Authors: Laurien Berenson

Tags: #Suspense

Underdog (27 page)

BOOK: Underdog

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Dinner revived Davey's flagging energy. On the way back to the motel we drove past Doughnuts Divine and he jumped up and down in his seat. “Dessert! Dessert!” he yelled. The Poodles weren't sure what all the fuss was about but they threw in a few barks for good measure.

“Not tonight,” I said. After what had happened that morning, doughnuts were about the last thing I wanted. Not to mention the fact that Harry's coffee had been in a Doughnuts Divine cup. . . .

The tires squealed on dry pavement as I yanked the wheel hard to the right. One wheel caught the driveway, the other bumped up over the curb as we made the turn into the parking lot.

“Yea!” cried Davey, as the Poodles righted themselves in the back seat.

“Two doughnuts. And that's all.”

“Two each?” Davey opened the door and scrambled out.

“Oh, all right.” By that time of the day, my ability to argue was on low ebb. I gathered up the
Dog Scene
magazine and followed my son inside.

A large glassed-in showcase was filled with more than a dozen different kinds of doughnuts. There were two small booths and a sit-down counter over to the right. Aside from a teenage girl in a pink smock standing behind the cash register, we had the place to ourselves. The girl, whose name tag identified her as Sandy, had out a compact and a tube of cherry red lipstick, which she was smoothing over her full lips. As we let ourselves in, she shoved both under the counter.

Davey went straight to the wall of doughnuts. His eyes were round as saucers. Choosing his twoânot only the kind, but the actual doughnuts themselvesâwould occupy him for at least the next ten minutes.

“What can I get you?” Sandy asked.

“Four doughnuts.”

She took out a white grease paper bag and shook it open.

“You weren't working this morning, were you?”

“Nah. I'm on four to midnight.”

That made sense. Still, it had been worth a shot. “Do you know who was on duty this morning, say around seven?”

“Sure, that's Jeff. He's in back.”

“He's working now?”

Her head bobbed. “Tuition's pretty steep. Jeff does double shifts whenever he can manage around his classes. He's real studious, you know what I mean?”

I gathered that meant he was too busy with his books to appreciate the cherry red lips. “Do you think he might have a minute to step out and talk to me?”

“Probably.” She stepped back and stuck her head in the kitchen door. “Hey Jeff! There's a lady out here who wants to see you.” She waited a moment, then said back to me, “He'll be right out.”

She pushed the door and followed it through. When it swung back, it brought in a white-smocked teenage boy wearing a peaked paper hat over close-cropped hair. He was tall and skinny and a faint line of acne scars shadowed his jaw. “Sandy said you wanted to see me?”

I spread the
Dog Scene
down on the counter. I'd creased the ad featuring a picture of Rick showing the Brittany and the magazine fell open to that page. “Did this man come in here this morning and buy a cup of coffee? Maybe between seven and seven-thirty?”

Jeff bent down for a closer look. “I don't think so. But business is pretty good then, you know? Sometimes we get real busy and I'm just on automatic pilot. I'm too busy serving doughnuts to spend any time looking at faces. Does this have something to do with that guy who died?”

“It might.”

“The police came over to school and talked to me this afternoon. They didn't have any pictures, though, and there wasn't much I could tell them. I must have sold a hundred cups of coffee this morning.”

I flipped the magazine shut. “Thanks anyway. Davey, are you ready?”

“I want one jelly and one honey glazed.” He pointed with a firm finger. “That one.”

Jeff picked up the bag. “Sandy said you wanted four doughnuts, right?”

“Right. I just need to have a look. . . .” All right, so if Davey took his time deciding, let's just say I knew where he got it from. “Maybe a raspberry.”

Jeff leaned back against the end of the counter and waited. Davey fished his jelly doughnut out of the bag and began to eat. A spray of powdered sugar decorated the tip of his nose. “Want to see a really cool car?” he asked Jeff.

“Sure.”

Davey pulled the
Dog Scene
across the counter top. “Page fourteen,” he said with authority.

“Raspberry,” I decided as the pages flipped behind me. “And a chocolate cruller.”

“Got it,” said Jeff. He quickly bagged my choices. “You know, she was here.”

“She who?”

“That girl.” His finger poked at the ad with the really cool car. Champion Shadowlands Super-Charged.

And Angie.

“When?”

“She came in here this morning. Just like you asked.”

Twenty-seven

“Wait a minute!” I cried as he rang up our purchase. My voice sounded unnaturally loud. “Are you saying that Angie was here this morning?”

“Is this Angie?” He poked at the picture again.

I nodded.

“She was here. Like I said, most people blend together. But I noticed her because she bought two coffees and had trouble getting out the door carrying them.”

Two
coffees?

Maybe she'd been buying one for Rick.

Then again, maybe not.

I opened my wallet and tossed a couple of singles down on the counter. “Come on, Davey. Let's go.”

“Don't you want your magazine?”

