Chow Down

by Laurien Berenson

  When I got there, the back door was standing open and everyone was out on the terrace. Sam was bending over the hibachi. Davey was setting the picnic table. The swarm of Poodles was supervising.

  It was the perfect start to a perfect evening. The weather was warm with a light breeze. The lamb chops were excellent. The company was sublime. I finally got to drink my glass of Chardonnay.

  In fact everything came together so well that I thought nothing could spoil my feeling of well-being. That is, until the phone rang later that night just before we went to bed. I picked up and found Bertie.

  “Here’s a news flash,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Lisa Kim has disappeared.”

  “No she hasn’t. I saw her earlier today. We went into New York for the Chow Down contest.”

  “And nobody’s seen her since.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Since she was going to be gone most of the day she asked a mutual friend to dog-sit for her. Sue expected Lisa and Yoda to be back by five or maybe six. When she didn’t show up and didn’t answer her cell phone, Sue started calling around. Finally she remembered that I had a connection to one of the contestants and tried me. I told her I’d check with you.”

  It was nearly eleven now. The bus had arrived back at the Champions Company in Norwalk at around four o’clock. I hadn’t been paying any attention to her but I assumed that Lisa had gotten in her car and left, just as the rest of us had.

  So where had she been for the last seven hours?

  20

  “Is Sue still at Lisa’s place?” I asked.

  “She’s been there all day,” Bertie confirmed. “Lisa and Larry don’t have a huge kennel, but still, you can’t just go out and leave ten dogs to fend for themselves. Sue was trying to be helpful . . . you know, because of what happened to Larry. She told Lisa to call her if she needed anything and Lisa did.”

  “And she hasn’t heard anything since Lisa left this morning?”

  “Not a peep. Lisa’s cell phone goes straight to voice mail, and she hasn’t answered any of the messages Sue’s been leaving. What were you guys doing in New York anyway?”

  I sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. It was late, but I had time to talk. Davey had already been asleep for a while; I’d just checked on him and found him curled up under his sheet. Faith had been in her customary place at the foot of his bed and I’d sent her downstairs with Sam, who was putting the Poodles outside one last time. It would be at least five minutes before that whole crew reappeared.

  “It was another competition for the contest. The judges wanted to see how the dog food–buying public would respond to each of the finalists so they stuck us all in a bus and drove us down to Central Park. Sort of like a free-form focus group, I guess.”

  “That sounds like fun,” Bertie muttered. Her sarcasm wasn’t lost on me.

  “It took up most of the day,” I grumbled. “This must be why parents used to believe that children should be seen and not heard. I’m beginning to come around to that way of thinking myself.”

  Bertie barked out a laugh. Clearly she didn’t believe me. That was all right; I didn’t really believe myself.

  “Listen,” she said. “Sue’s really worried. According to her, Lisa is one of the most responsible people she knows. It’s not like her to disappear and not tell anyone where she’s going.”

  “Has Sue contacted the police?”

  “She tried to do that earlier. But they won’t file a missing persons report on an adult until three days have passed. She checked with the local hospitals, too. They didn’t have any info, either.”

  “I wonder if the police would pay more attention if they knew that Lisa is the wife of a man who died under suspicious circumstances last week.”

  Bertie thought about that for a minute. “Maybe you should call the police and tell them.”

  Her confidence in my abilities was touching, if misplaced.

  “Bertie, pretty much every policeman I’ve ever spoken with has thought he knew exactly what he was doing. I’ve tried taking them information before. They never listen to a word I say.”

  “Well they should,” my sister-in-law replied stoutly.

  “I’m with you there.”

  I heard the scramble of feet coming up the steps, twenty-two feet, to be precise. It was like listening to a herd of buffalo approach. Luckily my son can sleep through almost anything.

  Faith sheared off and went into Davey’s room. Tar, as had recently become his habit, went with her. That left Eve, Raven, and Casey to keep Sam and me company. Eve got comfortable inside her open crate. Raven chose a spot beneath the window where the sun would hit her first thing in the morning. Casey eyed the king-sized bed hopefully.

