The Bark Before Christmas (19 page)

“Which brings me to my next question,” I said. “What do you know about the Tri-State West Highland White Terrier Club?”

“I've heard of them,” Aunt Peg mused. “I believe they're based somewhere in Westchester. Am I meant to know more than that?”

“Apparently Sondra is a member, and I was told that she's been causing problems there recently.”

“What sorts of problems?”

“She managed to get several fellow breeders expelled from the club.”

“That doesn't sound good,” Aunt Peg said with a frown. “You'd better talk to Meredith Kronen and find out what happened. If anyone knows the whole story, she'll be the one.”

“Who's Meredith Kronen?”

“A lovely woman who used to breed Scotties. Now she judges terriers and she's beginning to branch out into the toy breeds. Meredith knows everyone in terriers and she's the kind of person who likes to keep her ear to the ground. There isn't a lot that gets past her.”

“Do you have her phone number?” I asked.

“I can do better than that,” said Aunt Peg. “I'll call and tell her you're on your way.”

“
Now
?”

“Of course, now. Can you think of a better time?”

“Actually yes,” I said. “Considering that I still have to pick up Davey and make dinner. How about tomorrow? You haven't even told me where Meredith lives.”

“Rye.” Aunt Peg gestured vaguely in the direction of the Merritt Parkway. “Right around the corner.”

Only if you were speaking of a very large corner, I thought.

“Tomorrow morning,” I decided. “See if she's free then.”

Aunt Peg disappeared briefly. When she returned, she was holding a sheet of paper with an address written on it. “Ten-thirty,” she said. “Meredith will be expecting you.”

I got up and motioned to Faith that I was ready to go. Aunt Peg and the Poodle honor guard walked us to the door. I fastened my coat and wound my scarf around my neck. Then I stopped and sighed. There was one more thing I had to say.

“Now what?” asked Aunt Peg.

“I feel bad for Kiltie,” I said. “I really do.”

“So? We all feel bad for that poor lost dog. Why is that a problem?”

“Because the more I find out about Sondra, the less I like her. The way she behaves sometimes . . . I guess it makes me wonder why I'm even trying to help her at all.”

“Because despite your faults, you are a kind and caring person.”

Trust Aunt Peg to temper a compliment—one of the few I'd ever received from her—with an insult.

“
Despite
my faults?”

I wasn't asking for an enumeration. It didn't matter. I got one anyway.

Aunt Peg lifted a hand and began to tick off points, one by one, on her fingers. “Heaven knows you're too impetuous. And you're terrible about overscheduling. You never answer your phone. And on top of that, you're a slow driver.”

Says the woman who treats most roads like her own personal Indy 500 strip.

“Considering that I'm slow and overbooked,” I said, feeling more than a bit grumpy, “maybe I should call Sondra and tell her to find her own dog.”

Aunt Peg opened the door and shooed Faith and me out into the cold December air. “Or maybe you should just buckle down and get the job done,” she said. “Don't think about Sondra. Think about Kiltie. He's what matters.”

What had I been hoping? That Aunt Peg would take my objection to Sondra to heart and let me off the hook so that I could go home and resume planning Christmas for my family? Apparently I should have known better.

With Aunt Peg, the answer was always the same. It was all about the dogs.

T
hursday morning, it was back to the Merritt Parkway again. Sam had work to do so this time I had Kevin as my companion rather than Faith. He and I were heading southwest toward Westchester County where Meredith Kronen was waiting for us.

“Go swim?” Kev asked from the backseat.

“No,” I said. “Not today.”

“Playground?”

“It's too cold for the playground. We're going to visit a nice lady.”

“Nice lady.” My son grinned happily. He likes everybody. “Fish?”

“Probably not,” I told him. “She might have a dog.”

“Poodle,” Kevin said firmly. Since that's his favorite breed of dog, he assumes it's everyone else's, too.

“I don't think so,” I said. “We'll see.”

Meredith Kronen lived in a cute Victorian-style house at the end of a quiet, dead-end road in the village of Rye Brook. Since she was expecting us, I pulled off the road and parked in her driveway. As I was unfastening the buckles and clasps of Kevin's car seat, the door to the house opened. A middle-aged woman with frizzy red hair, thick, dark-framed glasses, and a wide, engaging smile, came out onto the porch to wait for us.

“You must be Melanie,” she said as we approached. “I'm Meredith. Who's the young man?”

“Kevin,” my son piped up before I could answer. “Do you have fish?”

Not surprisingly, Meredith looked taken aback by the question.

“I might have a can of tuna in the pantry,” she told him. “Will that do?”

“Sorry,” I said with a laugh. “We visited someone recently who had an aquarium. Now all Kev wants to talk about is fish.”

“Ahh.” She nodded in understanding. “An obsession. I get that. Everyone I know only wants to talk about dogs.”

