Changing of the Guard Dog

by Lane Stone

  “Yup,” he answered. His phone lit up showing he had a text.

  Having no choice, I read it. It would be rude of me not to. I’d worry about the logic of that later. It was from “Mom.” I knew she was a famous character actress, now of a certain age. She had linked an article from the press conference and written, You have an honest to God duke in that 1 horse town? She had substituted an emoji for the word “horse.” When are you going to get out of there?

  “Are you two done?” The baritone voice startled me.

  “Sorry,” I said, moving my eyes off his phone and on to the computer screen. Wait, he had said “you two.” I looked over at Lady Anthea. She looked sheepish, but that wasn’t all. The wheels were turning. What was she up to?

  “Sue? You’ve yet to meet Mrs. Turner?” She pursed her lips and looked at John and then at me before demurely turning her gaze down to the table. “Oh, we-l-l-l-l-l.”

  I stared at this friend-stranger-extraterrestrial alien.

  John coughed. “I’ll fast-forward to the times I spotted him.” After a minute or so he stopped on a man in a white shirt with a bow tie hanging limply around his neck. Georg Nielsen’s head was turned to the left, which gave us a clear view of his strikingly handsome face.

  “What is he looking at?” Lady Anthea asked, leaning over the table to get a closer look.

  “I think I know where he is on the ferry, and he’s probably just being careful and looking where he’s going. He’s in one of the passageways going from one side of the vessel to the other,” I answered.

  The next time we saw him his chin was raised. “Now he’s looking for someone,” John said. Nielsen was striding through the food court.

  “He’s not alone. He’s already with someone,” I said.

  “How do you figure?” John asked, looking at me.

  The smirk on the young man’s mug wasn’t my clue. “Where’s the jacket to his tux? He left it with someone,” I said. In my peripheral vision I saw John’s slow smile. “He’s on the second deck. I can see it’s dark outside, so he was on the six o’clock ferry?”

  “Yeah,” John said. “Here’s the time stamp.”

  He placed the cursor on the corner of the image and we read, 6:55 p.m.

  Lady Anthea checked her watch. “Don’t we need to leave soon for dinner?”

  “That’s really all there is here,” John said, pushing his chair back and getting up.

  “He never talks to anyone?” I asked.

  “There’s one more sighting.” He sat back down and fast-forwarded to another image.

  We watched as the conductor entered the bar and walked straight up to a chair and sat down. His companion was seated under the camera and his or her back would have been against the wall. We couldn’t see the person, but there was definitely someone sitting and waiting for him. Georg Nielsen shook his head. He picked up a glass. No, he mouthed.

  Chapter 18

  “I have a confession to make,” Lady Anthea said when we were in the Jeep making our way up Savannah Road back to Buckingham’s.

  “You murdered Georg Nielsen?”

  “Very funny. After you told me who John’s mother is, I’ve been looking her up on the internet regularly.”

  So, while Shelby, Dana and I had been googling Lady Anthea’s brother, she had been doing the same for John’s famous mother. That was karma for you. “Did you learn anything good?”

  “She’s getting more parts after a long hiatus, but hasn’t had a new husband in years.”

  “He told me that when she agreed to take grandmother roles she started working again,” I said.

  She hesitated, then said, “It hasn’t struck you as a tad odd that you haven’t met her?”

  Lady Anthea’s curiosity was what struck me as a tad odd. We had become friends—good friends—while sidestepping the most private parts of our lives. I didn’t know if that stemmed from our personalities or her British reserve, or because we’re not teenagers. The exception was when she’d asked me why I had never married and I told her I’d seen too many examples of people cruelly hurting one another. “I guess I never thought about it.”

  “Do you think she’ll ever come here to see her son?” she asked as her phone bleeped.

  “I doubt it. Obviously, she’s not a fan of our town,” I said. I desperately wanted to ask her what she wasn’t telling me. Her out-of-character behavior had started with her comments after we read the text from John’s mother. No, that wasn’t right. I had first noticed a difference on Sunday.

  “This is a text from Albert.” She shook her head and gave a moan of frustration. “He wants to stay in this evening.”

