Raining Cats & Dogs (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

by Laurien Berenson

  “Of course.”

  The Poodles and I walked him to the door. O’Malley’s car was parked along the curb. Watching through the window, I saw him open the driver’s door, then pause to stare back at the house for a minute before sliding into the seat.

  Part of me wondered what he was thinking.

  And another part was pretty sure I didn’t want to know.

  13

  Sunday morning we got up and went house hunting, yet again.

  When I’d thought of Sam, Davey, and me living together, I’d harbored rosy fantasies of the three of us spending our weekends doing things as a family, such as going on outings to places like the Nature Center or Binney Park. In the time since Sam and I had gotten married, however, our lives had been so hectic, that virtually the only activity we managed to do as a threesome was look for another place to live. I was pretty sure that said something about the state of the modern American family, and equally sure that it wasn’t something good.

  “I’ve combed through the Stamford listings up, down, and sideways,” Marilyn said. She handed Sam and me a sheaf of pages as we all climbed into her car. “There are some possibilities in other towns, but I’ve only got one new house to show you here, and I can tell you right now you won’t like it.”

  Marilyn was the best kind of real estate agent, the kind who actually listened to what her clients had to say. She didn’t try to convince us that we wanted something in a higher price range or a fancier town. Instead, she accepted our parameters and worked diligently within them.

  “What’s wrong with it?” Sam asked.

  “Nothing.” Marilyn glanced back over her shoulder to check for traffic—usually nonexistent on our small street—then pulled away from the curb. “It just isn’t what you told me you’re looking for. For one thing, it’s new construction.”

  “I don’t mind that,” I said, picturing Palladian windows, walk-in closets, and granite countertops.

  Our current house had been built half a century earlier, one of a whole neighborhood just like it that had been thrown together quickly to provide affordable housing for returning World War II veterans. Although it was cozy and well built, it lacked all but the most basic amenities. The idea of a modern kitchen and updated bathrooms sounded like heaven to me.

  “It has eight thousand square feet of living space,” said Marilyn.

  I took the beautiful house I’d just envisioned and doubled it in size. All right, so it was more room than we needed. Well, actually a lot more room than we needed…

  “On a half-acre lot.”

  Oh.

  My shoulders slumped. “It’s a McMansion, isn’t it?”

  “Pretty much,” Marilyn admitted.

  That pejorative term was being applied to much of the new housing in Fairfield County. As far as developers were concerned, any lot with a building permit was fair game. Older houses, even those in good condition, were sold as tear-downs; and hundreds of homogenized mansions were being erected in their stead.

  “Do you want to look?” asked Marilyn. “Or should I just cross it off the list?”

  Sam and I exchanged a glance. Half an acre wasn’t nearly enough land for a house that size and our five Poodles. Plus, with that many dogs, we’d need more of a buffer between ourselves and the neighbors.

  “I want to see a McMansion,” Davey chimed in from the backseat. It was the first house he’d sounded enthusiastic about.

  “Then let’s go have a look,” I said.

  By lunchtime we’d seen five houses, all unsuitable for one reason or another. It wasn’t as though we were being extraordinarily picky; just that the right house for us simply wasn’t on the market at the moment. Judging by what we’d seen so far, it was beginning to look like I might spend the rest of my married life squished into six small rooms.

  Then I glanced over at Sam. He caught my eye and smiled. We reached toward each other, laced our fingers together, and both squeezed.

  Maybe making do wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

  To my surprise, neither Steve nor the administrators had canceled our visit to Winston Pumpernill that afternoon.

  “We’re on the calendar,” Steve had said when he’d called the night before. “Catherine hates to cancel a scheduled activity. She says the residents thrive on consistency and knowing what to expect. And they’re expecting us to appear tomorrow at two. Paul, of course, won’t be able to make it, and maybe one or two others. So I really hope you and Faith will be able to fill in.”

  It didn’t take much to convince me.

  Let’s see, I thought. What were my options? Driving around in a car to look at houses I didn’t want? Or going to Winston Pumpernill, where I might find out more about Mary’s murder? The latter definitely had more appeal. At the very least, I knew Faith and I would enjoy spending time with the elderly residents.

  So while Sam and Davey opted to keep house hunting, I picked up Faith and headed down to Greenwich. I was running a little late; the group had already gone inside by the time I arrived. I rang the bell beside the front door, and Lynn Stephanopolus came out to meet me.

  As she’d done the first time we’d visited, Lynn immediately put a hand down to greet Faith. The Poodle responded by sitting and offering the woman her paw. I’d never taught my dogs any tricks before; but after having seen how much the patients had enjoyed Coach’s performance the previous week, I’d decided to add a few enhancements to Faith’s education. She had always enjoyed learning new things and had quickly picked up a small repertoire of stunts.

  Lynn laughed, took the offered paw, and shook it gently.

  “Catherine’s already taken the others back to the sunroom,” she said. “Usually she’s too busy to take such a personal interest, but after what happened, we’re keeping an extra close eye on things. Come on, I’ll walk you back to join them.”

