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Authors: Laurien Berenson

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BOOK: Death of a Dog Whisperer (9780758284570)
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“You're lucky to be having two so close together,” I said. Bob and I followed the couple into a living room that was bright with color, and appeared to have been decorated with a baby's needs in mind.
“How old are yours?” Susan got Franny settled in a baby bouncy seat, then sat down in a chair beside it.
“I have two boys,” I told her. “Davey's eleven and Kevin is two. Bob is Davey's father. We're divorced.”
“Oh.” Susan sounded surprised. “I hadn't realized that. But you still live in the same house?”
“No, we don't.” Once again, I was reminded that our living arrangements were more tangled than most. “Bob is the one who currently lives in the home that once belonged to your grandmother. He and I bought the house together when we got married twelve years ago. Since the divorce, one or the other of us has always lived there. But not both at the same time.”
That was a highly simplified version of the moves that had taken place over the years, but hopefully I'd conveyed enough information to make sense. Susan nodded, and Bob picked up the story.
“When I moved back in, I started doing some updating,” he said. “That's when I discovered the ring. Before we show it to you, could you tell me why you think it belonged to your grandmother, and how it ended up where I found it?”
“You're right to be cautious,” said Jim. “I've never seen the ring myself but I've heard family stories about it. I understand that it's a valuable piece.”
Susan leaned forward in her seat. She was almost bouncing with eagerness. “The ring's history in my family goes back four generations. My great-grandmother Ethel was a war bride. She met my great-grandfather in England during World War I. After the war she immigrated to the United States to be with him. That ring was purchased to mark the occasion of her arrival.”
“The jeweler told me that the ring's design was Art Deco,” Bob said. “That fits with the time period.”
“I've been told that Ethel never removed the ring from her finger,” Susan continued. “When she died, she left it to her oldest daughter, my grandmother, with the stipulation that it would always remain in the family, passed down in each succeeding generation to the eldest daughter.”
“What a great story,” I said. “I can see why you'd be anxious to get the ring back. Do you know how your grandmother lost it?”
“No, I don't. I was a very young child at the time. All I know is that Grandma was devastated when she discovered it was gone. She thought it must have slipped off her finger while she was doing housework. I remember hearing her say that she had looked everywhere for it, but none of us ever saw the ring again.”
“It was upstairs, in the bathroom,” I told her. “Bob was breaking down a wall when he came across it in the rubble.”
Susan sighed happily. “Grandma would have been thrilled to know that it's finally been found. My mother too. She lives in Florida now. When she called to say that she'd heard from Emily Morris, she told me that when I was a toddler I used to take Grandma's ring, put it on, and dance around the room.”
“It's the kind of ring that inspires dancing,” I said with a smile.
“We have a picture,” Jim said, rising from his seat. “Let me get it for you.”
He left the room and returned a minute later with a black-and-white photograph in a scrolled silver frame. He handed the picture to Bob and I leaned over to have a look too. The image was of a woman seated on a sofa, holding a small child on her lap. Judging by their dress and hairstyles, I guessed the photograph had been taken in the 1950s.
Susan reached across the space between us and pointed. “The little girl is my mother. Look where her mother's hand curls around her waist to hold her steady. You can see the ring there.”
Bob lifted the picture up to take a closer look. We both squinted at it. Susan Bell's grandmother did indeed appear to be wearing a ring on her finger. Whether or not it was the same ring as the one Bob had found in his bathroom, I couldn't begin to fathom.
“That picture is just for context,” Jim said quickly. “Once we knew you were coming, I took the photograph out of the frame and scanned it. Then I enlarged the area in question. You can see the ring much more clearly here.”
He handed me a sheet of paper. I held it between me and Bob so he could see too. The image on the paper was gray and grainy. Even so, I was able to make out enough of the ring's distinctive features to be convinced.
Bob looked at me and nodded. We were both in agreement. I reached down and withdrew the small pouch from my pocket.
Susan's eyes widened at the sight of it. She seemed to be holding her breath. When I held out my hand, she hesitated a moment before lifting the jewelry bag from my fingers.
“Go ahead and take it,” I said. “It belongs to you.”
Chapter 22
“A
fter all these years . . .” Susan said on a slow, indrawn, breath. I can hardly believe it.”
Her husband laughed and nudged her hand forward. “Take a look,” he said. “The suspense is killing me.”
Susan laughed with him then. Hesitation gone, she grabbed the pouch. Her fingers scrambled to undo the slender drawstring. When she pulled it loose, the ring tumbled out into her hand.
For a moment, she didn't even look at it. Instead she closed her fingers tightly over the piece of jewelry, encasing it in her fist, and simply reveling in its possession.
“It's the right ring,” she said. “I feel it.”
“You haven't even seen it yet,” Jim pointed out.
“I don't need to. I just know.”
Susan glanced over at me. I nodded. I'd been there.
Slowly she uncurled her fingers and revealed the family heirloom. Its diamonds flashed and sparkled in the light. Jim just stood and stared. Susan's lower lip began to quiver, then abruptly she burst into tears.
Bob looked taken aback. He glanced over at me. “That's good . . . right?”