  “That’s fine,” I said, meaning it was more than fine. “He’s probably tired from his flight and wants an early night.” I wasn’t in the mood for his silent treatment and would have preferred to talk about the case with Lady Anthea. “Carryout?” I offered. “Lots of options. Does your brother like seafood?”

  “I seem to remember that’s the same as takeaway. I’ll telephone him. Who needs noisy, crowded restaurants? A night of conversation would be lovely,” she said, with enthusiasm and what sounded like relief, for some reason.

  As she talked to Albert she elevated an evening with carryout food to the ranks of previously unheard-of elegance usually reserved for the gods. When she finished she paused for him to respond. Suddenly she screeched, “What?! We most certainly will not bring yours to your door and leave!” She fumed as he argued and I wished the call was on speakerphone. “You are perfectly safe! We will see you after we close Buckingham’s for the day.” She ended the call, closed her eyes, and rubbed her temples.

  “So he definitely knows about both murders?”

  She nodded and her eyes were still closed. “What you must think of him.”

  “I haven’t been around him enough to think anything of him, and why would my opinion matter? I just had an idea. If he’s worried for his safety, we can invite John to come to dinner, too.”

  “That’s not quite what I had in mind,” she said.

  When we got back to Buckingham’s it was almost seven o’clock, time to go upstairs to say good night to the part-timers and the boarding dogs. “Let’s go up,” I said to Abby. That was the command for her to leave my office and come down the hall. She’s not allowed to walk freely in the lobby because I didn’t want pet parents to think they could have their dogs off-leash at drop-off. She walked to the elevator and stood to press the button.

  “Is that a new trick?” Lady Anthea asked with a laugh.

  I nodded and patted Abby. “Good girl.” The door opened, and we got on for the one-floor trip. “I want to check on Marin Alsop and see how she’s doing, in case she’s having any separation anxiety.”

  Taylor was on the phone when we got out of the elevator. “I was just calling Shelby. Look.” She pointed to one of our smaller rooms. The Pekingese was lying in the corner. She didn’t seem stressed, but she wasn’t happy and she was lethargic. Her chin rested on the floor and she followed the conversation with bulging brown eyes.

  “She hasn’t been like this all day, has she?” I asked, even though I knew someone would have alerted us if there had been a problem. I walked in and knelt down by her. I waited for a sign she wanted to be petted. She inched her nose closer to me. That was my signal and I scratched the top of her head.

  “The day crew said she kept to herself. Other than not playing with the other dogs she was fine. She’s not a very active dog, but she—”

  Abby walked in and butted my hand away. Marin Alsop raised her head and watched to see what my Standard Schnauzer, a larger dog than herself, was up to. Abby bowed, showing the Pekingese she wanted her to get up and play. Marin looked at me and then back at Abby.

  I’m waiting heeeere.

  Marin got up and took a step forward to sniff Abby’s bearded face. My dog rais
ed her snout a little and literally looked down her nose at the new kid, then before I could grab her she took off, with Marin Alsop in hot pursuit.

  I stood up and watched the two run a lap around the boarding suite.

  “Should I get Abby?” Taylor said, with a laugh.

  “Let’s see how this plays out,” I said.

  “Look what Abby is doing,” Lady Anthea said. “She can run much faster but she’s keeping to a pace that Marin Alsop can run.” We watched as the dogs began lap two.

  “Taylor, are there any notes on her profile about her being shy?” I asked.

  She went to the corner desk, picked up the computer tablet and swiped away. “She is in a one-dog home, without children, so she might be tired from this much stimulation.”

  “She’s slowing down, so maybe she is fatigued. Is she to board?” Lady Anthea asked.

  Taylor nodded, still reading. “She’s here for day camp and boarding. It says that Cordy is staying at the Hotel Rodney.”

  “They have some pet-friendly rooms,” I said. “That would have saved her some money.”

  “But none are available, so M.A., that’s what we started calling her, will be here until Cordy lets us know her checkout date.”

  “Can I see that?” I moved around to look at the tablet screen over her shoulder.

  “Why don’t we call Cordy and ask if she wants her dog to come home with us and spend the night there?” Lady Anthea asked.

