Murder at the Puppy Fest

by Laurien Berenson

  As she straightened, she was already radiating anger. “I guess I should have known better than to count on you for anything.”

  “Sorry,” I said. Though the woman didn’t know it yet, she had just lost her father. Compassion moderated my tone. “I was called away.”

  “I guess that must have been more important than doing your job.”

  “It was, actually.”

  “So now what? Are you here to work or not?”

  “I’m here to work,” I said.

  Jane barked out directions and I followed them. I refilled water bowls. I picked up soiled newspapers from the bottoms of the ex-pens and replaced it with fresh. When the game started up again, I helped ferry replacement puppies back and forth between the adjoining rooms. And through it all I kept my head down, obeyed orders, and said as little as possible.

  “I guess that break did you some good,” Jane said toward the end of the game. We’d just delivered the last set of puppies to the playing field and finally had a few minutes to catch our breath. “You’re a lot more useful now.”

  I didn’t say a word. Instead, I turned away and stared out the French doors. Not even Jane’s taunting could tempt me to discuss where I’d been and what I’d seen while I was gone.

  Forty-five minutes had passed since I’d left Clark waiting outside Leo Brody’s office. Slightly less since Claire and I had heard sirens. I knew there would have been plenty for the authorities to do upon their arrival. Still, it couldn’t be long until they made their way to our location.

  As if my thoughts had conjured his presence, a uniformed police officer entered the other end of the ballroom. He paused in the doorway and took a look around, as if uncertain who to approach first. A moment later, Will came bursting out of the salon. He gazed wildly around the room, located Jane, and came hurrying toward us.

  I backed away as he leaned in close and whispered something in Jane’s ear. Having delivered his message, Will turned and ran. He looked like he couldn’t get away from us fast enough.

  Jane spun toward my direction. “What did you do?” she demanded. “There’s a policeman in the salon. Will said he’s looking for you. You’re wanted for questioning.”

  “I didn’t do anything—” My forceful denial was interrupted by the other officer who had crossed the room with quick, purposeful strides.

  “Are you Jane Brody?” he asked.

  Suddenly she looked uncertain. “Yes, I am.”

  “I’m going to need you to come with me.”

  “Why?” Jane’s gaze skittered in my direction. “What’s happening? What is this about?”

  “Just come with me, ma’am. Please?”

  As I watched the two of them walk away, the clock on the playing field ran down to zero. Aside from the wrap-up to be delivered by Oliver Gregson, Puppy Fest was officially over. Perfect timing.

  Jane was on her way to receive bad news. My prospects weren’t looking great either.

  I went back to the salon to confront my own troubles.

  Chapter 7

  The police officer waiting for me in the salon had red hair and looked about twelve years old. That, plus the fact that his uniform was too big for him, lessened the effect of the officious smirk on his face. He introduced himself as Officer Sammit.

  Since apparently we weren’t sharing first names, I identified myself as Ms. Travis.

  Officer Sammit was not amused by my reply. He made no attempt to hide his opinion that we were not starting off well. I figured that was his problem.

  Will and Lucy stood at the edge of the room, watching the exchange with bug-eyed fascination. Now that Puppy Fest was over and most of the work was finished, Megan and Ashley had reappeared too. That was a good thing. Since Jane and I were both needed elsewhere, the more helping hands in the salon, the better.

  “Jane was called away,” I said to Will.

  He nodded uneasily. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat.

  “I don’t know when either one of us will be back.” I gazed around the room, addressing my question to everyone. “Can you guys handle everything here on your own?”

  “Sure,” Lucy replied. “No problem.”

  “You might start by retrieving the puppies that are still in the ballroom,” I said.

  Four young people went scrambling past us and disappeared through the doorway. I wished I could go with them.

  “Let’s go,” said Officer Sammit. “Detective Young is waiting for us in the library.”

  Anxiety over the events of the past hour must have made me giddy. I was half-tempted to inquire whether Colonel Mustard was in the conservatory. Fortunately I caught myself in time. Officer Sammit didn’t seem like the kind of guy who could take a joke. At least not while he was on duty.

  Sammit set a brisk pace and I matched my steps to his.

  I’ve had quite a few adventures in my life, and as a result I’ve probably had more contact with the police than most people. From my point of view, those interactions have not always proceeded smoothly.

  Detective Raymond Young and I had crossed paths six months earlier when he was investigating the suspicious death of a petty thief and I was trying to locate a missing dog. At that time, I’d been struck by both his intelligence and his willingness to listen to what I had to say. I could only hope that his takeaway from our prior meeting had been the same as mine.

  I had passed by the library earlier, catching a quick glimpse of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, wide windows, and cordovan leather furniture. But now, when I entered the room behind Officer Sammit, I saw nothing but the tall black man seated in one of two wing chairs that flanked a massive fireplace.

  Detective Young rose to his feet and gestured for Sammit to leave us. He and I met in the middle of the room.

  For a moment, the detective stared at my face. All at once I remembered his piercing brown eyes. And how it had sometimes felt as though he could look right through me.

