Betty didn’t look happy to be corrected. “It’s not like New Jersey is the other end of the world. She has a car, doesn’t she? Skinny lady, brown hair, kind of tweedy? Henry told me about her once, seeing as how Pepper had come from such a famous place and all. He was absolutely dotty about those dogs.”
I had to admit, that did sound like Cindy.
“She used to come and visit Henry sometimes. Not a lot, mind you, but every so often. Enough so that someone who was paying attention might notice.”
And I was guessing that Betty had been paying attention.
“Did you tell Aunt Peg about this?” I asked.
“Nope.”
Aunt Peg must have asked. With her long list of questions, I couldn’t imagine she hadn’t. “How come?”
“For one thing,” Betty said with a snort. “She didn’t offer me any cookies. And for another, I didn’t like her attitude. Trying to pump me for information. Telling me that as Henry’s neighbor I was in a good position to see what was going on over at his house. She made me feel like some sort of Peeping Tom.”
“I’m sure she didn’t mean for her questions to sound insulting,” I said, feeling faintly amused. Aunt Peg was accustomed to bulldozing her way through opposition; in Betty Bowen, she’d finally met someone her scare tactics had failed to impress.
“You wouldn’t say that if you had been there. What I see or don’t see around the neighborhood is my own business.”
She reached in the bag and came out with two more cookies, one for each hand. Who knew that Oreos would be such a big hit?
“Of course it’s your business. I’m sure Peg just assumed that you would want to help catch Henry’s killer.”
Betty frowned. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m as civic minded as the next person. But this whole episode has me all shook up. I haven’t seen this much excitement in years, and frankly I don’t think too much excitement is good for a person.”
I pulled the bag of cookies over and helped myself. Betty just kept talking.
“First there was the ambulance. Then the police started asking questions. Then you and your friend came knocking at my door. With all the activity going on, you’d have thought my house had turned into Grand Central Station.”
“I can see how that might have been upsetting for you.”
“And that was only the beginning. The police have been back a couple of times. Not to mention the reporters that have been sniffing around. And there’s been extra traffic on the road, too... ghouls driving past to have a look at the ‘murder house.’ ” Betty shivered in her seat. “It’s enough to give anyone the shakes.”
“I’m sure Henry would have been sorry for all the trouble he’s caused you,” I said.
Not that I knew any such thing, but it seemed like what Betty wanted to hear. I’m always surprised when people treat someone else’s death as a personal inconvenience. Like the murder victim should have been more considerate of everyone’s feelings.
“Tell you the truth,” said Betty, “it’s not me I’m worried about, it’s Johnny. He can be a little... antisocial, if you know what I mean.”
“Peg and I met Johnny the other week,” I said. He wasn’t the friendliest teenager I’d ever run across, but he hadn’t behaved horribly either. “He lent us the key to Henry’s house.”
“Johnny’s a good boy. It’s just that with his father gone, he feels as though he has to be the man of the house. Like it’s his job to protect me and make sure nothing goes wrong. All those people nosing around, they begin to make him nervous. My Johnny’s a bit on the nervous side anyway, so none of this is good for him. I keep telling him it doesn’t matter, that sooner or later all these people will go away, but he doesn’t want to listen.”
“And Aunt Peg’s second visit didn’t help.”
“You can say that again.”
No need. I figured we’d both gotten the point. Betty must have as well, because she gathered up her coat and stood. “I tried to tell your aunt that I was grateful for what she’s done. Those dogs needed a place to go, and she was a safe haven in a storm of trouble. But beyond offering my thanks, there’s really nothing else Johnny and I can do for her. You’ll be sure and pass that message along, won’t you?”
Me, tell Aunt Peg to butt out? What a novel concept.
Betty’s confidence in my abilities was touching. Misplaced, but touching nonetheless. She was still munching cookies as she let herself out.
