“Like Dobermans,” Cindy said in agreement. “Or Whippets.”
“Or Siamese cats,” Terry piped up. Shiba Inu tucked under his arm, he walked down to our end of the aisle and placed the dog on an empty table next to our setup where he could join in the conversation.
He leaned in and kissed Cindy on the cheek. Terry, a newer face in the dog show world than I was, nevertheless managed to know just about everybody.
“Where’s Brad today?” he inquired after Cindy’s husband.
“Playing golf,” Cindy sighed. “In December. Probably freezing his buns off and loving every minute of it. The man’s an addict.”
The three of us glanced at each other guiltily. And we weren’t?
“Besides,” Cindy continued, “he’s never really enjoyed the whole dog show scene. Years ago, when we were newlyweds, he used to come just to humor me. But devotion like that wears off. It’s really just a matter of time.”
Cindy turned to Peg. “I’ve found that dogs are really more a woman’s thing, haven’t you? So few men seem to get the same enjoyment. If I ever found one that did, I think I’d be tempted to hang on to him with both hands.”
Interesting. I wondered if Brad the golfer might have something to say about that.
“I didn’t expect to see you here today,” said Terry. “You’re quite a long way from home.”
“Three states, to be exact. And shows in Allentown this weekend, too. But of course you know the good judges would be all the way up here.”
That was the story of an exhibitor’s life. We lived and died by the judging assignments.
“How did you do?” asked Aunt Peg.
“Points on a puppy,” Cindy said with satisfaction. “You can’t ask for better than that. It will make the long drive home feel worthwhile. How about you? I see this one is headed for the group. Were your others as successful?”
The catalog was brought out; the major entry and our wins exclaimed over. Cindy congratulated us on our good fortune. Then she apologized once again for missing lunch with Peg and said, “I really did want to talk to you about Henry Pruitt. I’d been thinking about what you said about his two dogs. The first time we spoke, I told you I’d be happy to come and get Pepper. Then I believe you said there was some sort of problem with Henry’s daughters?”
“They’ve inherited the dogs as part of their father’s estate,” I said. “And they seem to feel that as purebred Golden Retrievers, Pepper and Remington should be worth money. Rather than simply finding them good homes, the daughters are determined to try and sell them.”
“To the highest bidder,” Peg added with a wink.
“I see. Well, in that case, my offer won’t do you much good. But I thought since I was taking one boy, I might as well have them both. Remington didn’t come from me, but I feel as though I know him from Henry’s pictures. At my house there’s always room for another Golden. And if I’m lucky, I might be able to come up with a home where the two of them can stay together.”
“That would be wonderful,” I said.
“And much appreciated,” Peg added. “We’re hoping to get Henry’s daughters dealt with and out of our lives as soon as possible. The minute that happens, I’ll let you know.”
“Do,” said Cindy. “I’m sure the police must be working on solving this case. Do you know if they’ve made any progress? In New Jersey, we don’t hear a thing, but as it’s local news for you . . .”
“All they’ll say is that they’re exploring a number of options,” I told her. “I don’t think they really know anything.”
“Probably just as well,” Cindy said under her breath.
I stared at her, surprised. “It is?”
“Oh, you know,” she said quickly. “Sleeping dogs and all that. I’ve never seen any good come of stirring things up too much.”
Things were already stirred up, I thought. And letting Henry’s killer go free certainly wouldn’t help any. I’d have said as much, but I never got the chance. Cindy was already turning away.
“I guess I’d better be getting back to my own dog,” she said. “Good luck in the group.”
“Now that was odd,” said Aunt Peg, watching Cindy walk away.
I had to agree.
19
“What did I miss?” Sam asked, reappearing with lunch for three, balanced precariously in a flimsy cardboard container. Since Aunt Peg, Terry, and I were all standing there looking perplexed, it wasn’t an odd question.
“Cindy Marshall stopped by,” I said.
