Melanie Travis 06 - Hush Puppy

by Berenson, Laurien

  “I’m going to find a snack,” said Davey, heading toward the kitchen. The quartet of Poodles followed hopefully behind.

  I went in the other direction to Sam’s bedroom, where I knew I’d find Tar’s crate. A Poodle show coat is a fragile thing. It takes years to grow and requires hours of maintenance on the part of the owner. One careless slip—a puppy left to play unattended with boisterous, older dogs—can cause holes and mats that will keep a Poodle out of the ring for months. Most Poodle owners leave their show dogs crated when they’re not watching them, which includes when they’re asleep. Hence the crate in the bedroom.

  Though I could hear Tar whining eagerly at my approach, I still hesitated in the doorway to the room. I’d been in Sam’s bedroom many times, but this was the first time I’d felt like an intruder. Worse, I was half-tempted to look around for telltale signs that Sheila might have been there.

  No doubt about it, I thought irritably, my maturity level was hitting an all-time low.

  Tar’s scratching at the door to his crate got me moving. I crossed the room and flipped the latch. The puppy sprang out, an energetic ball of black hair and flying topknots. Tail whipping back and forth, he leapt over the bed and dashed into the hall. I heard him skid briefly on the hardwood floor, then he was gone. I hoped Davey would think to open the back door that led to Sam’s big covered run when the puppy reached the kitchen.

  There was, of course, no black negligee draped across the pillow. Nor were there any extra toiletries in the bathroom. Since I didn’t touch anything, I figured I wasn’t exactly snooping—more just having a friendly look around. I did notice, however, that the message light on Sam’s answering machine was blinking.

  Probably business calls, I told myself. Or maybe a puppy buyer checking to see if he’d had a litter recently.

  Nothing that would interest me.

  Nothing that Sam would mind if I heard.

  We were planning to get married, weren’t we? Didn’t that mean we wouldn’t keep any secrets from each other? I walked over to the night table beside the bed and hit the replay button.

  “You have two messages,” said the tinny voice, followed by a beep.

  “Sam, it’s me.” Sheila’s voice didn’t sound tinny at all. Even on the machine, it was lush and sultry. And even after all this time, she clearly expected Sam to recognize it. “Call me, would you?”

  A second beep brought Sheila back. “Sorry,” she said. “Just checking in again. I have a little problem I’m hoping you can help me with. Whenever you get a chance. I’ll be waiting . . .”

  Angrily, I pushed the button and sent the tape spinning backward. I’ll be waiting, my fanny!

  I’d known women who made a career out of being helpless, who seemed to think that it flattered a man’s ego to let him always be the one in charge. But from what both Sam and Aunt Peg had told me about Sheila, the driven career woman, she didn’t seem like the type. So why was her life suddenly so full of little problems that nobody but Sam could solve?

  I muttered under my breath all the way to the kitchen. Davey was there, munching on one of his favorite shortbread cookies and drinking a glass of milk. “I let Tar outside,” he said. “Otherwise, he was going to pee on the floor.”

  There’s nothing that warms a mother’s heart like the knowledge she’s raising a sensible child. “Good thinking.”

  “Do you think Sam will be back soon?”

  “Probably.”

  I could afford to be confident. I knew Sam wouldn’t leave his Poodles unattended for too long. Indeed, barely five minutes had passed before the dogs all sat up and pricked their ears.

  Davey pushed back his chair, grabbed two cookies, and ran to the door. I followed more slowly. Since I’d listened to Sam’s messages, the light on his machine was no longer blinking. If I wanted, I could simply leave things at that. Sheila would certainly call back, and I wouldn’t have to admit that I’d been checking up on him.

  The idea had appeal, in a sneaky, underhanded, sort of way. But as anyone who’s been raised by nuns can tell you, the specter of sin looms large in the psyche ever after. Instead of hiding my indiscretion, I found myself blurting it out the moment Sam walked through the door.

  “What a nice surprise,” he said.

