Raining Cats & Dogs (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

by Laurien Berenson

  “Hey, Ms. T,” she chirped. “What’s up?”

  “Not your grades, apparently. I just got the results of your latest test from Mr. Weinstein.” Ed Weinstein taught upper-school English, a subject with which, based on the test I’d seen, Brittany had only a nodding acquaintance. “He’s under the impression that you haven’t been keeping up with your reading.”

  “I can’t imagine why.”

  Brittany batted her long eyelashes in my direction. The child was like a heat-seeking missile casting around in search of a target. Day by day her arsenal of sexy affectations—most probably gleaned from watching MTV—grew exponentially. If Brittany didn’t fully understand her own power yet, she certainly would soon.

  “Besides,” she said when I didn’t react to lash-fluttering, “Mr. Weinstein is way too strict.”

  “He’s only hard on you because he wants you to get good grades.”

  “Yeah, I know. And work to my full potential, right?”

  It was hard not to smile, but I managed it. Obviously, this kid had already heard the lecture.

  “Besides,” she said, “I do plenty of reading.”

  Teen fashion magazines, no doubt.

  “Yes, but do you read the books that are assigned for class?”

  “Sometimes.”

  Brittany dumped her things on a round table and crossed the room to hunker down in front of the two Poodles. Both lifted their heads. Their tails flopped up and down against the cushion.

  Brittany stroked the top of Faith’s head and rubbed under her ears. Eve was still “in hair” for the show ring. After glancing back over her shoulder to see if I was watching, Brittany scratched carefully beneath the bitch’s chin, leaving her long mane coat undisturbed.

  “I’m going to be a dog handler like you when I grow up,” she said. “Dog breeders don’t have to read Shakespeare and poetry and stuff like that. So what’s the point?”

  “The point is that at your age, you need a well-rounded education. If you haven’t been exposed to all the interesting things the world has to offer, how will you know what you want to be when you grow up?”

  Prudently, I refrained from mentioning that a month earlier she’d wanted to be a supermodel, and before that, a rock star’s girlfriend. Compared with those two choices, at least she’d raised her sights a little. Or more likely, she was just humoring me, fishing around to see whether currying favor with my dogs would earn her any extra points.

  “My mom says the same thing,” Brittany pulled out a chair and plopped down onto the seat.

  “Your mom knows what she’s talking about.”

  “Sometimes,” she smirked. “And sometimes I think she’s just making it up as she goes along.”

  Perceptive child, I thought. Her description of her mother probably applied to me as well. One thing about adulthood, sometimes it just seems like smoke and mirrors.

  I pulled out a chair, joined her at the table, and we got to work.

  During lunch break, I took the Poodles for an extended walk outside around the school grounds. Late April in Connecticut is undeniably beautiful. Tulips were in bloom; trees were just beginning to bud. After three long, dreary winter months, it was a pleasure just to be outside again. Faith and Eve raced and played. I unzipped my jacket, unwound my scarf, and turned my face up into the warm sun. With nothing pressing, we took our time, circling both hockey and soccer fields before finally ending our excursion at the tennis courts. The Poodles were panting happily by the time we got back to the classroom.

  I opened the windows to let in some air and put fresh water in the dogs’ bowl. Then I retrieved my purse from a desk drawer and fished around in it until I found the phone number Paul Lennox had given me after last week’s class.

  I didn’t know Paul well, and I certainly didn’t want to intrude on his grief. But his aunt’s death had had an unexpectedly profound effect on me, touching me in a way I wouldn’t have thought possible considering how briefly I’d known her. I wanted to extend my condolences and also to convey Aunt Peg’s offer of a donation in Mary Livingston’s name.

  Paul picked up right away, and I identified myself. There was a pause, as if he was trying to remember who I was.

  “Yes, of course, Melanie,” he said after a moment. “With Faith. Sorry, I’ve been making so many calls and dealing with so many relatives, I’m not even sure I’d recognize my own mother’s voice right now.”

