Watchdog

by Laurien Berenson

  “Are you looking for a job?”

  Gloria’s hand fluttered to her throat. She laughed out loud as if I’d said something funny. “Oh, honey, you are young, aren’t you? Me, work? What would I do with a job? I’m looking for another husband.”

  Out in the car Faith was delighted to see me. She pounced, and licked, and even yipped a few times, just in case there was any doubt. That’s one of the things I like best about dogs. You always know where you stand.

  When a dog loves you, he shows it. When he hates you, he’s equally clear about portraying that emotion. And when a dog’s lying to you . . . well, it just doesn’t happen.

  As for where Gloria Rattigan stood, I had to wonder. On the surface it seemed as though I’d been treated to her honest reaction; her ex-husband was dead, and she couldn’t have been happier. Presumably that meant his demise hadn’t affected their financial arrangement, and his estate would now pick up the tab for the remaining alimony payments. But could it really be that simple?

  And what about the rest of the assets? Marcus Rattigan appeared to be a very successful man. So who inherited everything else?

  Back at home I changed my clothes and took Faith out for a jog. As usual, she enjoyed the experience more than I did. Her stride was strong and even, and her ears wraps bobbed jauntily in the breeze. She ignored a fluffy little white dog that chased us, barking madly, for half a block, and curled her lip at a large mutt who harbored thoughts of joining the game.

  In the beginning when I could still speak, I told her what a wonderful companion she was. Toward the end, when my legs felt like rubber and just the act of breathing was painful, I could only manage an encouraging pat. She seemed to understand.

  As we turned back onto our own block, Davey’s bus was just arriving. It stopped at our house and my son emerged, laughing, swinging his backpack, and waving goodbye to his friends. A rush of maternal love carried me the final hundred yards.

  Davey saw us coming and held out his arms. I dropped Faith’s leash and she ran on ahead. Her greeting just about knocked him over but Davey didn’t seem to mind.

  “What about me?”

  A year earlier my son would have given me a hug. Now he turned a critical eye my way and said, “You don’t look so hot.”

  “I’ve been jogging. I looked better two miles ago.”

  We trooped inside and had a snack, then Davey sat down at the kitchen table to do his homework. This is a new development in his life and he takes the responsibility very seriously. While he was working, I went upstairs and gave Sam a call. From his preoccupied tone I could tell he was working when he picked up the phone, so I kept it brief.

  Though he’s too liberal to say so, Sam doesn’t like the idea of my getting mixed up with murder. Bearing that in mind, I glossed over most of the details of what had happened. Sam asked about police involvement and sounded relieved when I told him they were on top of things. I figured we could sort out the rest the next time we saw each other and we made plans to get together at the end of the week.

  The next morning Davey and I actually got up and went off to school like normal people. No last-minute phone calls, no unexpected dead bodies. This, I thought, must be how the other half lives.

  I pulled into the Howard Academy parking lot right on time, stopped to pick up a cup of coffee in the teachers’ lounge, and still made it to my classroom with a few minutes to spare. As I was getting things set up for the day, there was a light tap on the classroom door. I pulled it open to find the school’s headmaster, Russell Hanover II, standing on the threshold.

  “Do you mind if I come in?” he asked.

  In a school where children come barreling through doorways all the time, the request seemed needlessly formal. Maybe he was trying to set a good example.

  “Please do.”

  Russell cast a withering glance at my outfit, which consisted of a turtleneck sweater and corduroy slacks. It hadn’t escaped his notice, or mine, that I was the only woman teacher at Howard Academy that dared to dress in pants. As for his appearance, I’m sure that even Honoria Howard herself would have approved.

  He was dressed in a lightweight wool suit, which looked to be of English origin. His tie was a somber shade of blue and his conservative button-down shirt bore a muted stripe and a discreet three letter monogram on the pocket. Ralph Lauren makes people pay a mint to dress in the clothes Russell Hanover was born to.