“I know how you feel. It's the same way at my house.”

We walked up two front steps, crossed the narrow porch, and followed Meredith inside. As we dealt with coats and hats and mittens, I said, “Thank you for agreeing to talk to me today. I hope our visit isn't an imposition.”

“Not at all, I'm happy to help if I can,” Meredith replied. “Your aunt and I are old friends. And since she was recently instrumental in my gaining approval to judge Poodles, you might say that I owe her one.”

Trading favors. The dog world revolved around that fundamental practice.

“I've brought some books and Matchbox cars with me,” I said. “Kevin can entertain himself while we talk, if that's all right with you.”

“It's perfect. I put the dogs out in their runs so we won't be disturbed. Come on in and have a seat.”

We got ourselves settled in a lovely living room whose Victorian-style furniture matched the design of the house. I sat down on a narrow upholstered couch. Kev was happy to find a seat on the floor at my feet. I unzipped the diaper bag and propped it open next to him so that he could look inside and choose his own distraction.

“Peg told me you wanted to talk about Sondra McEvoy,” Meredith prompted.

“That's right. You may have heard that her dog, Kiltie, was stolen?”

“I
heard
it.” Meredith stopped and frowned. “I didn't entirely believe it.”

“How come?”

“Because the entire story sounded farcical to me. That someone dressed like Santa Claus would abscond with Sondra's Westie at a Christmas bazaar? When I heard the news I assumed it was a joke. Or that someone was playing a prank of some kind. I'm afraid I didn't give it any further thought.”

“It's no joke,” I told her. “Kiltie's been missing for five days.”

“In that case, I apologize. It appears I shouldn't have made light of what happened. Sondra must be beside herself with worry.”

Irritated? Agitated? Annoyed beyond measure? Those were all adjectives I might have used to describe Sondra's reaction to Kiltie's disappearance. But beside herself with worry? Not really. In fact now that I stopped and thought about it, that was one of the things that had been bugging me about this whole situation.

“Aunt Peg offered my assistance to Sondra,” I said. “She thought I could ask some questions and maybe help figure out what happened.”

“Peg is good at conscripting people and bending them to her will,” Meredith said with a laugh. “I believe she's signed me up for some duties having to do with the PCA Foundation. Are you good at finding missing dogs?”

“That remains to be seen,” I told her. “But I am pretty good at asking questions.”

“Have at it then.” Meredith sat back in her chair and got comfortable. “What do you need to know?”

“I'm trying to find people who might have had a grudge against Sondra, or who were upset with her for some reason. And I heard that she caused some trouble recently at the Tri-State Westie Club.”

“Who told you that?”

“If you don't mind, I'd rather not say.”

“No, that's fine.” Meredith dismissed her own question. “I was just curious, but I suppose it doesn't really matter. The story is hardly a secret. The entire membership of the club and half the Terriers breeders in this part of the country all seem to know about it.”

“Are you a member of the Tri-State club?”

“Nope. Not my breed.”

Her tone indicated that the answer should have been obvious. Which I supposed it was.

“But I have several friends who belong to the club,” she continued. “So I heard all about what happened. You know how dog people love to talk.”

I nodded happily. I did indeed. It was that fortuitous fact that often made my life so much easier.

“As you might imagine, a club that named itself Tri-State covers a pretty large area. There are members from western Connecticut, southern New York, and northern New Jersey. There's a big mix of personalities in that group, not to mention the inevitable differences in breeding programs and goals. Some members are very involved in club business, others not at all.”

“Where does Sondra fit into the mix?” I asked.

“At one point, she was one of the VIPs at Tri-State. She held several offices, hosted club meetings at her house, and was co-chairman of the specialty show. But over the last couple years, her interest in the club and its activities has waned. I think her priorities have shifted. Having a dog as good as Kiltie has made her want to devote more time and energy to his career and less to all those club duties.”

“Sondra must still care about what goes on there though,” I said, “because I heard she got a couple of novice breeders kicked out. “

“Yes, she did. One breeder had her membership revoked by the board. The second one resigned in protest.”

“That sounds pretty intense,” I said, shaking my head. “The dog clubs I've known are always thrilled to get new members. More hands equals less work for everyone. So I'm assuming that the person must have done something pretty awful for that to happen?”

“It depends on who you talk to,” Meredith replied. “And also, I guess, on who you choose to believe. The woman Sondra took exception to was a real newbie, both to the breed and to the sport. She had two Westie bitches and a young dog that she'd bought from three different breeders in other parts of the country. None of the three were finished, though she was trying with all of them.” She paused, then added, “Not very successfully, I'm afraid.”

“Owner handling?” I guessed.

“Yes. That was part of the problem. It wasn't all of it.”

“I take it they weren't very good representatives of the breed?”

