Dog Eat Dog (6 page)

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Authors: Laurien Berenson

BOOK: Dog Eat Dog
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“Maybe I would. It's not like doing the raffle is easy.”
Abruptly, Lydia pushed back her chair and stood. She wasn't a tall woman, but she had presence to spare. Even though this wasn't her meeting, it didn't take long before she had everyone's attention.
“None of these jobs are easy,” she said. “Running a dog show takes a great deal of work and this club is very fortunate in the number of dedicated members it has who are willing to volunteer their time and energy to make it happen.”
Lydia moved her gaze slowly around the room, until each person felt that his or her own contribution had been recognized. It was a masterful stroke of gamesmanship and I could see why she'd been elected president. With this group, there was probably a lot of call for her peace making skills.
“Now then, Louis,” she said, ceding the floor gracefully to the show chairman, “is there anything else you wanted to cover?”
“No, I think that about does it.” His meerschaum pipe was already out, sitting on the table beside his empty coffee cup. “From what I've heard here tonight, I think this year's show is going to be our best ever. Keep up the good work, and we'll see you all in three weeks at the regular monthly meeting.”
Class dismissed. Chairs scraped back; belongings were gathered. This time, I'd hung my coat over the back of my seat. Aunt Peg had done the same, so we were near the front of the group as we emerged from the restaurant. The parking lot seemed colder and darker than it had been the week before. Looking up, I saw that two of the overhead spotlights were out.
I blew out a breath in a long puff of steam and dug in my pocket for gloves. “Just when you think spring might finally be coming, Mother Nature turns around and takes you back to square one.”
“Oh pish,” said Aunt Peg. “A little cold air is good for you, especially after all that stuffiness inside.”
“The room?” I inquired archly. “Or the people?”
Before she could answer, I heard a van door slide open and Monica's Beagles began to howl. It didn't matter that I knew what they were—the eerie sound coming out of the quiet night still sent a shiver slipping down my spine.
“Good Lord,” said Aunt Peg. “Not again. Doesn't she ever leave those dogs home?”
As we came up beside the Volvo I heard the scramble of running feet, the dogs' nails scraping on the hard macadam. I was fitting the key to the lock when they ran by. It took me a moment to grasp that something was wrong. Then I realized what it was—the Beagles were running loose.
No leashes, no collars. No Monica.
“Oh that woman!” Aunt Peg cried in exasperation. “What is the matter with her? In the dark, with all these cars driving every which way. How
could
she let them get away from her?” Hand going automatically to her pocket for treats, she took off in pursuit of the loose dogs.
Shortly after her first call, I heard several other club members chime in. All were dog lovers, and all immediately realized the potential danger inherent in the situation. The Beagles were near a busy road, in a strange place at night. The sooner Monica had them back under control, the better.
Thinking the Beagles might circle back, I started down the row of cars in the direction from which they'd come. It seemed strange that Monica hadn't come running after the dogs; stranger still, that with all the voices now calling out in the night, hers didn't seem to be among them.
The door to her van was open. As I drew near, I saw that the interior held two built-in crates. A tangled pair of leashes trailed off the top of the higher one. Why hadn't Monica taken them with her when she went after her dogs?
Then I reached the van and saw that Monica hadn't gone anywhere. She was sprawled on the ground; her body half beside the minivan, half underneath it. Her face was turned away, and her hair looked absurdly red against the black macadam. Something dark and thick seemed to be matted through it.
“Monica?” I leaned down to touch her shoulder, then drew back quickly. A sickly sweet, metallic scent hung in the cold air. I'd smelled it before and I knew what it was. Blood.
“Oh God.”
“What's the matter?” said Bertie, coming up behind me. She took in the situation in a glance. “Did she faint? I know CPR.”
“I don't think it'll help,” I said.
That's when Bertie saw the blood. I heard her swallow heavily. My own meal was rising in my throat.
Gingerly, Bertie leaned down and felt for a pulse. Wrist first, then throat. By then, I'd already guessed it was too late.
“I've got one of the little scoundrels,” Aunt Peg said triumphantly, coming up to join us. “I think Mark managed to nab the other.” She was cradling a wiggly Beagle in her arms.
Aunt Peg looked from my face to Bertie's, then back again. “What?”
“It's Monica,” I said, and stepped aside so she could see. “She's dead.”
The Beagle in her arms lifted his nose to the cold, pale moon and howled.
Nine
It's a good thing Frank was staying with Davey, because by the time the police finished questioning all of us it was nearly midnight. They talked to us separately, but afterward we grouped together in a small pool of illumination provided by one of the overhead lights. Nobody seemed in a hurry to leave. I think we were all in shock.
It just didn't seem possible that Monica was actually dead. Even worse was the thought that had immediately crossed my mind: that the list of likely suspects began and ended with the members of the Belle Haven Kennel Club. One look at Aunt Peg's face, and I knew she was thinking the same thing.