  “We’ve met before,” he said. “Haven’t we?”

  “Yes, last December. At Howard Academy.”

  “That’s right. The missing dog. I thought your name sounded familiar. Please, have a seat. I have some questions for you.”

  The cushions on the leather chair opposite his were plump and inviting. Carefully I perched on the edge of the seat. I had no intention of getting too comfortable. Or of letting down my guard.

  It turned out that was a good thing. Because Detective Young’s first comment was a doozy.

  “I understand that you were the last person to see Leo Brody alive,” he said.

  “No, that’s not true.” The denial came out more forcefully than I’d intended. Nevertheless, I shook my head for emphasis. “I never actually met Mr. Brody. Not . . . um . . . before. However, I believe I was one of the first people to see him after he died.”

  Detective Young leaned back in his chair. I suspected he’d done it on purpose—pulling away to make himself appear less threatening. I wasn’t fooled for a minute.

  “Explain,” he said.

  “I was sent to find Mr. Brody. Puppy Fest had started and he was supposed to be in the ballroom watching the game. But he wasn’t.”

  Young nodded. No doubt someone had already informed him of the charity event’s purpose and format.

  “Claire Travis is the woman running the event. She was busy in the ballroom so she asked me to locate Mr. Brody.”

  “Claire Travis.” He repeated the name thoughtfully. “Any relation?”

  “Claire is married to my ex-husband. She is my son Davey’s stepmother.”

  The detective’s brow creased as he considered that. Seriously, am I the only person in the world who has a cordial connection with her ex-husband and his new spouse?

  “What kind of relationship do you and Claire Travis have?” Young asked.

  “We’re friends,” I declared. “Good friends.”

  Even to my own ears, it sounded like I was trying too hard.

  “So . . . why do you
suppose she sent you to find Mr. Brody?”

  If he was hoping to assign a sinister motive to that turn of events, Detective Young was bound to be disappointed. Clearly he had yet to meet Claire. I’d seen baby rabbits with more sinister intent.

  “She sent me because I was available,” I said. “And because she knew that if she asked me to do something, I would get it done.”

  He nodded again. I was probably supposed to find that reassuring. And maybe even encouraging. Like now would be a good time to spill my guts.

  If I had any guts to spill, that is.

  For half a minute, the detective and I both sat in silence.

  “Tell me what happened next,” he said finally.

  “Claire said she thought Mr. Brody was likely to be in his office. So I went there to look for him.”

  “You knew where his office was, then? This man whom you’d never met?”

  Now I did settle back in my chair. There might have been some slumping involved. And maybe even a sigh. I was beginning to feel seriously annoyed.

  “This interview will go a lot faster,” I said, “if you don’t treat everything I say like it’s a potential minefield.”

  Detective Young held up his hands, palms facing outward. As a protest of innocence, it left something to be desired.

  “I’m just trying to get the facts straight in my mind. It will be easier for both of us if you tell me everything completely the first time. That way, I won’t make any assumptions that might turn out to be wrong.”

  The statement was followed by another encouraging nod. If Young was ever ready to put the police force behind him, he could probably have a career in psychiatry.

  “Claire told me that Mr. Brody’s office was on the ground floor in the east wing. So I went to the other side of the house and started looking around.”

  “Did you see anybody else?”

  “Just some people in the kitchen who were eating lunch. Mr. Brody wasn’t among them, so I kept going.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I went through the front hall and crossed into the east wing. I’d almost reached Mr. Brody’s office when I heard someone scream.”

  Detective Young steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Who was it that you heard?”

  “A woman. I found out later that her name was Becca Montague. From the doorway to the office, I saw that Leo Brody was lying on the floor. Becca was leaning over him.”

  “Was she touching him?”

  I thought back. “I don’t think so. But I’m not entirely sure about that.”

  “So Leo Brody was on the floor. A man whom you’ve never met. How did you know it was him?”

  “I’ve seen his picture in magazines and on TV. It looked like him from what I could see. Plus, it was his office. So I made an assumption.”

  “And Ms. Montague, what was she doing when you got there?”

  “Nothing. Maybe crying. I don’t know.”

  “But she was right next to Mr. Brody.”

  “Yes.”

  At this rate, I was going to be in this room all afternoon.

  “Had you met Ms. Montague previously?”

  “No. Before today, I’d never met any member of the Brody family.”

  The detective’s expression shifted briefly before resuming its bland countenance. “Ms. Montague, did she represent herself to you as a member of the Brody family?”

  “At first she didn’t say who she was. But when I said I was going to call nine-one-one, she got very upset and told me not to. At that point she told me that she and Leo were friends.”

  “Friends.” Young repeated the word, using the same intonation I had.

  I was pretty sure we were both on the same page, so I nodded.

  “Did she tell you why she didn’t want you to call for help?”

  “She said that Mr. Brody would hate the publicity. She told me that I would be sorry for not listening to her.”

  “But you called anyway?”

  I had no idea why the statement was posed as a question. I was quite certain the detective would be aware that I was the person who’d made the call.

