“Champion stud dog?” Aunt Peg sounded shocked.
I nodded. “Victor thought the title was a good selling point.”
“Selling point,” she echoed faintly.
Aunt Peg looked ready to throttle someone. Hopefully not me.
“They used Victor’s dog and Larry’s bitches,” I continued. “Larry also raised the resulting litters. In exchange for his time and effort, Victor offered Larry eight percent of the Pooch Pub’s profits.”
“Eight percent sounds like a lot,” Aunt Peg commented. “How many litters was Larry breeding in a year?”
“I didn’t ask. But it doesn’t matter. Because what Victor offered turned out to be a moot point. Larry was never paid anything.”
Aunt Peg repositioned the towel, uncovering a new section of damp hair. Then she resumed straightening the coat. “Let me guess. Larry didn’t think to ask for a percentage of the gross, and Victor told him that there were no profits to be divvied up.”
“See?” I said happily. “You caught on right away. But Larry didn’t. If he was as smart as you are, their feud and his lawsuit could have all been avoided.”
“So Larry Bowling was suing Victor?” she asked with interest.
“Technically he’s still in the threatening-to-sue stage. It didn’t sound as though he’d gotten very far yet.”
“He doesn’t appear to be the brightest bulb in the box,” Aunt Peg mused. “I wonder if his lack of legal redress left him feeling angry and frustrated. What sort of man was Mr. Bowling? Maybe the type who might have been tempted to take matters into his own hands?”
Chapter 18
I should have seen that question coming. Aunt Peg loved to leap ahead and draw conclusions before I’d had a chance to finish speaking. She was also sure that virtually everyone was capable of murder given enough provocation.
Which was a sobering thought even on a good day.
“Possibly,” I told her. “But he’s not the only one. Besides, Larry scoffed at the very idea of Westminster. He said he was nowhere near the show on Tuesday night.”
“Oh pish,” Aunt Peg replied. “Of course he said that. Even an idiot would know better than to admit to being in the vicinity of the body of a man he’d wanted to harm.”
Once again, she moved the towel to expose a different area of the mane coat. Coral didn’t even notice the change. Her lips ruffled as she blew out a breath. Her toes were wiggling too. I wondered if the Poodle was chasing a rabbit in her sleep.
“A man named Manny Garza made a similar arrangement with Victor,” I said. “He was also supplying him with puppies.”
“More Poodles?” Aunt Peg sighed.
“Not entirely. Manny’s were Poodle mixes, Schnoodles and Cockapoos. But he was smarter than Larry. His deal included part ownership of the Pooch Pub.”
“More complications.” Now she sounded pleased.
“Yes, but Victor never paid him anything either.”
“I’m not surprised. Who else?” She peered at me from across the table. “Victor was the kind of man who made enemies. I’m assuming there must be others who were nursing a grudge.”
“Were you aware that Louise Bixby and Victor had a very public argument at the Empire specialty?”
“You mentioned something about that the other day,” Aunt Peg said. “But I didn’t want to hear details at the time. Now you can tell me all about it.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t know much. Bertie and I were too far away to hear what was being said. But Victor suddenly came stalking across the room and accosted her. That was how it started.”
“I wonder what put a bee in his bonnet,” Aunt Peg mused.
“According to Hannah Bly—she was the steward on that day—Louise had sent Victor a note.”
“What did it say?”
I just shrugged. If I’d known that, I would have started with the information.
“Well that’s not useful,” Aunt Peg huffed.
“You and Louise are friends. Why don’t you ask her yourself?”
“Louise and I are cordial acquaintances,” she corrected me. “But I just might do that. Perhaps I’ll run into her at tomorrow’s show.”
Perfect, I thought. That would give Aunt Peg something to do while Davey and Sam were readying Coral for the ring. Preparations always proceeded more smoothly when she wasn’t hovering over Davey, critiquing every move he made.
She stood Coral up, then laid her back down on her other side. Now the right side of the Poodle’s body was on top. Since that side faced away from the judge in the ring, it was always last to receive attention.