  “I’m so sorry about your aunt. Even though we’d just met, I could see what a special lady she was.”

  “Aunt Mary was one of a kind.” Paul spoke slowly; his words were heavy with sadness. “She had so many wonderful friends, and everyone who knew her felt the same way you did. That’s what makes this whole thing so hard to understand…”

  “I’m sure the fact that it happened so unexpectedly didn’t help,” I said gently. “Was it a heart attack?”

  “No, although that’s what everyone thought at first. It was a natural assumption. Aunt Mary had some medical issues related to her age, but she wasn’t mortally ill. Yesterday morning, I had every expectation that she might live for another decade.

  “But after…” He cleared his throat, then continued, “The director at Winston Pumpernill called the medical examiner. I gather that’s standard when things like this happen. I thought it was just a formality. But when I called a few minutes ago to make arrangements for the funeral home to come and pick her up, I was told that the body wasn’t being released. Apparently, there’s a suspicion of foul play.”

  I gasped softly and couldn’t think of a single thing to say. In silence, I waited for Paul to continue.

  After what seemed like a long time, he did. “I guess I might as well just come right out and say it. The paper will probably be running a story in a day or two. The tests they do are so sophisticated now…it’s more than a suspicion. The M.E. knows how Aunt Mary died. She didn’t have a heart attack. She was murdered.”

  “Murdered?” I repeated. My voice sounded hollow. I was truly shocked by the news.

  Let’s be clear on this, okay? It’s not as though I haven’t had the misfortune to run across the occasional murder victim. In fact, it’s happened often enough that you might think I’d almost be used to it by now. But somehow that hasn’t happened. Actually, the reverse is true. Each one seems to hit me harder than the time before.

  Not only that, but none of the victims I’d known in the past had seemed as unlikely a candidate for murder as Paul’s Aunt Mary. And I could hardly come up with a more surprising setting than the Winston Pumpernill facility. No wonder Paul’s grief was overlaid with shock and dismay.

  “Do they know what happened?” I asked.

  “She suffocated. It seems likely that she was smothered with her pillow. My aunt was quite sturdy for her age, but she wasn’t a large woman. I suppose it wouldn’t have been difficult for someone to overpower her….” His voice broke, then trailed away.

  “I’m so very sorry,” I said again. The words felt totally inadequate. “If there’s anything at all I can do, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

  “Thank you, I appreciate that. I guess I’d better get back to making my other calls. I have to break the news to the rest of the family before they get a chance to read about it in the newspaper.”

  I clicked off the phone and sat at my desk, staring off into space. After a minute, a cold, wet nose pressed itself into my hand. A paw came up and laid gently across my knee. Faith pressed her body close to mine, offering what warmth and comfort she could.

  I’m not a particularly mystical person, but at times it’s hard not to wonder how much dogs understand. Faith had met Mary the day before, too. Did she know what had happened? Or had she merely sensed my melancholy mood and responded to it?

  I wasn’t sure it mattered. I gathered the big Poodle up into my arms, buried my face in her hair, and felt enormously grateful for the solace she had to offer.

  “I’m beginning to think,” I said, “that cats are th
e bane of my existence.”

  It was six hours later, and I was sitting in my backyard enjoying a fine April evening. At least I would have been if fluffy Felix and his sleek black friend hadn’t been so determined to breach the five-foot cedar fence that surrounded my small plot of land.

  The fence had been intended to keep my Poodles in. It was a barrier meant to simplify my life. Winter mornings, I could race downstairs barefoot and open the back door without fear of my dogs escaping. Late at night, I didn’t have to go outside and take them for a walk. The fence had been in place for three years, ever since Faith was a puppy, and the system had always worked beautifully.

  Mostly, I was now realizing, because nobody had ever tried to break in before.

  Every time the cats from next door showed their furry little faces over the top of the fence, the Poodles began to leap and bark, sounding their version of an intruder alert. Each time, I had to get up and quiet them down. No sooner would I get the pack settled then the cats would reappear.