  “I hate to bother you. Faith and I can find our own way, if you like.”

  “It’s no trouble at all. I was ready for a break.” Lynn was already striding down the long hallway. “Besides…”

  “You don’t want anyone wandering around unescorted,” I finished for her as Faith and I caught up, then fell into step beside her.

  “Pretty much. I hope you’re not offended by that.”

  “Not at all, I can see your point. I imagine this must be the first time you’ve had to cope with something like this.”

  “Thank goodness,” Lynn said fervently. “Just about everything around here has been in turmoil ever since. I hope the police figure out what happened soon, so we can move on and try to get things back to normal. God knows we’re all ready to do that.”

  I wondered if the “all” she referred to meant the residents or the administration. Although I could see how the latter would want to put such an occurrence behind them, I couldn’t imagine that those who had known Mary would get over her loss that quickly. Granted, I didn’t know much about the inner workings of the facility, but Mary Livingston had seemed like an integral and well-liked member of the population.

  “I imagine the other residents must miss Mary a great deal,” I said.

  “Of course they do.”

  Abruptly, Lynn stopped walking. I shot right past her, with Faith trotting obediently at my side. We spun around and doubled back. Lynn looked worried, like she was concerned she wasn’t getting her point across.

  “Caring for the elderly can be hard,” she said after a minute. “You tend to get emotionally attached, whether you want to or not. But you have to be realistic, too. And the reality is, sometimes we have to cope with illness and death. Many of the patients here have already outlived most of their friends and family. It’s always difficult for them, as well as the staff and administrators, when someone passes on. But it’s the nature of what we do. That doesn’t mean that we’re not affected by it, however. Everybody here loved Mary, and we all miss her.”

  Lynn sighed. “But in this case, things are especially difficult. Until last week, none of us had any
idea that such a thing as murder was even possible here. It’s not something we gave any thought to. Or, to be honest, had initiated any precautions against. It never occurred to us that we needed to.”

  “You felt you were safe here,” I said.

  “Exactly. And now we’ve lost that sense of security. Or that innocence, if you will. Of course, we’ve always done thorough background checks on the staff, and we keep our medicines securely locked up, but we want the residents to think of this facility as their home, a place where they don’t have to worry about anything going wrong. What happened here last Sunday has ruined that. Not just for the patients, but for all of us.”

  I understood how she felt. Perhaps even better than Lynn might have imagined. I’d been the victim of an act of violence myself, and I knew how such an occurrence changed everything.

  A week earlier, the staff at Winston Pumpernill had thought they were doing a good job, that they had everything under control. Now they knew there were certain things that were simply beyond the scope of their management. It might have seemed like a small change, but its ramifications were monumental.

  “It makes sense that you would want the police to find the murderer and remove him from your midst as quickly as possible.”

  “Actually.” Lynn shot me a wary look out of the corner of her eye. “We’re hoping that the person who was capable of doing such a terrible thing isn’t part of our family at all.”

  “You’d rather it was a visitor.”

  She nodded.

  “Like maybe someone from the obedience club?”

  “No offense,” Lynn said quickly, “but I have to hope that, don’t I? The alternative is that somehow in the time I’ve been here at Winston Pumpernill, I’ve been living with a monster. I’ve been working side by side with someone who was capable of committing such a heinous act, and I didn’t even realize it.”

  Annoyance got her moving again. She started to walk, and Faith, always quick on the uptake, caught up before I did.

  “How long have you worked here?”

  “Three years in June,” Lynn said. “And for the most part, I’ve loved every minute of it. The administration is top-notch, and the majority of the patients are wonderful. The kind of people who—if you had met them in a different context—you would have felt privileged to call your friends. I’ve never understood why American society treats the elderly like a disposable commodity. It’s inhuman, not to mention incredibly shortsighted. These seniors’ knowledge and experience should be revered as one of our greatest resources….”

  She paused and smiled self-consciously. “I’m lecturing, aren’t I?”

  “Go ahead, I don’t mind. And for the record, I totally agree with you. I have an aunt in her mid-sixties who can outthink and outdance most people half her age. And to our chagrin, she does so regularly.”

  “You see?” said Lynn. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Why should physical age be allowed to limit our expectations? It’s crazy. It’s backward—”

  “It’s human nature,” I said.

  “Well, screw human nature—it’s just plain wrong.” As if hearing her own words for the first time, Lynn suddenly looked horrified.

  I grinned and was glad to see her shoulders relax.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I guess this whole mess has gotten me more upset than I realized. Just the thought of someone as good and as kind as Mary being overpowered just because she wasn’t physically capable of defending herself makes me absolutely sick.”

  “Me, too,” I agreed. “I imagine you wouldn’t have any idea why someone would have wanted to murder one of your residents?”

  “I wish I could answer that question,” Lynn said. “In my spare time, I love reading mystery novels. I’m one of those compulsive types. I drive myself crazy trying to decipher the clues and figure out the ending ahead of time. So don’t think it hasn’t occurred to me that this is a real-life mystery right in front of me. And now, when it counts, I find I haven’t the slightest idea what went wrong.”

