“New information?” I asked upon his return.
“Nothing you need to be concerned about. Now, getting back to your movements throughout the house earlier . . .”
“There’s a simple explanation,” I said. “The first time I passed through the kitchen was just after I arrived, and I was lost. The second time, I’d been sent there to pick up a supply of bottled water for the puppies. I didn’t touch or go near any food on either occasion.”
“Bottled water,” Detective Young repeated. “For dogs?”
“That was Jane Brody’s idea, not mine. Claire asked me to provide whatever kind of assistance Jane needed. And that’s also why I visited the private part of the house—because Jane sent me.”
“Sent you for what reason?”
“Jane wanted me to find Caroline Richland and bring her to the salon so that she could kiss the puppies before the game started.”
Detective Young stiffened. “This isn’t a joke, Ms. Travis.” “Crazy as it sounds, I’m not joking.”
He shook his head. I wondered whether the detective was doubting my veracity or my sanity. Probably both.
“And did you manage to locate Caroline Richland?”
“No, but it turned out that Jane knew where her sister was all along. She didn’t actually need me to find Caroline. She was just trying to get rid of me.”
Detective Young glanced up. I’d regained his interest. “Why would she do that?”
“Though I didn’t know it ahead of time, it turned out that Jane didn’t want my help.” I paused, then added, “She doesn’t like people who breed purebred dogs. Or any dogs, for that matter.”
“Jane Brody is the director of the Puppy Posse Foundation? Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“It seems odd that she would have a prejudice against a fellow dog lover.”
I shrugged. That seemed like as good an answer as any.
“I find it an interesting coincidence that every time you were seen somewhere suspicious, it was at Ms. Brody’s behest.”
Detective Young appeared to be thinking out loud. I remained silent and listened while he worked things through.
“You’re under the impression that she was finding excuses to keep you from the salon,” he said slowly. “But what if there was another reason for her actions? Suppose she was trying to establish your presence in other areas of the house?”
At first I didn’t understand what he was implying. Then suddenly I did, and I didn’t like it at all.
“Are you saying you think Jane Brody was trying to make it look like I had something to do with her father’s death?”
Chapter 8
“Not necessarily. I’m merely taking the time to consider any and all possibilities.”
I shook my head. Every possibility seemed crazy to me. Then again, this entire day was beginning to feel surreal.
“For that to be true, Jane would have needed to know ahead of time that her father was going to die today,” I pointed out. “But that can’t be the case.”
“Why not?” Detective Young sounded genuinely curious.
“Because Jane had a job that required her to be in either the salon or the ballroom. Surely someone—Will, or Lucy, or the Brody twins—can account for her whereabouts at the time of Mr. Brody’s death.”
“If only it were that easy to pin things down.”
Oh. It should have occurred to me to wonder about this earlier.
“Where did Mr. Brody get the food that contained peanuts?” I asked. “You said that he was hyper-vigilant. So it’s not like he would have put something in his mouth unless he thought it was safe.”
“We’re still looking into that. There was a plate of cookies and a glass of milk in Mr. Brody’s office. We think that’s the most likely source.”
Of course. Now that he mentioned it, I remembered seeing both those things on the credenza.
“We showed the cookies to the catering crew, and they denied ever having seen them before. The plate came from a set of family china, but nobody we’ve spoken to has any idea how it came to be in Mr. Brody’s office, nor where the cookies came from. We’ve sent the remaining cookies away to be tested.”
“Were there fingerprints on the plate?”
Young shook his head. “No, unfortunately everything was smudged. There was nothing we could use. And it appears that the cookies could have been placed in Mr. Brody’s office at almost any point this morning.”
“Why would he have eaten a cookie if he didn’t know where it came from?” I wondered aloud.
“Apparently it’s not unusual for the cook to leave a snack in Mr. Brody’s office. He was known to have a good appetite.”
“But the cook didn’t leave this snack for him?”
“No. In fact, he isn’t even here. Because of all the commotion with Puppy Fest, he was given the day off. We’ve sent someone to talk to him, but as he hasn’t been seen on the premises all day, I doubt that he’ll have anything to tell us.”
It seemed incredible that a man of Leo Brody’s stature could have been felled by something so totally ordinary. “Wouldn’t Mr. Brody have tasted the peanuts in his cookies?” I asked.
“Whole nuts, certainly. But these cookies appeared harmless. It’s possible, however, that they might have contained ground-up nuts or perhaps a nut by-product. If that’s the case, Mr. Brody could easily have eaten several cookies without ever becoming suspicious.”
“Then it was an accident.” I didn’t bother to hide my relief.
Detective Young didn’t agree or disagree. Instead, he merely said, “Right now, we’re asking questions and keeping our options open. Complicating matters further is the fact that on this particular day the house has been filled with outsiders since just after 8 a.m.”
“It’s been filled with family, too,” I mentioned.
Young glanced up. He waited for me to elaborate.
“Leo Brody has nine grown children, plus grandchildren. Many of them make a special effort to show up for Puppy Fest.”
The detective looked at me with interest. “Is there a specific reason for that?”