  I pretended not to notice. Sam, following along behind, wasn’t so lenient. “You know better,” he said in a low voice. The Poodle dipped her head in acknowledgment. She went and lay down next to Raven.

  The man loves his dogs, but he enjoys snuggling with his wife more. You can’t fault him for that.

  Sam looked at me and lifted a brow.

  “Bertie,” I mouthed silently.

  He looked down at his watch and then up again. We don’t get many late-night phone calls. “Everything okay?”

  He was asking about family—checking on Maggie and Bertie and Frank—so I nodded.

  “Are you talking to Sam?” Bertie asked.

  “No.”

  “You are, too. I can always tell. Tell him I said hi.”

  “Bertie sends her love,” I said to Sam.

  “Me too,” he replied and went to brush his teeth. Just one big, happy family here.

  “So what are we going to do about Lisa?” asked Bertie. “I told Sue I’d get back to her tonight. I have to tell her something.”

  “Let me think,” I said. Like that would help. I’d been thinking since we’d first started talking and nothing brilliant had occurred to me yet.

  “When did you last see Lisa?”

  “Four,” I said. “Maybe four thirty. The bus dropped us off back in the Champions parking lot. I got in my car and came home. Until hearing differently from you, I figured she did the same.”

  “Huh,” said Bertie. “That’s no help. How was Lisa acting earlier? Was she happy? Sad? Unusually distracted?”

  Was it just me or had Bertie assumed the role that I usually played? How unexpected was that? Maybe spending day after day in the company of a child under the age of one had fried my sister-in-law’s brain. But no matter what the reason was, I was happy to play along. When it comes to figuring things out, I’ve found that two heads are almost always better than one.

  “Aloof,” I said.

  “Pardon me? Did you just sneeze?”

  “No, I said that Lisa and Yoda were keeping their distance from the rest of us. Not that, from what I’ve seen so far, there’s anything unusual in that. Lisa isn’t very chatty. She hasn’t warmed up to any of us. And of course, under the circumstances, no one would dream of pushing her.

  “Lisa sat by herself on the bus both ways. There was an open seat beside her, but she has that way of angling her body that lets you know you’re not welcome. The only person I saw her talking to for any length of time in the park was Simone.”

  “She’s one of the judges?”

  “Right. The PR director. Lisa was looking kind of stressed and Simone went over to see if she could help.”

  “Stressed by what?”

  Bertie was relentless. Was this how people felt when I backed them into a corner and grilled them for information? I hoped not.

  Sam emerged from the bathroom. His teeth were brushed and he was mostly naked. And I was stuck on the phone, reliving my day.

  Not a perfect state of affairs.

  “Stressed by what?” Bertie repeated, then paused. “Sam’s back, isn’t he?”

  “Um-hmm.”

  “Ready for bed? Dressed in his jammies?”

  “Yes to the first. N
o to the second.”

  “Oh.” A wealth of meaning permeated that small syllable. “I guess I’d better go then.”

  But now she had me thinking. “Maybe Simone—” I said.

  “Maybe tomorrow,” Bertie replied. “Have fun.” The phone clicked off.

  I sat there frowning, and wondering if maybe Simone knew something useful. Considering how careful Lisa was to keep the rest of us at bay, the two of them had seemed surprisingly close earlier.

  Sam reached out and took the receiver from my hand. He listened, heard the dial tone, and replaced it in the cradle.

  “Time for bed,” he said.

  It wasn’t like he had to ask me twice.

  With the advent of cell phones it seems like we’ve become a society that’s constantly in touch. People chat while they drive, while they work, while they’re shopping in the supermarket. Sometimes I think people don’t even care who they’re talking to anymore, as long as they’re connected to someone.

  Even I, who regard my cell phone as a necessary evil, seemed to be spending a lot more time on the phone these days. So of course when I got up the next morning, the first thing I did was make another call. Well, let’s not jump ahead. As anyone with dogs knows, the first thing I really did was let the Poodles outside for a run.

