Death of a Dog Whisperer (9780758284570) (9 page)

“Everyone seems to have decided that I'm going to look into Nick's death,” I said. “No one has bothered to ask my opinion. Doesn't anybody want to hear what I think?”

“Not particularly,” Aunt Peg informed me.

To my surprise, it was Bob who took my question seriously. He reached his hands across the gap between us and placed them on top of mine. His eyes focused on mine with unnerving intensity.

“Here's what I need you to know,” he said. “Claire is devastated by Nick's death. It's not just that her brother is gone, but also that she can't make sense of how or why it happened. She needs answers, and I'm betting you can find them.”

I started to speak, but Bob didn't let me. He squeezed my hands and kept talking. “If you're willing to help me help Claire get through this, that's great. And if you're not . . . Then I guess I'll just have to do whatever it takes to change your mind.”

This time when Bob paused, I found I had nothing to say. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen my ex-husband so resolute about anything. This was a whole new side to him, one clearly prompted by his relationship with Claire. It looked like things might be more serious between them than I had initially thought.

“Let me think about it,” I said. “Okay?”

“Sure. Just know that Claire will be very grateful for any help you can give us. And so will I.” Bob released my hand and stood. He looked at the door, then looked back at me and arched a brow. “Am I clear to go now?”

“All clear,” I agreed. “I'll walk you out.”

On the way, I asked him if the Morris family had returned from vacation yet.

“Now that you mention it, they should be back in town by now. I'll give them another call and see if I can set up a meeting. The sooner we get that ring back with its rightful owner, the sooner James will stop driving me crazy.”

Aunt Peg has ears like a bat. “James?” she said, following us out into the hallway. “Is that the man who was in jail?”

“He wasn't in jail,” Sam corrected. “He just traveled a lot.”

“Well, I wish he'd start traveling again,” said Bob. “He comes over to my house every day now. Suddenly he's dying to help with the renovations.”

“What's wrong with that?” asked Sam.

“For one thing, I don't need his help—especially since what that really means is that he stands around and supervises. And when he's not doing that, he wanders around the house poking into everything. I know he and Amber are short on funds. I'm guessing he thinks he's going to stumble upon another ring that he can stuff in his pocket and sell.”

“That's ridiculous,” I said. “Tell James he'd be better off buying lottery tickets.”

“Or put a hammer in his hands and make him useful,” Sam advised.

“Tell him to go home to his own house,” Aunt Peg said firmly. “And then shut the door behind him.”

As usual, she had the last word.

“T
hat was interesting,” Sam said, a few minutes later as he closed the front door.

Bob and Aunt Peg had just left. Sam and I were alone—unless you count the Poodles, who'd followed us out to the front hall. They could sense the tension in the air, but hadn't figured out its source. Eve pressed up against my legs. Faith pushed her muzzle into my hand; her tongue rasped across my fingers. They didn't know what was wrong, but they were trying to offer comfort in any way they could.

I appreciated the thought, but I wasn't ready to give up my anger just yet.

“It was
very
interesting,” I said to Sam.

“Oh?” He walked over to the sideboard and began to thumb through the day's mail. Unlike the Poodles, my husband was oblivious to my mood.

“What were you
thinking?
” I asked.

Sam looked up. “About what?”

Okay, I get that women are from Venus and men are from Mars. But surely after all this time, Sam couldn't be that dense about how his wife's mind worked, could he?

“Bob . . . and Claire?”

“Oh, right. I'm glad you know about that now. Keeping it under wraps was a real pain.”

“
That's
the part that concerned you?” I asked incredulously. “Did you really think it was a good idea to keep Bob's relationship a secret from me?”

“Bob thought it was a good idea,” Sam said slowly. “And it was his life. And his secret. So I honored his request.”

“It's Davey's life too,” I pointed out. “And now you and Bob have both taught him that it's all right not to tell me things he'd rather that I didn't know.”

“Don't you think you're taking this a little too seriously?”

I stared at him across the width of the hallway. “No. I don't.”

“Well, I do. Claire seems like a nice woman. Bob could do a lot worse. And has, actually.”

Was he missing the point on purpose? I wondered.

“Bob could date a monkey for all I care,” I snapped. “As long as I know about it so that I can keep an eye on what's going on with Davey.”

“Davey likes Claire,” Sam said.

Seriously, I wanted to smack him.

“I have no idea what you're so upset about,” he continued. “For all I knew, Claire could have been a passing fling. So there was no point in your getting all wound up about a relationship that wasn't even going to last.”

“That wasn't your choice to make,” I told him.

“Sorry.” Sam shrugged. “At the time it seemed like it was.”