“Puppy Fest is Mr. Brody’s pet project. Apparently, it pleases him when his family joins in to help make the event a success.” I would have left it at that. But when Detective Young gave me another one of his persuasive nods, I found myself adding, “If I were a cynical person, it might occur to me that buttering up the wealthy family patriarch could lead to significant future benefits.”
To my disappointment, the detective didn’t comment. Instead, he rose to his feet, signaling that our conversation had come to an end.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Travis. If you think of anything else I should know, please get in touch.”
Detective Young started across the room. I stood up and followed. But before he could usher me out the door, I wanted a few more answers.
“What about an EpiPen?” I said. “Considering the severity of Mr. Brody’s allergy, wouldn’t he have kept something like that around?”
“He would and he did. There are numerous EpiPens placed around the house for easy access. We’ve checked on their whereabouts and all are accounted for . . . except the one that should have been in his right-hand desk drawer.”
“Do you think somebody removed it?”
“That’s one possibility.”
Young reached for the knob and drew the library door open. Obviously he expected me to walk through it. Instead, I planted my feet and stood my ground.
“One last thing,” I said. “Who told you that I was the last person to see Mr. Brody alive?”
“I don’t see how that is pertinent.”
“You would if you were me,” I told him.
His arm, placed around my shoulders, pushed me gently though the doorway. “Thank you for taking the time to talk to me.”
As if I’d been given a choice, I thought as the door clicked shut between us.
* * *
I never made i
t back to the ballroom. Instead I ran into Claire in the hallway. She was on her way to an interview with Detective Young.
“Sorry I had to run out on you again,” I said. “What do you want me to do now?”
“I guess you may as well go home. Will and Lucy started packing up right after you left. By now, they’re just about finished.” Claire was one of the most cheerful, energetic people I knew, but now she looked totally drained. The day’s events had clearly taken their toll. “What a mess this whole thing turned into. Have you been with the police all this time?”
“Yup. Detective Young is very thorough. I’m sure he’ll have plenty of questions for you too.” I reached out and laid a hand on her arm. “Think about what you’re saying before you answer, okay?”
“What do you mean?” Claire’s voice lifted. She cast a quick glance at the policeman escorting her to the library—Officer Sammit, who’d done the same for me. He averted his gaze, staring at the ceiling while he pretended not to listen in. “You’re worrying me, Melanie. I don’t have anything to hide.”
“I don’t either,” I said firmly. “But it turns out that Mr. Brody didn’t die of a heart attack.”
She reared back. “Then what happened?”
“Detective Young will fill you in. But it wasn’t natural causes. Something went very wrong while everyone was gathered here in Mr. Brody’s house for Puppy Fest. So I think we all better be worried about that.”
* * *
I took Claire’s advice and went straight home.
It was mid-afternoon, and Sam and the boys had just returned from a successful visit to the vet. Their trip must have included at least one additional stop because Bud was wearing a new rolled leather collar. Davey was holding the end of a matching leash as the spotted dog capered up and down the driveway.
Kevin had been watching Bud’s antics, but when I parked the Volvo on the edge of the turnaround and got out, he spun around and ran toward me with his hands outstretched. “Mommy home!” he cried.
What mother doesn’t love a greeting like that?
“You’re just in time,” said Sam.
I caught Kev on the fly and swung him up into my arms. “In time for what?”
“We’re about to introduce Bud to the Poodles.”
“Great. So the vet gave him a clean bill of health?”
“As far as he could tell. We boosted all of Bud’s vaccines to be on the safe side and ran a heartworm test. We also picked up some ointment for the sores on his neck.”
“But here’s the best part,” Davey chimed in happily. “Bud doesn’t have a microchip.”
“No chips!” Kev clapped his hands in the air.
Davey and Kevin weren’t the only ones who were pleased. At some point in the last eighteen hours, I had already begun to think of the little dog as ours.
“I put Bud’s picture on the bulletin board at the clinic and posted a notice on Craigslist,” Sam said. “Animal Control doesn’t have a report of any missing dogs fitting his description. And when I told the vet where Bud came from, he just shook his head and wished us luck with our new dog.”
“So that means Bud is really ours,” Davey prompted. “Right, Mom?”
“Right, Mom?” Kev echoed.
I looked at Sam. He lifted an eyebrow, deferring the final answer to me. That made me smile. Then suddenly we were both grinning.
“Yippee!” Davey was just as adept at reading parental silent language as Sam and I were. “Welcome home, Bud.”
Sam and Kev went into the house to let the Standard Poodles out in the fenced backyard. Since they’d been cooped up inside for a while, Davey and I waited out front, giving the Poodle pack time to blow off steam and attend to business. When it was time to join them, I reached over and took the leash out of Davey’s hands.
“Just a precaution,” I said. “If Bud is going to be a new member of the family, we want this first meeting to go as smoothly as possible.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Davey told me. “The Poodles like everybody.”
“Yes, they do—but Bud is a wild card. We don’t yet know him well enough to predict how he’ll react. And a pack of big black dogs all checking you out at once can be pretty intimidating.”
“Bud will love it,” Davey said with enviable confidence. “In five minutes, they’ll all be best friends. You’ll see.”