I leaned over to have a look in the box. Dog show food is notoriously poor, and the meal Sam had procured from the concession stand didn’t look terribly appetizing. At least the french fries appeared edible. I snagged one and popped it into my mouth. All that winning had given me an appetite.
“She and I were supposed to have lunch last week but she had to cancel,” said Peg. “So she came looking for me here instead.”
“That was nice of her.” Sam slid the box carefully onto an empty grooming table and we all dug in.
“Maybe . . .” I said.
“She offered to find a home for Remington as well as Pepper,” Aunt Peg added.
“Except that at the moment, you can’t let her have either dog.” I slit open a packet of ketchup. “Which I’m assuming you’d already told her.”
Mouth full, Aunt Peg nodded.
“So why bother?”
“Why indeed?” Terry lowered his voice mysteriously. “Maybe that was just an excuse to come and pump you for information. Maybe Cindy Marshall is a suspect!”
Let’s be honest, it wasn’t as though the thought hadn’t occurred to me. Except that, sad to say, we didn’t have much information to be pumped for.
“You did say that Henry was having an affair with a woman dog breeder,” Sam pointed out.
“We assumed that was Rebecca Morehouse,” I mused. “Maybe we were wrong.”
“You’ll have to add Cindy to your list,” Terry said to Aunt Peg.
“What list?”
“Your list of suspects, of course. Don’t you watch TV? Don’t you read books? How do you expect to solve a mystery if you’re not keeping a list?”
“Don’t encourage her,” I said to Terry.
“Yes, do,” said Peg. “Sadly, it’s beginning to look as though I’m not a very good sleuth after all. I have no idea who killed Henry Pruitt, nor even why anyone would even want to have done so.”
“The police—” I began.
A look from Aunt Peg stopped me. “Have had ten days to figure something out,” she said. “Meanwhile, I’m stuck with Henry’s nitwit daughters still breathing down my neck. It’s time to move things along. If this were your problem, what would you do next?”
I thought for a moment. “Talk to Jenna and Carrie, the two women Henry dated at Hunting Ridge. Try to find out what was going on in his life that doesn’t seem apparent on the surface. Maybe there’s something there that could have led to his murder.”
“Good choice,” said Peg. “Let me know what you find out.”
I must be getting slow in my old age. To think, I never even saw that one coming.
Watching Sam take a dog in the ring is always a pleasure. He’s shown Poodles for years, and although the sport is a hobby for him, his handling technique would put many of the pros to shame. On top of that, Sam and Tar make an excellent team.
When the two of them entered the ring and walked to the head of the long non-sporting group line, I couldn’t take my eyes off them. Nor was I the only one. Usually the ringside waits until after the individual examinations to pick their favorites. Not that day. As soon as the judge sent the line around for the first time with Tar leading the way, spontaneous applause followed their every move.
Anyone who felt that Poodles were a silly breed, deserving of bows and painted toenails to go with their stylized trims, needed only to have been watching the big black Poodle that day to learn differently. Tar was stunningly, ruggedly masculine and totally in control of his
surroundings. Muscles rippled across his hindquarter as he gaited down and back. His stride was fluid and effortless, each of his pieces working in harmony with the others.
Newcomers often ask how it’s possible for a judge to compare dogs to one another in a group, since each breed has a different, distinctive look. Actually, the judge doesn’t compare the dogs to each other, he compares each to its own standard of excellence. That day, standing majestically in the center of the ring and surveying all with an aristocratic arch in his neck and a twinkle in his eye, Tar was the embodiment of the Poodle standard come to life.
He won the group, and two hours later garnered his second Best in Show. And each of us, Aunt Peg, Sam, and I, floated home that night on clouds of pure contentment.
Monday, it was back to real life. And once again back to school, the last week before Christmas break. Nobody had their mind on their studies, including me.
