I gave her a friendly wave and gazed around the area. “I came for Davey. He’s supposed to be with Sarah.”
“Yeah, they’re fine. She’s reading him a story.” Crystal gestured toward the booth next door and I saw them sitting together on a pile of sheepskin dog beds, leaning over a book.
Crystal stepped out from behind her own counter to intercept me. She had to be wondering how much I’d seen.
“That was Roger Peterson, wasn’t it?”
She nodded shortly, her expression daring me to make something of it; and in that moment, I knew. I looked back to where my son and her daughter sat; Sarah, with her shiny dark hair and mischievous eyes.
“Don’t say it,” Crystal muttered in a low tone. “Don’t say a word.”
I didn’t have to, because suddenly I saw the truth of what had been sitting right in front of me. I’m ten years old, Sarah had told me proudly. Ten years earlier, Jenny had been on her own for a year. When she’d left home, her father had been having an affair with Crystal Mars.
It wasn’t that Jenny hadn’t blamed Crystal for what she had done. She’d forgiven her. Because Crystal was the mother of Jenny’s half-sister. “That’s why Jenny drove all the way over to Stratford to buy dog food.”
Crystal nodded. The defiance was gone, spent as quickly as it had come. Now her eyes looked tired, defeated. “She wanted to see Sarah. It’s not like I was going to keep her away. Neither of them had much family they could lean on, did they?”
I stepped in closer and found myself whispering. “What about Angie?”
“That one.” Crystal sniffed contemptuously. “She won’t even talk to me. As far as she’s concerned, Sarah doesn’t even exist.”
“Does Sarah know about her father?”
“No. I’ll probably tell her when she’s older. But for now, going to shows where she might run into Roger, the whole thing could be incredibly awkward. He’s never denied paternity, I’ll say that much for him. But I was the one who wanted Sarah, and I’ve taken responsibility for that. It was my decision and I’m dealing with it.”
I pretty much knew how she felt. And Sarah was a great kid. I certainly wasn’t going to condemn Crystal for any of the choices she’d made.
I looked at our children, their two heads, one fair, one dark, bent over the big picture book. Then I glanced at Crystal and saw she was doing the same.
“Ziggy’s her dog now,” she said softly. “It just seems right.”
I thought so too.
When Davey and I got back to the group ring, the Doberman had just won his second Best in Show in as many days, and Aunt Peg had been invited out to dinner. She was finagling extra invitations for her tagalong relatives when we arrived.
“Thank you, but no,” I said firmly as Davey smothered a large yawn with his hands. It was already after eight. At this hour, a quick take-out dinner would be about the most he could manage. We agreed that I would take the Poodles back to the motel with me, and Aunt Peg’s friends would drop her off there later.
At our set-up, I slipped collars and leashes on our charges, both of whom were delighted to be released from their crates. Faith was more rambunctious, but Peaches was bigger. Davey got the puppy and I took the older bitch. I also picked up the Dog Scene and tucked it under my arm. Reading material for later when, with Aunt Peg out and Davey asleep, there wouldn’t be much to do.
As we left the building Faith was pulling at the end of her lead, with Davey trotting along behind to keep up. That meant Peaches wanted to go fast, too. If Angie’s voice hadn’t been raised, I probably never would have noticed the two figures standing in the shadows outside the door.
“I can’t believe it!” Angie cried angrily. “You had no right—”
“Shhh.” Lavinia Peterson reached out and laid a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. Angrily Angie shrugged her off. “It was for your own good . . .”
There was more, but Mrs. Peterson was speaking softly and thanks to the pace Davey and Faith were setting, I was already out of range. I was tempted to circle back and listen some more, but with Best in Show over, cars were starting up all around us and I didn’t dare let Davey out of my sight.
We found the Volvo, hopped the Poodles in, and I drove back past the door where I’d seen Angie and her mother arguing. Both were now gone, and Davey was in the back seat clamoring to be fed. Now I knew why Nancy Drew had been such a successful sleuth. She didn’t have children. Or Poodles either, for that matter.
