“Nah.” At the age of almost six, stuffed animals are beneath my son’s regard. “This one.”
The boomerang was hard and shiny and looked quite capable of breaking windows when flung, rather than chewed, as the manufacturer had no doubt intended. “Let’s think about it, okay? We’ll stop back at the end of the day and pick up something then.”
Sighing loudly, Davey allowed himself to be led away. Never one to miss an opportunity, he milked the situation for a stop at the food stand, which was why we arrived at Peg’s setup carrying a plate of brownies.
Her eyes lit up at the sight of us. “No wonder you’re my favorite niece,” she said, helping herself before the plate had even touched down on top of Tory’s crate. “Did you bring tea?”
No sense in pointing out that I was her only niece. I held out a white plastic cup.
“You should use paper cups,” said Davey. “Those are bad for the environment. We learned that in economy.”
“I think he means ecology,” I said, opening out a folding chair and getting him settled with his bag of toys.
Aunt Peg lifted out the Lipton tea bag and set it aside. “Ecology, economy.” She stared at Davey. “What grade are you in?”
“First,” he told her proudly. Having completed kindergarten the year before, he’d be entering first grade in the fall.
“That’s what I thought. When I was in first grade, we played with blocks and learned how to write our names.”
“I can already write my name. Want to see?” Davey pulled out a pencil and piece of paper and went to work.
“Alicia Devane came by a few minutes ago,” Aunt Peg told me. She eyed the plate of brownies for a moment, then selected another. “She asked if you were coming today. I think she wants to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“She didn’t say, but she certainly looked pleased about something. Pregnancy must agree with her.”
“It didn’t earlier. Maybe she’s getting past the morning-sickness stage.” And maybe the accidents she’d been having had stopped. Whatever the reason, I was glad to hear that Alicia was doing better.
“Do I smell brownies?” Terry Denunzio came up the aisle with a Shih Tzu tucked beneath his arm. He stopped and sniffed the air. “I knew there was a reason why we let Peg squeeze in beside us.”
“Help yourself.” I waved toward the plate.
“Homemade?”
“Only if the lady at the concession stand baked this morning.”
“Never mind.” Terry snagged the biggest and popped it into his mouth. “I’ll suffer through.”
“Did you see which way Alicia went?” I asked Peg.
“Alicia Devane?” said Terry. “I just saw her. She and Bill were watching German Shepherds with Austin Beamish.”
“I wonder what they were doing with him.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Terry laughed. “Haven’t you figured that out yet? Everybody knows everybody around here.”
“Austin has a Shepherd special too,” said Peg. “He’s not as good as Midas, but he does his share of winning.”
“Maybe I’ll go have a look. Will you keep an eye on Davey?”
“Watch him?” said Terry. “Bribe me with another brownie, and I’ll do the child up and show him.”
Grinning, I held out the plate. “I was talking to Aunt Peg.”
“Too bad.” Terry sounded disappointed. Brownie in hand, he slid past me and headed toward the next setup. “Compared to some of the competition I’ve seen today, I probably could have won.”
According to the schedule in the front of the catalogue, German Shepherds were showing in ring twelve on the other side of the building. I also looked in the exhibitors’ index and saw that Christine Franken, the other woman whose name Bertie had given me, had three Miniature Pinschers entered. Seeing her here at the show would sure beat driving to Pennsylvania. I decided to check the area around the Toy rings first.
It turned out Christine was easy to find. I simply stopped at the first Min Pin I saw and asked its owner if he knew her. “Sure,” he said, pointing. “Right over there.”
Min Pins are a smooth-haired breed, so they don’t require much preparation for the ring. Christine Franken didn’t have a grooming table set up, only a small bank of crates and a chair. She was thumbing through the latest issue of Dog Scene magazine, and looked up as I approached.
She was a striking woman in her mid-thirties. Short black hair set off a dramatic bone structure, and her lips were outlined in a vivid shade of red that few people could carry. On her, it looked good.