The police had cordoned off the area around Monica's van, firmly rebuffing Aunt Peg's attempt to retrieve the Beagles' leashes. She'd piled the two little hounds onto the back seat of the Volvo—without asking, I might add—where they were now scratching at the windows and howling mournfully. The windows, firmly shut, muffled most of the noise.
One patrolman was videotaping the proceedings. Other members of the police force were in and around Monica's van, gathering up bits and pieces of what they hoped was evidence. A stiff breeze blew in from over the water; but cold as it was, none of the club members recommended that we move inside the restaurant. Our comfort seemed a secondary consideration in the face of what had been done to Monica.
“I just can't believe it,” Joanne Pinkus said for what had to have been the tenth time. “How could this have happened?”
“Easy,” Bertie snorted. “Someone snuck up behind Monica, bashed her over the head with a rock, then went off to join the hue and cry about the loose Beagles.”
“A rock?” Aunt Peg and I asked simultaneously.
Bertie nodded. “When I was speaking with Detective Shertz, one of the other policemen brought it over. I think he'd found it under the van.”
“I saw it too,” said Cy. “The medical examiner was comparing it to the depression in the back of Monica's skull. Of course when I asked about it, they wouldn't tell me a thing.”
“I think this whole business is positively horrid!” said Barbara. Snuggled into her mink, she was probably the only one among us who wasn't feeling the cold. “In Greenwich, of all places. Is nowhere safe anymore? And then we're all questioned as if we might have had something to do with it.”
“We
were
all out here,” Aunt Peg pointed out, sounding as if she'd like to ask a few questions herself.
“Surely you're not thinking of us as suspects!” Penny Romano glared at Aunt Peg, and her husband slipped a comforting arm around her shoulder.
“I'm sure that's not what Peg meant,” Louis said soothingly.
I thought that was exactly what Peg had meant. Wisely, I kept my mouth shut.
Standing beside her husband, Sharon LaPlante spoke up. “If anyone saw anything, it was probably Peg's niece. Melanie, isn't it?”
I nodded as all eyes turned my way.
“You were the first to reach her. What did you see?”
“Nothing,” I replied honestly. It seemed like a woefully inadequate answer. “The door to Monica's van was open. I saw the leashes on top of a crate, and thought it was odd she hadn't taken them with her. Then when I got closer, I saw her lying on the ground.”
“There you go,” Lydia said firmly. “None of us saw a thing, which isn't surprising when you consider how dark it is out here, and that we had the loose Beagles to distract us. For all we know, this was just a random act of violence, like we're always hearing about on the news. It had nothing to do with any of us.”
Baloney, I thought, wondering if Lydia actually believed what she was saying. She sounded sincere, but how hard was that? Unless I missed my guess, the murderer was standing in the circle among us.
“What happened here was a terrible shame,” Lydia was saying. “Monica was a valued member of the Belle Haven Kennel Club, and we shall all miss her dearly. Perhaps someone would like to prepare a small tribute to Monica for the next meeting?”
I never saw so many gazes drop so fast. Feet shuffled, mufflers were pulled more tightly around throats. Nobody stepped forward to volunteer.
“We'll all think about it. How about that?”
That idea seemed to go over somewhat better. At least it was accompanied by a bit of eye contact. But it didn't look to me as though Monica Freedman was going to be getting a tribute from the Belle Haven Kennel Club any time soon.
After that, everyone began to drift away. Joanne, who ran the club's rescue service, agreed to take the Beagles home with her. Monica had apparently lived in Banksville with her widowed mother, and nobody wanted to chance reaching Mrs. Freedman before the police could explain what had happened.
“This is a fine mess,” Aunt Peg said unhappily, when we were finally alone in the Volvo. “As recording secretary, I'm in charge of writing up the minutes. You don't suppose I have to put this in, do you?”
It wasn't funny, but she sounded so disgruntled I almost laughed. Right now, Aunt Peg's defense mechanisms were in full gear. Tomorrow, she'd probably be horrified by what she'd said.
“No.” I put on my signal and turned out of the lot. “The meeting was already over by then.”
Peg lapsed into silence. Concentrating on the road a good deal harder than was necessary, I did the same.
Aunt Peg didn't speak again until we pulled into her driveway. She lives on a large piece of land in an updated farmhouse whose roots go back more than a century. It has a gabled roof and a wrap-around porch. A Japanese Maple, the same vintage as the house, stands stately guard near the front door.
Six Standard Poodles, all retired champions, live in the house with her. Another six or so, in various stages of growing coat for the show ring, are housed in a small kennel building out back. Aunt Peg had left on plenty of lights and as the Volvo coasted to a stop near the front steps, I could see the house Poodles, their heads bobbing in the windows as they stood up on their hind legs and heralded our arrival.
With that much activity going on, I thought Aunt Peg would go right in. Instead, she sat right where she was and said, “Random act of violence, my fanny!”
I turned off the car and turned to look at her. “Why didn't you say something when Lydia trotted out that preposterous theory?”