I swallowed heavily. The emotion of the moment had gotten to me too. “That's very good,” I told him.
“Don't mind me,” Susan wailed between sobs. “It's just the pregnancy hormones.”
Franny looked up from her padded seat. Seeing her mother's tears, she began to cry too. Jim strode over, unbuckled his young daughter, and picked her up. Automatically he began to bounce up and down in place.
“Your great-grandmother's ring,” he said gently to his wife. “Home at last.”
“Thank you!” Susan launched herself up out of her seat. She spread her arms wide and managed to hug both me and Bob at the same time. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”
“I think I'm getting a clue,” Bob said with a laugh.
Susan straightened and walked over to where her husband and daughter stood. “Look at the beautiful ring,” she said, waving the bauble in Franny's face. “Someday it will be yours.”
“And on another day far, far, in the future,” Jim added, “it will belong to your daughter.”
“But in the meantime,” Susan said, tears still running down her face, “you can wear it anytime you want to dance around the room and pretend to be a princess.”
“That's so great.” I sighed.
Bob's expression clouded. It looked as though he was finally beginning to understand the impact of the ring's emotional heft. “Why don't we have any family heirlooms like that?” he asked me.
I reached over and patted his arm. “Bob, we don't even have a family together anymore.”
“Oh yeah. Right.” He shook his head. “For a moment there, I forgot.”
We both stood up to go.
“You did a good thing today,” I told him.
“I guess every so often I get something right.”
“You do better than that,” I said.
Jim and Susan were standing beside one another, with Franny tucked in between them. The adults were engaged in a whispered conversation. I figured we should probably let ourselves out.
As we started for the door, Jim called us back. “Susan and I want to give you a reward,” he said.
Bob and I looked at each other. Once again, we were in agreement.
“That's not necessary,” I told Jim.
“But you deserve a reward,” said Susan. “You could have kept the ring for yourselves. You could have decided it was too hard to track us down. We would never have known the difference. At the very least, let us repay you for your time and effort.”
Bob stepped back to where the couple was standing and extended his hand. Susan reached out and grasped it in both of hers.
“Thank you,” he said earnestly. “But Melanie and I already got all the reward we need.”
Moments like that, I remember why I married that man.
 
Monday morning. Another work week, more stuff to do.
The first thing I did was call Diana Lee. Well, actually not the first thing. By the time I called Nick's girlfriend, I'd already made breakfast, washed the dishes, delivered Davey to camp, and taken the Poodles for a two mile walk. Diana didn't strike me as the early riser type. So I got around to her midmorning.
Good thing I'd exercised some restraint, because she sounded half-asleep when she picked up the phone. I offered to buy her a grande coffee and she agreed to meet me at the Starbucks on Greenwich Avenue in half an hour.
“Sorry,” I said to Sam. “Kev's all yours again. Diana doesn't do children.”
“Her loss,” he said with a shrug.
“She doesn't do dogs either,” I told him.
“Now I know I wouldn't like her.”
“She has long blond hair and a perfect manicure,” I mentioned. You know, just throwing it out there.
Sam laughed. He didn't take the bait. Instead, he leaned down, gave me a quick kiss, and said, “And you have an orange juice stain on the front of your shirt.”
“Oh man.” I groaned. “Seriously? I just got dressed.”
So I clumped upstairs, changed my shirt, then drove over to Greenwich to meet Diana. Midmorning, the coffee bar was nearly empty. An elderly woman was reading a book at one table. At another, two teenagers were passing an iPad back and forth.
Apparently Diana had taken my offer of free coffee seriously because when I arrived I saw that she'd staked out a table by the window, but not yet purchased a drink. I took her request, went to the counter and ordered for both of us, then joined her at the table five minutes later.
Diana had been checking her e-mail on her phone. Now she tucked the device into her purse and said, “Where's the kid?”
“At home with his father.”
I slid Diana's espresso macchiato across the table. The dark drink looked like a straight shot of caffeine. If I was lucky, she'd gulp it down and start to chatter like an organ grinder's monkey.
“Home?” She lifted one finely arched brow.
“Sure.” I sipped my mocha latte and licked a stray bit of whipped cream off my lip. “What's the matter with that?”
“It's Monday. I would have expected your husband to be at work.”
“He might be working,” I told her. “Although Kevin can be a pretty strong deterrent to productivity when he wants to be. Sam works for himself. He designs computer software.”
Diana lifted her glass and took a small sip. Maybe the beverage was still too hot for gulping. I continued to hold out hope.
“Is that a lucrative field?” Diana asked.
“If you're good.” Just for good measure, I punctuated the comment with a Cheshire cat smile.
Stew on that, I thought. I wasn't about to mention that Sam was still collecting royalties from a wildly successful video game he'd designed while in business school. Diana would probably jump to the conclusion that I'd married Sam for his money.
Just like last time, it was difficult for me to imagine this woman as a long-term love interest for Nick Walden. Or heck, even a short-term one. Sure she was beautiful. But seriously, they had to have talked
sometime
, didn't they?