  I’d tried reasoning with the Poodles, but it wasn’t working. The clear consensus among my canine population was that their property should be declared a cat-free zone.

  What was it about my yard, I wondered, that so fascinated the new neighbor’s cats? They had, after all, a yard of their own. Not to mention all the freedom they wanted otherwise. Unfettered in any way, they could have been out roaming the entire neighborhood. Or even the whole town of Stamford. So why would they choose to come to the one place where five bouncing, barking Poodles had made it abundantly clear they weren’t welcome?

  Sheer and outright perversity, I thought. Those cats knew exactly what they were doing.

  “Come on,” Sam said with a laugh. “It’s not that bad.”

  He walked down the steps, his fingers curled handily around two long-necked beers, and pulled a chair up next to my chaise longue. Davey was inside doing homework. A chicken was cooking in the oven; dinner would be ready in half an hour. I took the beer Sam held out to me and tipped it up to my lips.

  “Maybe it’s not the cats,” I said, eyes narrowing speculatively. “Maybe it’s Amber.”

  “Our new neighbor is perfectly pleasant.”

  “She needs more clothes.”

  “She was fully dressed when I saw her earlier.” Sam was still laughing. “Socks, mittens, ear muffs, the works.”

  “You’re not taking me seriously,” I said.

  Sam took a long swallow from his beer. “You’re not good with change, are you?”

  “Not particularly,” I admitted. “I liked Edna Silano. She was a nice neighbor.”

  “Edna Silano used to spy on you.”

  “Yes, but at least she was honest about it. And it was kind of like having my own personal neighborhood watch. Besides, it was only because she didn’t have much else to do.”

  “Once she threatened to put a curse on me if I didn’t do the right thing and marry you.”

  Beer, swallowed the wrong way, made me cough and sputter as I sat up abruptly. “She did?”

  “Yup. I tried to tell her it wasn’t my fault, that you were the one who believed in long engagements, but she didn’t buy it.”

  “Oh.” I considered that. Maybe Edna hadn’t been the paragon of virtue I’d made her out to be. “She actually cursed you?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t stick around to find out.”

  “Well,” I grumbled, “then I guess I can see how you might think Amber was an improvement. And one cat I could probably handle. Maybe even two. Does she have to have seven?”

  “Glass houses,” said Sam. “Think about it.”

  Right.

  “I don’t let my dogs play in her yard.” Need I mention, I’ve always been stubborn?

  “She doesn’t necessarily let her cats come here. Isn’t that the whole point of cats? They pretty much do whatever they want.”

  “I don’t care what they do, if they would just find someplace else to do it.”

  “Maybe after a couple of weeks they’ll get tired of teasing the Poodles,” Sam said. He didn’t sound too convinced.

  “Or maybe one of the Poodles will teach them a lesson,” I said hopefully.

  Sam’s gaze flickered upward. The black cat had climbed a tree next door, then dropped down gracefully onto the top of the fence. Even now, he was balancing on the edge, peering down at the dogs sleeping peacefully beneath him in the grass.

  “I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Sam said.

  Me either, I thought with a sigh.

  9

  The mood at Thursday’s obedience class was subdued.

  As I’d done the previous week, I arrived a few minutes early. Though the parking lot at the Y was full, none of the class members was standing outside talking. Nobody was exercising their dogs or greeting new arrivals. I unloaded Faith, and we headed directly inside.

  Nearly everyone was already gathered in the big room. Steve was finishing laying the mats, while the others were clustered in small groups speaking in hushed tones. I didn’t see Paul and Cora or Kelly and Boss. Neither absence surprised me. I imagined Paul probably had family obligations to attend to, and Kelly seemed to make a habit of being late.

  I took off my jacket and set it down on a metal folding chair with my purse and the thermos of water I’d remembered to bring. As I straightened and turned to face the room, I felt the tug of Faith’s leash. She’d left my side to touch noses with Mark’s Cairn, Reggie, who was straining at the end of his leash to reach her.