So you might be thinking that after a visit like that I might immediately call Aunt Peg and tell her to leave the business of investigating Henry Pruitt’s murder to the police. I considered doing that, honestly I did. For about a minute and a half. Because, really, what would have been the point? Aunt Peg never listens to anything I say. Unless it’s something she wants to hear; in that case, she’s all ears.
Instead I did what any self-respecting mother of an eight-year-old would do two weeks before Christmas—I got on with my life. Tuesday after school, Davey and I finally went out and bought a Christmas tree. The one we chose wasn’t big but it was perfectly formed and lush with pine needles. Best of all, it smelled divine. We brought the tree home strapped to the top of the Volvo and left it sitting outside in a bucket of water until we’d have time to decorate it over the weekend.
At least I managed to get some roping twined around the mailbox and the wreath fastened to the front door. In a neighborhood where most houses twinkled with lights, and several had oversized Santas or herds of reindeer decorating their porches and lawns it didn’t look like much, but it was better than nothing.
Wednesday afternoon found me once again sitting in the back of the auditorium, watching the end of play practice. Nearly two weeks had passed since I’d seen a rehearsal and things really seemed to be coming together. At least none of the sheep fell off the stage.
As things were wrapping up, Alice slid into a seat beside me. “I’ve been thinking,” she whispered as she unwound her scarf and pulled off her gloves. “Maybe you’re right.”
“About what?”
She shot me an exasperated look. “How can you even ask that?”
Easy, I thought. And if Alice had had any idea how much of a juggling act my life currently was, she’d have understood. Alice was busy too, but having a husband who was the sole breadwinner had to take some of the pressure off. As did not having an aunt who liked to get mixed up in mysteries. I’d be willing to bet the Brickmans’ tree was up and their house fully decorated. She’d probably even managed to bake several batches of cookies for the third grade Christmas party, while I’d be reduced to running out and buying fruit punch at the last minute.
But rather than mentioning any of that, I cast my thoughts back to Alice’s and my last conversation, which had been about... oh right, puppies. Specifically, the puppy she was planning on getting from Rebecca Morehouse to surprise her kids on Christmas day. How could I have forgotten that?
“I talked to Rebecca again,” Alice said in a low tone.
“And?”
“Since you were being all pissy about me getting a puppy from her—”
“I was not being pissy.”
“You were so. Don’t even bother to deny it. So I began to think maybe you had a reason. After all, you’d brought up some good questions. Like about socializing young puppies and genetic testing for the parents. And I figured if that was the kind of thing that reputable Golden Retriever breeders were doing, then Rebecca ought to be doing it, too. So I asked her about it.”
That must have been interesting, I thought.
“And what did she say?”
“Frankly, she wasn’t too pleased. At first, she just kind of tried to brush me off. But I persisted. I mean, this is going to be my kids’ pet, so I want to get the best puppy I can find.”
So Alice had been listening. It was nice to know that some of the things I’d said had made an impression.
“Rebecca said of course her litters were well socialized. Her puppies got to go for rides i
n the car and get handled by all sorts of kids....”
“As a selling tool,” I muttered.
“Yeah, I know. When I really stopped and thought about it, it didn’t sound like the greatest idea to me either. So I checked on the other stuff you talked about. I asked about the sire and dam and what sort of testing they’d had done.”
“Was there any?”
“No.” Alice sighed. “Though Rebecca had a good reason for that. She said she didn’t do any genetic testing because she’d never had any problems in her line. Like x-rays for hip dysplasia. Apparently they’re hard to do, and on top of that they’re uncomfortable for the dog. So most breeders don’t bother with them unless they think there’s something wrong.”
“That’s a lot of bullshit,” I said.
Alice folded and unfolded her hands in her lap. “I was afraid you might say that. So I called Dr. Harrison at the animal clinic and I asked him. He gave me a whole list of tests that he said anyone considering buying a Golden Retriever should be aware of. I ran the list past Rebecca and her dogs hadn’t had any of them. Ever.”