Faith was the first to approach when we entered the backyard. The other four Poodles were still racing around the other end of the enclosure, probably hot on the trail of a rabbit. Faith noted my appearance immediately. As soon as we came through the gate, she lifted her head. Her tail was already wagging as her smooth stride carried her across the lawn. She was so focused on me that it took her a few seconds to notice Bud.
When she did, the big Poodle slid to a stop. Then, ears pricked and head tipped to one side, Faith covered the last several feet between us more slowly.
“Good girl,” I crooned. “Come and meet Bud.”
Holding Bud on the end of a lead was like being attached to a tiny tornado. By the time Faith reached him, he was already standing up on his hind legs with his front feet frantically pawing at the air. He hopped up and down in place and woofed with excitement under his breath.
Bud and Faith came together and touched noses. Each dog eyed the other one curiously. Then abruptly Bud dropped back down to all fours. He barely hit the ground before he bounced back up and issued a short, sharp bark.
That was all it took to alert the rest of the pack to the fact that there was an interloper in their midst. As the four remaining Standard Poodles came racing toward us, I reached down and scooped Bud up into my arms. Not even slightly concerned about the oncoming horde, the skinny little dog whined and wiggled to be set free.
The guy was a small dog with a Napoleon complex. He clearly had no idea of his own size relative to the rest of the canine world.
“In a minute,” I told him as the stream of Poodles eddied around us.
Bud’s rounded head whipped from side to side. His stubby tail wagged furiously. He was so excited that he could hardly decide which way to look first.
One by one, we performed the introductions. Sam and Davey helped. While we were occupied with that, Faith nudged Kevin several steps away from the fray, then held him there, keeping him safe. Lord I loved that dog.
It only took a couple of minutes for everyone to calm down. Then I unsnapped the lead from Bud’s collar, lowered the little dog to the ground and gently released him into the group. For a moment, nobody moved.
Then suddenly Bud dodged between the sea of legs to extricate himself from the pack. Once free, he took off like a shot across the yard. In a rapid flurry of activity everybody else—including Davey and Kevin—followed. Sam and I just stood and watched them go.
“I bet there’s some Beagle in that dog,” I said, considering. “And maybe a bit of Cattle Dog.”
“I was thinking Bull Terrier with a smidge of spaniel,” Sam replied.
“Did the vet tell you how old he is?”
“Young. He couldn’t pinpoint his age exactly, but he guessed around eighteen months.”
I watched as Tar, the older of the two male Poodles, flew underneath the tire swing, dodged around a tree trunk, and doubled back to the group—only to crash smack into Raven. Retired now from a successful show career, Tar was the silliest Standard Poodle I’d ever met. When the God of Canines was handing out brains, Tar must have been off somewhere digging a hole. Or maybe he was just lost. Tar always meant well, no matter what kind of trouble he was getting into. But honestly that dog didn’t have a clue. Not even one.
“I hope Tar isn’t a bad influence on Bud,” I said.
Sam just laughed. “From the looks of Bud, I think that’s more likely to work the other way around.”
As if to prove his point, Bud leapt up and grabbed a mouthful of Augie’s hair. Beside me, Sam stiffened. My response was less restrained. I shrieked.
Augie is our only St
andard Poodle currently being shown. He wears the continental clip, one of two adult trims approved by the Poodle standard for the show ring. A mane coat of thick black hair covers the front half of his body. His hindquarter is mostly shaved to the skin except for two rounded rosettes of hair on his hips, bracelets on each of his lower legs, and a pompon on the end of his tail.
Augie is approaching his second birthday, and the long hair on his head, his ears, and his neck has been growing—protected and coddled—virtually since birth. The Poodle currently needed just five more points, including a major win, to finish his championship. There was no way I was going to let Bud ruin Davey’s chances of accomplishing that feat.
Luckily Davey had seen what was happening and he was already on it. Moving quickly, he inserted himself between the two dogs and gently disentangled them. His fingers slid the hair out of Bud’s mouth, separated the strands, and smoothed them back into place. Then he looked our way and gave us a jaunty thumbs-up.
Smart aleck.
Sam’s shoulders relaxed. Mine did too. I slid my hand sideways and threaded my fingers through his. He squeezed my hand and pulled me closer.
“You got back earlier than I thought you would,” he said idly. “How was Puppy Fest?”
Loath to let the day’s events intrude on our current happiness, I didn’t reply right away. Sam must have sensed that something was wrong, however. He grasped my shoulders and turned me to face him. Then he tipped my face up to his and said, “What?”
I closed my eyes briefly. “Leo Brody is dead.”
“Damn. When?”
“Sometime earlier today, while we were getting everything set up for the Puppy Fest.”
“How?”
I told him everything I knew, which wasn’t much.
“What a shame,” Sam said at the end. “It sounds like it was a very unfortunate accident.”
“I hope you’re right. Detective Young is keeping his options open.”
“You’ve met him before, haven’t you? As I recall, you were impressed with him.”
“I was.” I gazed out across the yard, making sure that everyone was minding their manners. “He’s smart, he’s thorough, and he isn’t intimidated by the Greenwich elite. All of which should stand him in good stead now.”
Murder at the Puppy Fest Page 8