“Is that all?” Aunt Peg inquired, once she’d started brushing again.
“No. I saved the most interesting person for last.”
“Who’s that?”
“Mattie Gainer.”
Aunt Peg looked up, surprised. She knew Mattie quite well. “Really?”
“Really. I ran into her earlier this afternoon at the Pooch Pub.”
“How unexpected. What was Mattie doing there?”
“Apparently she was engaged in an undercover mission to gather evidence that would enable her to get the place shut down.”
“Mattie told you that?” Aunt Peg’s lips pursed. I think she was trying not to laugh. “Surely she was pulling your leg.”
“She seemed serious enough to me. She was even wearing a disguise.”
“A disguise?” She stared at me in disbelief. “A fake nose and a Groucho moustache perhaps?”
“Well, no,” I admitted. “But Mattie did have on a baseball cap. And the collar of her jacket was pulled up over her face.”
“I see.” Aunt Peg was laughing now. “A baseball cap. That’s what passes for a disguise these days? In my time, we were more creative when we wanted to remain undetected.”
I didn’t even want to think about the kinds of shenanigans Aunt Peg might have gotten up to when she was trying to remain unseen. I hadn’t known her in her youth. But based on her behavior now, almost nothing would have surprised me.
“I’m not asking,” I told her.
“Good, because I’m not telling,” she said. “Let’s get back to Mattie. But first, tell me about the Pooch Pub. Is the place a dump?”
“No. I wish it was, but it’s not. The place is bright and clean, and the coffee is good. And while I despise the situation for the puppies’ sake, their care seems to be decent enough.”
“I guess that’s something,” Aunt Peg muttered. “In that case, Mattie will have her work cut out for her. She’s a dear person, but sometimes I think she lets her enthusiasm override her good judgment.”
“There’s something else,” I said. “It turns out that Mattie and Victor have a history.”
Aunt Peg looked up. Her hand stopped moving. “What kind of history?”
“An unfortunate one. And one that took place right under our noses. Back when Victor was still a member of PPC.”
“Years ago, then.” She didn’t sound mollified. “Mattie was new to the area. She’d just joined the club herself. I doubt that their memberships overlapped for more than a few months.”
“Apparently that was enough time for Victor to corner her at meetings and put his hands on her.”
Aunt Peg opened her mouth. Then closed it again. She looked utterly shocked. Her hand remained still, brush hovering above the damp hair. She should have redirected the dryer’s nozzle when she stopped brushing. But obviously she wasn’t thinking about what was best for Coral’s coat.
“Are you sure you’re right about that?” Aunt Peg demanded.
“That’s what Mattie told me.”
“I never noticed a thing.”
“Me neither. Victor probably orchestrated things that way on purpose. He must have waited until we were all occupied elsewhere before making his move.”
Aunt Peg glanced downward and frowned. She immediately went back to work. “Mattie was quite reserved when she first joined the club. You know what PPC is like. We have some stro
ng personalities and nobody is shy about speaking her mind.”
Certainly not Aunt Peg, anyway.
“I thought perhaps Mattie was intimidated by us,” she mused. “I hoped she’d grow more comfortable, and more outgoing, as time went on. As indeed she has done.”
“That’s probably why Victor chose her to be his victim. He realized Mattie would be too cowed to say anything about his bad behavior to the rest of us.”
“Damn the man!” Aunt Peg swore. All around the room, Poodle heads lifted. Coral’s was among them. Aunt Peg barely seemed to notice. “Now I wish Victor was still around, so I could have the pleasure of punching him in the nose.”
Aunt Peg seldom truly lost her temper—but when she did, watch out. I knew she would feel guilty that Mattie had suffered in silence. And that Victor had been allowed to harass the poor woman at her club—and on her watch.
“What if Mattie wasn’t the only one?” she asked abruptly. “You don’t suppose there were others, do you?”
That thought should have occurred to me too. “I hope not,” I said fervently.
“Perhaps I’ll make some discreet inquiries at tomorrow’s show.”