We were halfway to the door and had to come back for it. In the car, the Poodles were all over us. Davey let them help polish off his jelly doughnut and I didn't say a word.

I was too busy thinking.
Angie?

She was Jenny's sister. I'd seen how upset she was at the funeral. I'd watched how hard she'd worked since to fill her sister's shoes.

And how well she'd succeeded.

Her words came floating back to me.
Jenny never gave me a chance. . . .

“Mommy, why are we just sitting here?”

I fished out the key and fit it into the ignition, still tumbling things end over end in my mind. Angie had always seemed so young and immature. She was the follower, not the leader. And Jenny and Angie had been family; close enough that when Angie left home, she'd run to her older sibling.

But not close enough to know about Jenny's own plans to run away . . .

I drove the mile to the motel at well under the speed limit. The way my thoughts were swirling, I was an accident just waiting to happen. Aunt Peg wasn't back yet, no surprise there. I got Davey into his pajamas, fed and walked the Poodles. And considered the notion that Angie might have been the murderer.

For years, she'd stood in Jenny's shadow. But now with her sister gone, Angie had come into her own. For the first time, her ambition had been allowed free rein. She'd brushed aside Rick's objections when he hadn't wanted her to show Charlie. And she'd been working on Florence Byrd to extend the dog's career. Now that sympathy was wearing thin, Harry Flynn had been pushing her hard for wins. Had she brushed him aside, too?

I shook my head irritably. It all seemed incredible. I'd wanted to find all the pieces to the puzzle; but now that I had them, they were forming a picture I didn't necessarily believe. To quote Aunt Peg, the girl was a child. I had to talk to Angie. Face to face. I needed to hear what she had to say about all this.

I put Davey in bed and read him
Peter Pan
from start to finish. By the time Hook had been vanquished, he was snoring softly into his pillow. I picked up the phone, dialed the front desk and got myself connected to Angie's room. Rick picked up.

“She's back at the show exing the dogs for the night,” he told me. Mindful of our conversation the day before, his voice was distinctly cool. “I'll tell her you called.” He started to hang up.

“Rick, do you drink coffee?”

There was a long pause as he considered what had to sound like an odd question. “Of course I drink coffee,” he said finally.

“Did Angieâ?”

The phone clicked in my ear.

I was debating what to do next when Peaches stood up on the bed and whined. Faith cocked her ears. A moment later, I heard the scratch of Aunt Peg's key in the lock. She pushed the door open and stepped carefully over the threshold. She was grinning like she'd just won the lottery and her eyes had a distinctly tipsy glaze. I leapt up and caught the Poodles before their boisterous greeting could knock her over.

“Dinner was grand,” she announced, throwing her coat on the bed.

“You look it.”

Peg peered at her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. “I most certainly do not.”

I'd been planning to tell her what I'd learned and ask her advice. But from the looks of Aunt Peg, she wasn't in any shape to absorb details. Nothing if not flexible, I went on to plan B. “I have to go out for a little while. Can you keep an eye on Davey?”

“You're going out
now?
Where on earth to?”

“Back to the show. Angie's there and I want to talk to her.”

“Oh. Of course.” Aunt Peg nodded as if my partial explanation made perfect sense. She's usually very quick on the uptake so I took her easy acquiescence to mean that her evening had been very pleasant indeed.

When I pulled the door shut behind me, she was singing “The Impossible Dream” and dancing around the room with Peaches for a partner. I wondered how much she'd remember in the morning.

At ten-thirty at night, the Eastern States Exposition Grounds were a good deal darker and quieter than I'd expected. A parking lot off to one side was filled with motor homes and although a few lights were visible, most people seemed to have already bedded down for the night. I pulled the Volvo up beside the building and let myself in a heavy metal door with a light shining overhead.

A uniformed guard walked by, carrying a steaming cup of hot soup. “You've got half an hour,” he said curtly. “Then I'm closing up.”

“Right.” I nodded and kept on going. Depending on what Angie had to say, I might be in and out in ten minutes.

Still, it was nice to know there was some sort of security force in the building. Half of me realized I might be about to confront a murderer. The other half thought of all the time I'd spent in her company lately and flatly refused to accept the possibility. Nor was I able to take Angie seriously as an adversary. She was slightly taller than me and probably weighed a few pounds more, but I doubted that either of us would be able to inflict any significant physical damage upon the other.

On the other hand, I certainly wouldn't be drinking or eating anything in her presence.

I made my way quickly through the grooming area, skirting crates and ex pens, and dodging across the haphazardly formed aisles. The building was only half lit and nearly empty. After the bustle and crowds of daytime, the quiet seemed almost unnatural. Somewhere a rap song was playing in a boom box; and I could see a few people on the other side of the rings finishing up their chores. But over where we had set up, everyone had already packed up and gone home.

For a moment I thought I'd missed Angie. Then as I veered around a grooming table and started up the Shamrock aisle, I saw a black Cocker Spaniel sniffing around the paper floor of its exercise pen. Angie was bending over to fasten the gate.

