“When I told her I was a friend of Jenny’s, she said something about Jenny not having enough friends. That maybe if she’d had better people around her, she might still be alive today. Maybe Mrs. Byrd was planning to help Jenny, but she never got the chance.”
“We ought to talk to her and see what she knows.”
Faith came over and laid her muzzle on my lap. I scratched beneath her chin. “I already tried. I didn’t get very far.”
“She’s a tough old bird, if you’ll pardon the pun. I doubt she’d take being questioned lightly.”
“Who do we know that could give us an introduction?”
Aunt Peg thought for a moment. “Maybe Crawford. He knows everybody. I’ll bet he could get us together next week at Springfield.”
The following week was Thanksgiving, too, but that wasn’t the way dog people thought. They measured the weeks of the year not by the usual calendar but by the dog shows that held those dates, as in “The puppies are due right after Elm City” or “We’ll be on vacation the week of Penn Ridge.” Springfield was a four-day weekend of big shows held at the Eastern States Exposition Grounds in Massachusetts over Thanksgiving vacation.
Faith was entered for two days and Peaches all four. According to Aunt Peg, the weekend drew many of the best dogs from all over the country and would be a valuable learning experience for me. She, Davey, and I were planning to share a hotel room.
“Will you talk to him?” I asked and Aunt Peg nodded. “In the meantime, I’ll call Detective Petronelli and tell him what we’re thinking.”
“Good idea.”
I pushed back my chair and stood up. Between us, we’d finished nearly half the cake. I could just about feel the pounds sliding right down onto my thighs.
“You’re coming next Thursday, right?”
Aunt Peg looked up. “Where?”
“To my house, for dinner. It’s Thanksgiving. The whole family’s coming, remember?”
“Oh. Of course.”
Of course, my foot. Dog people.
On Saturday night, I had a date. For me, that was a big deal. I couldn’t remember having had a serious date since high school. In college and graduate school, we’d socialized in groups. After that, I’d married Bob and had Davey. Since Bob left, there’d been only a couple of casual relationships with men who had turned out not to be nearly as interesting as I had hoped.
The problem was between working and motherhood, I had neither extra time nor energy to expend trying to bolster a faltering social life. I also tend to have very high standards. I can’t see the point of wasting my time with some mediocre man when I could be home enjoying my own company and that of my son.
And then Sam showed up. I’d tried pushing him away once or twice, but he kept pushing back. I like a man with perseverance. Not to mention sky blue eyes and a tight butt.
He’d called on Wednesday and asked me out for Saturday night. No Poodles, no Aunt Peg, no Davey. In other words, no distractions. Just us. Who knew what might develop? Certainly not me, but I dressed with great care from the skin out, just in case.
Sam was punctual. He arrived right on the dot of seven and since I was still upstairs poking at my hair, Joanie let him in.
“Hey, Mom!” Davey yelled up the stairs. “Sam’s here. And he’s got flowers and everything. You better hurry up!”
Five-year-olds have no appreciation for romance. I left my hair and went downstairs. If I didn’t get there soon, Davey might manage to convince Sam that he needed to tag along.
But as I turned the corner and started down, I realized there was little chance of that. Sam was waiting for me at the foot of the steps. Davey and Faith were playing tag around him, but with notable lack of concern for his own safety, Sam only had eyes for me. He was holding roses, creamy white ones with petals the color of pearls. Their heady fragrance filled the hallway. My heart began to pound.
“You look great,” said Sam.
I was wearing a sleeveless black wool dress with a mandarin collar and a body hugging shape that ended well above my knees. The two inch heels that completed the outfit would have me begging for mercy by midnight but for the moment I felt long and lean and terribly sophisticated.
“Thanks,” I said. “So do you.” His blond hair was wind ruffled; the killer smile was firmly in place. Beneath the camel hair topcoat, I saw a navy blue jacket and a tie whose pattern, on closer inspection, consisted of dozens of intertwined Poodles.
He held out the flowers. I took the bouquet in my arms and inhaled deeply. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”
For a moment I wasn’t sure what to do next. I’d known Sam for months, but suddenly everything seemed strange and new.
“Hey!” cried Davey, rounding the corner with Faith hard on his heels. “I thought you were leaving.”
“We are.” I leaned down and brushed a kiss across his curls.
Joanie was right behind him. From the way she kept staring at Sam with her mouth hanging open, I figured he was having the same effect on her that he was on me. “Do you want me to put those in a vase?” she asked.
“That would be great.” I handed over the roses and got my coat out of the closet. “We won’t be late.”
“Yes, we will.” Sam looked at Joanie. “Do you have a curfew?”
“I’m sixteen,” she said, trying to sound very grown-up. “I can stay out as late as I want.”
“Good.”
Before I could say another word, Sam had bundled me into my coat, out the door, and into his car. Or maybe I was just speechless. Up until now, our times together had been casual, impromptu: pizza and Poodles. But not tonight. Tonight was a night for white roses and champagne.
“Where are we going?”
“Le Chateau.”
“You’re kidding!”
He looked over, amused. “No, I’m not.”
“I’ve always wanted to go there.”
