Raining Cats & Dogs (A Melanie Travis Mystery) (11 page)

“Just wait until we get back.” Borden rubbed his hands in anticipation. “I’ll have plenty to tell Sandy today.”

“As long as you remember it,” I mentioned.

“Don’t worry about that,” said Madeline. “When something’s important to Borden, it sticks in his mind just fine.”

“Ha!” said Borden. “I wish. When I was young, I had a memory like an elephant. Nothing got past me. Now half the time it’s in one ear and out the other. I’ve got a system, though.” He opened his coat and pulled out a small pad of paper and a pen. “I make notes, see? I jot stuff down when nobody’s looking. That way I can’t forget.”

“As long as you don’t forget where you put your pad.”

“Right here.” Borden patted his pocket. “I keep it right next to my heart.”

The doors to the chapel were opening. People were beginning to move inside and find seats. It was time for the service to begin.

A nurse came and collected Borden and Madeline. I looked around for Aunt Peg. The room had nearly emptied before I found her.

“Let’s get some seats near the back,” I said.

“Better yet,” Aunt Peg whispered, “let’s find a place where we can talk.”

“But the service is about to start.”

“Forget the service,” said Peg. “Wait until you hear what I found out.”

“W
hat?” I said.

When everyone headed into the chapel, we’d gone the other way and slipped outside. Aside from a trio of smokers who were enjoying a few last puffs before the service started, we had the area to ourselves.

Aunt Peg slipped an arm through mine and pulled me close. “Mary Livingston had a lot of money,” she said under her breath.

“I know that.”

She leaned back and frowned. “Just because this is Greenwich doesn’t mean everyone who lives here is rich.”

Actually, for the most part, it did. Not that we needed to debate that at the moment.

“I was just talking to Paul inside. He told me the same thing. He also said that money wouldn’t have been a motive. The whole family has plenty.”

“I’m guessing he didn’t mention his cousin, Michael.”

“No. Should he have?”

“Michael is Mary’s son, her only child. He’s also apparently the black sheep of the family. He turned his back on them years ago.”

“So why is he important now?”

“Because he showed up last month, eager to get back into his mother’s good graces. He rented a little place in Byram, and according to Sylvia, he’s been parading around town like he’s the prodigal son.”

“Not to put too fine a point on it,” I said, “but it sounds as though he
is
the prodigal son. How did Mary feel about his return?”

“Just as you might expect, she was thrilled. The same can’t be said for Sylvia and the rest of the family, though.”

I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I gazed out over the lush green lawns that wrapped around the neighboring parochial school. Spring doesn’t arrive early in Connecticut, but when it comes, it’s a feast for all the senses. Daffodils were in bloom; trees were beginning to bud. The sun felt warm on my face and shoulders. It seemed almost obscene that on such a beautiful day, everyone had gathered to mourn the passing of a vibrant woman who shouldn’t have died yet.

I turned back to Aunt Peg. “I can’t believe Sylvia Lennox told you all this when you hadn’t seen the woman in decades.”

“I might have had to do some reading between the lines,” Peg admitted. “But the subtext was entirely clear. Besides, Michael is here today. And nobody in there is happy about it. So, of course, he was on her mind; everybody was talking about him.”

“Paul wasn’t,” I said. I wondered why that was. “Which one was Michael?”

“Tall, dark hair, mid-forties. Wearing a rather ill-fitting suit.”

I thought for a minute, then shook my head. I hadn’t noticed him in the crush inside. “So why hasn’t the family welcomed him back?”

“I gather the majority of the relatives are of the impression that he only returned because he needs money.”

It figured.

“And now that Mary’s dead, does her estate go to him?”

“Not all of it,” said Aunt Peg. “There’s a family trust. But probably enough to make a difference.”

Enough to give Michael a motive, she meant. Under the circumstances, it seemed odd that Paul hadn’t said anything to me about his cousin. He’d professed to want his great-aunt’s murderer found, then neglected to mention the obvious suspect.

Family dynamics, the eternal mystery.

The last of the smokers stubbed out her cigarette on the walkway and hurried inside. When she glanced our way and held the door for us, Aunt Peg and I took our cue and followed.

I called Sam on my way home and he told me that I had a visitor waiting for me. Detective Edward O’Malley had stopped by to talk to me about Mary Livingston’s murder and ended up being entertained by my eight-year-old son instead. When I arrived, Davey was holding a badge and a pair of handcuffs and looking very pleased with himself.

“Detective O’Malley read me my rights,” he said.