No surprise there, I thought. It was nothing short of amazing how many lazy or unscrupulous breeders tried to get away with the “not in my line” defense. How did they know what genetic problems might or might not be lurking in their breeding program if they refused to test for them?
That would especially be the case with a breeder like Rebecca who sold all her puppies at a young age and promptly lost track of them. By the time the dogs were old enough for problems to develop, they would be out of her sight and, presumably, her thoughts. Then it would be up to the poor, uninformed puppy buyers to spend untold amounts of time, money, and emotion dealing with the health problems Rebecca had created. The thought of that kind of carelessness just made my blood boil.
“Good for Dr. Harrison,” I said. “And good for you for checking with him.”
“Yes, well... I probably should have listened to you sooner. It was just that the puppies were so cute and the thought of having one for Christmas day made me feel like I was doing something really special for the kids.”
Just what Rebecca had been counting on, I thought.
“And besides, I’d already put down a deposit. Changing my mind after the fact would be like throwing that hundred dollars away.”
I was quite certain Rebecca had considered that in her marketing plans, too. No doubt a fair portion of her puppies were sold to impulse buyers who had no recourse if, upon reflection, they changed their minds about adding a puppy to their households.
“But then I decided that was just stupid,” said Alice. “Any dog I get for the kids is going to be a member of our family for a long, long time. So why shouldn’t I make the extra effort to do things right? I want our puppy to come from a breeder who knows what they’re doing, someone who can guarantee that their puppies get the best possible start in life.”
“Aunt Peg would be happy to help you find someone like that,” I said, feeling relieved for both our sakes. Now Alice would end up with a better pet for her family, and I wouldn’t have to hold my breath wondering what was going to go wrong first. “There’s a breeder in New Jersey, the woman who bred Henry’s dog, Pepper. I have no idea if she has any puppies available but we can call and find out.”
“Thanks.” Alice smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that. Actually, I kind of figured you would. Which solves one of my problems... but not the other. I’m hoping you might want to help with that one, too.”
“What problem is that?”
She nodded toward the stage. “I told Rebecca I was taking a puppy. I even gave her money to hold him for me. So now I’ve got to go tell her that I’m backing out of the deal. You’ll come with me when I do it, won’t you? If I go by myself, I’m afraid she’ll convince me to change my mind again. With you there for moral support, I’ll be able to stick to my guns.”
“Of course I’ll help,” I said.
What choice did I have? I was the one who’d convinced Alice to renege on the sale. No matter how unappealing the prospect, I supposed I ought to accompany her to deliver the bad news.
“I was thinking we should talk to her this afternoon,” said Alice. “As soon as rehearsal’s over. No time like the present, right?”
Sometimes it’s just like they say: no good deed goes unpunished.
“Right,” I agreed.
22
Luckily, we were saved by the bell.
Or, in this case, the first six bars of “Flight of the Bumblebee.” As we got up to go confront Rebecca, my cell phone rang. I dug through my purse and told Alice to go on ahead backstage without me. No surprise, she didn’t.
“Hey, Mel, it’s Frank,” my brother said when I clicked on. Like I wouldn’t recognize his voice.
“What’s up?”
“We’re having a baby!”
I knew that. I’d known it for months. Then my brain reprocessed the information correctly. “You mean now?”
“Right now,” Frank crowed. He swore under his breath and I thought I heard a horn honk.
“Where are you? Why aren’t you at the hospital?”
“We’re on the way. Bertie made me call you. Hang on a minute, here she is.”
There was a pause during which I was quite sure I heard Bertie say, “Don’t sideswipe that truck, honey, I want to get to the hospital in one piece,” then her voice came through the phone, directed to me. “Your brother’s a madman, you know that, don’t you?”
“Have for years,” I confirmed cheerfully. “But he was born into my family so I didn’t have a choice. You’re the one who married him.”
