Hounded to Death (13 page)

“That doesn't sound like much of an endorsement.”

“No, but it's the best I can do. The older I get the more I wonder if human beings are really meant to live together in monogamous bliss for twenty or thirty years. Even the best marriages aren't necessarily smooth sailing all the time. Caroline's a rather forceful presence. She likes to have her own way. And Charles was very much the same. I could see how that might lead them to butt heads once in a while.”

“So you think the police are right not to discount her as a suspect?”

“I think they're right not to discount anyone,” Aunt Peg said firmly. “Did you think to ask her if Charles had any enemies?”

“No, unfortunately.”

“Not to worry,” said Peg. “I'm sure you'll have another opportunity.”

We reached the end of the hiking trail, exited the woods, and came out onto the edge of the parking lot. It was nice to feel the sun on our faces again.

“Caroline seems to think I'm going to figure out who's responsible for Charles's death,” I admitted as we headed back toward the inn.

Bertie looked surprised. “You told her you'd do that?”

“Not exactly. But she wouldn't take no for an answer.”

“First Alana, and now Caroline,” Aunt Peg mused. “I wonder who'll be trying to enlist your services next.”

“I'd give it a try if I was innocent,” said Bertie.

“Or if I was guilty.” Peg opened the door and held it as we all filed through. “In fact perhaps more importantly if I was guilty. You know what they say: keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

I
t didn't take long for me to discover the answer to Aunt Peg's question.

Having had only a small breakfast and then missed lunch entirely, I was on my way to the dining room in search of a snack that I could take into the lecture hall when I was waylaid by Margo.

“Perfect,” she said, twining her arm through mine. “You're just the person I was looking for.”

Why did I suspect our meeting was going to work out to be more perfect for her than it was for me?

“Where are you going?” she asked. “I'll go with you.”

“Food.”

I would have said more, but my stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly. I figured that was punctuation enough.

“At this hour? Are you sure? You need to be careful when you're pregnant, those pounds will sneak right up on you. Next thing you know, none of your clothes fit and you look like the Goodyear blimp.”

“Food,” I repeated firmly. If she protested again, I was going to take my arm back and chart my own course. “I was thinking maybe a milk shake. Chocolate, double thick.”

“Oh my.” Margo sighed. “How youth is wasted on the young. A milk shake it is then. I suppose I could do with a cup of tea. It is, tea time, isn't it? Maybe the bartender would be so kind as to lace it with whiskey for me. Or perhaps I'll just skip the tea and go straight for the hard stuff.”

Next thing I knew, we were seated in the bar. The first and, so far, only customers of the day. Margo was sipping a whiskey and soda. My milk shake was on the way.

“So,” she said companionably, “how are you enjoying the symposium so far?”

“I've seen so little of it I can hardly tell,” I said, filled with the unhappy suspicion that I was about to miss yet another lecture. “Is that what you steered me in here to ask?”

“Actually no. That was small talk, meant to put us both at ease.”

At least she was honest. That always scores extra points in my book.

“I'm not sure it's working,” I said.

“Too bad.” Margo looked past me and waved to a waiter who was heading our way. “Maybe this will help.”

The milk shake helped a lot. The glass it came in was frosted and nearly a foot tall. The shake itself was rich and dark, and so thick that I had to eat it with a spoon. If there's a better way to take your calcium, I have yet to find it.

“Happy now?” Margo asked.

“I was happy before. You were the one who looked like you had something on your mind.”

“I did. And I still do. What have you learned so far?”

I paused to lift the spoon to my mouth and skim off a generous portion of ice cream. The cold went straight to my forehead. I winced and blinked, then said, “About what?”

“Don't be dense. About Charles, of course. You've had all day.”

“To do what?”

“Melanie. Sweetheart.” Margo braced her arms on the table and stared hard. “Let's not be coy, okay? Your reputation precedes you. Things go wrong when you're around and then you find out why. All I'm asking is what you've found out so far.”

“Today I took a nap,” I said. “Since breakfast, the only person I've spent any time with aside from Peg and Bertie is Caroline.”

“Caroline, good. That's a start. You can build from there.”

“I wasn't trying to start. Or build. I ran into her by accident.”

“Naturally that's what you would want her to think.”

“No, I really did.”

“Don't worry.” She reached across the table and patted my hand reassuringly. “I won't blow your cover.”

“I don't have a cover.”

“Your mission will be our little secret.”

Sure, I thought. Why not? Since I didn't have a mission, it would be easy enough to have a secret about it. The cover thing, however, had me confused. Had I been pretending to be someone else?

“I just want you to do one thing for me,” Margo said. “It's simple really.”

Nothing about this conversation was turning out to be simple. Maybe that was my fault. Maybe the milk shake had given me brain freeze.

Margo leaned toward me. Her voice dropped. “Whatever you find out, I want you to bring the information to me first.”

Interesting request.

“Why would I do that?” I asked.

“Because I'm in charge. I'm the one who brought everybody here and now all these people are my responsibility. Everything that happens here reflects upon me.”

“Even murder?”

“Everything,” Margo repeated. She drained her glass and stood. “Do we understand each other?”

No, I thought. I'd never been able to understand how some people were able to treat death as an inconvenience in their otherwise orderly schedule.

But that wasn't what she was asking.

“I'm sure we do,” I said.

I was holding my spoon in one hand. The other was beneath the table, fingers crossed. Because hell would freeze over before I felt the need to report back to Margo Deline about Charles's murder or anything else.

 

After Margo left the bartender was kind enough to transfer what remained of my milk shake into a paper cup. I carried it out into the lobby, where I consulted the afternoon's schedule.

