Hounded to Death (18 page)

I
t wasn't even nine o'clock yet but I was ready for bed. I hadn't seen Bertie since we'd parted in the dining room, and Aunt Peg had gone off with Margo. Presumably both my relatives were capable of fending for themselves for the remainder of the evening. I was going to go upstairs, put my feet up, and watch a television show that had absolutely no redeeming social value.

Inside the room, I pulled out my cell phone and started to hook it up to the charger. Then stopped. I had spoken to Sam and Davey that morning, but it felt like eons had passed since then.

And then there was the matter of that issue which I still wanted to discuss with Sam.
Let it slide
, Aunt Peg had said.

Fat chance.

Davey, who would have been in bed if I'd been home, answered the phone. Thanks to the wonders of caller ID he knew who he'd be speaking to.

“Scarlett,” he said. “What do you think?”

“Hello to you too.”

“Hi, Mom. What about Scarlett?” When there's something he wants, my son has a one-track mind. “You know, like red?”

“I assume we're talking about baby names?”

“Of course we're talking about baby names. Sam-Dad suggested Angelina. I think it's too long.”

At least they were beginning to come up with girls' names. And on a Wednesday, no less. That was progress.

“Too long for what?”

“You know. The baby's not going to be very big when it's born. So you don't want to give it a really big name.”

The crystal clear logic of a nine-year-old. You had to love it.

I sat down on the bed and crossed my legs. It felt wonderful to be connected to home.

“What do you think of Katherine?” I asked. “We could call her Kate.”

“No way. There's a girl named Kate in my class at school. She's the biggest pain—”

“Davey!”

“Well, she is. You wouldn't like her either. She thinks she knows everything.”

Okay, so Kate was out. At least for the time being.

“How come you're not in bed yet?” I asked.

“It's fall break,” Davey informed me as if I hadn't known. “Besides, we're having guys' night out.”

“Out where?”

“Well, Sam and I aren't actually out. It's more like we're in. You know, like home. But Dad and Frank are here. We're playing poker and drinking beer.”

I assumed that was the royal we. Still, Davey would be disappointed if I didn't muster a little outrage.

“How much beer have you drunk so far?” I asked.

My son giggled into the phone. Right answer.

“Winning any money?”

“No, but Sam-Dad's doing okay.”

No surprise there. I'd seen my husband bluff. I suspected he was cleaning up. The other two guys would probably be happy to take a break.

“Would you ask Sam if they can deal him out for a hand?”

“Sure,” said Davey. “I'll go check. Scarlett. Think about it.”

He must have set the phone down because now I could hear the keening wail of a jazz trombone, pouring from a nearby speaker. It helped to set the mood.

I pictured the four of them hunched around a green baize tabletop, concentrating on their cards, fingering their chips, a veil of dusky smoke hovering in the air above them…

“Hey, babe,” said Sam.

The image dissolved, replaced by a reality that was much better. It was great to hear Sam's voice.

“What's going on?” he asked. “I didn't think I'd hear from you again today.”

“I know. Me either. But it's been that kind of a day.”

“What kind?”

“Long. Eventful.”

“That doesn't sound good. You're supposed to be taking it easy.”

“Believe me, I'm trying. Things just haven't worked out that way.”

“But you're feeling good?” Sam sounded anxious.

“I'm fine,” I said quickly. “And much better now that I'm talking to you. I hear you've taught Davey to play poker and drink beer.”

Sam snorted a laugh. “Every kid deserves a well-rounded education, don't you think?”

“I'm pretty sure that's why I became a teacher. How's the game going?”

“I haven't had to dig into the retirement fund yet.”

I smiled into the phone. “That's good to know. Listen, I wanted to ask you about something that came up earlier. Let's try some free association. I'll say a name and you say the first thing that pops into your mind.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed. “Shoot.”

An ironic choice of words, considering that this was suddenly beginning to feel a bit like an ambush.

“Alana Bennett.”

“Oh, crap.”

“Nice mouth, Driver.”

“Who have you been talking to?”

“Bertie, among others.”

“Bertie?” Sam sounded perplexed. “What does she know?”

“She and Alana have become best buddies. And apparently Alana's the type who likes to kiss and tell.”

“So I guess I'm busted?”

“It looks that way.”

“Did she also tell you that it was all over a long time ago?”

“She didn't have to. I could figure that part out for myself.”

“Then we're okay—”

“Not entirely,” I said. “You know, a heads-up on the subject would have been nice. Since Alana's here and I'm here, and we talked about her the other day, so you knew that we'd met. It would be easier for me if when stuff like this came up, I didn't always feel like I was the last to know.”

“Stuff like what?” Sam asked.

He sounded puzzled. Selective memory at its finest.

“Remember Sheila?”

It was a rhetorical question. Of course he remembered Sheila. She was his ex-wife, the love of his younger life. The woman he'd somehow neglected to mention until we were engaged and she'd reentered his life on a mission to win him back.

“Oh, right,” said Sam. “Sheila.”

“Sheila?” I heard Frank echo in the background. “She was a fox. What are you talking about her for?”

“Give me a minute.” Sam turned his mouth away from the phone. “Why don't you guys go take the dogs outside for a walk?”

