Death of a Dog Whisperer (9780758284570) (18 page)

How she knew where everything was, I have no idea. People who feel at home in other's people's kitchens baffle the heck out of me. Most days, I barely feel comfortable in my own.

“Back to Aunt Peg,” I said ten minutes later as I slipped a plate of food down in front of Claire and joined her at the table. “I gather you have a complaint to make. But why come here? You should have gone directly to Peg.”

“That's not happening,” Claire said firmly. “I've been told that your aunt is a holy terror.”

Bob's work, no doubt. Then again, he had a point.

“She can be,” I admitted. “But Aunt Peg liked Nick. She'll like you too.”

For someone who'd claimed to be too angry to eat, Claire was making very short work of her sandwich. On the other hand, her sweet pickles still sat on the side of the plate, untouched. Since I'd already scarfed mine down, I was tempted to steal hers. Only the realization that someone as picky about her food as Claire probably wouldn't appreciate my fingers dancing around her plate, kept my hands in my lap.

“Peg will associate me with Bob,” she said. “She'll probably hate me on sight.”

“She's not
that
bad.”

“Nevertheless, you're easier.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I think.”

Claire polished off the last of her sandwich and daintily wiped her lips with her napkin. It was time to get down to business, and the first words out of her mouth dispelled the notion that the meal might have improved her mood.

“Detective O'Malley showed up at my house an hour ago,” she pronounced. “I hoped he'd come because he had something to report about his investigation. Imagine my shock when instead he brought up a name that I haven't heard since I was in high school.”

“Anabelle Gifford,” I said.

“Anabelle Walden,” Claire corrected me. “That's was my sister's name the last time I saw her.”

“When was that?”

“Nearly ten years ago when she walked out of my parents' house. My mother was crying, my father was raging. Nick was trying to placate everyone, all to no avail. I think I was in shock. Mostly what I remember about that day is my father saying,
‘If you leave us for him, you're not a member of this family anymore. If you walk out that door, it will be closed to you forever.' ”

I swallowed heavily. The food I'd just eaten turned over in my stomach. No matter how angry I was, I couldn't imagine ever saying something like that to a child of mine.

“What had she done to make your parents so angry?” I asked.

“You'll probably think it's silly.”

“You've met my family,” I said. “I don't have any room to judge.”

Claire nodded. Hard not to agree with the truth.

“My parents are southerners,” she told me. “Conservative, religious, still not entirely sure that the Confederacy didn't win the war. They can be a little closed-minded about people who don't agree with them.” She paused, then added, “They're big on family values.”

It sounded just the opposite to me. But I kept quiet and let Claire continue speaking.

“Anabelle was in her senior year of high school. She'd just turned eighteen. She was about to graduate with honors.”

“She met a boy,” I guessed.

“Worse than that, she met a
man
. My father probably could have handled a boy. Or at least exerted some influence over what he and Anabelle did together. But Zane was in his twenties and out of school. He had a job tending bar, he played in a band on the weekends. He swept Anabelle right off her feet.”

“Was that so terrible?” I asked. “Eighteen isn't that young.”

“It was in my father's eyes. He still thought of Anabelle as his little princess. She was the oldest, the cheerleader, the baton twirler, the girly girl he'd always wanted. He always thought she could do no wrong.”

“That's a tough pedestal to balance on forever,” I pointed out.

Claire sighed. “The stupid thing was, Anabelle wasn't even trying to rebel. She just met a guy and fell in love. I don't think it ever crossed her mind that doing so would change her whole life. And that after that none of us would ever be the same.”

“A
t eighteen it's hard to think so far ahead,” I said.

“I'm sure it never occurred to Anabelle that she would have to,” Claire replied. “Zane's band got an opportunity to go to New York that summer. Supposedly they had a promise of a meeting with a record label. Now it sounds crazy—the idea that some big music producer would be interested in a local, southern, bar band—but when you're that age anything seems possible. Zane told Anabelle to pack her bags and she did.”

I could see where that was going, and it didn't look good.

“Anabelle had everything all planned out before she even told my folks. She gave up her waitressing job and figured she'd pick up another one in New York. Probably even make better money. She said she'd be back in plenty of time to start her freshman year at Wake Forest, just like Daddy expected her to.”

“I take it he didn't like that idea?”

Claire sighed. “He hated it. He didn't even stop to think before he forbade her to go. Daddy said that no daughter of his was going to turn herself into a low-class, trailer trash, groupie and follow some long-haired musician around from gig to gig. He and Anabelle fought about it for a week.”

“It sounds as though neither of them won in the end.”

“They were both too stubborn for their own good. And neither one would give an inch. Finally Zane just said that he'd go to New York without her. Well, that idea made Anabelle crazy. She was stuck in the middle between Zane and Daddy, trying desperately to keep both men in her life happy. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't make it happen.”

“So when she had to choose, she chose her boyfriend over your family,” I said.