A lump rose in my throat. I fought it back down. I couldn't believe that Sam could be this flippant about an issue that was obviously so important to me. The problem went way beyond his depriving me of the ability to manage Davey's life as I saw fit. This was a matter of trust. And how we would deal with each other going forward.

“You are not forgiven,” I blurted out.

The words sounded chilling, even to me. They also had the effect of finally alerting Sam to the seriousness of what we were discussing. He stopped and thought about that.

“I don't think I need your forgiveness,” he said after a minute. “You may not have liked what I did, but I thought I was acting in your best interests. I didn't do anything wrong.”

In the space of one heartbeat to the next, time seemed to stop. I felt as though a chasm was opening between us. One that I hadn't a clue how to cross. Worse still, I wasn't even sure that I wanted to.

Faith, still at my side, whined under her breath. Her body felt warm and solid. I wanted to clutch her like a lifeline. I knelt down and wrapped my arms around her neck. Then I drew in a deep breath and thought about what to do next.

If the morning's events had taught me anything it was that I'd allowed myself to become complacent. Clearly I'd been taking too much for granted. I needed to be asking more questions.

“You might as well tell me now,” I said. “Are you and the rest of my family keeping any other secrets from me? You know, for my own good?”

Sam flicked a dismissive glance in my direction as he left the room. “Not that I'm aware of,” he said.

 

“And then he just walked away,” I said. “Like he thought the conversation was over. How do men do that?”

I was seated at a window table in The Bean Counter across from my sister-in-law, Bertie. She and my younger brother Frank have been married for four years and they're the parents of three-year-old Maggie. As is true with so many of my friends, Bertie and I met because of dogs. She's a professional handler with a thriving business based out of her home in Wilton. The only reason she'd missed the show where Davey had made his debut with Augie was because the family had been away on a trip to Disney World.

Bertie and I had touched base by phone since their return, but we hadn't had an opportunity to get together. So now we had a lot of catching up to do. When Sam had left to retrieve Kevin, I'd called Bertie. We'd agreed to meet at The Bean Counter for lunch. After the morning I'd just had, I was very much in need of Bertie's sensible, empathetic advice.

The Bean Counter had started out as simply a coffee bar but now, six years later, it also offers an innovative menu of sandwiches and gourmet pastries. The country bistro is a popular destination for everyone from soccer moms, to retirees, to local businessmen.

Bob takes care of the back office. He does the accounting, tracks inventory, orders supplies, and manages the payroll. Frank spends all his time in the front of the house. Most days, he's behind the counter himself. He greets patrons, offers suggestions, and concocts all kinds of custom-made sandwiches.

Bertie had grabbed a table for the two of us. I went to the counter to put in our order. When my turn came, Frank greeted me with a big grin.

He has hazel eyes that are much like my own, but other than that I've never been able to see much of a family resemblance. Frank is four years younger than me and half a foot taller. I tend to worry about things, Frank takes nothing seriously. I envy the ease with which my brother can simply take life as it comes, especially since it's an attitude that has served him well.

“What's today's special?” I asked.

I knew better than to try and order off the menu. No matter what I asked for, my brother was going to make me what he wanted me to have. Usually that meant I'd be trying a new novelty sandwich whose appeal he was undecided about. Some of Frank's innovations are wildly successful and go on to be added to the menu. Others are consigned to the garbage bin almost immediately.

Since I never know in advance which way the culinary wheel of fortune might roll, dining at The Bean Counter tends to be an adventure.

“Sriracha-infused breaded chicken in a wrap with spinach, tomato, and red onion.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Isn't sriracha hot?”

“Some is. I'm using the Thai variety. It's sweeter, maybe a little tangier. Give it a whirl. If you don't like it . . .” Frank shrugged.

I knew what that meant. Try, try, again.

“Two then,” I said. “One for Bertie and one for me.”

Hopefully there'd be safety in numbers. Frank knew he could experiment on me with impunity, but I liked to believe that he wouldn't be so cavalier about his own wife's palate.

Even so, Bertie stared suspiciously at the two plates I delivered to the table. “What
is
that?”

“Something Thai,” I said. “Start with a small bite.”

“I have every intention of it,” Bertie said with a laugh. “This isn't the first mystery meal I've had here.”

As I slipped into my seat opposite her, I realized that three businessmen, lunching at the next table, were shifting in their seats and sending admiring glances her way. Ever since I've known her—probably ever since she was a little girl—Bertie's had that effect on men. She's tall and gorgeous with a mass of flaming auburn hair and the kind of body that wolf whistles were invented for.