Currently two lectures were in progress. The first was titled
Junior Showmanship: Fun for the Whole Family.
The second,
Plucking the Terrier Coat, Is It a Lost Art?

I stood. And sighed. Then read the offerings again just to make sure that I hadn't missed something. I finally had the opportunity to attend another seminar and neither of the topics was even remotely interesting to me.

Poodles are clipped, not hand-plucked. And Junior Showmanship is a class for children, judged on their handling skills and presentation. While Davey could compete if he wanted to, so far he hadn't shown even the slightest inclination.

I was considering my options when Florence Donner emerged from the library with several friends. Spotting me, she excused herself from the group and headed my way.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd been this popular.

“I'm just going outside to give Button a walk,” she said. “Perhaps if you're not busy, you'd like to accompany me?”

It was hard to plead that I was otherwise engaged when she'd just found me standing there, doing nothing more important than sipping a milk shake and staring off into space.

“Sure,” I said and we walked outside together.

Florence waited until we'd reached a grassy strip on the other side of the parking lot before leaning down to tip her large purse over onto the ground. Button popped out, looked around, and gave himself a good shake.

“Doesn't he mind being confined like that?” I asked, as the Chihuahua began to sniff around the grass.

“Not in the slightest. Button's a very companionable little dog. The thing that pleases him most is being wherever I am. He'd mind being left behind more.”

We watched as the Chihuahua found a patch of lawn to his liking. He lifted his leg and peed, then scratched furiously with both hind feet to cover the evidence. His efforts barely disturbed the grass around him but he looked very pleased with what he'd accomplished.

When he was done, Florence bent down and held out her hands. Button trotted right into them and she placed him back in her purse.

The bag bobbled and rolled as the Chihuahua maneuvered himself around within. A moment later his head emerged from the opening. Button's ears were pricked; his large dark eyes looked around curiously. Despite my reservations, I had to admit that he seemed perfectly happy with the arrangement.

“I didn't ask you out here to talk about dogs,” said Florence.

I'd figured that.

I was assuming that Florence—like just about everyone else I'd spoken to that day—was going to request that I apply myself to finding Charles's killer. I wondered what her stake in the outcome of the investigation might be.

“It's your aunt we need to discuss. I want to know what her intentions are toward my son.”

“Aunt Peg?” I sputtered. Florence had caught me by surprise.

“Yes, of course, Peg. Do you have any other aunts here who are pursuing my Richard?”

“Well…no. But I'd hardly say that Aunt Peg is pursuing Richard.”

“I don't know what else you'd call it. First she wangled herself an introduction over the Internet. I gather they met in some sort of
chat room.
” Florence spit out the phrase as if she found it highly distasteful.

“Actually I believe it was a message board.”

She flipped a hand in the air as if the distinction made no difference.

“Either way, she found out who he was and singled him out for special attention.”

“They enjoyed talking to one another online,” I said. “They have things in common. Is that so unusual?”

“Their relationship isn't the slightest bit suitable. Something he would have immediately seen for himself if they hadn't met in such an unorthodox fashion. For one thing, she's quite a lot older than he is.”

“Richard doesn't seem to care about that.”

“Richard is a kind and generous man. It's in his nature to overlook other people's faults.”

If Florence thought Aunt Peg's age was a fault, I hated to think how she might feel about her own.

“They don't even live in the same state.”

“That's the beauty of the Internet,” I said cheerfully. “It makes differences like that one moot.”

Florence's brow lowered in what I'm sure she thought was an intimidating scowl. I work with teenage kids for a living, however, and I've seen all manner of body language. She was going to have to work harder than that to impress me.

“I have no idea what you find funny about this situation,” she snapped. “Rather than supporting your aunt's transgression, I would think you'd be eager to save her from potential embarrassment.”

If there was one thing I never worried about, it was Aunt Peg embarrassing herself. She could smoothly extricate herself from more tight spots than most people even knew how to get into.

“Richard's a grown man,” I said. “Surely he must be old enough to make his own decisions about who his friends are.”

Florence was looking increasingly annoyed. It was as if she'd scripted this conversation ahead of time and now I was refusing to play along.

“If my son has a single flaw, it's that he's too much of a soft touch. He would never want to hurt anyone's feelings, whether they deserved such treatment or not. Perhaps he's flattered by your aunt's infatuation—”

Infatuation my foot, I thought.

“Or maybe he returns her affection,” I said. “I thought they looked like they made a very nice couple.”

“Don't be ridiculous. You're simply wrong, that's all. I want you to talk to your aunt.”

Right, I thought. Like that would help.

“You may tell her whatever you like,” Florence continued imperiously, “as long as the end result is that she stops following Richard around.”

She turned and headed back toward the inn. As far as she was concerned, our conversation was over.

Earlier Florence had dodged my question about her relationship with Charles Evans. Now seemed like a good time to try again.

I caught up and fell into step beside her. Button hung out of her purse and rode shotgun between us.

“You told us this morning that you'd known Charles for many years.”

Florence nodded curtly.

“His death must have come as quite a shock to you.”

“I'm sure the same is true of everyone else here.”

Except for one person, I thought.

“Were you very good friends?”

“We traveled in many of the same circles, we were often invited to judge at the same shows. The dog show community can be a somewhat sheltered environment. Eventually that much proximity begins to feel like friendship.”

Once again, I noted, she hadn't exactly answered my question.

“How did you feel about his keynote address?”

“I don't have an opinion about it.”

If that was true she had to be just about the only person on the premises who felt that way.

“Why is that?” I asked.

Florence turned her head my way and gave me a long, measured look. “I didn't attend.”

Another surprise.

“How come?”

“Occasionally I suffer from migraines. I'm afraid that the thought of someone holding an audience captive while he pontificated on the future of dog shows was enough to bring one on.”