“Hey,” she said, straightening as I approached. “What are you doing here? Did you forget something?”

“No. I was hoping we could talk.”

“Sure. I've got time.” She watched as the Cocker lifted his leg, then hoisted him up out of the pen and covered the wet spot with fresh white paper from a big roll. “I've got two more to do. What's up?”

I waited until she'd put that dog back in its crate and gotten the next one into the pen. I'd thought she might stop moving then, but she didn't. Angie fidgeted around the set-up, rearranging, tidying, basically doing everything but giving me her full attention. There was a grooming table in the aisle behind me, with a big, waist-high hair dryer standing beside it. I shoved the heavy nozzle out of the way and braced back against the edge of the table. This might take longer than I thought.

“The clerk at Doughnuts Divine told me you were in this morning and bought two cups of coffee.”

Her back stiffened slightly; or maybe it was a trick of the half light. Angie didn't say a word.

“Harry Flynn was poisoned by someone who slipped something into a cup of coffee that came from there.” I didn't know that for sure, but it seemed likely. Besides, unless Angie was the killer, she wouldn't know either.

“So?” She still wasn't looking at me, but her tone conveyed her irritation.

“Harry Flynn was poisoned Angie, just like Jenny. The police will be looking into the connections there. They may have started already.”

She spun around, scowling. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you're the only person I can think of who stood to profit from both their deaths.”

“Jenny was my sister. She was my best friend!” Her voice was high and keening. It was almost enough to convince me she was in pain. Almost.

It was like shifting the focus on a camera ever so slightly and seeing a whole new picture emerge. When I'd believed Angie to be innocent, she looked innocent. But now her protests didn't ring as true as they once had. I settled in on top of the grooming table and crossed my arms over my chest.

“If you and Jenny were so close, why didn't she tell you she was leaving?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jenny was getting out. She was going to leave Rick and everything else behind. In another week, she would have been gone.”

“No!” Angie shook her head violently.

“Yes. She'd been planning her escape for weeks. You can ask Florence Byrd if you don't believe me. She knew all about it.”

The silence was so thick it was almost palpable. Angie put the Bichon away, used the poop scoop to do some cleaning and got out another Cocker.

“If only you'd been a little more patient,” I said finally.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Her tone was equal parts anger and incredulity.

“I think you do. I think you figured you'd been the assistant long enough. You wanted your turn and you were going to get it.”

“That's a lieâ”

“And then once you had Jenny's clients and Jenny's dogs, you still weren't winning as much as you wanted and you realized Harry Flynn was in your way.”

Angie snorted loudly. “Harry didn't worry me.”

“Then why did you kill him?”

She stared at me round-eyed. “You're crazy, you know that?”

Rick had said much the same thing. Now here I was accusing someone else whose first response had been righteous indignation at my stupidity. But while Rick had managed to come to his own defense, I had yet to hear Angie do the same.

“Somebody left a cup of coffee at Harry's set-up this morning. Somebody who probably knew his habits. Somebody who'd been in dogs long enough to know where to get arsenic and how to dose it. Florence Byrd told me just last Sunday she was furious when Charlie was beaten by Flynn's Cocker in the variety. I think that's when you knew that just getting Jenny out of your way wasn't enough, that Harry was going to have to go, too.”

It was an impressive speech, I thought. Some guesswork on my part, but heavily laced with fact. Angie should have crumpled like a stale biscuit.

Instead, she shook her head. “I didn't buy that coffee for myself.”

“No?”

“I bought it for Dirk.”

Talk about throwing a spanner into the works.
Dirk?
“Why?”

“He asked me to. We both left the motel this morning at the same time. He offered me a ride over and I told him I wanted to stop for breakfast. He said he was in a hurry, but could I pick up some coffee for him.”

Well shoot. “And did you give it to him?”

“Yeah, sure.” Angie scooped up the Cocker and put it away. She cleaned up the dirty paper and laid out fresh for the morning. “Two cups, just like he asked for.”

“Two cups?”

Angie shrugged. “He's a big guy. I guess it takes a lot of caffeine to get him started in the morning.”

Dirk? I tossed him around in my mind, trying to work him into my theories. It was like trying to force a working dog into a toy-sized crate. Bits and pieces fit, but not the whole thing.

Angie was back fishing around in the tack box. Probably looking for keys so that she could lock up for the night.

“Did you tell the police about that?” I asked.

“No.” Her voice was muffled as she dug deeper into the large bottom compartment. “They didn't ask.”

Then she straightened and turned to face me and I saw what she'd been looking for.

A gun.

It was black and shiny and looked big in her hand. It was also pointing straight at me. So much for not being able to inflict significant physical damage.

“Angie, what are you doing?”

“Rick bought this for protection,” she said calmly. “I told him he was nuts, but I guess he wasn't.”

“Protection? Who do you need protection from? Dirk?”

BOOK: Underdog

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