“I hope that doesn’t mean you’re in trouble.”

“I don’t know,” said Davey. “I’m supposed to consult an attorney. The police are going to give me one.”

Davey is at the stage where he’s capable of sounding very grown-up. He doesn’t always entirely understand what he’s saying, however. Or necessarily what he’s heard.

“I don’t think Detective O’Malley was entirely serious about that. How was your night with your dad?”

“Terrific. He told me to tell you hi. He and Sam were talking, but when the policeman showed up, he decided he’d better leave.”

Bob would, I thought. He’d been enough of a bad boy earlier in life to harbor an innate distrust of men with badges. Faith, meanwhile, was hopping up and down in place and generally making it clear how happy she was to see me again.

I leaned down and gave her a hug. If I’d had a tail, it would have been wagging like crazy, too. Despite my shortcomings, in Faith’s eyes, I’m always perfect. Dog ownership, what a deal.

Sam had performed the introductions when I walked in. Now, over Davey’s protests, he left me and the detective in the living room and took my son outside to throw a ball around. The Poodles divided themselves between us. Faith and Eve remained with me. Sam’s three got up and left.

O’Malley watched the reshuffling with some amusement. “I guess the two of you like big black dogs,” he said, as Eve climbed up beside him on the couch and made herself at home. “You’ve got a pretty full house here.”

“Too full,” I agreed. “It’s just temporary. We’re shopping for something more suitable.”

Over the past several years, I’d had occasion to meet police detectives from several of the local jurisdictions, Greenwich included. O’Malley and I hadn’t crossed paths before, though, which was probably just as well. I liked the idea of having a clean slate—no preconceived opinions; no reason why we couldn’t get along famously.

Then he gestured toward Eve, and said, “I’m looking at all these dogs and I don’t see any collars, which means they’re not wearing any tags. If I was to go downtown and check, would I find out these dogs all had licenses?”

“Yes,” I replied mildly. “As I said, at the moment we’re in transition. Three are licensed in Redding, where they lived until several weeks ago. These two have licenses from Stamford. They don’t wear collars because they’re Poodles, and collars would ruin the hair. Would you like to see their tags?”

“Not particularly.”

That wasn’t surprising. Stamford wasn’t O’Malley’s jurisdiction; neither was animal control. He’d just felt like flexing his muscles in the hope that I might be intimidated by the show. Another petty bureaucrat who enjoyed exercising his little bit of power. So much for thinking we might get along.

Come to think of it, Bob had been right to run. And maybe Davey did need a lawyer.

“Did you come here today to talk about my dogs?” I asked.

“No. They just took me by surprise, that’s all. Being so big and so many of them. I’m more of a cat person myself.”

Like I couldn’t have guessed that.

“In that case, you should talk to my neighbor, Amber Fine. She loves cats.”

He opened a small notebook, consulted something he’d written on the front page, and frowned slightly. “I don’t have her name. Was she at the Winston Pumpernill nursing facility with your group last Sunday?”

“No. She simply likes cats.”

I shifted in my chair and felt like an idiot. Or maybe like I was talking to one. Things were going well, don’t you think?

“Lots of people like cats.” O’Malley looked at me suspiciously, as if he was afraid I might be making fun of him. “But you went to Winston Pumpernill with a group of dog people?”

“That’s right. The South Avenue Obedience Club.”

“What was the purpose of the visit?”

I knew I wasn’t the first person with whom he’d spoken. I was equally sure that he already knew the answer to that question. But since he’d bothered to ask, volunteering to waste both his and my time, I figured he deserved a complete response.

“How much do you know about therapy dogs?” I asked.

O’Malley shrugged. Noncommittal. Like everybody with a television set hadn’t seen that tactic played out on
Law & Order. I say nothing, and you’ll be tempted to spill your guts
.

Right. And in this case, I didn’t even have any guts to spill.

“Therapy dogs are pets belonging to volunteers who make visits to nursing and care facilities, hoping to make a difference in the patients’ quality of life. Not only is it fun for the residents to have the opportunity to see and interact with dogs, but it’s been clinically proven that being able to touch and talk to animals, lowers stress and relieves depression.”

“I thought you people were supposed to be obedience competitors.”

“For the most part, we are. This is just something the class does on the side, as I discovered when I joined two weeks ago. The visits to Winston Pumpernill had originally been initiated because Paul Lennox’s great-aunt was a resident there.”

“And that’s how you met Mr. Lennox, through the class?”

“Right.”