I held out my hand and introduced myself. “Alberta Kennedy said you’d be willing to talk to me about Barry Turk.”
“I guess so.” There was a small stool next to her chair, and Christine cleared the stuff that had been piled on top. “Here, sit down. You weren’t a friend of his, were you?”
“No. I barely knew him. We certainly weren’t friends.”
“Well, that’s a start. I thought the man was an out-and-out snake.”
“You weren’t alone. I’ve spoken with Ann Leeds.”
“Yeah, she had her problems with him too. Good old Barry, he really got around.”
“Ann told me she wanted to file a complaint, but that nobody else was willing to go along.”
Christine stared down at the magazine in her lap. A two-page ad showed a Basset Hound named BlackJack winning Best in Show, but I didn’t think that was what she was looking at. “I couldn’t see the point,” she said finally. “It’s not as though it would have stopped him.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I know so. I’ve been showing a long time, I know how things work. I had my problems with Barry a while ago. I’d been showing my own dogs for years and doing some handling for my friends. I was good at it, good enough to think about setting myself up as a pro.
“God knows it’s not an easy life, but I thought I had a shot. I even had my first big client. I guess that’s when Barry decided to show me just how rough the competition could get.”
“What happened?”
Christine shook her head. “You know that saying, If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen? Well, I guess I just couldn’t take the heat. After a while I began to dread going into the ring. Trust me, an attitude like that doesn’t get you many wins.”
“And yet here you are, still showing your dogs.”
“My dogs, right. But not anybody else’s,” Christine said bitterly. “That dream ended five years ago, thanks to Barry Turk. It got so that I wasn’t winning enough to satisfy my biggest client, and once he pulled out, I was pretty much out of business.
“After that Turk left me alone. I wasn’t a threat anymore, you know? As far as I’m concerned, he got what he had coming to him.”
“Any thoughts on who might have killed him?”
For the first time, Christine smiled. “I don’t know, but when you find out, let me know. I’d like to shake the guy’s hand.”
By the time I made it over to the German Shepherd ring, Alicia and Bill were gone. Austin was still watching the judging, however, and he’d been joined by Ron and Viv Pullman.
“Hi, Melanie.” Austin held out a welcoming hand as I approached. In true dog show fashion, he also kept one eye on the action in the ring. “Are you a Shepherd fan?”
“Not really—”
“Don’t let that worry you,” said Ron. “Austin isn’t either. The only reason he likes the breed is that he’s got one that’s winning.”
“Ron,” Viv said quietly, laying a hand on her husband’s arm. “Be nice.”
Her hair tumbled to her shoulders in soft waves, the sort of style that looked entirely natural, but started with a hundred-dollar haircut. Her blouse was silk and the cream-colored linen pants she wore with it had not a single wrinkle. Still, there were lines of strain on either side of her mouth that I hadn’t noticed before, and the set of her shoulders was tight.
“Yes, Ron, be nice.” Austin’s smile bared his teeth b
ut didn’t reach his eyes. “We wouldn’t want Melanie to get the wrong impression.”
Viv shot me an apologetic look.
Mostly because she looked so uncomfortable, I stepped between Viv and Austin and changed the subject. “Which one is yours?” I asked.
Asking a dog person about their dog is like asking a mother about her baby. You’ll learn more than you ever wanted to know.
“Gunter,” said Austin pointing. “He’s standing second in line.”
I looked and saw a muscular, deep-bodied black-and-tan dog with sweeping hindquarter angulation and an alert expression. As the judge turned her gaze down the line of specials, Gunter’s handler tossed a small piece of liver out onto the mat. The Shepherd followed the treat’s flight with his eyes, but didn’t move an inch.
“He’s very handsome,” I said. It’s always a safe comment. Somewhat akin to assuring other mothers at the school play that their child is the one on the stage with the most talent.
“Thank you. I got him in California. He’s rather young, but I think he’s coming along nicely.”
