Death of a Dog Whisperer (9780758284570) (16 page)

“Ride,” Kev said firmly. “Ride in big truck!”

“Not today,” I told him, equally firm.

When his small hand eluded my grasp, I swooped down and picked him up. I intended to settle him on my hip but Kevin had other ideas. He continued to wiggle in protest. Fully occupied by my squirming toddler, I didn't even notice Phil's approach. So I was startled to look up and find him standing right next to me.

Phil reached out, circled his hands around Kevin's shoulders, and tried to lift him out of my arms. “Let me just put him in the bed for a minute,” he said.

That was
so
not happening. Kev did not need to climb in the back of a rusty old truck filled with sharp objects. And Phil needed someone to acquaint him with the concepts of boundaries and personal space. If he didn't get out of my face in the next three seconds, that person was going to be me.

Holding Kevin to me securely, I backed away. “I said no,” I repeated.

Finally Phil got the message. He held up his hands in a gesture of injured innocence. “Sure, Mom. Whatever you say. Sorry, buddy.”

Kevin began to wail. In the space of an instant he morphed from over-stimulated to over-tired. He probably had a headache too. I know I did.

Phil turned his back on us and went to help James unload. Good riddance, I thought, as I carried Kevin back to where Bob was waiting.

My ex fell into step beside me as I carried the crying child down the sidewalk in the other direction. “Sorry about that,” he said.

I just shook my head. It wasn't Bob's fault. “What's with those guys anyway? Don't they seem kind of weird to you?”

“I don't know. And frankly I don't care. The two of them are hatching some kind of bogus get-rich-quick scheme. Whatever it is, I don't want any part of it.”

Lulled by the motion of my walking, Kevin's wails had subsided. I switched him to my other hip. His head fell back to rest on my shoulder. In another minute, he'd be asleep.

“Bogus?” I said. “In what way?”

“I have no idea. But if their plan was legit, I'm guessing that they would have told me what it was instead of dangling the opportunity in front of me like bait and waiting for me to jump on it.”

“They wanted you to give them money?”

“They wanted me to
invest
. I was promised a big return.”

“Wow,” I said with a laugh. “Lucky you.”

“Tell me about it.” Bob grinned. His mama didn't raise no fool. At least not when it came to finances.

We reached the car and Bob opened the back door. Kevin was finally asleep. I slid his boneless weight into the seat and fastened the straps.

“What are they doing with the building supplies?” I asked.

The Fines' backyard was no bigger than Bob's. I knew from firsthand experience that there was barely room for a swing set and a sandbox. Construction of any kind was pretty much out of the question.

“You got me. James mentioned something about a project he's working on in his basement. To tell the truth, I wasn't paying that much attention. The guy likes to talk a lot. I don't always listen.”

In his place, I'd have probably done the same. “Are you seeing Claire soon?” I asked.

Bob nodded. “Tonight.”

“Tell her I said hi.”

“Really?” Bob looked surprised.

“Yeah. Give her my best.”

I left him thinking about that, climbed in my car, and drove home.

I
meant to follow Alice's advice. I honestly did. I figured I would start doing so just as soon as the smoldering kernel of resentment that flared to life every time Sam opened his mouth died a withering death.

Unfortunately I didn't have a clue how to make that happen.

So instead I worked on keeping myself busy. If forgiving and forgetting was too hard to manage, maybe absence would make the heart grow fonder. My life was turning into a succession of clichés. The teacher in me found that utterly demoralizing.

I spent the next several days talking to five more of Nick's clients. They all had the same thing to say. Nick had been terrific with their dogs, an enthusiastic and intuitive trainer, and they'd been very sorry to hear of his demise. Several asked if I had any recommendations for a replacement trainer. I told them I'd think about it and get back to them.

Nearly a week had passed since I'd spoken with Claire about finding her brother's killer and I was beginning to feel like I was spinning my wheels. Everyone had loved Nick Walden—except for the one person who hadn't. But I was no closer to discovering that person's identity than I'd been in the beginning.

There's something about talking to Aunt Peg that always clears my head. Alice would probably say that's because Peg scares the rest of the extraneous clutter right out of my brain. I prefer to think it's the fact that I feel the need to stay on my toes while in her presence. That alone seems to sharpen my focus.

The three things Aunt Peg enjoys most in life are her Poodles, solving puzzles, and showing up her often-deficient niece. That would be me, in case you had any doubts. So when I called the next morning to see if I might drop by—and even volunteered to bring a Poodle with me, thereby serving up the trifecta of wish fulfillment—I wasn't expecting any resistance on Aunt Peg's part.

Nor was I expecting the level of enthusiasm that my suggestion produced.

“Perfect,” she said. “Come right now.”

“Now?”
I squeaked.

“Yes, now. As in right this minute. Is there something wrong with that idea?”