“No.” Claire shook her head. “Not on purpose. Anabelle left with Zane, but I know she believed that Daddy would get over being mad once she was gone. She thought he'd miss her and be ready to forgive her when she came back. You have to understand, Anabelle had always been his favorite. She could get away with just about anything. She had no reason to think this would end up any differently.”

“But it must have,” I said with a frown. “Because it sounds as though she never did come back?”

“No, she didn't. But that wasn't Anabelle's doing; it was Daddy's. He was dead serious about locking the door behind her. Mama tried to change his mind. Nick and I did too. He wouldn't listen to any of us. It was as if Anabelle's running off to New York was a personal rejection of him. Daddy was so bitter about what she'd done that he wouldn't even let us mention her name.

“When fall came, I thought even if Anabelle wasn't coming home, surely she'd go to Wake Forest. But that didn't happen either. I know because I called the school and checked. Daddy wouldn't pay her bills and it was too late to apply for financial aid. She just disappeared. After Anabelle left the house that day, it was as if she fell off the face of the earth.”

I exhaled slowly. “How awful.”

“It
was
awful,” Claire agreed. “It tore our family apart, bit by bit. We were like a group of strangers living under the same roof. Nick couldn't wait to get away. That's why he decided to come north for college. When my turn came, I did the same. We both wanted a fresh start.”

“And in all the time since, you've still never had any contact with your sister?” I asked.

“Not even once. Back when I first came up here for school I thought about trying to track her down. But so much time had already passed. Plus Anabelle had never tried to get in touch with me either. So I thought maybe she didn't want to be found. Maybe Daddy was right and Anabelle had forgotten all about us and gone on with her life.”

“You never even wondered—”

“Of course I wondered!” Claire snapped. Tears shimmered in her amber eyes. “But what was I supposed to do? I didn't know where Anabelle was. As it turns out, I didn't even know her name. I certainly had no idea that Nick had been in touch with her.

“What happened with Anabelle was like some hideous family secret that I've spent the last ten years trying to put behind me. Then this morning, out of the blue, Detective O'Malley brought it all up again. Apparently your Aunt Peg knows things about my family that I didn't even know myself! I was totally blindsided by his questions. I couldn't begin to answer them. It's bad enough that I don't have any information about Anabelle. Even worse, this whole thing makes me feel like maybe I didn't even know my own brother.”

“I'm so sorry,” I said.

I picked up our plates and carried them over to the sink. Returning to the table, I brought a box of Kleenex with me.

Claire shook her head. “I'm not crying,” she said. The statement sounded more determined than factual. “I hate to cry. And now I seem to be doing it all the time.”

“You're allowed,” I said gently. “Crying might make you feel better.”

“It won't, trust me. My eyes swell up and my nose gets red. I look like a clown when I cry.” Now Claire sounded annoyed. She snatched a tissue from the box and blew her nose noisily. “Nick was my best friend. I thought I knew everything about him. Now I don't know what to think.”

“The police will need to talk to Anabelle,” I said.

Claire nodded. “They're looking for her now. O'Malley said he'd let me know when they find her.”

“Will you want to see her?”

“Of course. How could I not want that? Especially now, knowing that she'd gotten in touch with Nick before he died. After all this time, I don't even know who Anabelle is anymore. But she's still family.”

“It might be nice to have a big sister again,” I said.

“Maybe.” Claire didn't sound convinced. “Or maybe it's been so long that we won't have a single thing in common anymore. I guess I'll just have to play that part by ear.”

She pushed back her chair and stood. Claire picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder. Together we headed for the door.

“I hope Aunt Peg is forgiven,” I said. “I'm willing to let her take the blame for a lot of things but this really wasn't her fault.”

“That's not what Bob would say.” Claire managed a small smile. “He uses her as a scapegoat for just about everything.”

“She feels the same way about him,” I said with a laugh. I paused beside the door. “One quick question before you go?”

“Shoot,” said Claire.

“When I spoke with Diana, she mentioned someone named Taran Black. She said he owed Nick money. Do you know who he is?”

“Sure. I've known Taran since grade school. Nick has too. He's a little on the flakey side but basically harmless. I can't imagine him and Nick having a disagreement serious enough to yell about, much less . . .”

She didn't finish the sentence, but we both knew what had been left unsaid. Much less murder.

“Even so,” I said. “I'd like to talk to him.”

“I'll track down his phone number.”

“Thank you.”

“No. Thank
you
.” Claire surprised me by wrapping her arms around me and pulling me close in a hug. “This morning I was ready to kick the dog and scare the chickens. Talking to you helped a lot. I feel much better now.”

“I'm glad,” I said. I stepped back and looked at her. “You and Bob. If you don't mind my asking, how's that working out?”

“Good.” Claire nodded thoughtfully. “Really very good.”

“I'm happy to hear that,” I told her. “If . . . if that should change at some point, I hope that you and I will be able to stay friends.”

Claire blinked several times. I got the impression she might be blinking back more tears. Then unexpectedly I got another hug.

“I'd like that,” she said softly. “I really would.”