The funny thing is, Bertie's lived with those attributes for so long that she's mostly oblivious to their effect on others. She's one of the sanest, most down-to-earth people I know, and I adore her. If—heaven forbid—she and Frank ever get divorced, the family is keeping Bertie and letting Frank go. We won't even have to take a vote. It's just the way things are going to be.

We each nibbled cautiously at the edges of our wraps. Then together we followed that with a bigger bite. The wraps weren't bad: perhaps not menu-worthy just yet, but certainly edible.

While we ate, I brought Bertie up to speed on everything that had transpired since we'd last spoken. She'd heard about Nick Walden, but the two of them had never met. So rather than dwelling on his death, she zeroed in immediately on what was bothering me. Bertie wanted to hear all about Nick's sister, Claire.

I told her everything I knew, which wasn't much. That topic led directly to my argument with Sam.

“Of course he walked away,” Bertie replied. “In Sam's mind the conversation was over. And he won.”

I looked at her with a frown. “That's a terrible thought.”

“Sorry.” Bertie looked unrepentant. “It's just life.”

“I hope not. It was a disagreement, not a battle. Why does there have to be a winner and a loser?”

“That's just the way it works.”

“But what about compromise? You know, trying to see each other's point of view? Meeting in the middle? Why isn't that an option?”

“I don't know,” said Bertie. “You guys are both working on your second marriages. Maybe the rules are different for you.”

“Geez, there are rules? Why didn't anybody tell me that?”

“This is basic man/woman stuff,” said Bertie. “We just assumed you knew. So what happens when you guys usually fight? How does it end?”

“We don't fight. Ever.”

“
Never
?” Bertie set down her wrap and stared at me across the table. “How is that even possible?”

“Okay, maybe we argue about little stuff like picking up the towels in the bathroom and who forgot to pay the electric bill. But nothing big like this. And that was part of the problem: Sam didn't think this was a big deal. He didn't think it was important at all.”

“
Men,
” Bertie muttered vehemently.

Frank, who'd been working the room, chose that moment to stop by the table. “So,” he said brightly. “What do you guys think?”

“We've just concurred that men are idiots,” I told him.

“Damn, if I'd known the wrap was that bad, I never would have served it.” Frank picked up my plate. “Let me make you something else.”

“It's not the food, honey.” Bertie reached out and patted his arm. “More of a general observation.”

“Oh.” Frank put down the plate and backed away. “In that case I'll just make myself scarce.”

“Good thinking.” I waited until my brother was gone and then said, “I have to ask. Did you know too?”

“About Bob and Claire?”

I nodded. “That, and my family's plan to treat me like I was some kind of blithering idiot.”

“No,” Bertie said quickly. “I had no idea. Frank might have heard Bob talk about Claire, but you know your brother. Relationship stuff goes right over his head.”

That wasn't all that went right over Frank's head, I thought. When something didn't affect him directly, Frank could be blissfully oblivious to just about anything.

“If I had known,” Bertie continued, “I'd have told you. Absolutely.”

“Thank you for that.”

“In fact the more I think about it, the more angry I am on your behalf. If I found out that Mags was spending a lot of time with someone I didn't even know, I'd be livid.”

After the grief I'd gotten from my other relatives, it was a relief to know that
someone
understood my feelings. As usual, Bertie had been able to make me feel better. Suddenly I was hungry again. I picked up the wrap and took another bite. The sriracha was beginning to grow on me. Either that or the heat had short-circuited my taste buds.

“So you met Claire for the first time this morning?” Bertie asked.

Still chewing, I settled for a nod.

“Did you like her?”

“I don't know yet,” I replied honestly. “It's too soon to tell. But I hope I will. Bob's a good guy. He deserves to have someone great in his life.”

“Maybe I'll wrangle an introduction and check her out for myself.” Bertie's eyes glinted wickedly. “Do you think she and Bob are serious?”

“If they were, I'd apparently be the last person to know. But they've been together for several months. Plus he's introduced her to Davey. I'd like to think that counts for something.”

Bertie polished off the last of her wrap and began to pick at the potato chips that had accompanied it. I watched her enviously. Frank had put baby carrots as a side item on my plate. Just another example of the many ways in which life isn't fair.

“Speaking of Davey . . . soccer camp again?”

“Yup. It starts next week. What's Maggie got lined up for the summer?”

“Preschool camp, if you can believe that. A little swimming and some arts and crafts. The session started on Monday; it's just a couple of hours a day. Since she's an only child, it's great for her to have a chance to hang out with kids her own age.”

Been there, I thought. For the first nine years of Davey's life, he'd been an only child too.