Where to begin, I thought. For starters, it was barely eight
A.M.
and my family had yet to sort itself out for the day.

Kevin was sitting at the kitchen table with a half-eaten bowl of Cheerios and a spoon he'd decided he'd rather use as a drum. Davey was out on the deck brushing the previous day's mud off his shin guards. His backpack was sitting on a chair, half-full. I had yet to grab him a clean jersey from the laundry or make his lunch.

The pack of Poodles was split between the two boys. Half the dogs were outside, the other half were under the table waiting for spillage. Sam was leaning against the counter sipping a cup of coffee. He tipped his head and raised a brow at my startled response.

“I'm a little busy,” I said.

“Then why did you call?” Aunt Peg sounded miffed.

“I thought maybe later—”

“Later will be too late.”

“Aunt Peg, what are you up to?”

“I've invited Detective O'Malley to come and give me an update on his investigation. Unlike you, he thought this sounded like a fine time. I expect him within the half hour.”

“No way,” I said incredulously. “O'Malley agreed to drive all the way out to your house just to give
you
an update?”

“He did indeed,” Aunt Peg replied. She paused briefly, then added, “I may have sweetened the pot a little.”

Of course she had. My aunt was a master at manipulation. Ask me how I know—but only if you have several hours to listen to the answer.

I leaned over, plucked the spoon out of Kevin's hand, and put it back in his cereal bowl. For several seconds he wavered between protesting and eating. Luckily hunger won out. He scooped up a spoonful of Cheerios and shoved them in his mouth.

“What did you tell him?” I asked.

“I alluded to a tidbit of information about Nick that I'd previously forgotten to mention.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“If you want to know that, you'll have to come. At the same time, you can hear what O'Malley has to say
and
take the opportunity to dazzle him with a few deductions of your own.”

“I don't have any deductions,” I told her. “Dazzling or otherwise.”

“You have half an hour,” Aunt Peg said impatiently. “Perhaps you should come up with some.”

Davey chose that moment to come clumping in from outside. I had no idea why he was already wearing his cleats, but the knocking sound they made when they hit the hardwood floor caught Tar's attention. The big Poodle jumped up and went to investigate. Head lowered for a closer look, he pounced on Davey's feet like he thought my son's shoes were small animals that needed killing.

Davey laughed and did an impromptu tap dance. That clatter caused the rest of the Poodles to jump up and run over to see what was making all the noise. Oblivious to the mayhem he'd provoked, my older son deftly eluded the oncoming canine mob and strolled over to the table. He tucked his shin guards into his backpack, then looked up at me.

“What's for breakfast?” Davey asked brightly.

Around us, the commotion in the kitchen had increased sixfold. In the time it took to blink I found myself standing in the midst of a swarm of Poodles. All the dogs were now running wildly around the room, sticking their noses into corners, and trying to figure out what the source of the excitement had been and where it had disappeared to.

“Aunt Peg, I'll have to get back to you,” I said.

Sam straightened, walked over, and took the phone out of my hands. “Peg,” he said, “she's on her way.” He listened for a minute, then hung up the phone and handed it back to me.

“But—” I began.

Sam didn't wait for me to finish. “Go.”

“Davey's lunch—”

“I'll make it.”

“His jersey—”

“In the laundry,” Davey piped up helpfully.

“I'll find it.”

“Kev—”

“He's with me,” Sam said firmly. “Go.”

“Go!” cried Kevin.

The toddler punctuated the command by bouncing his spoon off the table. A stray Cheerio went catapulting through the air. Raven caught it on the fly.

“I have things under control here,” said Sam, appearances to the contrary notwithstanding. “Go keep Peg from getting herself arrested.”

So I went.

 

I had intended to take Augie with me to visit Aunt Peg. But under the current circumstances, the puppy's company would be superfluous. With Detective O'Malley due to arrive at any minute, she and I were going to have plenty of other things to keep us busy. I'd start by passing along a stern warning about the police detective.

The first time O'Malley and I met, we hadn't exactly hit it off. Three years had passed since then, but I still had a very clear memory of him asking me if my dogs were licensed and reading Davey his rights. The latter was supposed to have been all in fun. At least that was what I'd thought until O'Malley had begun grilling me as though he was sure my life was filled with deep, dark, secrets that needed to be uncovered.

The detective hadn't liked my Poodles, he hadn't liked my answers, and he'd treated me like a simpleton. His interrogation technique was both dogged and pedantic. By the end, I'd almost wished I had something to confess just to liven up the proceedings. I could only hope that today's meeting turned out to be an improvement on our previous encounter.

When I got to Aunt Peg's house, I saw that O'Malley had beaten me there. Apparently the detective drove faster than he talked. A plain, dark blue sedan was already parked beneath the Japanese maple tree in the front yard.