  Before I could answer, there was a quiet knock on the library door. I turned in my seat to see who might be joining us, but I needn’t have bothered. Detective Young wasn’t having any interruptions.

  He quickly stood up and crossed the room. Opening the door no more than a few inches, he held a hushed conversation with whoever was outside. They spoke for several minutes. Long enough for me to become more than a little fidgety.

  When he’d closed the door securely behind him and returned to his chair, I said, “I’m wondering how much longer this is going to take?”

  Settling again in front of the fireplace, Detective Young seemed surprised by the question. “I see no reason to adhere to a timetable. The important thing is to gather as much information as we can.”

  “I don’t understand. Mr. Brody didn’t look . . .” I stopped and searched for the right word. “Injured. I thought he must have had a heart attack.”

  “How far into the office did you go?” Young asked. “Were you close to the body?”

  “I touched it,” I admitted.

  Detective Young’s brow lifted. He hadn’t expected that.

  “I asked Becca if Mr. Brody was dead. She said she thought so. I wanted a more definitive answer.”

  “Why?”

  I should hope the answer to that was obvious. “In case he was still alive and there was some way I could help.”

  “Such as?”

  I threw up my hands. “Running through the house and screaming for a doctor? Or at least someone who knew CPR.”

  “I see. So you checked for yourself. Where did you touch him?”

  “Mr. Brody was lying on the floor facing away from me. I slipped my fingers under his jaw and felt for a pulse. If it wasn’t a heart attack, what happened to him?”

  Detective Young’s narrowed gaze made it clear he felt he should be asking the questions, not answering them. “We’ll have more information after the autopsy is performed.”

  “But you must have a guess,” I prompted.

  In deference to the high-profile nature of the deceased, Young appeared to be choosing his words carefully. “We have our suspicions,” he allowed.

  I waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t.

  “Are you telling me that Leo Brody didn’t die of natural causes?” I asked.

  “No, I don’t believe I said anything of the sort.”

  Detective Young looked at me and frowned. He was probably recalling our previous encounter. If so, he might also be realizing that I wasn’t going to allow him to brush me off so easily.

  “We have reason to believe that Mr. Brody suffered from anaphylaxis. His lips and tongue were swollen. Probably his throat too. He appears to have vomited shortly before his death.”

  Detective Young paused, giving me a moment to absorb the news. Then he said, “Several members of Mr. Brody’s family have told me that he suffered from a severe peanut allergy. Were you aware of that?”

  Slowly I shook my head. “I had no idea.”

  “If so, you were an anomaly. Apparently it was common knowledge among those who knew him and worked for him. This entire property is a peanut-free zone. Mr. Brody’s allergy was a life-threatening condition, and he took great care to make sure that everyone around him was aware of it.”

  “But I wasn’t around him.” I was getting tired of repeating myself. “I never met the man.”

  “Yet you were here in his house.”

  “I was doing a favor for a friend.”

  “So you said. For Claire Travis.”

  I nodded. I’d been hoping the conversation would move forward. Now it appeared that we were going backwards.

  “I’ve been told that Ms. Travis would most certainly have been informed of Mr. Brody’s allergy when she was hired. The caterers tell us that they were given strict instructions about ingredients, food preparation, and eve
n equipment that could be brought onto the property. So it seems unusual that you would be the only person in the house who wasn’t aware of Mr. Brody’s dietary limitations.”

  All at once it felt as though I was being accused of something.

  “I’m sure I’m not the only person here who didn’t know,” I said sharply. “Was the television crew advised of Leo Brody’s peanut allergy? And what about the workmen who assembled the playing field? Were they informed?”

  “I don’t believe so,” Young conceded. “But none of those people had access to any food.”

  “Neither did I!”

  “So you say. And yet you were seen in the kitchen at two different times this morning. Not only that, Ms. Travis, but despite your professed reason for being here, you were observed on several occasions leaving the area where Puppy Fest was taking place and entering private rooms in Mr. Brody’s house.”

  I tried to summon an outraged reply. It didn’t come. Instead I was simply speechless.

  “Do you care to explain what you were doing?” Detective Young asked after a moment.

  Even I was surprised by the words that came out of my mouth. “Do I need a lawyer?” I asked.

  “That is, of course, entirely your decision. Although if I were you, I would prefer to keep this conversation on a friendly basis. All I am trying to do is gather information. I’m assuming there were good reasons for your actions this morning. And it seems to me that it would be in your best interest to tell me what those reasons might be.”

  Once again, Detective Young seemed to be choosing his words with great care. Belatedly, it struck me that this death would be handled differently from others I’d been involved in. Leo Brody’s wealth, his prominence in the business world, and his media-friendly social life would change everything.

  No wonder the detective was determined not to overlook a single detail. His actions would inevitably come under scrutiny too. He would want to be very sure of his facts and conclusions.

  And it was just my bad luck to be standing in his way.

  Despite Detective Young’s assurances, I had no illusions about my role in this supposedly friendly conversation. The phrase cannon fodder suddenly seemed apt.

  For the second time, there was a knock at the door. Again, the detective held a quiet conversation from which I was firmly excluded.