The excitement seemed to be over, so we headed back to the motel. On the way, I gave Davey his choice and he cast his vote for a Big Mac. At least he’s consistent. We had our food bagged and brought it outside to eat in the car. Having been a dog owner for a full two months now, I knew enough to buy a couple of extra hamburgers, hold the fixings.
Aunt Peg would have said I was teaching Peaches to beg—an art Faith had long since perfected—but she was off in some fancy restaurant, probably sipping wine and talking dogs. I was the one holding down the fort and I figured what she didn’t know couldn’t possibly hurt me too much.
Dinner revived Davey’s flagging energy. On the way back to the motel we drove past Doughnuts Divine and he jumped up and down in his seat. “Dessert! Dessert!” he yelled. The Poodles weren’t sure what all the fuss was about but they threw in a few barks for good measure.
“Not tonight,” I said. After what had happened that morning, doughnuts were about the last thing I wanted. Not to mention the fact that Harry’s coffee had been in a Doughnuts Divine cup. . . .
The tires squealed on dry pavement as I yanked the wheel hard to the right. One wheel caught the driveway, the other bumped up over the curb as we made the turn into the parking lot.
“Yea!” cried Davey, as the Poodles righted themselves in the back seat.
“Two doughnuts. And that’s all.”
“Two each?” Davey opened the door and scrambled out.
“Oh, all right.” By that time of the day, my ability to argue was on low ebb. I gathered up the Dog Scene magazine and followed my son inside.
A large glassed-in showcase was filled with more than a dozen different kinds of doughnuts. There were two small booths and a sit-down counter over to the right. Aside from a teenage girl in a pink smock standing behind the cash register, we had the place to ourselves. The girl, whose name tag identified her as Sandy, had out a compact and a tube of cherry red lipstick, which she was smoothing over her full lips. As we let ourselves in, she shoved both under the counter.
Davey went straight to the wall of doughnuts. His eyes were round as saucers. Choosing his two—not only the kind, but the actual doughnuts themselves—would occupy him for at least the next ten minutes.
“What can I get you?” Sandy asked.
“Four doughnuts.”
She took out a white grease paper bag and shook it open.
“You weren’t working this morning, were you?”
“Nah. I’m on four to midnight.”
That made sense. Still, it had been worth a shot. “Do you know who was on duty this morning, say around seven?”
“Sure, that’s Jeff. He’s in back.”
“He’s working now?”
Her head bobbed. “Tuition’s pretty steep. Jeff does double shifts whenever he can manage around his classes. He’s real studious, you know what I mean?”
I gathered that meant he was too busy with his books to appreciate the cherry red lips. “Do you think he might have a minute to step out and talk to me?”
“Probably.” She stepped back and stuck her head in the kitchen door. “Hey Jeff! There’s a lady out here who wants to see you.” She waited a moment, then said back to me, “He’ll be right out.”
She pushed the door and followed it through. When it swung back, it brought in a white-smocked teenage boy wearing a peaked paper hat over close-cropped hair. He was tall and skinny and a faint line of acne scars shadowed his jaw. “Sandy said you wanted to see me?”
I spread the Dog Sce
ne down on the counter. I’d creased the ad featuring a picture of Rick showing the Brittany and the magazine fell open to that page. “Did this man come in here this morning and buy a cup of coffee? Maybe between seven and seven-thirty?”
Jeff bent down for a closer look. “I don’t think so. But business is pretty good then, you know? Sometimes we get real busy and I’m just on automatic pilot. I’m too busy serving doughnuts to spend any time looking at faces. Does this have something to do with that guy who died?”
“It might.”
“The police came over to school and talked to me this afternoon. They didn’t have any pictures, though, and there wasn’t much I could tell them. I must have sold a hundred cups of coffee this morning.”
I flipped the magazine shut. “Thanks anyway. Davey, are you ready?”
“I want one jelly and one honey glazed.” He pointed with a firm finger. “That one.”
