Watchdog

by Laurien Berenson

The phone buzzed in the other room. I glanced at Liz. She didn’t get up.

  “Don’t worry, someone will get it. It’s probably just more reporters anyway. And yes, Frank did set up that meeting. He called around two-thirty. I told him that Marcus was out of the office inspecting a site, but that I expected him to check in and I’d give him the message.”

  Two-thirty. That probably was about the time Frank had called, but he’d been adamant about the fact that he hadn’t left any messages.

  “Is that the way things usually worked between the two of them?”

  Liz reached out and straightened an ashtray on the table. She seemed to be having a hard time sitting still. “What do you mean?”

  “I imagine Marcus Rattigan must have been a very busy man. And in the grand scheme of things, I wouldn’t think that the deal he had going with my brother was all that important. So I guess what I’m trying to ask is, was Frank in the habit of arranging meetings that way? And was it unusual for Rattigan, busy as he was, to simply acquiesce to such a demand?”

  Liz thought briefly before answering. “Now that you mention it, I guess it was a little odd. Usually when the two of them got together, they met here. Marcus wasn’t the kind of man who would jump to answer anyone’s summons. I’m sure Frank realized that. But I was pretty busy when the call came in. I guess I just didn’t think about it at the time.”

  “It didn’t occur to you that it might not be my brother on the phone?”

  “No. Like I said, I was busy. I wrote the information down in the book and forgot about it.”

  Nothing there that would help Frank’s chances with the police. It was time to move on to a trickier topic. “I understand you and Marcus Rattigan have known each other for a long time.”

  “I worked for him for nearly eight years.”

  “You had a closer relationship, too, didn’t you?”

  “You’ve been talking to Gloria,” Liz said dryly. “How is the old bat?”

  “Coping nicely, from what I could see.”

  “Why shouldn’t she be? She’s probably happy he’s gone. He dumped her and she never got over it.”

  “Like you did.”

  “Well, well.” Liz’s smile was brittle. “I guess you have been doing your homework.”

  I sat forward in my chair, leaning closer across the space that separated us, as I willed her not to tune me out. “I’m sorry if you think this is an intrusion, but I don’t have any choice. Somehow my brother has managed to land himself in the middle of a murder investigation. The police have all but told him he’s their chief suspect, and even I can understand why they might see things that way.

  “The problem is, my brother didn’t kill Marcus Rattigan. If the best way for me to help him is to try and figure out who did, then that’s what I’m going to do.”

  Liz stood up and crossed the room. She stared out the rain-streaked window. “Is that why you came to talk to me? Because you were looking for someone else to blame?”

  “I’m looking for the truth,” I said quietly.

  “So be it.” Liz nodded. “The truth is, Marcus and I had an affair. It wasn’t any big secret, at least not after Gloria found out. Did you ever meet Marcus?”

  “Once.”

  A phone buzzed again in the outer room. I ignored it; Liz did, too.

  “You probably didn’t care for him, then. He didn’t make the best first impression. And yes, he could be brash and aggressive. He had neither the time nor the patience to deal with people who couldn’t see the same visions he did. But that was the public man. Once you got to know him, he could also be sweet and compassionate.”

  Liz looked at me and shook her head. “I see you don’t believe me. It doesn’t matter. After all, it’s over now. Marcus was a wonderful man. Working here together week after week, month after month, it was just very easy to fall into bed with him.”

  “And to believe that he was going to divorce his wife and marry you?”

  “Yes, I suppose so. At the time, that’s what I thought I wanted.”

  “Then he and Gloria got a divorce and he dropped you, too.”

  “Oh, my.” Liz grimaced. “Gloria really did spin you a story, didn’t she? I imagine that’s what she wants to believe. I’m sure it makes her feel better.

  “The truth is, Marcus and I made a mutual decision to part. It turned out that what was fun and thrilling when we had to sneak around wasn’t nearly so exciting when it was all out in the open. Our affair had run its course, and it was time to let it go.”

  Maybe, I thought. And maybe not. “You didn’t find it awkward being here with him afterward?”