These questions seemed simplistic to me, but then I didn’t work for the government. For all I knew, O’Malley might be planning to drag this interview out for the rest of the afternoon, thereby totally destroying any plans I might have had to join Sam and Davey in their game of catch. I wondered, since it was Saturday, if he was getting paid overtime.

“And when did you meet Mary Livingston?”

“Last Sunday.”

“The day she died?”

“Yes.”

“You’d never had any previous contact with her?”

I frowned in annoyance. “Is there any reason you think I might have?”

“I’m just covering all the bases, Ms. Travis, that’s all. So when you went to Winston Pumpernill last week, how long had you known Paul Lennox?”

“Three days.”

O’Malley’s brow rose. “And yet you accompanied him on a visit to see an elderly relative?”

“I didn’t go with Paul, exactly. The entire class took their dogs and went as a group. It was something they’d prearranged. Something the obedience club had been doing for months.”

“But you hadn’t been doing it for months?”

I sighed and prayed for patience.

“Would you like me to draw you a diagram?” I asked. “Maybe something with a timeline?”

“No. I’d like you simply to answer the questions.”

Even the ones he’d asked two or three times, apparently.

“No, that was my first visit.”

“Your first visit with the group, or the first time you’d been to Winston Pumpernill?”

“Both.”

I saw what he was getting at. Any idiot would have. Mary Livingston had been fine until I’d gone to the nursing home, and now she was dead. However, considering there’d been no prior connection between me and Mary or any other members of her family, I was hard pressed to see how O’Malley could make that out to be anything more than a coincidence.

“I have absolutely no motive,” I said, hoping that might hurry things along a bit.

Unfortunately, all I succeeded in doing was making O’Malley look suspicious again. “Is there a particular reason you think I might need to know that?” he asked.

I tried the shrug-and-be-noncommittal thing. That left both of us sitting in silence. I used the time to pull Faith up into my lap and comb my fingers through her ear hair. O’Malley just sat and stared at me.

After a minute, I couldn’t stand it anymore. It wasn’t the tension that got to me, more like the boredom. Good thing I didn’t really have something to hide.

“I have an alibi,” I said. “When Mary Livingston was killed, Faith and I were in the sunroom with a whole lot of other people.”

O’Malley glanced down and pretended to consult his notes. “As I understand it, people were coming and going from that room all afternoon. So unless there’s someone in particular who might have noticed your whereabouts…”

“I talked to lots of different people. They might not remember me specifically, but they’d probably remember Faith. She’s pretty memorable.”

I gestured in her direction. The Poodle heard her name and lifted her head. She looked back and forth between O’Malley and me as if waiting to see which one of us was going to ask the next question.

You’d think that even a man who liked cats would have been impressed by her perception. No go. In fact, I got the distinct feeling that the detective wasn’t much impressed by anything I had to say.

“Let’s approach this from a different direction,” he said. “How long were you and your group at Winston Pumpernill that afternoon?”

I thought back. “More than an hour, and probably less than two.”

“You saw Mary Livingston, alive and well, at the beginning of your visit?”

“Yes.”

“And when you left—again as a group—she was already dead.”

“That’s what we were told, yes. Paul came running out to the door as we were leaving and handed Cora to Steve. He said that something had happened to his aunt.”

O’Malley looked up. “Cora?”

“His Welsh Corgi.”

The detective wanted to roll his eyes. I could just tell. That was hardly my fault. Ask a dog person questions, I thought, and you’re going to get dog details.

“Did you see anything you would consider unusual or suspicious during the time you were there?”

“No.”

“Nobody needs a fast answer,” said O’Malley. “Feel free to stop and think about that.”

“I have thought about it. I mean, wouldn’t you? We were
right there,
and none of us had the slightest inkling what was going on. It makes you think back and wonder what you should have done differently.” Lips pursed in annoyance, I shook my head. “I haven’t come up with a damn thing.”

Something came and went briefly in O’Malley’s eyes. Empathy perhaps. Maybe he didn’t have a damn thing to go on either.

“Bear in mind, though,” I said, “as I mentioned earlier, that was my first visit to Winston Pumpernill. So although everything seemed normal to me, I wouldn’t exactly know what normal is.”

“No disturbances? Nobody behaving in a way you wouldn’t expect them to?”

I shrugged. “Mostly I was paying attention to our group. Everyone seemed fine, but again, I don’t really know any of them well enough to know what to expect. You’d be better off talking to the rest of the obedience club members about that.”

“We intend to.” O’Malley flipped his notebook shut.