“Good. Then it will be a special occasion.”
Le Chateau was one of the finest restaurants in the area. Housed in an old stone mansion in the countryside of South Salem, it was a bit of a drive from almost everywhere. The fact that reservations were essential and hard to get was a testament to its excellence.
Oh my.
In the car on the way, Sam talked about his work. He’d started his own business in the spring and was designing a new type of interactive software for a client on the West Coast. Since going out on his own, work had been coming in even more quickly than his most optimistic projections had predicted. Modestly, he ascribed his success to a thriving market; but I knew better. He was just plain good.
It was inevitable that the conversation would eventually work its way around to dogs and dog people, but that didn’t happen until we’d been seated in the shadow of a large Palladian window overlooking a lighted terrace with gardens beyond. At the other end of the room, a fire burned cozily in a stone fireplace. Though most of the tables were full, they were so well spaced that we might as well have been alone. The room was hushed, softly lit, perfect.
The sommelier poured the Bordeaux that Sam had chosen and discreetly withdrew.
“Peg tells me that the Ridgefield police are quite certain Jenny Maguire was murdered,” said Sam.
I sipped at my wine, and nodded. It didn’t surprise me that Peg and Sam had been talking about what I’d found out. Aunt Peg was just old fashioned enough to enjoy having a man’s shoulder to lean on when the going got tough.
“Do you really think Jenny was planning to fake her own suicide?”
“I think there’s a good possibility. That would explain the note, the missing jewelry, and why she did what she did with Ziggy.”
“I don’t know Rick Maguire except to say hello to. He seems like he can be pretty intense at times, but I’m not sure I can imagine his wife feeling she had to go to those lengths to escape him.”
“Jenny had filed for divorce once before, but apparently Rick convinced her to change her mind.”
“There
you go.” Sam lifted his wine goblet and light from the fire flickered across its facets. “Maybe she didn’t know what she wanted.”
“Maybe she knew what she wanted and was afraid to go after it. Jenny told me she was going away, Sam. At the time, I thought she meant she was taking a trip. But now I’m sure she meant to run away for good.”
“Not everybody runs, Melanie.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just what I said. Some relationships are better than others, but everyone doesn’t solve their problems by running away.”
“You think I’m taking this too personally.”
“A month ago, you told me you didn’t know Jenny that well. Now I’m wondering how you got so involved.”
I shifted in my chair. “It just happened.”
“I see.”
The waiter came and took our order and I thought after that the subject would be dropped. And it was, in a way. But Sam was sly, I had to give him that. Because when he asked his next question, I knew I should have seen it coming.
“Tell me about Bob,” he said.
I stuffed a piece of buttered bread in my mouth and decided it was too full to speak.
“Davey’s father,” he prompted. “Your ex-husband.”
Oh, that Bob.
Twenty
“There’s not much to tell,” I said.
“I think there is. I think there must be.”
“Oh?” The word sounded hard and defensive. I reached for my wine and gulped it with less than proper respect. As soon as I set the glass down, it was refilled.
“There’s been something standing between us from the beginning. You’d like to believe it’s Davey, but it isn’t. Peg tells me it’s Bob.”
“Aunt Peg should mind her own business,” I said with feeling.
“She wants you to be happy. Is that so bad?”
“She wants me to be her version of happy, with a husband to take care of me and a house full of Standard Poodles.”
“Not the worst thing that could happen. Tell me about Bob.”
“You’ll be bored.”
“I’ll cope.”
I sighed then. It was his mistake, but I guessed I could humor him. “Bob and I met young and married too soon. I had visions of swing sets and picket fences. He thought we were Wendy and Peter Pan.”
“You clashed right from the beginning then.”
“Actually no. The problem was, we didn’t talk about our expectations at all. So for the first few years we thought we were doing pretty well.”
“What happened?”
“I got pregnant. It was an accident. We’d agreed to wait. But I was delighted.”
“And your husband wasn’t.”
“That’s putting it mildly. Bob was shocked, dismayed, surprised as hell. How could this have happened? That kind of thing. As if he hadn’t been right there at the time.”
Sam’s lips pursed at that. “And then?”
“One day when Davey was ten months old, Bob left while I was at the supermarket. Talk about being knocked for a loop. I had no idea. There I was being the proper little wife and mother, taking my son in the snugli to go pick up formula, while Bob was home packing up the stereo in the car.”
I shrugged my shoulders angrily. I’d put these memories away a long time ago. Dredging them up again wasn’t pleasant. “The really stupid thing was that I didn’t even have a clue. I knew things weren’t great between us, but I figured we’d work on it. I thought that was what couples who loved each other did.”
“Where’s Bob now?”
“Last I heard, Texas. That was three years ago, so the information’s probably out of date. Not that it really matters. He has his life and I have mine. There’s no need for us to be in touch.”
“What about Davey? What about child support?”
“Bob didn’t want Davey then, and I don’t imagine anything’s changed since. He could see his son if he wanted to. So far, he hasn’t made the effort. He’s never going to be Davey’s father in anything but the biological sense and frankly, for Davey’s sake, I think it’s better that he stays away. As to financial support, let’s just say it’s lucky I have a secure job.”