I parked the Volvo and got out, then stood and stared at the house. Something was different. It took me a few seconds to figure out what it was. Then abruptly I realized this was the first time I'd ever shown up at Aunt Peg's and not immediately been greeted by her rambunctious canine horde.

Nor did I hear a joyous cacophony of barking from within. That was also decidedly odd. The Poodles should have been announcing my arrival. I hoped the surly detective hadn't shot them.

Aunt Peg's sharp tone roused me from my morbid thoughts. The front door was open and Peg was waiting. Her arms were folded over her chest. She glared down at me impatiently.

“Are you just going to stand there,” she asked, “or are you coming inside?”

“Coming,” I replied quickly. I hopped up the three steps and crossed the porch. “Where are the Poodles?”

Aunt Peg pulled me inside and shut the door. “Apparently Ed is
not
a dog person.”

“I know.”

“You might have warned me.”

“I might have,” I said mildly. “If I'd had any notice at all of what you were up to.” Then abruptly I stopped and stared. “Wait a minute . . .
Ed?
”

Aunt Peg nodded. “Detective O'Malley.”

“You called him Ed.”

“That's his name. Ed O'Malley. He and I are eating scones and comparing notes. We're getting along famously. Really, Melanie, must you make
everything
so difficult?”

Apparently so. I'd left home thinking I was on my way to an inquisition, only to arrive and to find myself at a tea party. This must have been how Alice felt when she dropped down into the rabbit hole.

Aunt Peg was entertaining Detective O'Malley in the kitchen, either because she wanted to set a tone of friendly informality or-more likely—because that placed them closer to the food. The detective clearly didn't mind. He was seated at the butcher block table, munching on a blueberry scone that was liberally slathered with butter. A large mug filled with freshly brewed coffee sat beside his plate. I could smell its heady aroma as soon as I entered the room.

Aunt Peg's preferred drink is Earl Grey tea. When I visit, she's apt to pull out a stale jar of instant coffee and slap it on the counter. Obviously Detective O'Malley rated better treatment.

Seeing me, he swallowed, wiped his mouth on a linen napkin, and rose to his feet. O'Malley was just shy of six feet and built like a linebacker. He had bushy dark eyebrows and hair to match. Both were now threaded with strands of gray. That was new since the last time I'd seen him. He looked like he might have put on a couple of pounds too.

When Aunt Peg performed the introductions, O'Malley gazed at me with a perplexed frown as if he wasn't quite sure whether he recognized me or not. That being the case, I felt no compunction to jog his memory. He was the detective; he could do his own detecting.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the table.

“You look familiar,” he said finally.

“We met a couple of years ago,” I told him.

“In what connection?”

“You were investigating a murder at the Winston Pumpernill Nursing Home.”

“That's right.” O'Malley nodded slowly. “Mary Lennox. She was a lovely lady. I believe her nephew belonged to some kind of dog group?”

“The South Avenue Obedience Club. We made therapy dog visits to Winston Pumpernill.”

I could see the recognition dawn. O'Malley's gaze sharpened.

“You had a big black Poodle,” he said. The words came out sounding like an accusation. “Just like these here.”

He waved a hand as if to indicate that he was talking about Aunt Peg's Poodles. Except of course that none of them were in evidence.

“Exactly like that,” I agreed. “I got my Poodles from Aunt Peg.”

“And maybe your curiosity level too?”

“Quite possibly.” No need to point out that Peg and I weren't blood relatives. It would only confuse matters.

“Ed and I were just talking about Nick's laptop.” Aunt Peg finally interjected herself into the conversation. I wondered what had taken her so long. “The police retrieved it from Nick's house.”

“Was there anything interesting on it?” I asked.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, unfortunately. Nick Walden appears to have been just what everyone thought he was: a young guy with a clean record and no prior connection to trouble.”

“Except that everyone was obviously wrong,” Aunt Peg said acerbically. “What about his cell phone?”

The detective had broken off a piece of scone and popped it into his mouth. It didn't stop him from answering. “I believe I'm the one supposed to be asking the questions. You mentioned on the phone that you had a piece of information that might be useful to our investigation . . . ?”

“I have something to share,” Aunt Peg replied. “I can't promise it will be useful.”

She rose from her chair, collected O'Malley's mug, and refreshed his coffee from the pot on the counter. I couldn't decide whether the delaying tactic was meant to ratchet up the suspense, or whether Aunt Peg's promise of new evidence had merely been the lure she'd dangled in front of O'Malley and me to get us to dance to her tune. For her sake, I sincerely hoped it was the former.

“Why don't you let me be the judge of that?” the detective told her. He sat and waited expectantly.

“Nick has a sister,” Aunt Peg said as she replaced his mug on the table.

“Yes. Claire Walden, two years younger. We've spoken with her several times.” O'Malley paused, then added, “If you're going to tell me that I should look into her further, let me assure you that the young lady has a firm alibi. One, I might add, that was provided by a member of your own family.”