  Then I poured myself a cup of coffee, pulled out an old dog show catalogue and looked up the Kims’ address in the back. They lived in Southport, a town too far away to be covered by my phone book; but thanks to the wonders of technology, I was able to get the number off the internet.

  After what Bertie had told me the evening before, I didn’t actually expect anyone to answer when I dialed. But I hadn’t even heard one ring before the phone was snatched up.

  “Hello?” The voice sounded breathless and eager. What it didn’t sound like was Lisa.

  “Hi . . .” I thought fast. “Is this Sue?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “Melanie Travis. I’m Bertie Kennedy’s sister-in-law? We haven’t met but she called me last night—”

  “You’re the one who’s in that contest with Lisa.”

  “Yes.”

  Sue expelled a breath. “Have you seen her? Do you know where she is?”

  “No, that was why I was calling you. To see if there’d been any further news.”

  “Nothing,” Sue said flatly. “The last information I got was when Bertie called me after she spoke with you. I ended up staying here and spending the night on the couch. I guess I half-expected Lisa to come wandering in at three AM but no such luck. Now I don’t know what to do. It’s not like I can just put my entire life on hold until I hear something. But I can’t pack up ten dogs and take them home with me either.”

  “What about calling a professional pet-sitter?”

  “Yeah, I was thinking about maybe doing something like that. I know Lisa is going through a bad patch right now, but let me tell you, this is one hell of a way to treat a friend.”

  “It sounds like you’re more pissed off than worried,” I said.

  “I guess I don’t know how to feel. Or what to think. Maybe I jumped the gun, contacting the police and all. For all I know, this could be like one of those crazy college things. You know, where you go out and get wasted and don’t make it home at night?”

  “Have you known Lisa since college?” I asked.

  “No, but come on. Everyone’s experience is more or less the same, isn’t it?”

  Not mine, I thought. But then I’d had to take on responsibilities young. I couldn’t recall a single time in my life that I’d ever been too inebriated to at least call and check in with someone who might have been worried about me.

  “Lisa does have some old sorority friend around here. I think maybe they were roomies or something. If I could remember her name, I’d give her a call. I bet she might be able to shed some light on this whole thing.”

  “Maybe.”

  I didn’t sound convinced, and I wasn’t. Lisa was too old for shenanigans like that. Plus when I’d seen her last, she’d had Yoda with her. It was a stretch to imagine the elegantly groomed Asian woman out barhopping to the point of incapacity, all the while holding a little Yorkie in her arms.

  “Instead I had to call her boss,” Sue said, sounding annoyed. “It’s not like he was any help.”

  “Her boss? Lisa has a job?” That was news to me.

  “No, sorry, not her actual boss. Lisa doesn’t work. Larry was the one who took care of earning the money. I meant that guy who’s running the contest.”

  “Doug Allen?”

  “That’s the one. I talked to him earlier this morning. He didn’t have a clue. Said pretty much the same thing you did. That you all got off the bus in Norwalk yesterday afternoon and went your own separate ways. He had no idea where Lisa might be.”

  It was only eight o’clock now. How early had she called Doug? I wondered.

  “Maybe half an hour, forty-five minutes ago,” Sue said when I asked. “I woke up with a crick in my neck from sleeping on the freakin’ couch and I was in a mood to get some answers. Since the last people who had seen Lisa were the ones associated with the contest, that seemed like a good place to start.”

  “Doug was at work at seven fifteen?” I was only thinking out loud, but Sue answered the question anyway.

  “No, Lisa’s address book had Doug’s home number in it, so that’s the one I called. But like I said, it didn’t do me the slightest bit of good. He said if I was worried that I should report her missing to the police. Like I couldn’t have come up with that idea myself.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Back up.”

  Sue sighed. “I told this to Bertie, I just assumed she passed it on. Adults have to be missing for—”

  “No, not that. The other part, about Lisa’s address book.”