“You could take him to court.”
“I could, but what would be the point? He’s supposed to pay now, and he doesn’t. Besides,” I said defensively, “Davey and I are managing just fine.”
“Just fine,” Sam repeated. “Except that even though you claim to have put Bob behind you, you still manage your relationships in light of what happened with him.”
“That’s not true—”
“No? Then why do I get the impression you keep expecting me to take off? I’m not your ex-husband, Melanie. And for all you keep trying to throw up road blocks between us, I’m not going anywhere.”
I wanted to believe that. I really did. But it just didn’t jibe with what I’d known of life so far. In my experience women were the ones who threw themselves heart and soul into a relationship, who pledged undying love and really meant it. Men were looking for something easier; a commitment that wouldn’t inconvenience Sunday football games or nights out with the guys. Davey and I were worth more than that, damn it.
Sam backed off after that and I was just as pleased to have the subject changed. Still, I found myself thinking about what he had said during the rest of the meal. Sam certainly wasn’t Bob; and I was older and wiser than I had been. But maturity had brought with it caution, and also some finely honed survival instincts.
By the light of a dozen flame-tipped candles, I gazed over at Sam. We’d both been too full for dessert, but were enticed by the notion of vanilla mousse. He’d ordered one portion and two spoons. He dragged his through the thickest part of the whipped cream, then offered it to me with a grin.
If ever there was ever a man who tempted me to chuck survival to the wind, this was the one. Some women dive into icy cold water. I’m the type who works my way down the stairs, one agonizing inch at a time. I took Sam up on that offer of whipped cream, then I took a deep breath and dipped in my big toe.
Sam said he wasn’t going to leave, so I invited him to Thanksgiving dinner.
“Thanksgiving?”
“You know, Thursday. Unless you have other plans.”
He thought for a long moment, then said. “No, I’m free.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.”
“Good.” I relaxed, feeling pleased. “I cook a pretty great turkey, if I do say so myself. I’m having the whole family over.”
He paled slightly. “Whole family?”
“Don’t worry, there aren’t that many of us. Aunt Peg and Davey you already know, of course. Then there’s my brother, Frank. He lives in Cos Cob. And my Aunt Rose. She was Peg’s late husband’s sister. My father’s, too.”
“That’s all?”
“Oh, and Peter. Aunt Rose left the convent last summer to get married. He’s her husband, the ex-priest.”
A smile twitched around the corners of his mouth. “Sounds like an interesting group.”
“You don’t know the half of it. Rose and Peg have been feuding for years. Putting those two in the same room is like adding nitro to glycerin.”
“Nitro to glycerin. I see.”
“I figure you can help run interference.”
“Of course. What about Frank? Where does he fit in?”
“Frank.” I sighed. “He means well.”
“That sounds promising.”
“Then maybe I’m giving him too much credit. I wouldn’t want to mislead you.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t. Are we done yet? You’re sure there’s no razor-wielding uncle who’s going to jump out of the closet? No long-lost cousin home from the institution for the holidays?”
“You’re not taking me seriously.”
“On the contrary, I’m taking you very seriously. You’re trying to scare me away.”
“I am not.”
“Your aunt really left th
e convent to marry a priest?”
“Ex-priest,” I corrected. “Peter’s really very nice and normal. He’s teaching college in New London now.”
“Thanksgiving dinner,” Sam said cheerfully. “Sounds great. What shall I bring?”
“Nothing alcoholic. Frank has a real appreciation for fine wine, and I’d just as soon he cut down.”
“Problem?”
“Not yet. But they say alcoholism runs in families.”
“So they do,” Sam muttered.
I felt bad. All right, I felt terrible. But it was for his own good. Sam might as well know the worst right off the bat. Then if he wanted to, he could bail out gracefully. Davey and I might cry a little, but we’d recover.
We polished off the mousse and Sam called for the check. At least Joanie wouldn’t have to worry about too late a night.
“Good news,” said Aunt Peg.
It was early Sunday morning and I figured she was calling to see how my date with Sam had gone. Not that I’d told her we were going out, but when it comes to this particular relationship, Aunt Peg seems to have spies everywhere. In fact she’d gotten me when I was still in bed. Asleep. Alone. So what else was new?
“What’s good news?”
“I talked to Crawford yesterday and he was happy to intercede.” Aunt Peg chuckled. “I gather he was just as pleased to sic you in another direction. You and I are going to see Mrs. Byrd this afternoon.”
“Where?”
“Pound Ridge. The shows are up in Boston this weekend, but Mrs. Byrd stayed home. We’re expected at four for tea.”
That conjured up images of white gloves and fine china. As Davey ran into my bedroom in his pajamas, bounced off the headboard and landed, laughing, on the pillow beside my head, I thought, what is wrong with this picture?
“I’d better start calling around for a baby-sitter.”
“For who?” Davey demanded.
“You.”
“I just had a baby-sitter.”
“Well, now you’re going to have another.”
“No, I’m not!”
“Melanie?” said Aunt Peg.
I juggled the receiver to the other ear and fended off Davey’s mock attack one-handed. “Right here.”
Underdog Page 17