  He was wearing corduroy pants and a soft, faded, denim shirt, with a down vest thrown on top. His dark blond hair had been ruffled by the wind. In short, he looked terrific. I didn’t have any difficulty at all understanding why Sheila kept calling.

  “You should have let me know you were coming,” he said. “I’d have been sure to be here.”

  “We’ve only been here a few minutes. Just long enough to let the dogs out, and um . . . listen to your messages.”

  Confession may be good for the soul, but Sam didn’t seem unduly impressed. “Was there anything interesting?”

  “Sort of.”

  Maybe something in my tone alerted him. Sam turned to Davey. “I left a couple bags of groceries in the car. Do you think you could bring them in?”

  “Sure!” My son’s still at that wonderful age when being asked to do something confers a sense of responsibility. He hasn’t yet come to think of helping out as work.

  “Sheila called you,” I said when he’d gone outside. “Twice.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  Sam looked perplexed. “So what’s the problem?”

  “You don’t find the fact that your ex-wife keeps calling you a problem?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe you should.” I heard my voice rise. One or two more decibels, and I’d be well on my way to shrill.

  “What?” asked Sam. “What am I missing here?”

  “Sheila is throwing herself at you, is that so hard to see?”

  That made him grin. “That’s crazy. Even if Sheila was still interested in me, which she isn’t, this is hardly the way she’d try to get my attention.”

  Men can be so oblivious it’s pathetic.

  “She told Aunt Peg your divorce was a mistake, that she’d come here to tell you she’d changed her mind.”

  Sam shook his head. “In the first place, Sheila came to New York for a job. And in the second, even if she had changed her mind, don’t you think I have any say in the matter? Do you really think so little of me as to believe that all another woman has to do is call and I’d go running?”

  Put like that, I had to admit I was the one who sounded pretty pathetic. Still, stubbornness is one of my best traits. “Sheila’s not just any other woman.”

  “Quite right,” Sam agreed. “She’s the source of the largest failure in my life. I can see why you’d assume I’d be in a hurry to try that again.”

  For once I was silent, letting his words sink in. The longer the notion rolled around in my head, the more sense it made. “I guess you’ve made your point,” I said. “I’ve been acting like an idiot.”

  “It’s not that bad.” Sam closed the space between us and wrapped his arms around me.

  “Yes, it is.” The words were muffled, as I mumbled them into his shirt.

  “You’re determined to argue, aren’t you?”

  I tipped back my head. “Unless you can think of something better for us to do.”

  He could, and we did. At least until Davey reappeared.

  “So that’s why you sent me outside,” my son said disgustedly. He was carrying one bag and dragging another behind him.

  “No, it wasn’t,” said Sam, looking down over my shoulder. “We don’t mind if you watch us kiss.”

  “I don’t think so,” Davey muttered, passing us by and heading for the kitchen.

  Sam watched him go. “Isn’t he a little young to be developing an attitude?”

  Only a nonparent can afford to be that naive.

  I stepped back out of his arms. “Kids grow up pretty quickly these days. Think you’re up to the challenge?”

  “I imagine I can handle it.”

  I imagined he could, too. Sam would b
e a great father. Already in the two years he’d known Davey, he’d been more of a positive influence in my son’s life than Davey’s real father had.

  The more I thought about that, the more I realized how stupid of me it was to be jealous. Sam was right. What Sheila might or might not want was immaterial, so long as Sam was happy being part of our family. Taken in that light, it looked like I was the one who had some growing up to do.

  When I reached the kitchen, Davey and Sam were putting the groceries away. Tar had been let back inside and was watching with thinly veiled annoyance as Faith chewed one of his bones. Sam’s other Poodles were sacked on the floor. The scene was so homey it almost made my eyes tear up.

  “Sorry I was fresh,” said Davey.

  “What?”

  “Sam said I was fresh,” Davey repeated. “He told me I had to apologize.”

  “He did, did he?”

  My son nodded.