  “It was just sitting there on top of her desk. It wasn’t as though I had to go digging around in her drawers to find it. All I did was open it up and look—”

  “I don’t care where you got it from,” I said impatiently. After all, it wasn’t as though I was above snooping around in other people’s things. “Lisa had a listing for Doug Allen in her address book?”

  “Yup. Office. Cell. Home. I called the home number because it was early and that’s where I got him.”

  I thought back to the first time I’d gone to the Champions Company. Each of the finalists had been given a goody bag of products on their way out. Doug’s business card had been attached to the top. The card had listings for Doug’s office, cell phone, and fax numbers. There hadn’t been a home number on there, I was sure of it.

  So what was that phone number doing in Lisa Kim’s address book?

  21

  Lisa Kim’s disappearance was a concern, but it wasn’t the only thing I was worried about. There was another, even more pressing item on my agenda. Despite repeated attempts, I had yet to come up with the slightest clue about what was going on with Crawford. It was time to kick that investigation into high gear and take my queries straight to the source.

  Well, the next best thing, anyway.

  Terry—that indefatigable supplier of information, gossip, and innuendo—was clearly the person I needed to talk to. And considering that in the current humid summer weather my hair was hanging around my shoulders like a Puli’s straggly mop, it wasn’t hard to come up with the perfect excuse.

  Terry had been cutting my hair—and, if the truth be known, consulting on my wardrobe—since shortly after we’d first met. I wasn’t the only exhibitor currently exploiting his extracurricular talents, though I probably was the only one prone to showing up at Bedford Kennel at odd hours, plopping myself down on a kitchen stool, and telling him to snip away.

  Under normal circumstances, I would have called ahead and asked if it was a convenient time for a visit. But since I was half-afraid I’d be told that it wasn’t, I decided instead to simply show up.

  Sam and Davey were once again occupied with the ongoing construction of the tree
house. The Poodles, lying in the shade in the backyard, were happy to keep them company. That left me in the Volvo by myself, heading north into Westchester County.

  Crawford’s tenure in the dog show world rivaled Aunt Peg’s. But while she had dedicated her efforts to producing and maintaining a family of Standard Poodles whose quality was unparalleled, Crawford’s life had been devoted to winning in the show ring. In a career that had by now spanned several decades, he had quickly found his way to the top, and a number of the most celebrated Non-Sporting dogs in history had come from Bedford Kennel.

  Approaching the residence, which was on a quiet, rural road lined with stone walls and mature trees, I felt a small pang. I counted Terry and Crawford among my good friends, but I’d never before had the temerity to simply drop in without notice. Even now, I wasn’t sure it was such a good idea. At least it was Wednesday; that had to count for something.

  Professional handlers do the majority of their work on the weekends. Saturdays, Sundays, and sometimes Fridays are devoted to the shows themselves. Thursdays are for grooming dogs and getting ready. Monday is a recovery day. So the two days midweek are about as close as handlers ever come to having a day off.

  The good news: Crawford and Terry probably wouldn’t be working when I arrived. The bad news: I had no reason to suspect that either one of them was hoping to spend their limited leisure time with me.

  In the end I chickened out and called Terry on my cell phone from the road at the end of their driveway.

  “Hey doll,” he said. “What’s up?”

  “I need a haircut. Badly.”

  “Like that’s news. If you’d let me maintain that trim every six weeks like I want to, you wouldn’t have to go through the oh-so-attractive shaggy dog stage.”

  Can you tell we’d had this conversation before?

  “What’s your schedule look like today?” I asked.

  “Could be doable. When today?”

  “How about now?”

  I turned on my blinker, eased past a mailbox marked Bedford Kennels and pulled through a break in the stone walls. Gravel crunched beneath the Volvo’s wheels as I headed down the long driveway toward the house. The big white Colonial looked more like a stately country home than a business, in part because the matching kennel building, with its covered runs and spacious paddocks, was hidden out back.