I stood in the doorway and watched her drive away. I don't make friends easily. Despite the uncomfortable circumstances under which we'd met, I was pretty sure Claire was going to be a keeper.

 

Since Sam and Kevin still hadn't reappeared and Davey didn't need to be picked up until four-thirty, I decided to make myself useful by talking to a couple more of Nick's clients. Bethany Grace lived in Shippan, a wealthy neighborhood in southern Stamford, located on a peninsula that juts out into Long Island Sound. Sara Owens's address was in Belle Haven, an equivalent coastal community of beautiful waterfront homes in Greenwich. The two destinations were only a short distance apart via the Connecticut Turnpike.

Luck was on my side. Bethany and Sara were both at home and each of the women agreed to see me that afternoon. Starting in North Stamford, I drove to Shippan first.

The Grace family lived in a large, cream-colored, Colonial on a corner lot near the yacht club. The house was set back from the road and surrounded by a profusion of low trees and flowering shrubs. A quick estimate revealed that the Graces probably spent more money on landscaping than I do on my mortgage. The overall effect was lovely however, so maybe that was just jealousy on my part.

When I got out of my car, I could smell the sharp tang of saltwater on the breeze that blew inland off the Sound. I wondered if a house like that came with its own private beach. As it turned out, I didn't have to speculate for long.

Bethany Grace opened the door to her home with her hand holding tight to the collar of a medium-sized, fluffy, white puppy. I recognized the prick ears and foxy face. American Eskimo Dogs, like Standard Poodles, compete in the Non-Sporting Group. I'd seen plenty of them at the shows.

This one, however, was leaping up and down in the doorway with the kind of frantic energy not usually seen in the show ring. It was also barking loudly enough to make my ears sting. White nails scrambled on the marble floor each time the puppy hit the ground briefly before launching itself back up into the air.

“Come in so I can shut the door,” Bethany said quickly. She was younger than the other clients I'd spoken with, probably in her late thirties with stick-straight blond hair and the face of a pixie. At the moment, a very disgruntled pixie.

“Snowy, stop that!” she ordered. “Behave yourself!”

I slipped past the squabbling pair and into the house. As soon as Bethany closed the door and released the puppy's collar, the little Eskie darted away, still barking shrilly. Halfway down the hallway, he spun to one side and dove under a cherrywood table positioned along the wall.

“Sorry about that,” Bethany said. “Snowy thinks he's in charge of the front door. And unfortunately he's not great at listening.”

As we introduced ourselves, Snowy came racing back. Now a big blue ball was clutched in his mouth. Tail flipped up and over his back, the puppy skidded to a stop in front of us. He dropped the ball at Bethany's feet and looked up expectantly. She pretended not to notice him, so I did too.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me,” I said.

“No problem. To tell the truth, I never turn down the opportunity for adult conversation. Especially during summer vacation.”

I recognized that feeling readily enough. “You must be a mother too.” I laughed.

Waiting below us, Snowy was growing tired of being ignored. He picked up the ball and dropped it again, then nudged it closer with his nose. After a few more seconds, the Eskie's paws began to dance impatiently on the polished floor. When we still didn't respond to his antics, he began to bark once more.

“Snowy, cut that out!”

The command had no discernible effect on the puppy's behavior, so Bethany repeated it. Once, and then again.

Good thing Aunt Peg wasn't there, I thought. She would have felt obliged to point out that a dog that wasn't corrected the first time it ignored a command was even less likely to respond appropriately the second time the command was given. Either that, or she simply would have smacked the woman. Fortunately, I was able to exercise more restraint.

Bethany looked at me and rolled her eyes, a mute plea for commiseration. I shrugged and waited to see what would happen next. Bethany leaned down and scooped up the ball. Before she'd even thrown it, Snowy was already scrambling away down the hallway in pursuit. No wonder the Eskie thought he was in charge.

“Come on,” she said. “Let's go sit on the terrace. “It'll be quieter out there.”

I wondered if that meant that we'd be leaving the puppy inside the house.

“He knows how to push your buttons,” I commented.

Bethany sighed. “Nick told me the same thing. We were working on turning that around.”

Then she opened the French doors at the other end of the hall and I forgot about talking and simply stopped and stared. The vista that opened out before us was incredible. Beyond the terrace, a manicured lawn sloped down to a narrow private beach. Sunlight glinted off the gently rolling waves of the azure blue Long Island Sound. Two sailboats were racing side by side and tacking into the light breeze.

“Wow,” I said.

“I know. It's gorgeous, isn't it? I see the view every day, so I've gotten used to it. But it's always nice when someone sees it for the first time and reminds me how lucky I am.”

We found seats in a pair of matching bamboo chairs. Snowy, who'd followed us outside, carried his ball into the middle of the yard. He lay down and began to chew.

“Here's the crazy thing,” said Bethany. “I have two teenagers who could be out here swimming or sailing, or over at the club playing tennis. Instead, Kyle's up in his room on the Internet doing God knows what. And Tyler's at the mall with her friends.”

“That seems like a shame on a beautiful day like this,” I agreed.