After a blissfully successful Saturday, I’d rounded out the weekend by spending most of Sunday at the mall. The day was an exercise in shopping hell. Errands that should have taken a couple of hours took twice that. The end result was that by Sunday evening, Davey and I still didn’t have a tree or any decorations up. On the plus side, at least I’d finally gotten a handle on most of my Christmas shopping.
Monday morning, sitting in my classroom between tutoring sessions, I pulled out my cell phone and gave Bertie a quick call to see how things were going.
“What?” she snarled by way of a greeting.
“Good morning to you, too.”
“What’s good about it?” Bertie demanded. “Tell me one damn thing.”
“Maybe if you try jumping up and down,” I said, “the baby will fall out.”
“Right. Like that didn’t already occur to me.”
Oh. I’d been kidding.
“Let’s talk about something happy,” I said. “Have you and Frank settled on names yet?”
“We had, but now I’ve changed my mind. I told Frank last night. Now the little stinker’s going to be named Godot. As in Waiting For . . .”
I covered the receiver to muffle my laugh. “I’ll bet that went over well.”
“Frank just nodded and smiled and said, ‘Anything you want, honey.’ ”
Smart man, my brother.
“I heard you had yourself quite a weekend,” said Bertie. “I’m sorry I missed it.”
“You’ll be there next time.”
“Let’s hope so.” She sighed. “Either that or I’ll be in the Guinness Book for the longest human pregnancy on record.”
“Come on now, you’re not that far overdue.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one wearing a watermelon strapped to your waist. What about when Davey was born? Was he early, on-time, or late?”
“Late,” I said. “By three days.”
“And were they the longest three days of your life?”
I answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
“See? I rest my case.”
“Maybe the doctor would like to think about inducing you,” I said.
“That’s what I thought. He said no, everything seems friggin’ normal to him, except of course for the fact that the baby isn’t here. He’s thinking maybe we had the due date wrong. And damn it all, he could be right. You know I’ve never been any good in math.”
“Have you noticed you’re swearing a lot more than you used to?” I mentioned. “You’re going to have to clean that up when the baby arrives.”
“After the baby arrives,” Bertie snapped, “I won’t have anything to swear about.”
Little did she know, I thought. Motherhood was a joy, but still. Bertie’s frustrations were only beginning.
That afternoon, with Davey booked for play practice, I headed back to Hunting Ridge Elementary. Wouldn’t you know it, the first person I ran into was Annie Gault. She didn’t look happy to see me.
“What are you doing here again?” she demanded, hopping down out of her bus to confront me as I walked by. “Checking up on me?”
Interesting, I thought, that Annie should think she needed checking up on.
“I’m here to see an old friend,” I said. She didn’t deserve an explanation, but there was something about her unexpected belligerence that made me want to keep her talking. “How are things going with you?”
“Fine.” Her tongue pushed a wad of gum around her mouth. “Good. Pretty good. Anyway, I’m still here, aren’t I?”
I looked at her curiously. Something looked different; it took me a moment to figure out what. The hoop that had pierced her eyebrow was gone. Also her fingernails were clean and her spiked blond hair seemed to have been toned down a shade or two. Annie Gault was getting her act together.
“Did you expect not to be?” I asked.
“You never know, do you?” Her shrug was careless but the expression in her eyes made me think she cared more than she was willing to let on.
“Enjoying your job?”
“Sure, I guess. It pays pretty good money. As jobs go, I’ve had plenty that were worse.”
Annie didn’t look old enough to have been in the work force that long. The girl was a bundle of inconsistencies. Not the least of which was how she’d gotten to be so cynical so young.
“Do you remember the first time we met? I asked you where Henry was and you said you didn’t even know who he was. Then last week, you talked about him as if the two of you were friends.”
“So?”
“So I’m wondering why you lied to me in the beginning.”
“I didn’t lie, I just didn’t feel like talking about him. Plus, I had a schedule to keep.”
“So it’s not like you had anything to hide?”