Evidently so did the judge. When she finished going over the class, she moved Gunter to the front of the line. Viv tensed slightly with excitement. Ron looked bored. Austin, who had the most at stake, kept his expression neutral.
“That’s it,” said Viv as the judge sent the line of dogs around the ring.
“Not yet,” Austin said. “Not until she points.”
The judge motioned to Gunter for Best of Breed.
Viv clapped her hands enthusiastically. Austin finally managed a grin. Ron was staring off toward Irish Wolfhounds in the next ring.
“Congratulations,” I said. The response was so automatic, it took me a moment to realize that no one else had spoken up.
“Yes,” Viv echoed quickly. “Well done!”
Ron swung his gaze back in our direction. “Did you win?”
Viv poked him in the shoulder, hard. “Of course he won, silly.”
Of all the names I might have been tempted to call Ron Pullman at that moment, silly was not one of them.
Ron smiled tightly. “Best of luck in the group.”
Austin turned toward me. “Did that sound sincere to you?”
“Yes,” I lied.
“You’re a diplomat,” said Austin.
“My mother raised me well.” Although she’d never had the slightest inkling that my good manners might be put to the test at a dog show. Garden club, maybe. She wasn’t a dog person either.
I looked past Ron and Viv and gazed around the building. “I was looking for Alicia Devane. I don’t suppose any of you know where she might be?”
“She was here a little while ago,” said Austin.
“I saw her with Bill,” said Viv. Her voice seemed unnaturally loud. Maybe the two men were getting on her nerves. They were certainly getting on mine.
“That’s right,” Austin agreed. “She was with Bill. They’re probably over by the Sporting rings.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll check there.”
It was a relief to have an excuse to get away. Hanging around Ron and Austin was like watching two boxers battle for the heavyweight title. Each was continually trying to land the knockout punch. I didn’t envy Viv the job of trying to keep the peace.
I checked around the sporting dog rings, but didn’t see Alicia anywhere. Figuring I’d wasted enough time, I was on my way back to Aunt Peg’s setup, when I passed by the food concession and found Alicia at the head of the line.
Alicia paid for her food, then turned and saw me. She had a milk shake in one hand and a cardboard basket of french fries in the other, but still managed a three-fingered wave. “Come and sit with me. Do you have a minute?”
“Sure.”
We found an empty table and sat down. The chairs were made of plastic and bolted to the floor. Alicia was once again wearing a loose summer dress. If I hadn’t known she was pregnant, I wouldn’t necessarily have guessed, but her movements were awkward as she swiveled the chair and settled herself heavily into the seat.
She looked at the table, then back at the food counter and sighed.
“Napkins?” I asked, already starting to rise.
She nodded. “And ketchup, if you don’t mind. Lots of it?”
The ketchup came in little packets. I scooped up half a dozen and added napkins and a straw. When I returned with the supplies, Alicia was already gulping down her milk shake.
“Sorry,” she said. “I had breakfast earlier, but these days it seems as though I’m always hungry.”
“You’re eating for two.”
“I feel like I’m eating for twelve. The doctor says I should aim to gain twenty to twenty-five pounds over the entire pregnancy. I’ve put on half that much already.”
“You don’t look it.”
She smiled wanly. “Would you tell me if I did?”
I grinned in return. “Probably not.”
“That’s what I thought.” She squeezed ketchup out onto her fries and dug in with gusto.
“I heard you were looking for me. Is something wrong? Have you had any more accidents?”
“No, nothing like that.” A frown line appeared briefly in her forehead, then was gone. “I wanted to tell you that I changed my mind.”
“About what?”
“About a lot of things, actually.” She paused, taking much longer than necessary to swirl a fry through the mound of ketchup at the end of the basket. “I’m going back to Bill.”
I sat and stared at her. Calmly, Alicia stared right back.
I couldn’t say that her decision was entirely unexpected. Gut reaction, however, told me that it wasn’t a good idea.
“Is he your baby’s father?”
“That seems to be the common consensus, doesn’t it?” Alicia shook her head. “I wish he were, but he’s not.”