  “I’ll text her,” Taylor said.

  “Sure. Abby, come.” My dog looked at me and I could see the wheels turning in her large brain. She ran up to the elevator and stood. “Abby!”

  Chapter 19

  On Tuesday morning Lady Anthea, Shelby and I stood at the reception desk and strategized. Albert’s first day as guest conductor would start in two hours, at nine o’clock. He had requested to be “knocked up” at half past eight. Knowing that meant he wanted his sister to wake him up lowered the ickiness factor about a millionfold, though it did nothing for the sloth factor.

  I had been up since five. Cordy Galligan didn’t respond to Taylor’s text so Marin Alsop had stayed at Buckingham’s with the night nannies giving her extra attention. Shelby had brought her down to the lobby to be with us and texted Cordy that her dog had slept well. Now she stood by my leg. Abby was in my office but keeping an eye on what was going on at the reception desk. I reached down to pet the Pekingese. “Marin Alsop is a mouthful. Do you mind if we call you M.A.?”

  Hearing my voice, Abby got up from her bed and came out. She nudged M.A. and walked to the hallway, where she was not allowed to go without me. I followed both dogs to see what was going on. Abby walked up to the elevator, stood and pressed the button. She lowered herself and backed up and sat. Someone was going upstairs, and it wasn’t going to be her.

  * * * *

  The symphony orchestra had reserved the neighborhood community center for their rehearsals. Lady Anthea explained that the acoustic properties of the room made it a perfect choice, with its high ceilings and generous size. I had assumed Albert would be okay with the five-minute walk from my neighbor’s house to the rehearsal, but I had been wrong.

  “He wants to be chauffeured?” Shelby whispered. “Are you kidding me?”

  I assured her I was not. “At least the late start is convenient. The morning rush will be over.”

  “We’re going to use the nine o’clock start to our advantage,” Lady Anthea said. “When we take Albert, we’ll stay and learn what we can about the musicians.”

  “Maybe one of them knows why Georg Nielsen came to Lewes on Saturday instead of Monday with everyone else,” I added. “If the desk gets busy, text me and I’ll come back. I might even walk the quarter mile.” I would be looking at hands, but I didn’t want to say that out loud.

  Shelby pushed back a ton of curly red hair and checked her sports watch. “I’ll leave at seven thirty to pick up Robber and be back in plenty of time.” We have a number of dogs who use our door-to-door service, but Robber’s pickup time was the earliest.

  At seven o’clock we opened the doors. It was showtime. Three cars were in the parking lot and the pet parents were hooking leashes on their pets’ collars to lead them in. Shelby and I handled check-in and Lady Anthea stood in the middle of the lobby greeting both humans and dogs. I smiled, thinking what a good sport she was. She was a big part of the Buckingham Pet Palace’s success.

  Mason and Joey were on their way in, but waited and held the door open for more pet parents.

  “Tell Kate that today is on us. That dog will forever be one of my favorites,” I said.

  “Good!” Shelby said with a thumbs-up. “I still can’t believe what she did.”

  “You might say she took a bite out of crime,” Joey said.

  We groaned as Mason bowed to Lady Anthea.

  “On that note, I’m out of here,” Shelby said.

  On her way through the double doors she passed someone who was the opposite of a pet parent, namely John. Everyone in the lobby called out some form of greeting to him.

  “Morning,” he said back. He took off his sunglasses, and I saw the warm way he was received made him smile all the way to his eyes. I thought about the text from his mother. He was a part of Lewes and she didn’t even know it.

  Mason and Joey had turned to go to the grooming suites to begin the day, but stopped when John called out, “Mason, can you hold up?”

  He came back to the desk and John asked, “Did anyone report a dog bite? Sunday afternoon? Or even Monday?” He was still holding his Ray-Bans, and was putting them in his inside jacket pocket when a plastic bag fell out. Mason stooped to pick it up. He examined the enclosed blue fabric before handing it to John.

  “I’d say ninety-eight percent cotton and the brand is probably Saint Laurent. Very expensive. Italian-made, not this year. Sorry, no dog bites to report.” With that Mason walked away, leaving all of us with our mouths hanging open.