Louise Bixby’s transgression was forgotten. Aunt Peg had a new mission now. More power to her, I thought, as I slipped down off the counter.
“It’s been a couple of days,” I said on my way out. “Have the police been back in touch?”
“No,” Aunt Peg replied. “I haven’t heard a blessed thing.”
“Maybe that means you’re no longer a suspect.”
“That would be ironic, wouldn’t it? Now when I suddenly have a reason to want to murder the man.”
“I wouldn’t go around saying that in public if I were you.”
Aunt Peg just smiled and waved me out the door. I hoped she wasn’t planning to stir up too much trouble.
* * *
Saturday’s dog show was just twenty minutes away in White Plains. That, combined with the fact that Standard Poodles wouldn’t be judged until afternoon, meant that we all had a chance to sleep late on Saturday morning.
Unfortunately Kevin didn’t get the memo. He came flying into Sam’s and my bedroom before seven a.m. Bud was with him. The two of them jumped up on the bed without breaking stride.
I managed to duck just in time. Sam’s a heavy sleeper. He woke up with a loud “Ooof!” when Bud landed on his stomach.
“Time to go to the dog show!” Kevin announced.
“Not yet,” I grumbled. I balled up my pillow and placed it over my head. “Go back to sleep.”
“Can’t. Bud woke me up. He wants to go to the show too.”
I shifted the pillow to one side. “Sorry, sweetie, Bud can’t come to the dog show with us. He’s not entered.”
“You could enter him.” Kevin was undeterred. “Put him in a class for dogs with spots.”
“I’m afraid that’s not how it works,” Sam said. He was holding one hand over his stomach. Bud weighed twenty pounds and was shaped like a football. My husband was going to be sore later.
“I see lots of dogs with spots at the shows,” Kev said.
Of course he did. He stalked the Dalmatians. And sometimes the Pointers and English Setters.
Kevin sat down on the comforter. He crossed his arms over his chest. He was working himself up to a good sulk. “It’s not fair. How come Davey gets to show a dog and I don’t?”
“Because Davey’s older than you are—”
“I’m almost five!”
“That’s a great age,” Sam told him. “And you have a birthday coming up. Lucky you.”
Kev refused to be distracted. “Can I show a dog when I’m five?” he demanded.
“No—”
“Six?”
“Ummm . . .”
“Seven?” Kev’s voice rose.
The Poodles were flattening their ears against their heads. I didn’t blame them. If I’d been able to, I would have done the same thing.
“Look on the bright side,” Sam told me. “At least Kevin can count.”
In my opinion, nobody should be that cheerful before they’ve had their first cup of coffee.
“Bright side,” I huffed. I slipped out of bed and headed for the bathroom. “Why don’t you and Kevin go downstairs and let the dogs out? While you’re doing that, you can finish explaining to him why Bud isn’t coming with us.”
“I’ll put on the coffee too,” Sam said to my departing back.
“Good idea.”
Kevin was still sitting on the bed with his arms crossed. “Bringing Bud to the dog show is a good idea too.”
I didn’t turn around. Instead I shut the bathroom door behind me and headed for the shower stall. Sam would cope. He always did.
* * *
The venue for the dog show was a big concrete building with Ionic columns and wide front steps. Its interior arena was spacious and brightly lit. Best of all, there was plenty of parking out back.
Aunt Peg was bringing Coral to the show. We were schlepping the rest of the stuff we’d need: a grooming table, a big crate, and a tack box filled with grooming supplies. We’d done it many times before. It didn’t take us long to unload.
Davey took the table, and Sam maneuvered the crate. I carried the tack box in one hand and a small cooler in the other. Kevin had a bag full of Legos that would keep him entertained for at least a couple hours. Teamwork, family style.
Once we were inside the building, Kevin ran on ahead. I was pretty sure he was searching for dogs that looked like Bud. Luckily for us, he ended up in the handlers’ section.