  “I just wanted to make sure everything was all right,” he said. “I understand that you were absent yesterday. I trust it was nothing serious?”

  “No, nothing serious,” I said blithely.

  First Frank had me lying to the police. Now I was lying to the headmaster. Somehow I was sure this was not the direction my life should have been heading.

  “Good. Bitsy wanted me to check. She gets concerned, especially about people who haven’t been part of our little family for very long.”

  Bitsy was Russell’s wife, not an employee of the school per se, but an active alum and a very vocal fund-raiser. She was also the former Bitsy Paynter whom the press had lauded as “Deb of the Year” in 1970. She’d told me that the first time we met. As far as I was concerned, that pretty much summed up everything I needed to know.

  “It’s very kind of you to inquire,” I said, then gave myself a mental kick. One minute’s exposure to Russell and I was talking like a character out of Jane Austen. “Please give Bitsy my best and tell her I’m fine.”

  “I’ll do that. I’m pleased to note that you seem to be settling in quite well. I’ve had nothing but good reports on your behalf.”

  “Really?” The praise made me smile. “That’s great.”

  “Yes,” Russell agreed. “It is. You’ve quite lived up to the confidence I had in your abilities. One always finds that reassuring.”

  Yes, I thought, I’m sure one does.

  “Hey, Ms. Travis!” The classroom door, which had swung partway shut, flew open wide. Spencer Holbrook, cocky grin firmly in place, started to enter the room. Then he saw the headmaster and stopped. “Mr. Hanover.”

  “Mr. Holbrook. Working on bringing those grades up, are we?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “See that you do. One wouldn’t want to have to call your parents.”

  “No, sir.” Spencer pulled out a chair and sat down as Russell Hanover let himself out.

  I opened Spencer’s folder and pulled out his most recent test. It was social studies this time. We stared at the C- together.

  “What I don’t understand is how you can do so well on your homework and so poorly on your tests.”

  “Maybe I’m just not good at taking tests. Maybe I get nervous.”

  I didn’t think so. Not this kid.

  “What’s to be nervous about? I’ve seen your homework. You know the material. All you have to do is write it down.”

  “In the heat of the moment, I guess I forgot it.”

  Heat of the moment, my fanny. Spencer was up to something. I just had to figure out what it was.

  I pulled out the chair beside him and sat. “Let’s try and refresh your memory. Mr. Duncan is willing to let you take a make-up test this afternoon during recess. Why don’t we see if we can get some of these facts in there to stay.”

  Between my normal Wednesday classes and the rescheduled ones from the day before, I was busy all day. I didn’t get a chance to talk to Kate Russo until afternoon when she and Lucia showed up to work on their book reports together. Their English class had just finished reading Animal Farm, but judging the girls’ lack of familiarity with George Orwell’s style, I suspected that skimming the Cliffs Notes was about as much of a literary experience as they’d enjoyed.

  When they were packing up their things at the end of the period, I drew Kate aside and asked if her dog showing neighbor’s name was John Monaghan.

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you happen to know if he ever co-owned any dogs with a man named Marcus Rattigan?”

  “Marcus
Rattigan, the builder? Isn’t he the guy that got killed? I read about it in the paper this morning.”

  “Right. Apparently he used to show dogs and he had a really good Wire Fox Terrier bitch named Winter.”

  Kate shoved a notebook into her backpack and looked up. “Winter was John’s bitch. She’s been gone for a while now but he still talks about her all the time.”

  “Good. Then he’s the man I’m looking for.”

  “For what?”

  “I need to talk to him about . . . things,” I finished lamely. Kate was bright and curious and she looked entirely too eager to find out what was going on.

  “Dog things?”

  I nodded. It was close enough.

  “I’m sure he’d love to meet you,” said Kate. “John lives to talk about his dogs. He’s totally addicted, if you know what I mean.”

  I could imagine. John Monaghan sounded like most of the people I’d met at the shows. Devoted to the sport of dogs and fanatic in their dedication to the betterment of their breed.