Jeff picked up the bag. “Sandy said you wanted four doughnuts, right?”
“Right. I just need to have a look. . . .” All right, so if Davey took his time deciding, let’s just say I knew where he got it from. “Maybe a raspberry.”
Jeff leaned back against the end of the counter and waited. Davey fished his jelly doughnut out of the bag and began to eat. A spray of powdered sugar decorated the tip of his nose. “Want to see a really cool car?” he asked Jeff.
“Sure.”
Davey pulled the Dog Scene across the counter top. “Page fourteen,” he said with authority.
“Raspberry,” I decided as the pages flipped behind me. “And a chocolate cruller.”
“Got it,” said Jeff. He quickly bagged my choices. “You know, she was here.”
“She who?”
“That girl.” His finger poked at the ad with the really cool car. Champion Shadowlands Super-Charged.
And Angie.
“When?”
“She came in here this morning. Just like you asked.”
Twenty-seven
“Wait a minute!” I cried as he rang up our purchase. My voice sounded unnaturally loud. “Are you saying that Angie was here this morning?”
“Is this Angie?” He poked at the picture again.
I nodded.
“She was here. Like I said, most people blend together. But I noticed her because she bought two coffees and had trouble getting out the door carrying them.”
Two coffees?
Maybe she’d been buying one for Rick.
Then again, maybe not.
I opened my wallet and tossed a couple of singles down on the counter. “Come on, Davey. Let’s go.”
“Don’t you want your magazine?”
We were halfway to the door and had to come back for it. In the car, the Poodles were all over us. Davey let them help polish off his jelly doughnut and I didn’t say a word.
I was too busy thinking. Angie?
She was Jenny’s sister. I’d seen how upset she was at the funeral. I’d watched how hard she’d worked since to fill her sister’s shoes.
And how well she’d succeeded.
Her words came floating back to me. Jenny never gave me a chance. . . .
“Mommy, why are we just sitting here?”
I fished out the key and fit it into the ignition, still tumbling things end over end in my mind. Angie had always seemed so young and immature. She was the follower, not the leader. And Jenny and Angie had been family; close enough that when Angie left home, she’d run to her older sibling.
But not close enough to know about Jenny’s own plans to run away . . .
I drove the mile to the motel at well under the speed limit. The way my thoughts were swirling, I was an accident just waiting to happen. Aunt Peg wasn’t back yet, no surprise there. I got Davey into his pajamas, fed and walked the Poodles. And considered the notion that Angie might have been the murderer.
For years, she’d stood in Jenny’s shadow. But now with her sister gone, Angie had come into her own. For the first time, her ambition had been allowed free rein. She’d brushed aside Rick’s objections when he hadn’t wanted her to show Charlie. And she’d been working on Florence Byrd to extend the dog’s career. Now that sympathy was wearing thin, Harry Flynn had been pushing her hard for wins. Had she brushed him aside, too?
I shook my head irritably. It all seemed incredible. I’d wanted to find all the pieces to the puzzle; but now that I had them, they were forming a picture I didn’t necessarily believe. To quote Aunt Peg, the girl was a child. I had to talk to Angie. Face to face. I needed to hear what she had to say about all this.
I put Davey in bed and read him Peter Pan from start to finish. By the time Hook had been vanquished, he was snoring softly into his pillow. I picked up the phone, dialed the front desk and got myself connected to Angie’s room. Rick picked up.
“She’s back at the show exing the dogs for the night,” he told me. Mindful of our conversation the day before, his voice was distinctly cool. “I’ll tell her you called.” He started to hang up.
“Rick, do you drink coffee?”
There was a long pause as he considered what had to sound like an odd question. “Of course I drink coffee,” he said finally.
“Did Angie—?”
The phone clicked in my ear.
I was debating what to do next when Peaches stood up on the bed and whined. Faith cocked her ears. A moment later, I heard the scratch of Aunt Peg’s key in the lock. She pushed the door open and stepped carefully over the threshold. She was grinning like she’d just won the lottery and her eyes had a distinctly tipsy glaze. I leapt up and caught the Poodles before their boisterous greeting could knock her over.