Yet another reason why men remain a mystery to the legions of smart, capable, worthy, but not drop-dead-gorgeous women of the world.
I gave my head a slight shake, putting my wayward thoughts back in order, and got down to business. “I spoke with Taran Black,” I said.
Diana gazed at me over the rim of her cup. “Did he confess?”
I snorted under my breath. “No. And in fact, he has an alibi for the night that Nick was killed.”
I didn't add
unlike you
, but the thought hung there in the air between us.
“Lucky,” she murmured.
“Even better,” I countered. “Not guilty. Taran told me to ask you what happened when you found out that Nick was fooling around with one of this clients.”
“Of course he'd bring
that
up,” she snapped.
I took another drink of my latte and waited for her to elaborate.
“Taran's the kind of guy who likes stirring up trouble,” Diana said after a minute.
“For Nick?” I asked. “For you? Or just for people in general?”
Diana glanced at the slim gold watch on her wrist. “You ask the dumbest questions.”
Sad to say, it's not the first time someone has said that.
“Feel free to point me in the direction of better ones,” I told her.
“Why should I?”
“Because you want to see Nick's killer brought to justice.” I paused, then added, “You do, don't you?”
“It doesn't matter what I want,” Diana said with a shrug. “It's not up to me.”
“Then there's no harm in discussing what happened. I'm guessing we're talking about Carol Luna?”
“Do you know her?”
“Not yet,” I admitted.
“No great loss.”
I was betting Carol Luna might have said the same thing about her.
“Tell me about her relationship with Nick,” I invited.
“She has some little yappy dog. Maybe a Poodle.” Diana looked up. “That's what you have, right?”
“Same breed. But mine are big and they don't yap.”
“Well, Carol's dog never shuts up. That's why she hired Nick. Me, I'd have had the thing unbarked. You can do that. I read about it on the Internet.”
I nodded and didn't correct her terminology. There was no point in allowing myself to get sidetracked when Diana was already feeling antsy.
“But instead she asked Nick to help her,” I said.
“That's how they met. Or maybe I should say, that's how Carol got her clutches into him.”
“Nick was a grown man,” I mentioned. “He was capable of making his own decisions.”
Diana shook her head. She didn't want to hear it.
“We were happy together,” she told me. “He wouldn't have strayed if she hadn't gone after him. Carol seduced him; that's what happened.”
Or that was what she wanted to believe.
“Even so—” I began.
“Any man is susceptible,” Diana said loftily, “when a woman puts her mind to it.”
Said the gorgeous woman who'd probably never heard the word
no
in her life. It's a good thing I'm an adult. Otherwise I'd have stuck out my tongue. Did she truly have no idea how the other half lived?
“And you found out,” I said.
“Of course I found out. The woman had no shame. She called Nick. She
pursued
him. Only an idiot wouldn't have noticed that something was going on.” Diana stared at me across the table. “And I am
not
an idiot.”
“Surely not,” I agreed.
“I know what infidelity looks like.”
I wasn't about to ask how.
“Nick promised me it was over between them,” Diana growled. “But still that woman wouldn't go away. And then I found out that he was still training her little yapper. How could it be over if he was still seeing her?”
“Did you ask Nick that?”
“I most certainly did. And he had the nerve to tell me that she was a good client. That things were strictly business between them now.”
“But you didn't believe him?”
Diana shook her head. “Did you hear me
say
that I'm not an idiot?”
Point taken.
“I decided that something needed to be done to illustrate my unhappiness. Something that would make my feelings known. You know—in a way that even a
man
would notice.”
“So what did you do?”
“I built a little fire in Nick's backyard,” Diana said with satisfaction. “And I burned half his clothes.”
I'd heard of women throwing hissy fits like that. But I'd never actually met someone in person who'd done it. All the women I count as friends are entirely too practical to be so wasteful. Sitting there with Diana, I suddenly felt like an anthropologist who'd stumbled upon a new subspecies of female
homo sapiens.
One that definitely demanded further study.
“Which half?” I asked curiously.
“What?”
“You said you burned half of Nick's clothing. I was wondering which half.”
“Are you always this literal?”
“Usually,” I admitted.
“It was a rhetorical question,” Diana said curtly. “But since you asked, I didn't pick and choose. I just burned the ones that were in the front of his closet. I grabbed an armload and went to work.”
I'm sure this wasn't Diana's intention, but here's what I took away from that story. One: she had a volatile and perhaps irrational temper. And two: Diana had had access to Nick's house when he wasn't there. Which meant that she could have let herself inside without Nick's knowledge on the night that he was killed.
“So you resorted to violence to get your point across,” I said.
“Against
clothes,
” Diana specified. “It's not like I actually hurt anyone.”
“Do the police know about that?”
“Not unless somebody else told them. I certainly didn't.”
“I can see why not,” I said. “They might have found the fact you were angry enough at Nick to attack him in that way pretty suspicious.”
“Let me repeat.” Diana spoke slowly and emphasized each word as though I was stupid. “The only thing I attacked was Nick's
clothing
. It's not the same thing at all.”
BOOK: Death of a Dog Whisperer (9780758284570)
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