Bertie saw us coming through the wide doorway. She lifted a hand and waved us over. The grooming area was crowded, but she’d saved us some space next to her setup. With just the one dog to prepare for the ring, we didn’t need much.
“I can’t believe you actually beat Peg to a dog show,” Bertie said as we drew near. She had a Border Collie and a Samoyed out on her two tabletops. “That has to be a first.”
“Kevin got us up early,” I grumbled.
“Way to go, Kev!” she said. “Nice enthusiasm.”
Bertie and Kevin high-fived. I guessed I was the only grouch who didn’t like early mornings.
Aunt Peg’s timing was perfect. As soon as we had everything set up, she arrived with Coral. She hopped the Standard Poodle up onto the table, then slipped off the collar and leash. Aunt Peg barely spared us—her family—a glance. She was already scanning the rest of the big room to see who else was in attendance at the show.
“Get to work,” she said to Davey. “I’ll be back later to see how things are coming along.”
Aunt Peg went marching away from the setup. Bertie stared after her thoughtfully. Davey was busy unpacking the tack box. Bertie turned and looked at him.
“How come Peg is trusting you to get Coral ready for the ring by yourself?” she asked. “What’s up with that?”
Davey shrugged. “No idea. But it works for me.”
“Aunt Peg is on the warpath,” I told Bertie. “She has places to go and people to see.”
Bertie enjoyed a good dustup as much as the rest of us. She grinned at that news. “Excellent. I want to hear all about it. Come and talk to me while I work.”
I glanced at Sam. He shooed me away. As always, I wasn’t indispensable to the process.
Besides, I’d already filled him in on what Mattie had told me. Also, this wasn’t the kind of conversation the boys needed to overhear. So I set Kevin up on top of the crate with his plastic blocks. Then I walked around to the far side of Bertie’s setup so we could talk.
She noted my new position. “A secret, then. That’s even better.”
I scooted up onto an empty table. “Do you know Mattie Gainer?”
“Well enough to say hello. We’ve crossed paths outside the Mini ring, but I don’t think we’ve ever had a real conversation. Why?”
“Mattie had a problem with Victor Durbin.”
“Like that’s news.” Bertie smirked.
“Lots of people had problems with Victor.”
“Her problem was a little more personal than most. Victor had a habit of cornering her at the PPC meetings and making rude advances.”
“Yikes.” She considered that with a frown. “It must have happened a while ago. Victor’s been gone from PPC for years, hasn’t he?”
“Yes, and good riddance. Even so, when Aunt Peg found out, I thought she was going to blow a gasket.”
“I can imagine. PPC is her club.”
“Now she’s determined to find out if Mattie was the only one.”
Bertie was brushing the Border Collie. She stopped and looked up at me. “Good luck with that. Even now, with more women opening up, it’s still not the kind of thing most of us want to admit.”
“Admit?” I was surprised at her choice of words. “The women aren’t the ones who’ve done something wrong.”
“True, but somehow it doesn’t feel that way. Logically you know it’s not your fault, but at the same time you can’t help blaming yourself for letting it happen.”
Bertie was one of the strongest, most independent women I knew. But before she got together with my brother, she’d been involved in an abusive relationship. One that she hadn’t managed to escape until her exboyfriend had become violent. I knew she was speaking from experience.
I slipped down off the table. “Give me a hug.”
Bertie extended her arm and pointed the pin brush at me, holding me at arm’s length. “Stay back. I’m working over here.”
“I don’t care.” I gathered her in my arms anyway.
After a few seconds, Bertie pulled away. “Don’t embarrass me,” she said. “It was over years ago.”
“And yet you haven’t forgotten how he made you feel.”
“No, and I probably never will. But I learned something from the experience too. Nobody’s ever going to make me feel that small, or that powerless, again. I won’t allow it to happen. And as for you”—she cocked a brow in my direction—“have at it.”
“At what?”
“Oh please,” Bertie scoffed. “You think I don’t know you’re trying to figure out who killed Victor Durbin? I hope you find the guy. And when you do, I hope someone gives him a medal.”
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