Raining Cats & Dogs (A Melanie Travis Mystery) (17 page)

He looked utterly swamped by remorse. And yet…

“Twenty years is a long time,” I said.

“Livingstons tend to carry a grudge.”

“You’re a Livingston. Does that include you?”

“I guess so. They wouldn’t forgive me, and I refused to forgive them. So we reached an impasse, and neither one of us tried hard enough to get across it.”

“So what finally brought you back to Greenwich after all this time?”

Michael reached for the bowl and dragged it toward him. He pulled out a peanut and went to work. The shells on mine had popped right off. Michael made a production of his.

“I guess there was some guilt involved,” he said finally.

“A sudden attack of conscience?”

“No. More like a sudden realization that nobody lives forever.”

“Your mother had been in Winston Pumpernill for quite a while. Had her health recently taken a turn for the worse?”

“It wasn’t my mother I was worried about,” Michael said softly. “You met her. You know what she was like. I thought she would always be there.”

“Then who…” I began, then abruptly stopped. The answer was staring me right in the face.

“Colon cancer,” said Michael. “Caught early, prognosis good. But still it makes you stop and reevaluate.”

Yes, I thought. It would.

“Did your mother know?”

“Of course not. I was going to tell her. But for obvious reasons I wanted to do it in person. That’s partly why I came back, and also why I wanted so badly to see her.”

“Your relatives think you came back for your mother’s money.”

Michael was holding a peanut between his fingers. He squeezed the shell so hard that the nut shot out and skittered away across the table. “My relatives have been wrong before.”

“Now that your mother’s gone, have you told your family about your illness?”

“I haven’t told them a damn thing. Which is exactly what they deserve. You want to tell them, that’s up to you. I guess maybe they ought to know. Though now, with the Livingstons being the only reason I didn’t have the opportunity to see my mother before she died, I’m in no mood to extend any olive branches myself. That’s why I figured I’d talk to you. You want to pass the news along, feel free. Maybe that will finally end this acrimony once and for all.”

I swallowed heavily. No wonder Michael had thought this was his meeting. He’d been the one orchestrating the flow of information and dropping all the bombshells. I’d merely been along for the ride.

“They know where I’m staying. They have my phone number.” Michael levered his arms on the table. He pushed himself up and out of the booth. “Anyone wants to get in touch with me, they know how to find me.”

I was in my car driving home before it occurred to me that I’d forgotten to ask him about the note he’d had passed to Mary Livingston. I still didn’t know what it had contained, or why it had upset her so much.

I
didn’t call any of the Livingstons to tell them what I’d learned from my conversation with Michael. For one thing, despite what he’d said, I didn’t feel it was my place to convey news of that magnitude. For another, I had no desire to get involved in their internal family squabbles.

Perhaps it was my silence that caused Paul to waylay me outside class on Thursday evening. He and Cora walked up as I was unloading Faith from the car. It didn’t appear to be a chance meeting. I got the impression they’d been waiting for our arrival.

“Let’s walk a bit,” he said.

I glanced at my watch. We had about five minutes to spare and several other people had yet to go inside. “Sure. Let me just hook up Faith’s leash.”

The Poodle danced in anticipation while I tried to snap the lead to the small choke collar loop that was buried in her thick neck hair. She loved going to class. It gave her time alone with me and a chance to perform in front of an audience; it also made her think. For a Poodle, a combination like that was pretty much nirvana.

Paul watched impatiently for a few seconds, then strolled away, leading Cora onto the grassy verge beside the parking lot. A small stone wall separated the Y property from the middle school playing fields next door. They climbed the wall, hopped down the other side, then kept walking. Finally catching the loop and securing the lead, Faith and I hurried to catch up.

“It’s been a week,” Paul said when I settled into stride beside him. “I want to know what you’ve found out.”

His tone was curt, almost preemptive, as if he thought I owed him answers. That, plus the fact that I hadn’t found out very much, was enough to get my hackles up. Paul hadn’t asked me to look into Mary’s murder; he’d merely acquiesced grudgingly. Not only that, but he’d likened my detecting skills to those of a hotline psychic. By my count, I didn’t owe him much of anything.

“A week isn’t very long,” I said.

“It’s long enough. Or at least it should be. I know you saw Michael.”

“Really? How?”

“Your aunt got his phone number from my mother.”

“That doesn’t mean I called him.”

Abruptly, Paul stopped walking. “Look, let’s stop dancing around here. I know you had a drink with my cousin, okay? I’m sure he told you some sad story about how the family had treated him abominably and he only wanted what was best for his mother. Knowing Michael, he probably never mentioned a thing about his own failings.”

“Michael told me he’d been out of touch with your family for more than twenty years.”

“So?”

I’d stopped when Paul had. Now I resumed walking, and he was forced to follow if he wanted to hear what I had to say. “So you must have been a teenager when he left. I’m surprised you would think you know him or what he might be likely to do.”