  Mark reeled the little terrier in and beckoned me over. He was standing with Stacey, Julie, and Minnie. Their circle opened up to accommodate us.

  Jack, the Doberman, lying complacently at Julie’s heel, didn’t even stir. Coach, the Schnauzer, cocked his head at Faith and wagged his stumpy tail. Bubbles, Stacey’s Papillon, danced excitedly in place until given permission to come over and say a proper hello. Everyone waited until the dogs had settled again, then conversation resumed.

  “We were talking about Paul’s Aunt Mary,” Stacey said. “What a horrible tragedy. I spoke with Paul yesterday. There’s going to be a memorial service on Saturday at Saint Michael’s in Greenwich. He wanted the class, especially those of us who’d visited Winston Pumpernill, to know that anyone who wanted to attend was welcome. Steve will probably make a general announcement, but I just wanted to make sure that the information got passed along to those of us who were there last week.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate your letting me know.”

  “Paul is taking Cora,” Stacey added. “To a memorial service. Can you believe it?”

  “I can,” Minnie replied. “Why wouldn’t he? His aunt loved that Corgi. In fact, she loved all our dogs. That’s probably why so many of us feel like we bonded with Mary, even though we hardly knew her. Maybe we should go as a group and take all the dogs with us. You know, like a show of support for Paul and Cora.”

  “No way,” Julie said firmly. “All these dogs in a church? That wouldn’t be a show of support, it would be a side show. Paul would be mortified.”

  “Sorry, Minnie,” Mark weighed in. “I’m with Julie on this one. I know Coach goes everywhere with you, but the last thing we’d want to do is to intrude on the dignity of the service.”

  Minnie looked annoyed. “Speak for yourself. Coach and I are perfectly dignified.”

  “Goodness,” Stacey said with a giggle. “Over-identify much? You make him sound like your date, not your dog.”

  Minnie’s expression turned thunderous. She snapped Coach’s leash with her left hand and the Schnauzer abruptly stood up. Minnie spun on her heel and the two of them left.

  Frowning, Mark watched them go. “That was cruel.”

  “That was honest,” Stacey replied. “Besides, sometimes cruel is the only thing Minnie understands.”

  The first time I’d met these people, I’d pegged Stacey as the most innocuous member of the group. Now I found myself reevaluating my initial impression. Stacey might have looke
d harmless, but she clearly was capable of giving as good as she got.

  In the uncomfortable silence that followed, we all heard a clatter outside in the hallway, signaling the arrival of Kelly and Boss. The pair came skidding around the corner into the room. The Akita was leading the way and dragging his hapless owner along behind.

  “Lord, I wish she’d get that dog properly leash broken,” Julie muttered. “It’s really not such a difficult concept.”

  “Maybe you should offer to give her lessons,” said Mark.

  Julie rounded back on him; she’d heard the same snide edge to his tone that I had. But Mark merely raised his eyebrows and shrugged innocently as if he couldn’t understand why his words might have caused any offense. Julie’s lips thinned into a hard line, but she didn’t say a word.

  “Look!” Kelly announced, heading toward us across the mats. She held up her arm and showed us her watch. “I’m not late! Class doesn’t even start for another whole minute.”

  As she drew near, our group broke apart, all of us giving her plenty of room. None of us wanted to let our dogs stand in close proximity to the Akita. We were too concerned to be subtle about it; Kelly had to have noticed our withdrawal.

  She stopped just outside the circle, snatched up Boss’s leash, and said in a surprisingly authoritative tone, “Sit!”

  To everyone’s relief, the big brindle dog sat. Kelly beamed at him happily, then looked up at us. “We’ve been practicing.”

  “It shows,” said Stacey. “Good job.”

  I wasn’t going to be the one to mention that consistency was the key to a well-behaved dog. And that any dog who was still capable of dragging its owner around still had a long way to go where training was concerned.

  “What’d I miss?” Kelly asked, including all of us in her smile. “You all were talking about Paul, weren’t you?”