“Like what?”
Annie’s pugnacious posture was back. She took a step toward me, clearly hoping I would retreat. I didn’t.
“I don’t know,” I said. “That’s why I’m asking.”
“Well quit asking about me. My life is none of your business.”
We were almost nose to nose now. I could feel her breath on my cheek and smell her spearmint gum. And I was damned if I was going to back up.
“How old are you?” I asked.
The question surprised her. Annie considered a moment before answering. “Nineteen. What’s it to you?”
“Most nineteen-year-olds are in school.”
“Let’s just say I’m taking a break from education. You know, like those British princes did. I read about them in People magazine. They had something called a gap year, and I guess I’m having one, too.” The idea seemed to amuse her. She stepped away, shaking her head.
“Everything okay at home?”
Annie spun back around. “Yeah, everything’s just fine. But you know what? People like you just irritate the crap out of me. Suppose I told you everything wasn’t okay? Suppose I told you I was in deep shit? Then what would your answer be?”
Inside the school the bell rang, ending the last class. Any minute now, the doors would fly open and students would come racing out toward the buses. I only had another few seconds to try and reach her.
“I’d ask how I could help,” I said quietly.
Annie stared at me, her expression hard. “Then I guess it’s lucky for you that you don’t have to worry, isn’t it? I’m getting along just fine.”
Behind me, I heard the door bang open. The sound of excited voices mixed with that of running feet. School was out for the day.
Annie turned and headed toward her bus and I thought we were done. Then unexpectedly she stopped and looked back. “You know what?” she said, lifting her voice so it carried back to me over the waves of chatter that suddenly engulfed us. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I smiled.
Her gaze left mine and went to the kids. “Hey, no running!” Annie yelled. “Form a line and NO pushing. There’s plenty of room for everyone.”
I wouldn’t say that the kids leapt to obey, but they didn’t entirely disregard her authority. eith
er. From a mother’s point of view, it looked as though Annie might be turning into an asset after all. I made my way purposefully through the melee and headed into the building.
Michelle Raddison had given me two names: Jenna Phillips and Carrie Baker. I’d have been happy to talk to either woman but I knew Jenna better, having worked with her on numerous occasions when I was a teacher at Hunting Ridge. Accordingly, I continued walking past the school office and headed down the wide hallway that led to the fifth grade rooms. As I’d hoped, Jenna’s students had already dispersed but she was still there, tidying up.
Jenna’s classroom, like mine, had been decked out for the holidays. A papier-mâché wreath hung on the wall behind the teacher’s desk. Ornaments fashioned of cardboard and glitter decorated the bulletin board. There was a menorah on the bookshelf and a banner reading “Happy Kwanzaa” had been strung across the window frame.
I paused in the doorway and knocked.
Jenna looked up. Surprise widened her dark eyes, followed quickly by a smile. “Melanie! Don’t just stand there, come on in. Geez, knocking on my door like you have to wait for permission or something! I thought for a minute you were a parent. What are those, your private school manners? Get over it, girlfriend, and give me a hug!”
Jenna crossed the room in quick, graceful strides. She had the long legs and slender build of a marathon runner, which she’d been for as long as I’d known her. Her skin was the color of milk chocolate, and her black hair was worn close cropped above a face whose features were regal and distinctive. Her easy smile and ready laugh only added to her appeal.
“Long time, no see,” she said. “It’s like I told the others. Put that girl at Howard Academy and she’ll turn into a snob on us. That’s the last we peons will hear of her.”
“Sorry,” I said guiltily. Jenna was right. The last time we’d seen each other had been at least a year earlier at a school function. “It’s just that things kind of keep getting away from me. I’m sure you know how it is; I’ve been so busy—”
“You got that right!” She laughed. “Like we don’t read about you in the paper every now and again. It sounds like you’re in and out of trouble every other minute. Girl, I think you’ve forgotten how to keep your head down.”
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