“Why didn't you?” she countered quickly.
“It wasn't my place. It's not even my club. Besides, I was the one who found Monica. Under the circumstances, I figured the less I said, the better.”
“That was just Lydia's way. She's the consummate politician—always trying to put the best possible face on things. I'm sure she thought it would make everyone feel better.”
“Including Monica's killer. He or she was probably standing right there among us.”
“I know.” Aunt Peg gave a small shiver. She didn't look frightened though. Instead, illuminated by the small amount of light coming from the dashboard, she seemed positively invigorated. “So who do you think did it?”
“How should I know?” I threw up my hands.
If I'd had any sense, I'd have held them up in self-defense; or maybe in the shape of a cross to ward off a curse. I knew what was coming next. I just knew it.
“It's obvious you're the perfect person to figure this out.”
“Why me? Two weeks ago, I'd never even met any of those people. I still know next to nothing about them.”
“So you'll be objective. With the added benefit that I can give you the inside scoop. You have to admit, we make a pretty good team.”
She had a point. The truth of the matter was, we did work well together. The summer before, she'd plucked me up out of a serious case of single-mother, lost-my-summer-job, boyfriend-eloped-with-somebody-else doldrums, dusted me off, and launched me out on a search to find her missing stud dog. I wouldn't say that my newfound relationship with Aunt Peg had revitalized my life; but it had certainly given it an extra dollop of spice.
Besides, nobody said no to Aunt Peg. She simply didn't allow it.
“Who do
you
think killed Monica?” I asked, throwing the question back to her.
“If that woman annoyed everyone as much as she did me, I'd say the field is wide open.”
“Because she talked so much?”
“Monica didn't just talk. She also knew how to listen. She had a way of offering just enough of a sympathetic shoulder that people opened up and told her a little more than they'd intended. She loved being the person who was in the know. She enjoyed having that sort of edge on everybody else.”
“Do you think she knew more than somebody wanted her to?”
“It's just a guess,” Aunt Peg said with a shrug. “For all I know, Monica was having an affair with Cy and Barbara decided to take matters into her own hands.”
“With a rock?” I laughed. “I doubt it. A pearl handled revolver seems more her style.”
“See?” said Peg. She opened the door and slid out. “You might find you know these people better than you thought. In the morning, I'll take a trip down to the police department and see what they've come up with.”
“In the morning, I'll be in school.” I turned the key in the ignition. The car had been stalling all day, and it took three tries to catch. “After that, I've got to figure out a way to tell Davey that his father's coming this weekend.”
“This weekend as in day after tomorrow? You'd better hurry.”
Of course she was right. That was why, even though I still felt like I was floundering, I sat Davey down in the kitchen as soon as we got home from school the next afternoon, fortified him with a double dose of milk and his favorite shortbread cookies, and got down to business.
Faith had already been out for a quick run in the back yard. Now she was dancing impatiently around Davey's chair. Usually when we got home, she had his undivided attention. Clearly she couldn't figure out what was holding him up. After a moment, she ran into the living room and returned with a soggy tennis ball that she dropped at Davey's feet.
“In a minute, Faith,” I said. Tail wagging, the puppy hopefully nudged the ball my way. I kicked and sent it flying into the dining room. Paws scrambling for purchase on the linoleum floor, Faith followed.
“Davey, I have something important to tell you.”
He stuffed a whole cookie into his mouth. “What?”
“You know how your daddy had to go away when you were still a baby, even though he loved you very much. Right?”
“Sure.” He washed the cookie down with a swig of milk. “You're not going to tell that story again, are you?”
“No. Not exactly. But it turns out ...” Stop waffling, I thought. At this rate, I'd never get the words out. “I heard from your father the other night. He's coming to visit us this weekend.”
“He's coming to see me?” Everything he was feeling—delight, excitement, wonder—it was all there in his voice. Just the expression on his face was enough to break my heart.
“Yes honey, he's coming to see you-”
“Hooray!” Davey leapt up and spun in an excited circle. “When will he be here?”
When we'd gotten home from school Wednesday, there'd been a message on the machine. Bob knew I worked. He should have realized there'd be no chance of reaching me at home during the day.
“He's coming tomorrow, late in the afternoon.”
“Tomorrow?” Davey yelped. Faith came flying back into the kitchen to see what all the fuss was about. He grabbed the puppy around the neck and the two of them went down on the floor in a heap. “Did you hear that? My daddy's coming home!”
“Honey,” I said quietly. “It's just a visit—”
“My daddy's coming home!”
“He wants to see you Davey, and he wants to get to know you, but he's not going to be able to stay—”
“I'm going to have a real daddy again!”
Faith barked as if she understood. Giggling, Davey whispered something in her ear. No doubt they were already making plans for Bob's arrival.
Maybe I should have insisted that Davey listen to what I was trying to say, but I didn't. Unfortunately, I imagined his bubble would burst soon enough.
Damn.

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