“Some people don’t change.”

“Maybe they’re not given the opportunity.”

Paul scowled. “I guess he really got to you, didn’t he?”

“I have no idea what you mean by that. In fact, I’m not sure I even want to know. Frankly, I’m still wondering how you know that Michael and I met for a drink.”

“You have no idea—”

“Who I’m dealing with?” My tone was snide. It matched my mood. “You make that sound ominous.”

“That wasn’t my intention.” Paul moderated his voice. He reached out and laid a hand on my arm. Like we were friends, buddies even. “I just don’t want you to get sucked into one of Michael’s deceptions. First meeting, he comes off like a great guy. But once you get to know him better, you realize that you can’t trust a word he says. It’s nothing new; he’s always been like that.”

I slid a sidelong glance in Paul’s direction. Either Michael had been lying to me on Monday, or Paul was lying to me now. I wondered which one it was.

“All he wanted was to come home and see his mother,” I said. “I’m not sure I understand why your entire family had to be involved in that decision.”

“For starters, Greenwich wasn’t Michael’s home anymore. He took care of that a long time ago. On top of that, Aunt Mary’s health was fragile. That was why she was living at Winston Pumpernill, where she would have around-the-clock access to medical care. Everyone in my family loved Aunt Mary. Of course we would see it as our duty to protect her.”

“From her own son?”

“If need be.”

“Mary knew Michael was back,” I said. “She wanted to see him.”

“I’m sure my cousin would say that now, since there’s no way to refute his claim.”

“Michael isn’t the only one who said so. Mary’s friends at Winston Pumpernill told me the same thing.”

Paul gazed at me speculatively. “I guess you have been busier than you let on. What else do you know?”

“I know that Mary was planning to meet with Michael the day after she was killed, and that your family would have done almost anything to prevent that meeting from taking place.”

“Now you’re the one who’s beginning to sound ominous.” A smile twitched at the corners of Paul’s lips. “Surely you don’t think anyone in my family had anything to do with her death.”

“Last time we spoke, one thing you did mention was that your Aunt Mary had a great deal of money. Money your mother seems to think Michael needed and might have been trying to gain access to. And, oddly enough, when we talked at the memorial service, you neglected to mention your cousin at all.”

“Maybe I didn’t think he was important.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Then why are we having this conversation?”

It was Paul’s turn to look annoyed. “Maybe because I want to cover all the bases?”

“Consider them covered.” I gave Faith’s leash a gentle tug and turned around. Everyone else had already gone inside. “We should get back. We’re going to miss the beginning of class.”

“Steve never starts on time,” Paul replied, but he and Cora circled back, too.

If I was ever going to tell him about Michael’s illness, I thought, now was the time. Maybe the news would help smooth relations between Michael and his relatives. Except that now Paul had managed to plant just enough doubt in my mind to keep me from blurting out what I knew.

Had I been duped? Was Michael Livingston a liar? Unfortunately, I had no idea.

I hate it when that happens.

We came to the wall; Paul clambered over it first, then reached back a gentlemanly hand to help me balance on the rocks. Cora scrambled over, leaping from stone to stone, while Faith merely jumped the low obstacle with her customary grace.

“How are the police coming with their investigation?” I asked when we were all on the other side.

Paul shrugged noncommitally. “It’s not as if they feel any compunction to keep us informed. Our attorneys have to keep checking in with them, and even then I suspect there’s a whole lot they’re not telling us. From what we understand, they’re pursuing the possibility that drugs might have been involved.”

I looked at him in surprise. “Why do they think that?”

“You know, since it was a medical facility, where all sorts of controlled substances might potentially have been available.”

“Yes, but…” From my admittedly limited experience, when crimes were committed, the police often suspected there was some sort of drug connection. That was either a sad commentary on our current society or else on the narrow-mindedness of law enforcement. “Your aunt seems like an unlikely candidate to have been involved with drugs.”

“I won’t argue with you there. Truthfully, I think they’re just baffled, and it’s the only thing they can come up with. They may be spinning their wheels, but at least it makes them look like they’re doing
something.”

“Lynn Stephanopolus told me Winston Pumpernill does background checks on all their staff.”

Paul nodded. “I’d imagine that must be standard these days.”

“But I’ve also heard that one of the orderlies can be bribed to smuggle things in and out.”

We’d reached the building. Paul pulled the door and held it open so Faith and I could precede him into the hallway. “Who told you that?”

“I gather it’s common knowledge.” My answer was purposely vague. No way was I going to rat out my sources. “Even Michael, after all, was able to find a way to contact his mother after you and your relatives tried to block him.”

Before Paul could reply, Faith and I ducked through the doorway into the classroom. I threw my things down on the nearest chair and joined the group of dogs and handlers already lined up along the mat. Paul stared after me for a moment, then found a place for Cora and himself at the other end of the line.