  “I’ll probably see him this afternoon. Do you want me to ask if you could stop by sometime?” Kate asked.

  “Thanks, that would be a big help.”

  As Kate started to close her backpack, a telltale yellow-and-black-striped book caught my eye. I reached in and pulled it out.

  Kate’s cheeks grew pink. “I read the book. Honest. But it’s an allegory, you know? I wanted to make sure I didn’t overlook any of the subtle nuances.”

  “That’s what I figured.” I slipped the Cliffs Notes back under cover. “And since you brought it up, the subtle nuances of Orwellian symbolism will be our discussion topic for Friday.”

  “Great.” Lucia rolled her eyes. This was probably the first time she’d realized that she, too, was going to have to read the actual book.

  “Do you have a horse show this weekend?”

  “Of course,” Lucia replied loftily. “I’m leading Zone One in Small Junior Hunters. I go every weekend.”

  “Think how much better you’ll feel if you get this out of the way first. Friday we’ll work on those book reports and Saturday you can go off to your show with a clear conscience.”

  They left the room together, grumbling under their breath. At Howard Academy good manners are considered paramount. If I’d actually been able to hear what they were saying, it would have been my duty as a teacher to file a report. Luckily, my hearing tends to fade at just such moments. I was spared the necessity of doing more paperwork, and the girls were freed from the need to explain to their parents why they had to stay for detention.

  After school I drove over to Hunting Ridge Elementary and picked up Davey and Joey. Amazingly, they were once again talking about teeth. I hoped Joey hadn’t lost any more; Davey was already feeling left behind as it was.

  “The tooth fairy left me a dollar,” Joey was bragging as they climbed in the car. “It was awesome.”

  “A whole dollar. Wow.” Davey reached in his mouth and poked around experimentally. “I wish my teeth would hurry up and fall out.”

  “Some tooth fairies are richer than others,” I said, mindful of his full set of baby teeth. “I think yours will hand out quarters.”

  “I doubt it,” said Joey, the voice of authority. “I bet the same tooth fairy will come to your house that comes to mine. She probably does the whole block.”

  “You think so?” Davey asked hopefully.

  “Sure, you’ll see.”

  It would have taken a bigger ogre than me to burst that bubble. All right, so I’d have to spend a bit more when the time came. Balancing that was the realization of how great kids are at reminding you of the small absurdities of life. Who else would even consider debating how much territory a single tooth fairy might reasonably be expected to cover?

  Joey stayed for the rest of the afternoon while his mom took his little sister to the doctor. It meant that Faith and I couldn’t go out jogging, but we managed to hide our disappointment. Alice and Carly returned with the news that Alice’s husband was working late and we all agreed that was the perfect excuse to order in pizza and a Greek salad.

  If you didn’t count the fact that the boys thought the olives made better missiles than food, the evening went quite well. Faith ate seven pizza crusts before I stopped counting. I figured that just about made up for the nutritious dinner of dog food that she’d turned her nose up at earlier.

  The Brickmans left early so that Alice could put Carly to bed. I sent Davey upstairs to take a bath and was just finishing up the dishes when the phone rang. It was Frank.

  “I’m screwed,” he said.

  What a pleasant way to begin a conversation. I turned off the water and pulled up a chair. This could take awhile.

  “Is this new trouble? Or the same as yesterday?”

  “Both.”

  Good old Frank. Clear as mud. “What happened?”

  “The police called this morning. You know, that detective, Petrie? He said he had a few more questions and asked me to come down to the station so we could discuss a few things.”

  “Discuss a few things? Who does he think he is, Columbo?”

  “Mel, get serious! I’m telling you I’m in trouble. How are you at raising bail money?”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “Tell me about it. Apparently after he left the store yesterday, Petrie went to Marcus’s office. He spoke with Marcus’s secretary.”

  “Liz Barnum.”

  “Liz, right. How did you know that?”