  “Have you met Mary’s son?” I asked.

  “Michael? No. I’ve heard about him, though.”

  “From Mary?”

  “From my boss, Catherine. Apparently he hadn’t been a presence in Mary’s life for quite some time.”

  “Until recently,” I said.

  “Right. I gather he showed up unexpectedly. When he did, Mary’s family issued very specific instructions that he wasn’t to be admitted to see her.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “They said they didn’t want him to upset her. That she was too fragile to handle a visit from someone who was sure to be a disruptive presence. Frankly, it sounded like a lot of baloney to me. He was her son, for Pete’s sake. It should have been left up to Mary to decide whether she wanted to see him.”

  “You mean she didn’t even know that he’d returned to Greenwich?”

  “Not at first. We were supposed to be keeping that information from her, too. But somehow she found out he was around.”

  “Maybe he called her?” I suggested.

  “No.” Lynn shook her head. “All our calls go through the switchboard. Because of the instructions from the family, a call like that wouldn’t have been put through.”

  “Interesting,” I mused aloud. “So your security has been breached twice recently.”

  Lynn didn’t look happy. “At least the first time, it was for a good cause. Because once Mary found out Michael had returned, she very much wanted to see him.”

  “And did she?”

  “Unfortunately, no. Once again, the family stepped in and took control of the situation. Just one more instance of an elderly person being relegated to minor status even where her own personal affairs were concerned. Eventually Mary was able to sway a couple of family members over to her side, though. They’d finally set up a meeting. Mary was supposed to see Michael last week.”

  “And did she?”

  We’d reached the door to the sunroom. Faith paused in the doorway, and when she saw the other dogs inside the room, woofed softly under her breath. I reached down and stroked her neck to steady her. I wasn’t moving until I heard what the administrator had to say.

  “No,” said Lynn, “it never happened.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Michael was supposed to be here Monday morning. And by Sunday afternoon, Mary was dead.”

  14

  Lynn left us just outside the sunroom. Or, rather, she passed us along to our next escort. In contrast to our last visit, this time the entrance to the room was being watched. An orderly, whose name tag identified him as Jay, stepped aside when we approached and held the door open for us.

  Jay was big, with broad shoulders and taut, sinewy arms. He had smooth skin the color of dark chocolate, and his wiry black hair was cropped close around his skull. “Pleased to meet you,” he said in a surprising soft voice as his large hand swallowed my much smaller one.

  Then he squatted down so that he was eye level with Faith. “Hey, big Poodle.”

  Seeing her cue, Faith sat down and offered him a paw.

  “Her name’s Faith,” I said as Jay shook the paw and returned it gently to the floor.

  “We had a Poodle when I was little,” he said, rising to his feet. “Name of Frenchie, on account of, you know…French Poodle?”

  The Poodle breed actually originated in Germany, and the stylized trim worn in the show ring is a remnant of a traditional German hunting clip, but Jay’s designation was a common mistake.

  “I’ll bet he was the best dog you ever owned,” I said with a smile.

  “You got that right.” He nodded toward Faith. “I saw her last week, but I didn’t have time to come over and say hello. She’s a big one, isn’t she? I didn’t know they made Poodles that big.”

  “Faith is a Standard Poodle. It’s the largest of the three varieties. You probably had a Mini?”

  “I guess so.” Jay held up his hands about fifteen inches apart. “Lik
e this size.”

  “That would have been a Mini. Toys are the really little ones.”

  “The yappy ones.”

  “Sometimes,” I said. “And sometimes not. As with any dog, it’s all in how well they’ve been trained by their owners. Lots of toy dogs are very well behaved.”

  “Your Poodle looks like she’s had a lot of training. Is she a show dog or something?”

  “She used to be.” I reached down and ruffled my hand through Faith’s topknot. “She’s retired now.”

  Jay laughed out loud. “A dog that’s retired. That’s a good one. I never met a dog that had a job before.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the room. “If she’s retired, then she’s in the right place, considering this is like a retirement home. Most of the people here are retired from something or other.”

  As we spoke, I’d been looking around as well. During our previous visit, the sunroom had been filled with patients, obedience club members, and the occasional attendant. It wasn’t until Minnie and Coach had begun their performance that nurses and staff members had appeared from other parts of the building. Today, however, there were at least as many staff members in the room as there were visitors. They were trying to remain unobtrusive, and most were staying in the background, but their presence was unmistakable.

  I was looking at heightened security. The precautions were probably unavoidable; still, I was sorry to see them. It was just one more thing that would make Winston Pumpernill feel a little less like home to the people who lived there.

  “Some of these people, you know…” Jay paused, then chose his words with care. “They were pretty impressive in real life. They had nice houses, good jobs. They had some power. It’s kind of sad to see them here now.”

  “But they’re happy here,” I said. “Aren’t they?”

  “I guess they seem to be.”

  Jay looked to be in his mid-twenties; he still had everything ahead of him. The concept of wanting to slow down probably wasn’t even on his radar screen.