  “Well, he would know. Sam’s pretty smart. Thanks for the apology. By the way . . .” I glanced over at Sam, ready to demonstrate my new, mature attitude. “You probably should call Sheila back. She sounded pretty desperate.”

  “Sheila’s good at that,” he said. “It won’t hurt her to wait. Besides, I’ve got more important things to tend to. Who’s staying for dinner?”

  “We are!” Davey cried happily.

  It sounded like a plan to me.

  Fourteen

  Faith’s first day at Howard Academy caused a minor sensation. It was not the way I’d have chosen to make a first impression.

  Bearing in mind what Russell had said about a trial period, I’d been determined to keep a low profile until Faith became an accepted part of the school backdrop. Unfortunately, there’s no way to make a Standard Poodle in full show coat inconspicuous.

  I parked, as usual, in the back lot. Faith, who was thrilled not to have been left behind that morning, couldn’t wait to get out of the car and explore her new surroundings. Even though she’s very obedient, I’d slipped a nylon collar over her head and fastened a six-foot leather leash to it. It was a good thing I had.

  Two teachers, arriving the same time as we did, merely stared. The kids we encountered inside the school weren’t so restrained. They fell upon Faith with shouts that were equal parts glee and derision. It wasn’t hard to understand why. Even though I’d been showing Poodles for two years, I didn’t have any trouble remembering my own first impression of the continental trim.

  In response to their rapid-fire questions, I related the historic origins of Faith’s clip, and explained why she was wearing so many banded topknots on her head and how the plastic wraps at the ends of her ear leathers protected the hair they held within. I also invited them to touch at will; assured them she was very friendly, and, on Faith’s behalf, refused all offers of tidbits from their backpacks.

  Finally we made it to our classroom. Faith spent the first five minutes casing the place. She sniffed in the corners, explored the supplies closet, and pressed her nose against the windows. Finally, satisfied with her new abode, she chose a spot beneath my desk and lay down, resting her head on top of her paws.

  “Don’t worry,” I told her. “Things will get better once you stop being such a novelty.”

  Faith wagged her tail and rolled over on her side, in case I wanted to take the opportunity to scratch her stomach. Considering all the attention she’d had in the last fifteen minutes, I suspected she was pretty pleased with things the way they were. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to end up with one very spoiled Standard Poodle.

  I’d come in a little early to get Faith settled, so I had some time before my first session. Though I’d taken Ruth’s diary with me the day before, I’d never had a chance to get back to it. Now I pulled it out and began to read.

  Ruth wasn’t a skilled diarist; she seemed to make entries when she felt like it and let her writing lapse for days at a time when she had other things to do. Her grammar wasn’t always perfect, and her prose tended toward teenage hyperbole, but despite all that, her story was compelling. Ruth’s words made the era in which she’d lived come alive.

  Skimming on ahead and checking the dates at the tops of the pages, I saw that the diary spanned not one year, but nearly two. Ruth was sixteen when it began and seventeen when it ended, rather abruptly, leaving a sheaf of empty pages at the back of the book.

  By the time Ruth began keeping the journal, she, as baby of the family, was the only one of Joshua’s children still living at home. After the hopeful beginning of the slender volume, Ruth’s subsequent entries echoed with loneliness. Her mother had died two years earlier; her father was busy tending to his fortune. Honoria, who also lived in the Howard mansion in Deer Park, was concentrating all her efforts toward making Howard Academy a success. Reading between the lines, I surmised that Ruth’s most consistent companion had been the Poodle, Poupee.

  Ruth spent much of the early pages of the diary reminiscing about her younger childhood years, when her mother had been alive and the house had been filled with games and laughter. She’d particularly enjoyed playing treasure hunt, a game instigated by her mother to entertain the six siblings on rainy afternoons. Play consisted of Mabel Howard hiding valuable objects in unlikely places, then issuing subtle clues to their whereabouts. The children had competed fiercely to solve their mother’s puzzles.

  Ruth did such a good job of taking me back in time that I was still immersed in her prose when the door to my classroom opened and Willie Boyd came sauntering in. Immediately, Faith leapt to her feet. Having accepted the classroom as my space, she now felt honor-bound to defend it.