  “No, why should I? As I said, we both agreed that breaking up was for the best. We were mature adults. There wasn’t any reason we couldn’t continue to work together.”

  For the third time since we’d entered the office, the phone buzzed. This time Liz headed for the door. “I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. Please give your brother my best.”

  I followed her out into the reception area. As I passed a hallway that opened off of it, a door was flung open and a man came striding out. He was tall and blond and looked extremely agitated.

  “Liz, what the hell’s going on around here? Why isn’t anyone answering the phone?”

  “I was taking a break,” Liz said calmly. She lifted the receiver, greeted the caller, and placed him on hold. “I’m back now, so you can relax.”

  The man glanced in my direction. “Who’s that?”

  “Melanie Travis,” I said, offering a hand.

  He hesitated a moment as if hoping for more information, then took my hand and shook it briefly. “Ben Welch.”

  “Ben is vice president of Anaconda Properties,” said Liz. “He is . . . was ... Marcus’s second in command.” She looked at Ben. “Melanie was just leaving. And you have a call on line two.”

  I watched as he walked back to his office. A second in command might know all sorts of useful things. “Do you suppose Ben would mind—?”

  “Probably not, but he doesn’t have time. With Marcus gone, he’s juggling both their schedules. He doesn’t have a spare minute for days.”

  Earlier she’d told me the firm was treading water.

  The phone buzzed again. Liz sat down at her desk and reached for the receiver. Clearly my time was up.

  “Thanks for talking to me,” I said and let myself out.

  Sam’s arrival that evening was heralded by a chorus of barking from Faith. She likes to announce visitors and I’ve never minded the noise, figuring that a four-legged burglar alarm—which was all I could afford—was a good deal better than none. Usually she quiets right down as soon as she recognizes the guests, but that night she kept on barking. When I looked out my bedroom window, I saw the reason why.

  Sam had gotten Tar out of his Blazer, and the puppy was racing in large, looping circles around the front yard. He feinted to the left and then the right, dodging behind the tree and around Davey’s bike. Ears flapping, feet scrambling, tail wagging, he was adorable. Faith, standing on her hind legs and looking out the window, could see perfectly well that another dog was having all kinds of fun in her yard while she wasn’t having any.

  By the time I got downstairs, Davey had opened the front door. Now everyone was in the yard giving the neighbors a show. Predictably my son was shoeless and without a jacket in the crisp October air. Faith was doing her part to add to the excitement by bowling Tar end over end across the grass.

  A dumber woman might have gone outside and joined the fray. Instead I stood in the doorway and let them all come to me. The two Poodles went racing past first, heading toward the kitchen and the water bowl.

  Davey was next, holding Sam’s hand and chattering about his day. If my son had anything to say about it, they’d have passed right by me and headed straight for the Lego model he was building in the living room. Luckily Sam had other ideas. He let go of Davey’s hand and gathered me into a hug.

  “That’s gross,” said Davey
. “I hope you’re not going to kiss, too.”

  “We might.” Sam looked down at him over my shoulder. “In fact, I’d say it’s a real possibility.”

  Davey made a rude noise.

  I frowned at my son, and heir. “If you don’t like it, go somewhere else.”

  “Can’t.” Resigned, Davey sat down on a step. “If I leave, how will I know when you’re done?”

  “We’ll call you,” I said.

  Davey shook his head.

  There’s definitely something inhibiting about having a six year old staring at you. Especially when he’s your six year old. Sam began to chuckle. His hold around me loosened.

  “Later?” I asked with a sigh.

  His lips brushed lightly across my cheek, his response was low in my ear. “Count on it.”

  Dinner was one of my favorites: pot roast and onion gravy, with noodles and carrots on the side. Sam supplied a bottle of red wine. Davey supplied most of the conversation. No chance that this boy was going to grow up to be the strong, silent type.

  Under the table, Tar snored softly. Faith lay down, too, but she kept her eyes open in case any choice tidbits should happen to fall her way.

