A man named Jack Berglund.” He drew the door open, and I found myself being inched out. “You may have run into him at the shows.”

“I have. Do you know if he went up north this year?”

“You'd have to ask him,” Langley said shortly. “I don't keep up with anything Berglund does anymore.”

I started to thank him, but the door closed in my face. Obviously it was not my night for graceful exits.

Back in the car, I drove like crazy and managed to get to Stamford just as the birthday party was ending. Alice Brickman was standing at the front door, greeting the returning parents with palpable relief. She had green icing in her hair and a pizza stain on the front of her shorts. Her front hall was mostly intact, but the family room looked as though Sherman's army had marched through recently.

“How'd it go?” I asked when the rest of the group had gone.

“It's over,” Alice said with a survivor's grin. “That's all that matters.”

“Do you know you have icing in your hair?”

She stopped at the hall mirror, poking at the sticky clump with a shrug. “That's the least of my problems. I also have an exploded juice box in the microwave and Legos in my VCR. None of which I plan to worry about in the immediate future. After running around nonstop for the last three hours, I think I've earned a cigarette and a cup of coffee.”

Joey and Davey were in the family room with a pile of new toys which was big enough to keep them occupied for at least a while. Alice and I went into the kitchen. She lit up and I started the coffee maker.

We'd met at a neighborhood play group when our sons were less than a year old and formed an immediate bond. Alice's husband, Joe, was a lawyer in town who worked long hours and left the child raising to her. Joey's fourteen-month-old sister, Carly, was upstairs asleep. Not unexpectedly, Joe was nowhere in sight. The thought of twelve four- and five-year-olds taking over his home had been enough to keep him in the office until after everything was finished.

“I should be cleaning up,” Alice said as I poured the coffee and served us each a cup. Good intentions notwithstanding, she made no move to rise.

“Later.” I sank down beside her. “I'll help. It'll only take half the time.”

“You don't have toâ”

“Of course not,” I agreed. “Just like you didn't have to drive to White Plains to pick me up the last time my car died.”

That shut her up. We'd been covering each other's backs for years. Now Alice needed some time to sit and unwind, and I was happy to do the same. After the evening I'd had, almost anything would have seemed like an improvement.

We drank two cups each before deciding we were fortified enough to tackle the mess that awaited us. Alice scrubbed the microwave while I put the family room back together. I only had to shake the VCR twice to know that it was beyond my help. I unplugged it and recommended a trip to the repair shop. Joey and Davey both fell asleep in front of the TV.

By the time I got Davey home and snuggled into his own bed, it was almost ten. Of course, thanks to those two cups of coffee, I couldn't fall asleep myself. I put on my pajamas and climbed into bed, but the book I'd left on my nightstand didn't hold my interest. Instead I found myself thinking about Crawford Langley and Tony Wasserman. Then I added Randall Tarnower to the mix. And Jack Berglund, who liked to show his Poodles in Canada . . .

I thought about them all for a good long time and finally the pieces began to fall into place. It was like a crossword puzzle; one right answer made the next one come that much more easily. And when I remembered the phone conversation I'd had with Janet Reavis, I knew I was headed in the right direction.

She'd told me she'd gone to visit a breeder, but hadn't been able to see any puppies because two stud dogs had gotten into a fight. She wanted to find someone closer so she wouldn't have to drive all the way to Litchfield again.

Jack Berglund lived in Litchfield.

When I'd visited him, he'd told me he only had one stud dogâRanger, the Poodle I'd come to see. A Poodle he was very high on. A Poodle he'd just acquired and couldn't wait to breed. So where had the second dog come from?

I reached for the phone and dialed Aunt Peg.

It rang three times before she picked up, and then she didn't sound too happy about it. “Do you know what time it is?” she demanded.

“No.”

“Well then I'll tell you. And bear in mind that I'm reading from the clock beside my bed. It is after midnight.”

“Aunt Peg, listen. I'm sorry I woke you up, but there's something we need to talk about. I think I might know where Beau is.”

“Where?” Aunt Peg was instantly awake.

I told her about my visit to Langley's place, the conversation I'd had with Janet and the connections I'd been making since. This was good stuff; the first real lead we'd had. I thought she'd be thrilled, but when I finished speaking there was only silence.

“Aunt Peg, are you awake?”

“Unfortunately. Melanie dear, am I getting this straight? You got me up in the middle of the night to tell me that you think Jack Berglund might have had a dog fight and by the bye, he's the type of person who could conceivably have Canadian change in his pocket?”

Put that way, my ideas didn't sound nearly so impressive.

“Yes, I guess so.”

“That's what I thought. I'm going back to sleep, and I suggest you do the same.” The telephone clicked down with finality.

All in all, it was just not my day.