  “Whoa!” Willie stopped where he stood. “What is that thing? A bear?”

  “No, it’s a Standard Poodle named Faith. She’s going to be coming to school with me from now on.”

  Willie snorted his disbelief. “That ain’t no dog.”

  His grammar earned him a hard stare.

  “Sorry.” The boy grinned. He had a great smile and he knew it. “Are you sure that’s a Poodle? My aunt had a Poodle, and it didn’t look like that. That’s Fifi on steroids.”

  “Poodles come in three different sizes,” I explained. “Your aunt’s was probably one of the smaller ones. Faith is the biggest size.”

  “You got that right.” Willie set his books down on the table and extended a hand to Faith. She reached out and sniffed his fingers politely. “What’s she here for, anyway? Some sort of guard dog?”

  “Guard dog?”

  “You know, because of what happened to Krebbs.”

  His response took me by surprise, and I quickly moved to correct him. “No, she’s actually here to try out for a part in the spring pageant.”

  “Go on.”

  “It’s true. But since we’re speaking of Krebbs, there’s something I wanted to ask you about. There’s a rumor going around that he might have been involved with drugs.”

  Immediately, Willie’s smile faded. “You asking me that because I’m black?”

  “No.” I held his stare. “I’m asking you that because your background is a little different than some of the other kids who go to school here. Your exposure to real life has been broader. For starters, I got the impression you knew Brad Jameson the other day.”

  “Yeah,” said Willie. “I know him. At least I know who he is. Brad’s no friend of mine.”

  “I should hope not. Detective Shertz says he’s trouble.”

  “He’s mean. I don’t have any reason to get in his way, and I don’t.”

  “Does he sell drugs?”

  Willie only shrugged, and I decided not to press him on it.

  “What about Krebbs?”

  “He was old.” Willie’s tone was definite. As if that explained everything.

  “Was he dealing on this campus?”

  “Not that I knew of.” He shrugged again, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. “It’s not the kind of thing I would have needed to know, you understand?”

  I understood. Willie was a g
ood kid, and he had two strong, smart parents who were determined he was going to grow up to be somebody. I wished all my students were so lucky.

  “Okay,” I said. “Enough questions. Take a seat and let’s get to work.”

  Last period before lunch, Sally Minor dropped by to see Faith. Her face lit up at the sight of the Poodle. She dropped to her knees and called Faith to her. “Hello, gorgeous. Aren’t you a pretty girl?”

  “That’s just what she needs, more spoiling.”

  Sally rocked back on her heels. “Dogs are like kids. You can never give them too much attention.”

  “You’ll have to meet my Aunt Peg sometime. The two of you would get along famously. I was just about to take Faith outside for a walk. Do you want to come?”

  “I’d love to. Anything beats being cooped up inside all day. Let me just get a jacket.” Sally ran back to her classroom and reappeared a minute later. The hall was relatively empty, and we were able to slip out without causing a fuss.

  “Listen,” Sally said when we were outside. “I want to apologize for the way I behaved yesterday at lunch.”

  Taking Faith to the edge of the parking lot, I paused as she sniffed a likely spot. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

  “Yes, I do. I was pretty rude. I just didn’t feel up to talking about Krebbs.”

  “There’s no reason you should have to.”

  “No, but I can’t seem to get it out of my mind. I know you’ve been talking to the police. What do they think happened?”

  “I’m not really sure. Right now, they’re investigating the possibility that Krebbs might have been selling drugs on campus.”

  “Drugs?” Sally scowled. “That’s absurd. Why on earth would he have wanted to do something like that?”

  “Probably for the same reason anyone does, to make money.”

  “Krebbs didn’t need money. He was an old man who had a place to live and a guaranteed source of income for as long as he wanted it.”

  “Maybe he didn’t want to work anymore,” I said, playing devil’s advocate. “You’re right, he was an old man. Maybe he wanted to retire but he couldn’t afford to—”