  “Impressive,” John admitted. “Too bad the only DNA we got was the dog’s.”

  * * * *

  Lady Anthea had followed her eight thirty wake-up call to her brother with another fifteen minutes later. At five minutes before nine, we parked in my next-door neighbor’s driveway and waited. He came out of the house looking like an unmade bed, though one with expensive sheets. He wore a navy blazer with brass buttons, gray slacks, and black leather loafers. He finger-combed his hair as he got in the Jeep. “Good morning,” he said.

  “Did you sleep okay?” I asked.

  “Yes, I did. Thank you for asking.”

  Since I was backing out of the driveway I looked in my rearview mirror. I caught Lady Anthea following this meager exchange with a level of interest it hardly warranted.

  Maggie Bardot met us at the walkway to the clubhouse. “We only have one fob to unlock the door, so I’ve been acting as doorman.”

  The duke chuckled politely and I picked up on a bit of nervousness. We went in and found ourselves immersed in chaos. Folding chairs were arranged in semicircles in one half of the large space, but no one was sitting down. Here and there instruments had been abandoned. It seemed that every single person was talking. To me it was a roomful of hands and my eyes flew from one to another, looking for a match with my assailant’s.

  The bus driver unfolded music stands and arranged them in the rows, one for every two chairs.

  “I wonder why he’s doing that?” Lady Anthea mused.

  “So the sheet music won’t fall on the floor?” I joked.

  Albert boomed a laugh, leaning over to slap his knee.

  She rolled her eyes at us and said, “Do they not have a stage manager?”

  “Margo Bardot is the executive director and stage manager,” I said.

  Now the bus driver placed sheet music on each stand after carefully inspecting it. The thickest stack of pages
was reserved for the conductor’s stand.

  “The conductor has the score, and each musician has their part,” Lady Anthea explained. “The librarian supplies them.”

  We were still standing in the unoccupied half of the hall, trying to be inconspicuous. Albert stood with us, wide-eyed but silent. Lady Anthea leaned near him and said, “Should you introduce yourself?” To me it sounded more like a suggestion than a question. He shook his head no. Margo looked our way and gave him an encouraging smile. When he didn’t budge, Lady Anthea gave his back a gentle push. No one else had seen it and it was just enough to make him take a few steps forward in the direction of the orchestra. After a few tentative steps he was standing in the middle of the room, still a good ten feet from the chairs. Maggie had joined Bess Harper and they stood in the doorway of the kitchen looking out. The bus driver was now waiting in the back corner of the room behind the musicians.

  The waiflike Cordy Galligan appeared to glide out of the kitchen as she stepped between the two women. She had a smile on her face but didn’t seem to be looking at anyone in particular. The musicians raced to put their paper coffee cups on the nearest table, or toss them in a trash can. Cordy walked to the first chair in the front row and stood there looking into the middle distance. Suddenly, magically, every musician was seated, instrument in hand, waiting. No one spoke. She nodded to an African American man seated in the center of the middle row. His instrument was the oboe. He raised it and played one perfect note.

  “He’s playing A440,” Lady Anthea whispered.

  A cacophony of instruments being tuned erupted. When it died down, Cordy sat and looked at Albert.

  Chapter 20

  Albert cleared his throat and walked to his music stand. He read the top page, turned it over and studied the next sheet.

  “Notice how many more pages the conductor has? It’s because he has the score,” Lady Anthea whispered. She was repeating herself. Was she nervous, too?

  “The 1812 Overture?” the duke croaked.

  Cordy raised her violin to her left shoulder and the other violinists followed suit. Her bow hovered over the instrument. Lady Anthea didn’t seem to be breathing as she waited for her brother to do something, anything. He raised his right hand and when he lowered it, the musicians began playing. It was obviously a familiar piece and I couldn’t tell how much attention they paid to Albert, if any. Cordy glanced up at him, then quickly looked back to her sheet music. Albert was drawing an L in the air. Of course he was. Just like everyone does when they imitate a conductor while driving or showering. The motion was unconnected to the pace of the music they played.