“How does he feel about taking on someone else’s baby?”
“He’s okay with it. I told you he and I wanted children. In fact, he’s even pretty happy about it.”
So was Alicia, judging by her demeanor. Then I stopped and reconsidered. Happy wasn’t the right word. It was more like smug. And here I was, about to burst her bubble.
“You know what people are going to say. Bill’s made no secret of the fact that he wanted you back. Now that Barry’s out of the way, he’s getting exactly what he wanted.”
Alicia waved a french fry in the air, but her expression was nearly as carefree as the gesture. “Let people talk. They always do.”
“This time maybe there’s some truth to what they’re saying.”
“Bill didn’t kill Barry.”
“You don’t know that, Alicia. You’ve got to face facts. Somebody did murder Barry. And in all likelihood, it was someone you know.”
“Not Bill,” Alicia said stubbornly.
“He knows about guns.”
“So do a lot of people. That doesn’t mean anything.”
“He hated the fact that Barry had taken you away from him.”
“He was dealing with it.”
“Really?” I arched a brow. “Well, I guess he doesn’t have to anymore, does he?”
“Look,” said Alicia. She leaned closer across the small table. “Maybe this isn’t the best idea in the whole world. But it isn’t the worst either. I’m pregnant. Bill will take care of me. What other choice do I have?”
“You could ask the baby’s father for help.”
Before I’d even finished speaking, she was already shaking her head. “No, not an option.”
How could she be so blind? “Does Bill know that the only reason you’re going back to him is that you’re desperate? Has it occurred to you that maybe that’s what he planned on all along? He had the means and he had the motive.”
I paused, letting my words sink in. “And now he has you.”
“You’re wrong.” Alicia’s brown eyes flashed angrily as she braced her hands on the table and pushed herself up. “Bill wasn’t the one
who shot Barry. He and I are going to be fine. You’ll see.”
For her sake, I hoped so.
Seventeen
When I got back to Aunt Peg’s setup, Davey was nowhere in sight. Knowing how much he likes to play hide-and-seek, I took this to be a bad sign. Peg had Tory on her feet on the grooming table and was concentrating on her scissoring. Once she starts trimming, almost nothing distracts her including, obviously, the departure of a clever five-year-old with sneakers on his feet. I wondered how recently my son had slipped away.
“Aunt Peg?”
“Hmm?” She lifted her head, blowing a breath upward to lift the hair from her eyes. One of the consequences of the new hairdo.
“Where’s Davey?”
“He’s with Viv.” She straightened, then looked around the grooming area. “I guess they’ve gone off somewhere.”
“What’s he doing with Viv?”
“She and Ron came by about ten minutes ago. Ron needed to talk to Crawford, who was on his way to the Bichon ring. Off the two of them went. Nobody paid any attention to Viv.”
Peg turned back to her trim. “I wonder how long it will be before Ron realizes she’s not following along.”
“Davey?” I asked, somewhat desperately.
“Oh, right. When everyone else left, Viv came over and volunteered to read him a story.”
Davey’s books were piled on his chair, and nobody was reading anything in the vicinity. I told myself to remain calm.
“Maybe they went for more brownies,” Peg said hopefully. The paper plate on top of Tory’s crate was empty save for a few crumbs.
I heard a delighted squeal and was just starting to turn, when forty pounds of running child hit the backs of my legs. It was a miracle we didn’t both go down.
Following behind at a more graceful pace, came Viv.
“I went to the bathroom,” Davey informed me. “Viv took me.”
“Don’t you mean Mrs. Pullman?”
His face screwed up in confusion. As Viv joined us, he pointed to her with some relief. “I went with her.”
“I hope it’s okay. I told him to call me Viv. Mrs. Pullman is my mother-in-law.”
“Sure it’s fine, if that’s what you want. Thanks for taking care of him.” I disentangled Davey’s arms, opened his bag of toys, and got out his Matchbox cars. Instant distraction.
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