“You know,” Chris said, “now that you mention it, our neighbors had a Poodle when I was little. Smaller than yours. A Mini, I think. His name was Chester and, man, that was some great dog. I bet plenty of people would see a Poodle in an ad and be drawn to it for just that reason. They might not even know why, but seeing a Poodle would make them feel good.”
“Subliminal,” Simone said thoughtfully. “I like it.”
“Definitely something to consider,” Doug agreed.
The other contestants shifted in their seats and regarded me with wary respect. Desperate for something to say, all I’d done was describe how great Poodles were to be around. It was the committee members who had taken my idea—or lack thereof—and run with it. Unexpectedly, it looked as though I’d pulled a rabbit out of a hat.
Doug leaned forward and braced both his hands on the table. “Okay, now we know who we are and why we’re all here. Cindy and Chris, why don’t you tell everyone what’s up next.”
“As you know,” the young woman began, “Chow Down is a new product for us. One we’re going to be introducing to the marketplace shortly. To be perfectly honest, it’s not like there’s a shortage of good kibbles already available. So it’s vital that we do something to set our dog food apart in the minds of the consumers.
“That’s where the role of spokesdog comes in. We’re looking for a dog that’s every bit as much of a standout as we feel our product to be. A dog that’s not only beautiful to look at, but that has personality and charisma, too. A dog that’s one in a million.”
“Obviously all your dogs are beautiful specimens of their respective breeds,” Chris told us. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. But now they need to show us something more. What we thought we’d do next is have you take them off their leashes and let them interact with one another. Kind of a “free play” situation where we could observe what they’re like when they’re just being themselves.”
Five strange dogs, all turned loose simultaneously in a small room and encouraged to be entertaining? It certainly wasn’t the best idea I’d ever heard. Years earlier, I had taken Davey to an interview for a preschool where they used a similar evaluation technique. That meeting had turned into a train wreck. This one, I thought, had similar potential.
“Fine by me,” Doug said happily. Brando was already loose. The Boxer had been roaming freely around the room for the last ten minutes.
Allison shrugged, reached down, and unsnapped Ginger’s leash. The Brittany was beautifully trained. She knew she’d been released, but even so she maintained her down-stay position.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” said Dorothy. “Terriers can be territorial. Nothing wrong with that, it’s their nature.” It was also the reason why terriers were sometimes asked to spar in the show ring. MacDuff was one of the smallest dogs in the room. If he decided to pick a fight, he would be at a real disadvantage in the fray that followed.
Chris looked as though he was about to argue, but Larry Kim’s voice, speaking calmly and deliberately, brought the room to a standstill. “This will not be happening,” he said.
“Pardon me?” Simone sounded shocked. I was willing to bet she wasn’t accustomed to having people deny her what she wanted.
All eyes at the table turned Larry’s way.
“Your idea is not a good one. In such a circumstance, the smaller dogs’ safety cannot be ensured, and in fact if something should go wrong, any one of the five might be at risk. I suggest that we find a different way for you to observe the dogs’ personalities. Either that, or we take the time to carefully introduce them to each other before turning them loose.”
“That won’t be the same.” Chris was already shaking his head. “What we’re looking for is excitement, spontaneity. Something fresh and fun, and entirely out of the ordinary.”
Larry’s nod was curt. Yorkie still cradled in his arms, he rose to his feet. “Then what you are looking for is not Yoda.”
For a moment, Lisa merely stared at him, wide-eyed. Then she scrambled to her feet as well. “It was a pleasure to have met you,” she said softly, addressing the group. “But our coming here was obviously a mistake. Now we must go.”
“Wait!” Doug jumped up.
The sudden movement startled Brando. The Boxer had been standing with his back to the table, sniffing the trash can next to the sideboard. Now his body stiffened as he spun around to face us. He landed with his feet braced in a pugnacious stance and jutted his jaw forward as he weighed the situation.
Instantly Ben was on his feet as well. He crossed the room quickly to stand beside his dog. “Easy boy,” he said, his hand reaching down to cup Brando’s muzzle.
At first glance the gesture looked like a caress. But watching a moment longer I realized he was holding the Boxer’s mouth shut. And maybe muffling a low growl.
Interesting. It looked like there might be aggression issues there that Ben was trying to downplay.
Bill must have seen the same thing I did. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as he unobtrusively slipped a hand down and refastened Ginger’s leash.
“Maybe you’re right,” Doug said to Larry. “We certainly wouldn’t want to force any of you to place your dogs in a situation that makes you uncomfortable. This is only our first get-together, after all. We’re still feeling our way here, finding out what works and what doesn’t.”
Larry slowly sat back down. Lisa followed suit.
“Fine,” said Cindy. “Then let’s try this a different way. Everybody up and out into the middle of the room. Dogs on leashes.” She glanced at Ben, who quickly complied. “Now that everyone’s under control, just let your dogs be dogs. Let them do what they want to do. And we’ll just observe and see what happens.”
All of us liked that idea much better. Each of the five contestants was well socialized, each had been to dog shows. They all knew how to behave in polite company.