The yard was fenced. The Poodles didn't need to be walked, merely let out an open door. But either Frank and Bob had drunk enough beer that that didn't occur to them, or else the look on Sam's face told them they'd be better off leaving the vicinity.

I heard the sound of feet scrambling and a couple of random barks. Davey whooped, probably just for the heck of it. A door opened and shut; then all was quiet and Sam was back.

“
Sheila
?” he repeated.

“She was just an example,” I said. “Move on.”

“I did, didn't I?” Now he was confused. “I thought we were arguing about Alana.”

“We weren't arguing, we were discussing.”

This whole conversation was starting to wear me out. I was beginning to suspect that Aunt Peg had been right.

“All I'm asking for is a little advance notice before another of your exes pulls me aside to discuss your performance in bed.”

“Alana didn't do that.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Well, now that you mention it,” Sam said glumly, “I guess I'm not. She isn't the classiest lady. Want me to call her and tell her to cut it out?”

“No way,” I said with a laugh. “Feel free to stay as far away from her as possible.”

“That I can do. Listen, not that I'm in any hurry to change the subject or anything but I did a little asking around. Rumor has it—and we're talking unsubstantiated here—that there's a multibreed judge from the Midwest named Tubby Something, whose judging was recently found to be a bit irregular.”

“Tubby Mathis,” I said. “That could be the scandal Margo was worried about because he's here. And probably greatly relieved that all this other stuff has overshadowed his problems and given everybody something else to talk about.”

“Timing is everything,” said Sam. “The rest is going okay?”

“Well…” I smiled into the phone. “What's this I hear about Scarlett?”

“Hey, you can't blame that one on me. He's your son. It stands to reason he'd be an independent thinker.”

Guilty as charged.

“Get some sleep,” said Sam. “And try not to do so much tomorrow.”

“I'll work on it,” I said.

Neither one of us believed me for a minute.

 

I went to bed and awoke, enormously refreshed, ten hours later. One good thing about being pregnant, you can indulge yourself as much as you want and nobody says a thing.

Bertie was singing in the shower when I opened my eyes. Considering the decibel level she'd managed to attain, the two events were probably related. She emerged from the bathroom five minutes later, wrapped in a towel and smoothing moisturizer on her face.

“I heard I missed out on some excitement last night,” she said. “Florence got herself knocked out?”

I sat up in bed. The covers pooled around my waist.

“That's true, unfortunately.”

Bertie paused in front of the mirror to study her reflection. She poked at a nonexistent blemish and frowned. If I looked like Bertie, I'd probably spend entire days just staring at myself in the mirror.

“Peg didn't do it, did she?”

“No,” I said with a grin. “And I can vouch for that. I was with her when it happened.”

“Good thing. But you two were the ones who found her, right?”

“Right. First Button, and then Florence. She didn't have any idea what had happened.”

Bertie looked skeptical. “Really.”

“She said she was just walking Button and minding her own business.”

“It sounds like you haven't heard the rest of the story.”

“Tell me.”

“You went to bed early last night but I was still downstairs when Richard came back. He said that his mother was probably fine but that the doctors wanted to keep her overnight for observation.”

“That's good,” I said.

“Wait, there's more. And this part's not so good.”

“Now what?”

“After you left the dining room last night, the four of us got the check and went our separate ways. But later, Alana and I were socializing in the bar.”

Carousing was probably more like it, I thought. Everywhere Alana went seemed to turn into a party.

“And Rosalyn came back in. Apparently Florence had just called her from the hospital.”

“Rosalyn and Florence? When did they get to be such good friends?”

“I have no idea,” Bertie said impatiently. “And besides it's not important. What matters is that Florence told Rosalyn that Peg is the one who'd attacked her and that was why she had to be taken to the hospital.”

Oh, good Lord.

I pushed away the covers and scrambled out of bed. “Does Aunt Peg know about that?”

“
Everybody
knows about it. Once Rosalyn told a couple of people in the bar, the news spread through the inn like bird flu. Probably the only reason you haven't heard is because you were asleep.”

“I assume Aunt Peg put a quick end to that nonsense?”

“Well…no,” said Bertie. “She wasn't there. She and Margo were holed up somewhere, dealing with official business or something.”

I'd been digging through my suitcase, looking for clean underwear. Now I straightened and sighed.

“Then please tell me that
you
told Rosalyn she was wrong.”

“I would have been delighted to. But how could I when I didn't have the slightest idea what had happened? So I went looking for you….”

“I was up here sleeping.”

“So I discovered. And then Peg reappeared but by then it was too late. Everyone had already heard Florence's version and they all looked at Peg like she was some kind of criminal.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” I said.

Bertie was exaggerating. She had to be. Really, who was going to take Florence's word over Aunt Peg's?

“Most of the people at the symposium have known Aunt Peg for years,” I said. “They know what kind of woman she is. They must realize that she'd never be capable of doing something like that.”

“You're right, they should know that. But don't forget, Florence is a fixture in the dog show world too. Or at least she's been around forever. And she looks like a helpless little old lady, plus of course she's the one who's in the hospital. So right away she got the sympathy vote.”