Meredith looked at me and sighed. “After all this blew up, I went back and looked at my notes. It turned out that I'd had occasion to judge two of the dogs. Neither did better under me than a low ribbon in a small class.”

“Oh,” I said.

“They weren't the worst Westies I've ever seen. But they certainly could have been better. In my opinion, the two I saw were barely show quality. And of course Rachel's inexpert grooming didn't do them any favors.”

Westies are like Poodles in that learning how to groom them to advantage and present them in the show ring takes time and dedication. Talent helps, too. Both breeds are difficult for someone who's just learning the ropes to have success with.

“Everybody has to start somewhere,” I said. Not that far from the newbie ranks myself, I might have sounded slightly defensive.

“Oh, I know that,” Meredith agreed. “We all were beginners once. What Rachel needed was for someone to take her under their wing and show her how things ought to be done.”

“But that didn't happen?”

“I'm sure it would have. In time. Rachel should have just slowed down, taken a deep breath, and devoted herself to watching and learning. Plenty of dog people are willing to be generous with their expertise. I'd imagine she'd have found a mentor if she hadn't been in such a big hurry.”

“What did she do instead?” I asked.

“Unfortunately Rachel got fed up with losing in the show ring. So she took the bitches and the dog home and bred them.”

“To each other?”

Meredith nodded. “Somehow she seemed to think that the puppies would turn out to be better than either of their parents.”

“She would have been better off placing those dogs in good homes and starting over with better stock,” I said.

“I know that, and you know that. But as I said, Rachel was impatient. She wanted to be a breeder.”

“What about genetic testing?”

“Whether it was due to ignorance or arrogance, I have no idea. But I gather that didn't happen either.”

That was really
not
good.

“So Rachel ended up with two litters of pet quality puppies from untested parents that she needed to find homes for,” said Meredith. “And being new, she had no waiting list or connections. But since she was a member of the club, she felt that she was entitled to place an ad for the puppies on the Tri-State web site. She also wanted to have her name added to the club's breeder referral list. And when Sondra found out about both those things, she threw a fit.”

“It sounds like she might have had a good reason for that,” I pointed out.

“For the initial objection, certainly. And Sondra wasn't the only one who felt that way.
None
of the Tri-State breeders wanted to put their reputations behind puppies of that caliber. But Rachel Bright wasn't a bad person. She was simply undereducated and somewhat misguided.”

“The club should have taken her in hand and taught her what she needed to know,” I said. That was what my local Poodle club would have done.

“Absolutely. And there were other members who realized that. Booting Rachel out the door was Sondra's solution to the problem. But if you ask me, it was a knee-jerk reaction. And not everybody agreed with her.”

“What happened then?” I asked.

“The conflict caused a huge rift in the club. Some members backed Sondra because they thought she was right. Others backed her because they were playing politics and nobody ever wants to get on Sondra's bad side. But Rachel had her sympathizers, too. In the end, the decision was left up to the board.”

“I'm guessing Sondra would have had plenty of influence there,” I said.

“It wasn't just a matter of influence,” Meredith told me. “Even though she has let some other club activities go, Sondra is still a board member. So she was one of the people making the decision, and I gather that she harangued the other board members until they agreed with her. Or at least until they didn't have the guts to vote against her. So Rachel was out.

“And then, when the news was made public, another breeder that Rachel had become friends with, resigned as well. The club was left with the worst possible outcome. Two enthusiastic new members were lost to them and in the end, the only person who was happy about the way things turned out was Sondra.”

“It sounds as though Tri-State could have found a much better way of handling things,” I said.

“Of course they could have,” Meredith replied briskly. “And they probably would have too, if Sondra hadn't gotten involved and forced the resolution she wanted.”

“When did all this happen?” I asked.

“The ruckus started in October. The board voted late last month.”

That would have been just a few weeks before the Christmas bazaar, I realized. Which might have left just enough time for someone who had a good reason to be furious at Sondra to plot and engineer a suitable revenge.

“It isn't hard to guess what you're thinking,” said Meredith. “You're wondering if Rachel had something to do with Kiltie's disappearance.”

“Aren't you?” I asked.

Instead of answering, Meredith glanced down and checked the time on her watch. “Rachel's a real estate broker for one of the major agencies. She works at their office in White Plains. I bet you could probably find her there this morning if you want to talk to her about it.”

I did indeed. That was a no-brainer.

While Meredith looked up an address for me, I turned to Kevin. The toddler was sitting on the floor, leaning against my leg. A Richard Scarry book about cars and trucks was propped open in his lap. He looked up from the busy page to see what I wanted.

“Ready to go?” I asked.

“Ready, set, go!” he cried. It was close enough.

“Thank you for taking the time to talk to me,” I said to Meredith as Kev and I paused in the hall to suit up again before heading back outside.

“I hope I helped,” she replied. “Sondra McEvoy isn't one of my favorite people, but nobody deserves to lose her dog.”