  “I forgot,” Sam said over coffee. He reached down and dug around in his pocket. “I brought something to show you.”

  “What is it?” asked Davey. “A toy?”

  “Not quite.” Sam held out his hand and opened it. There was a small white object in the middle of his palm. Davey and I both leaned closer to look.

  “Wow . . .” Davey breathed out softly. “It’s a tooth!”

  “A baby tooth. One of Tar’s. He’s been teething for several weeks now. I thought you might like to have it.”

  Davey was beaming. Obviously I wasn’t the only one he’d told about Joey’s dental precocity. “You mean it’s for me?”

  “Yup.” Sam tipped his hand and let the tooth slide into Davey’s palm. “You can put it under your pillow tonight. Maybe the tooth fairy will give you something for it.”

  Davey held the tooth up to the light, studying it like a jeweler with a rare gem. “She might not like dog teeth.”

  “I bet she’ll be happy to have it. You can tell Joey all about it the next time you see him.”

  Sam looked at me over my son’s head and winked. It was the tiniest of gestures but it moved something powerful inside me. Warmth flowed through me like a melting tide. My chest constricted. The tips of my fingers tingled.

  Until that moment I hadn’t been sure. I’d told myself that Sam and I were good together, that he awakened feelings that had been allowed to lie dormant too long. But I’d never allowed myself to call it love. Now I looked at Sam and knew.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  I swallowed heavily. “Fine.”

  “Jeez,” said Davey. “It’s only a puppy tooth. You look strange.”

  “Thanks.” The sarcasm was good. It restored my equilibrium.

  Sam and Davey went back to examining their prize. I sat there and looked at the two of them and knew I was the luckiest person in the world.

  Some women want flowers or sonnets. Others hold out for pearls. I fell in love over puppy teeth. It figured.

  Twelve

  Usually when Sam’s around, Davey likes to stay up as late as possible. That night he was so excited about the prospect of a visit from the tooth fairy that he rushed right upstairs after dinner. Sam and I followed so that we could make a small ceremony out of placing the tooth beneath the pillow.

  Faith came along and watched the proceedings curiously. She sleeps on Davey’s bed at night and thinks of herself as his guardian. In her mind it was only fair that we should consult her on any impending changes to her domain.

  Davey held out the tooth so that the Poodle could sniff it. When she tried to lick it up off his palm, however, he snatched it away and placed it under the pillow. “That’s mine,” he said firmly. “The tooth fairy’s going to pay me for it.”

  With a thoughtful expression on his face, he looked past Faith to Tar, who was sitting on the floor beside the bed. It wasn’t too hard to figure out what he was thinking. My son, the budding entrepreneur.

  “How many teeth do puppies have anyway?”

  “Not very many.” Yes, I was lying. Mothers have to do that sometimes. “Besides, most of Tar’s have already fallen out, haven’t they?” I sent Sam a meaningful glance.

  “Right,” he agreed, then gave my son a playful poke. “Though if you’re lucky we might find a few more.”

  “Great.” Davey stifled a yawn. His eyes were already closing.

  We turned off the light and tiptoed out.

  “Alone at last.” Sam’s eyebrows waggled. He looked much cuter than Groucho Marx.

  Before I had a chance to answer, someone knocked on the front door. We hurried downstairs before the dogs could start to bark. The porch light was on, and Aunt Peg’s face loomed in the window. Seeing us both, she smiled and waved.

  “I didn’t know she was stopping by,” said Sam. His arm, which had been cradling my waist, dropped away.

  “Neither did I.”

  “Cheers!” Peg marched inside when I opened the door. “I brought dessert. Is Davey asleep already? He’ll just have to have his pie in the morning.”

  “Pie?” I asked faintly.

  “Pecan.” She waved a fragrant white box under my nose. “My favorite. Is there water on for tea?”

  “There might have been if I’d known you were coming.”

  Ignoring the jibe, Aunt Peg headed toward the kitchen. “I’ll just get it started myself. Plates? Forks? Sam, maybe you could find some napkins?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I glared at him and he grinned right back. Aunt Peg has always been a favorite of his. Then again, he doesn’t know her nearly as well as I do.