  “Rattigan’s ex-wife told me. She seemed to think that the secretary might have had a motive for wanting to murder her boss.”

  “Let’s hope somebody did. Because Liz gave Detective Petrie Marcus’s calendar and Petrie showed it to me. Damn it, Mel, it was marked there plain as day. According to Marcus’s calendar, he and I were supposed to meet at the coffee bar Monday night.”

  “Ten

  I sat up abruptly. “Monday night? That’s when Rattigan was murdered.”

  “No shit, Sherlock! And the police think I did it.”

  “Did you tell them you didn’t know anything about any meeting?”

  “Of course, but I could tell they didn’t believe me. I mean, my name was right there. What were they supposed to think?”

  “Okay, back up a minute. Did Detective Petrie ask the secretary how the appointments got listed in Rattigan’s calendar?”

  “Liz said that usually she wrote them in. She told Petrie that I’d called that afternoon.”

  “You did,” I said, remembering. “You were going to tell Rattigan about Andy’s accident. You told me that you’d called but he wasn’t in.”

  “Right. And I didn’t leave a message. I certainly didn’t say anything about meeting later at the coffee bar. With that great gaping hole in the floor, that’s the last thing I would have wanted.”

  “So how come Liz Barnum thinks you did? Have you ever met her?”

  “A couple of times,” said Frank. “And we’ve spoken on the phone.”

  “Enough that she’d recognize your voice?”

  “Hell, who knows? And if someone did call up and say they were me, why would she have doubted it?”

  For once my brother and I were actually in agreement. He was screwed.

  “You know, there’s another possibility,” I said. “Rattigan’s ex-wife seems to think that Liz had a pretty good motive for wanting to kill Rattigan herself. What if she knew there wasn’t any message, but told him that there was?”

  “You mean Liz tried to frame me?” Frank’s skepticism came through loud and clear. “Why would she have wanted to do that?”

  “Maybe she wanted to divert attention away from herself, and you were the most convenient person.”

  “Sure, Mel.” Frank snickered. “I can see that. Liz followed Marcus out to the coffee bar, climbed up on the roof, cut the skylight free, and bopped him on the head with it.”

  “What’s the matter with that?”

  “For starters, she’
s a thirty-five-year-old woman, not some gymnast.”

  I debated commenting on the sexist nature of that remark but decided to let it pass. My brother had enough problems. “Neither are you, Frank, but you managed to get yourself up on the roof. I imagine she could have done the same. How did you leave things with the police?”

  “Petrie said that he was sure he’d have more questions for me as things went along. He told me to keep myself available, whatever that means.”

  “What it means is that you should go out first thing tomorrow and hire a lawyer. Tell him everything that’s happened and let him decide what your next move should be. By the way, I forgot to ask the other day. Where were you Monday night?”

  “You mean, do I have an alibi?”

  “Exactly.”

  “No such luck. I was here by myself. I picked up a sandwich at Subway and watched football on TV.”

  I’d figured a date on Monday night was probably too much to ask. “How about phone calls? Did you call anyone? Did anyone call you?”

  “No. Mel, I’ve been all through this with Detective Petrie. There’s no one who can verify where I was until we met up again the next morning.”

  “Look on the bright side. At least there’s no one who can place you at the store, either.” I waited a beat for him to agree with me. When he didn’t, I prodded. “There’s isn’t, is there?”

  “Of course not,” Frank said angrily. “Damn it, Mel, if you’re not sure I’m telling the truth, how am I ever going to be able to convince the police?”

  Good question.

  The next day at school, Kate Russo relayed a message from John Monaghan. He’d be happy to meet me that afternoon.

  “Boy, you work fast,” I said.

  “Will it help my grades any?”

  “No.”

  Kate grinned. “I didn’t think so, but it was worth a shot.”

  During lunch I called Alice Brickman, who said she’d grab Davey when he got off the bus and keep him until I got back. Then I asked Kate if she wanted a ride home since we were going in the same direction. She accepted happily and offered to make introductions.