Faith and Ginger and touched noses and wagged their tails. MacDuff ignored the others and sniffed around for crumbs under the table. Yoda circled the room looking elegant and composed, her blue-grey coat rippling as she moved. Brando sidled over and discreetly stole a biscuit off the sideboard, which he swallowed in one quick gulp.
Meanwhile, the committee stood together off to one side, watching the various antics and taking notes. Twenty minutes later, they decided they had what they’d wanted. Good thing because the dogs were beginning to tire. I wished I’d thought to bring a thermos of water for Faith.
“That’s a wrap,” Doug announced. “Thank you all for coming. Everyone was great. Chris, Cindy, Simone, and I will get together this afternoon and compare first impressions. Sometime in the next couple days, you’ll receive an email letting you know what the next test is going to be. Please feel free to stop at the reception desk on the way out and pick up a gift basket of Champions products.”
I heaved a sigh of relief and headed straight for the door. Some of the other contestants hung back—probably wanting to curry more favor with the judges—but Faith and I had had enough. We were more than ready to go home.
I’d promised the Poodle we’d take the stairs on the way out. Exiting the conference room, I saw that a red-lettered EXIT sign marked their location at the end of the hallway. But it was hot outside, our car would be stifling from sitting in the sun, and we were twenty minutes from home. Before heading down, I detoured into the ladies’ room to get Faith something to drink.
Lacking a bowl or a cup, I filled the nearest sink with cold water. Then I hopped the Poodle’s front feet up onto the porcelain rim and let her lap. I was glad I’d taken the time to stop; Faith drank thirstily.
When we emerged from the ladies’ room, the hallway was empty. I pushed open the heavy fire door that led to the stairwell and Faith ran on ahead. Quickly she trotted down two flights of stairs with me hurrying to keep up. We had only one flight to go when I heard a door open above us.
The sound of hushed voices echoed through the vertical chamber. More of
my fellow contestants, I guessed. I probably wasn’t the only one whose dog didn’t like elevators.
Quick footsteps tapped a staccato beat on the metal steps above us. Then I heard a sudden scream. It was followed quickly by a series of thumps. Faith and I both froze where we stood.
“Hello?” I called out. No one answered. Only my own word echoed back.
A door slammed. I thought I heard someone moan.
Then I heard the patter of little feet and Yoda came flying down the steps, trailing her gossamer ribbon leash. Without even stopping to think, I leaned down and opened my arms. The little Yorkie flew right into them.
“It’s all right,” I said, as she pushed her tiny body into me and burrowed close to my chest. “You’re going to be all right.”
Damn, I thought. I really hated lying to a dog.
7
It was lucky I’d stopped to get Faith that drink of water. As things turned out, she and I didn’t get back home to Stamford until midafternoon.
On the other hand, if we hadn’t paused for those few minutes on the third floor of the Champions building, we wouldn’t have been in the stairwell when Larry Kim went tumbling down the flight of steps and broke his neck on the landing. Timing is everything, or so they say.
In my case, I think it might be more like bad luck just tends to follow me around.
Aunt Peg would probably be the first to agree with that assessment. She was the one I’d ended up pouring out the whole story to, when Faith and I finally got home. Davey had had a play date scheduled that afternoon with his best friend, Joey Brickman. Sam had gone to drop him off and then run some errands.
We’d settled all that by cell phone. What Sam hadn’t mentioned was that I would find Aunt Peg waiting for me when I got home. She was sitting on the deck, sipping a tall glass of ice tea, and reading through a book of breed standards. Not surprisingly, she was surrounded by my bevy of besotted Poodles.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
Aunt Peg loves to drop in without warning but usually she manages to make her visits coincide with times when someone’s home.
“Holding down the fort, apparently.” Peg slapped her book shut and set it aside.
Imagine that. I hadn’t even been aware that we’d needed holding down. Just in case I was missing something, I ran quickly through a mental checklist. The house was standing, the Poodles looked healthy, no Indians were attacking . . .
Nope, we were good.
“You’re white as a sheet,” said Aunt Peg. “Let me pour you a glass of tea. Maybe you’re pregnant.”
She threw in that last bit like it was a casual afterthought. Nobody in the vicinity was fooled.
“I don’t think so.” I poured my own glass of tea and added a mint leaf to it. “If I look pale, it’s probably because we just got back from the opening reception at the Champions Dog Food—”
“I thought you were due back several hours ago.”
“We were. The reception ended before noon. But unfortunately, as we were leaving the building one of the other contestants fell down the fire stairs and broke his neck. He was dead before the ambulance got there.”
“Oh, dear.” Aunt Peg didn’t sound nearly as upset as most people would have under the circumstances. There’s nothing she likes more than a good set of complications. “Accident?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Let’s go back outside and sit down. You’d better tell me all about it.”
As if from the moment that I’d first seen her minivan parked in the driveway, there’d ever been any doubt of that.
Davey’s and my previous house had been a small Cape Cod in a tightly packed family neighborhood. Lots were cramped; privacy almost nonexistent. Sitting outside in our other yard, with houses so close on either side that we could almost reach out and touch them, Davey and I never knew whether we might be subjected to the blare of a nearby radio, the aroma of dinner cooking on someone’s barbecue, or uninvited visits from the neighbor’s cats.