“Yeah, well, I’m beginning to rethink that whole arrangement. Contractions are a real bitch, how come nobody mentioned that?”
Bertie had been to natural childbirth classes. She’d seen the video and been thoroughly briefed. So I was pretty sure she’d been warned. No sense in bringing that up now.
“How far apart are they?” I asked instead.
“Three minutes, give or take.”
“Three minutes? And you’re just on your way to the hospital now? At rush hour?”
Okay, so the last part wasn’t strictly necessary, but come on. Bertie and Frank lived in Wilton. The hospital was in Norwalk, at least a twenty-minute drive under the best of circumstances. They were cutting things pretty close.
“I know.” Bertie sighed. “It’s all my fault: I did one of those hospital tours—you know, where they show you around so you know what to expect? And I kept seeing those pregnant women you hear about, the ones who go running to the hospital at the first twinge and then twelve hours later they’re still pacing up and down the hallways. There was no way that was going to be me.”
I could understand that.
“So the first couple of contractions I kind of ignored, in case they were just wishful thinking. Then when I realized it was the real deal, I called Frank and he had to get home from Stamford. Which was okay because the contractions were still ten minutes apart and I didn’t think we were in any great hurry. So I was just sitting there watching Dr. Phil because, really, when you’re more than nine months pregnant what else is there to do besides watch cheesy television shows?”
Bertie was rambling now. Maybe she was trying to take her mind off of Frank’s driving. Or the intensity of her contractions. Far be it from me to interrupt.
“But then Frank got home and I got up and started to get ready to go and—here’s another thing nobody told me—when you start moving around, the contractions speed up. Like a lot. So next thing I knew they were five minutes apart and we were in the car. And now they’re closer than that, and we’re stuck in traffic.”
“We are not stuck in traffic,” my brother yelled in the background. The assertion was punctuated by the loud blast of a horn. “Get out of the way, dammit! We’re trying to have a baby over here.”
“So as you can see,” Bertie finished up, sounding surprisingly upbeat under the circumstances, “everything is
going according to plan.”
“What do you need me to do?” I said. “Have you called the doctor?”
“Before we even left home. He’s meeting us at the hospital.”
“I’ll tell Aunt Peg,” I said. “And Sam. What about your family?”
“With the baby being so late and all, they didn’t want to come ahead of time and have to wait and wait. So now they’re on their way up from Pennsylvania. They’ll be here in a couple hours.”
“Anything else?”
“Just get in your car and get the heck over here. I’m thinking someone’s going to have to hold Frank’s hand and if these contractions get much worse, it sure as hell isn’t going to be me...ooohh!”
“Breathe!” I said automatically. It had been eight years since Davey was born. I couldn’t remember whether, at this point, she was supposed to be taking deep breaths or panting. Hopefully, Bertie would know. “Breathe through it! Everything all right?”
“Ahh... I’m back,” Bertie’s voice sounded strained. “Hurry up, okay?”
“On my way. Hang on to little Godot until I get there.”
“Godot.” Bertie chuckled mirthlessly. “Who would give a baby an idiot name like that?”
I snapped the phone shut and looked over at Alice.
“You have to go,” she said.
“My brother and sister-in-law are having a baby. They’re on their way to Norwalk hospital.”
Alice nodded briskly and cut straight to the chase. “Do you want to take Davey or would you rather leave him with me?”
Good question. In all the excitement, I’d forgotten all about him. No point dragging him to a hospital waiting room where he’d probably have to entertain himself for several hours. Not only that, but I had no idea what the hospital policy was about young children visiting the nursery. Better to leave him with Alice and bring him back to see his new cousin tomorrow.
“Do you mind?” I asked.
“Are you kidding? Of course not.” Her hands shooed me away. “Go. Make your phone calls and get on the road. I’ll keep Davey until whenever you show up. And if you’re going to be really late, call, and I’ll go get Faith and Eve, too.”
Jingle Bell Bark Page 18