“Well, Kelly,” Steve said, flicking a glance in my direction, “I guess you’re going to have to relinquish your title as the lateness queen.”

“Sorry.” I maneuvered Faith into heeling position at my side. “I got caught up in a conversation and forgot what time it was.”

“Good excuse,” Steve nodded, playing to the crowd. “That’s why we all come to this class once a week, isn’t it people? For the good conversation?”

The question produced a laugh, as it was meant to. But somehow that didn’t ease the unexpected tension that seemed to be eddying between us. I wondered if Steve expected me to apologize again.

Instead, I lifted my chin and said, “I’m ready now.”

He rolled his eyes theatrically. “Thank God for small favors. Everyone else?”

Handlers looked down and checked their dogs. Only a beginner made the mistake of assuming that his dog was where he’d been placed moments earlier without checking to make sure.

“Ready,” several people called back. Others nodded their agreement.

“Forward,” Steve said. We all gave our dogs the command to heel and the line began to move.

“Don’t pay any attention to Steve,” Julie said to me over her shoulder. She and Jack were directly in front of us. They were striding out; Faith and I had to really move to keep up. “He’s got a bug up his butt for some reason this evening. Before you walked in, he was picking on Stacey. I’m sure she was thrilled to see you two show up late and take the heat off of her.”

Rounding a corner, I glanced down and monitored Faith’s position. Since she was on the inside, it would have been easy for her to forge ahead for a step or two, but she’d seen the turn coming and moderated her pace so that her shoulder remained even with my thigh.

“Do you know what he’s upset about?”

“Not me.” Julie gave her head a small shake. While I’d been checking on Faith, she’d been staring at Steve. The line was long enough to fill nearly half the matted floor, and he had his back to us as he watched the handlers on the other side. “I don’t have the patience to deal with Steve’s moods. When he starts getting pissy, I just try and stay out of his way.”

“Good idea.”

We heeled another circuit of the ring, going faster, then slower, then back to normal speed in response to Steve’s commands. “About turn!” he announced after another round.

Now Julie was behind me, but I could still see her and Jack in the mirrors that lined one wall of the room. They were doing a great job. The Doberman was focused on his handler to the exclusion of everything else.

Faith and I were novices at the exercise, we were still using a leash. Julie had removed Jack’s lead before the exercise began, but you never would have known it to look at them. The Doberman was glued to her side; the two of them were moving as one.

I’m not the only one with skeletons in my closet,
Minnie had said.
Talk to Julie.
No time like the present, I decided.

Steve finally called the exercise to a halt, and we all fell out of formation. Many of the handlers were breathing hard. A few of the dogs were panting. Julie had barely broken a sweat, however, and Jack looked as though he could have gone on all night. I let Faith relax, spooling out her leash as I sidled over closer to Julie.

“So what was Steve getting on Stacey’s case about?”

“You know.” She shrugged. “The usual.”

“The usual?”

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot. You’re new. Steve hates it when Stacey talks baby talk to Bubbles and treats her as though she’s a child rather than an animal. Actually, I think he hates the fact that he even has a dog named Bubbles in his class.”

Julie and I shared a complicit grin.

“Papillons are smart little dogs, one of those ‘big dog in a small package’ breeds. But Stacey’s always coddling Bubbles—slipping her treats, or picking her up and carrying her everywhere. She doesn’t give her a chance to think for herself. And Bubbles is no fool. She’s learned that if she acts whiny and helpless, Stacey will respond by giving her even more attention.”

Not an unusual problem with little dogs. Toy Poodles were just as smart and capable as their bigger cousins, but it was amazing how many were spoiled by improper handling.

“Does it do any good when Steve yells at her?”

“Not much,” Julie admitted. “Stacey’s pretty set in her ways. Besides, she’s not really a serious competitor. She signed up to take this class for fun. So if Bubbles never gets past her C.D., I don’t think Stacey will be terribly disappointed.”

“You seem to know a lot about most of the people here,” I said.

“It happens. Most of us have been training together for a long time. Some people you become friends with, some you don’t. But either way, you end up finding out all sorts of things about one another.”

“Like what?”

Julie gave me a measuring look. “Why do I suspect that question isn’t nearly as casual as it sounds?”

I laughed in spite of myself. “Maybe because at this time last week Steve was announcing that I was an amateur detective?”

“That must be it. Welcome to the South Avenue Obedience Club. Nobody has any secrets around here.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“May I ask who from?”

“You can ask,” I said. “I’m not going to answer.”

“So you’re discreet. I suppose I should take that as a good sign. Isn’t it about time for you to tell me that anything I say to you will be held in strictest confidence?”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “It depends on what you tell me.”

“And if I choose to say nothing at all?”

I looked at her and shrugged. What did she expect? That I’d pull out dental tools and rubber hoses?