Things were very different at the new house. Our deck was beautiful, and the backyard was spacious and tranquil. If the residents of this neighborhood made any noise, they did so within the privacy of their own homes. Occasionally there were moments when I missed the constant bustle of our old block, but this wasn’t one of them.
Now I wanted to sit down and have a serious discussion about murder, and having serenity for a backdrop suited me just fine.
“First things first,” Aunt Peg said when we’d gotten settled. “Who died?”
“Larry Kim. He and his wife, Lisa, are the owners of Yoda the Yorkie.”
“Aside from that, what do we know about them?”
I remembered our conversation about the other finalists at the dog show. Bertie had been the one who knew the Kims, not Aunt Peg.
“Not much, I’m afraid. I’d only met them both an hour earlier. We were together in a conference room with our dogs for a group interview with the contest committee. Larry seemed like a nice enough man, I guess. Very protective of his dog.”
“Nice enough people don’t usually get murdered,” Aunt Peg commented acerbically.
“Well . . .” I admitted, “the police aren’t exactly calling it a murder.”
“What are they calling it?”
“They’re not sure. It was obvious that Larry died as a result of his fall. But they don’t know why he fell.”
“You mean maybe he just tripped?”
I nodded slowly. “That seemed to be what they were thinking before I told the officer that I’d heard someone in the stairwell with him shortly before he died.”
“Well then,” Aunt Peg said happily, “the plot thickens.”
“Oh please.” I’d injected enough exasperation into the comment to wilt a lesser woman. Peg wasn’t even daunted. “The only thing my information got me was the opportunity to hang around Norwalk a couple of extra hours and be interviewed two more times by the police.”
“So you’ve done your civic duty, now do the same by your family. I want you to tell me everything. But before we get started, did you miss lunch? Are you hungry? Shall I make you a sandwich while you talk?”
Only Aunt Peg could skip back and forth between murder and food without missing a beat, and make the juxtaposition sound perfectly natural.
“Yes, I missed lunch, and no, I’m not hungry.”
“Maybe that’s good news! Maybe you’re—”
“Don’t say it.”
“All right, I won’t.” Peg frowned. “But that doesn’t stop me from thinking it. Now, back to a topic you will discuss without getting cranky for no good reason, which, by the way, is another possible sign . . .”
Not trusting myself to speak, I simply leveled a glare.
Aunt Peg shrugged. She recognizes outrage only when it suits her. When I’m the outraged party it usually doesn’t.
“So we’re back to Mr. Perfectly Nice Yorkie Owner and his presumably perfectly nice wife,” she said. “Tell me more about them.”
“My first impression was that they were both rather quiet. The entire time we were there, Lisa let Larry do almost all the talking. But halfway through the interview, the two of them stood up and threatened to walk out.”
“It’s always the quiet ones that surprise you.”
“This surprised everyone. But they were right. Chris— he’s director of advertising for the company and one of the judges—wanted us all to let our dogs loose in the room so they could run around and jump on one another.”
“No wonder the man with the Yorkie balked at that. It sounds like good common sense to me.”
“It sounded like common sense to all of us. Well, except Ben O’Donnell. He’d already turned Brando loose.”
“He would have. Anything to draw attention to himself.”
“By the way, does that Boxer bite?”
“How would I know?” Aunt Peg snorted. “Despite appearances to the contrary, I am not privy to every single little thing that go
es on in the dog show world.”
“Oh.”
That was a shame. My life had been easier when I’d thought Aunt Peg was omniscient.
“Does it matter?”
“Probably not, but I just saw something that made me wonder. Anyway, Chris and the committee backed down. The meeting concluded amicably and we were told we’d all be contacted about our next assignment.”
“This is beginning to be a very long story,” Aunt Peg said. “The stairway will be making an appearance soon, won’t it?”
“Very soon. The meeting took place on the third floor of the building. And when it was over, we all had to go back down to the lobby.”
“Elevator?”
“Faith hates them.”
“Not surprising, lots of dogs do. So you looked for steps.”
“First we stopped in the ladies’ room for a drink of water.”
“I assume we’re talking about Faith?”
I nodded.
“A long group interview on a hot summer day and nobody thought to supply water for the dogs?”
“They supplied biscuits instead.”
“Not those horrid licorice ones?”
“The very same.”
Aunt Peg shuddered slightly. She reached down and patted Faith, who was lying between us, her fingers combing lightly through the dense, dark hair. “Poor girl. The things your mother puts you through.”
I considered mentioning that it was Davey who’d signed Faith up for this particular ordeal, then thought better of it. Peg wasn’t the only one to whom this recounting of events was beginning to seem long.
“Anyway, because we were in the ladies’ room, I didn’t see how people split up or which way they went. All I know is that when I pushed open the fire door, the stairwell appeared to be empty. I figured everyone else was either ahead of us or behind us, or else they’d taken the elevator.”
“A logical assumption. Then what happened?”
“We’d gone partway down when I heard a door open above us. I heard voices, too.”
Aunt Peg sat up in her chair. “Saying what?”
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