“Dinner was grand,” she announced, throwing her coat on the bed.
“You look it.”
Peg peered at her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. “I most certainly do not.”
I’d been planning to tell her what I’d learned and ask her advice. But from the looks of Aunt Peg, she wasn’t in any shape to absorb details. Nothing if not flexible, I went on to plan B. “I have to go out for a little while. Can you keep an eye on Davey?”
“You’re going out now? Where on earth to?”
“Back to the show. Angie’s there and I want to talk to her.”
“Oh. Of course.” Aunt Peg nodded as if my partial explanation made perfect sense. She’s usually very quick on the uptake so I took her easy acquiescence to mean that her evening had been very pleasant indeed.
When I pulled the door shut behind me, she was singing “The Impossible Dream” and dancing around the room with Peaches for a partner. I wondered how much she’d remember in the morning.
At ten-thirty at night, the Eastern States Exposition Grounds were a good deal darker and quieter than I’d expected. A parking lot off to one side was filled with motor homes and although a few lights were visible, most people seemed to have already bedded down for the night. I pulled the Volvo up beside the building and let myself in a heavy metal door with a light shining overhead.
A uniformed guard walked by, carrying a steaming cup of hot soup. “You’ve got half an hour,” he said curtly. “Then I’m closing up.”
“Right.” I nodded and kept on going. Depending on what Angie had to say, I might be in and out in ten minutes.
Still, it was nice to know there was some sort of security force in the building. Half of me realized I might be about to confront a murderer. The other half thought of all the time I’d spent in her company lately and flatly refused to accept the possibility. Nor was I able to take Angie seriously as an adversary. She was slightly taller than me and probably weighed a few pounds more, but I doubted that either of us would be able to inflict any significant physical damage upon the other.
On the other hand, I certainly wouldn’t be drinking or eating anything in her presence.
I made my way quickly through the grooming area, skirting crates and ex pens, and dodging across the haphazardly formed aisles. The building was only half lit and nearly emp
ty. After the bustle and crowds of daytime, the quiet seemed almost unnatural. Somewhere a rap song was playing in a boom box; and I could see a few people on the other side of the rings finishing up their chores. But over where we had set up, everyone had already packed up and gone home.
For a moment I thought I’d missed Angie. Then as I veered around a grooming table and started up the Shamrock aisle, I saw a black Cocker Spaniel sniffing around the paper floor of its exercise pen. Angie was bending over to fasten the gate.
“Hey,” she said, straightening as I approached. “What are you doing here? Did you forget something?”
“No. I was hoping we could talk.”
“Sure. I’ve got time.” She watched as the Cocker lifted his leg, then hoisted him up out of the pen and covered the wet spot with fresh white paper from a big roll. “I’ve got two more to do. What’s up?”
I waited until she’d put that dog back in its crate and gotten the next one into the pen. I’d thought she might stop moving then, but she didn’t. Angie fidgeted around the set-up, rearranging, tidying, basically doing everything but giving me her full attention. There was a grooming table in the aisle behind me, with a big, waist-high hair dryer standing beside it. I shoved the heavy nozzle out of the way and braced back against the edge of the table. This might take longer than I thought.
“The clerk at Doughnuts Divine told me you were in this morning and bought two cups of coffee.”
Her back stiffened slightly; or maybe it was a trick of the half light. Angie didn’t say a word.
“Harry Flynn was poisoned by someone who slipped something into a cup of coffee that came from there.” I didn’t know that for sure, but it seemed likely. Besides, unless Angie was the killer, she wouldn’t know either.
“So?” She still wasn’t looking at me, but her tone conveyed her irritation.
“Harry Flynn was poisoned Angie, just like Jenny. The police will be looking into the connections there. They may have started already.”
She spun around, scowling. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you’re the only person I can think of who stood to profit from both their deaths.”
Underdog Page 23