  There was little I could do besides follow along, so I did. “Aunt Peg,” I said. “Why are you here?”

  “To get an update on my nephew’s situation, why else? You know I like to stay on top of things. Has anyone called me?” Her accusing look encompassed us both. “Well, there you have it. I had to come and see for myself.”

  “Why didn’t you just ask Frank?”

  “Is he at home?” Peg inquired. “Or have they already carted him off to jail?”

  “Frank’s in jail?” Sam looked somewhat stunned.

  My brother and Sam don’t get along very well and, speaking as the woman in the middle, I can only say that it’s a man thing. Still, I’m sure he expected that a bombshell like that might have been mentioned earlier.

  I opened the cabinet and got out three plates. “No, he’s not in jail. Aunt Peg’s being melodramatic.”

  “Not by much,” Peg said briskly. “Don’t tell me Melanie hasn’t told you that her brother is the chief suspect in a murder investigation.”

  “No.” Sam’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Actually, she hasn’t.”

  “I was just about to,” I said, my second lie of the evening. What was happening to me? I used to be such a truthful person. Thank God, I didn’t have a wooden nose.

  Yes, I had promised myself that I’d fill Sam in on the details of Marcus Rattigan’s murder. But now that the time had come, I wasn’t looking forward to the task. The problem was that over the last year and a half I seemed to have gotten involved in an unexpected number of murders, several of which had placed me in serious danger.

  Sam’s a pretty mellow guy, and he knows I treasure my independence. But after he’d heard about my skirmish with a killer the summer before, something had changed. Maybe it was because our feelings for each other were deepening. Maybe it was because he’d suddenly realized, as I had, just how fragile the line between life and death could be. Sam hadn’t ordered me to start minding my own business, but he had made his feelings on the subject pretty clear.

  At the time, with the knowledge of what it felt like to have a gun pointed in my direction very fresh in my mind, I’d even agreed with him. However that was befor
e I knew that the next person to come to me for help would be my brother. A stranger I might have turned away, but Frank was family. I hadn’t had any choice.

  “We’ve got time now,” Sam said, sounding deceptively reasonable. “Why don’t you tell me all about it?”

  “Who wants pie?” I asked, falling on Aunt Peg’s offering like a lifesaver. I cut three large wedges and slipped them onto plates. “Maybe I have some whipped cream in the refrigerator. Let me just—”

  “Mel.”

  His tone stopped me in my tracks. “Yes?”

  “Quit stalling.”

  Acceding to the inevitable, I walked over to the table and sat down. “Okay, here’s the story.”

  I told them everything. For Sam’s sake, I started at the beginning, quickly rehashing the incidents of the burst pipe and broken floor and then proceeding directly to the murder. Sam lives in northern Fairfield County and since most of Anaconda’s property deals had taken place in towns along the coast, he didn’t know who Marcus Rattigan was.

  Aunt Peg stepped in then to offer a brief biography, while I took the chance to make some inroads into my pie. The gooey filling was rich and dark, the pecans just salty enough to offset the sweetness beneath. Even without whipped cream it was terrific.

  It was a good thing Sam was a dog person because Aunt Peg’s knowledge of Rattigan’s life was heavily tipped in that direction. Though Sam had been living in Michigan ten years earlier when Winter was showing, it turned out that he not only remembered her, but had seen her at the Detroit and Chicago International shows.

  “She was a gorgeous bitch,” he said. “I generally prefer the bigger breeds, but in her case I’d have happily made an exception. She thought she was big and her expression just dared you to tell her she wasn’t. When she won Best in Show at Chicago, she just about brought the house down.”

  “She was like that every time she showed,” Peg agreed.

  “The truly great ones generally are.”

  With Rattigan’s dog-show credentials established to everyone’s satisfaction, I took over the rest of the tale. Aunt Peg listened as avidly as Sam as I outlined my conversations with Gloria Rattigan, John Monaghan, and Liz Barnum.