Raining Cats & Dogs (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

by Laurien Berenson

  “Mary Livingston’s murder. I want to hear everything.”

  “I don’t know everything.”

  “Then tell me what you do know, and it had better be good. Why else do you think I’m here? I gave up my bridge night for this.”

  Nothing like high expectations to live up to, I thought. Then stopped. “What bridge night? I didn’t know you played bridge.”

  “Of course I play bridge. I went to Vassar, didn’t I? We had demitasse and cards every night after dinner. Wonderful game. I was a bit of a star, if I do say so myself.”

  That didn’t come as a surprise.

  “Several friends and I got together recently, formed a foursome, and set up a regular night. This is it.”

  “I hate to say it since you’re already here, but your bridge game might have been more entertaining.”

  “I take it that means you don’t have any idea who sneaked into Mary Livingston’s room and smothered her.”

  “I have plenty of ideas. I just don’t happen to know which is the right one.”

  “Perfect,” said Aunt Peg, leaning back in her chair. “I love having a choice. Tell me all about them.”

  “I guess that’s my cue to do the dishes,” Sam said, rising. He gathered up an armload of plates and headed for the kitchen.

  “That man,” Peg said under her breath, “is a saint.”

  And also, I thought, remembering his pre-dinner antics, a bit of a sinner. Really quite a perfect combination. And, tonight, with Davey out of the house…

  “Melanie?”

  Peg’s tone was sharp. My head snapped around. “Yes?”

  “If it’s not too much to ask, I’m trying to have a conversation here. Suspects?”

  Right. Back to work.

  “You may as well begin with Michael Livingston. I assume he’s on your list.”

  I nodded. “For starters, he’s not the ogre his family makes him out to be. He never turned his back on his mother, at least not intentionally. They were the ones who kicked him out when he balked at taking over his place in the family business.”

  “Twenty years is a lot of balking,” Aunt Peg said.

  “That was the Livingstons’ idea, not his. Once he left, it was made perfectly clear that he wouldn’t be welcomed back.”

  “And yet he had the audacity to return on the eve of his wealthy mother’s demise. If nothing else, his timing has to be counted as suspicious.”

  “Michael told me he’s sick,” I said flatly. “He has colon cancer. He came back to deliver the news to his mother in person and because he was hoping they would finally be able to reconcile after all these years.”

  Aunt Peg sat back in her chair with a windy sigh. “Well, that changes things, doesn’t it?” she observed. “Nothing like a look at your own mortality to slap some sense into people.”

  “He could have been lying to me,” I felt compelled to admit. “Paul certainly implied as much. But I don’t necessarily think he was. I just can’t see that he had any reason to wish his mother harm.”

  “Unless he needed her money to pay his medical bills.”

  “From what I hear, Mary had plenty of money, probably a good deal more than was needed to maintain her lifestyle at Winston Pumpernill. I’m sure if her only child was in dire need of funds, all he would have had to do was ask for help.”

  “Does the family know?” Peg asked.

  “About Michael’s illness? No. He planned to tell his mother and let her do what she wanted with the information. Then, of course, he never got the chance. Surprisingly, he seemed to think I might want to break the news to them.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “Not yet, at any rate.”

  “Why not?”

  “For one thing, I’m not sure I want to get involved in their family squabbles.”

  “Poppycock.” Peg blithely disposed of that objection. “As soon as you agreed to look for Mary’s murderer, you were involved in their feuding whether you meant to be or not.”

  “For another, Paul just rubs me the wrong way. The first time we talked about his aunt’s murder, he compared my skills to those of a hotline psychic.”

  “No!”

  “Yes.”

  “Funny, Sylvia doesn’t have much of a sense of humor. Paul must have gotten his from his father.”

  “It wasn’t meant as a joke,” I said sourly.

  “Even better then.” Aunt Peg was relishing my annoyance. “Think how stupid Paul will feel when you show him up.”

  “If I show him up.”

  “Which you will, of course, succeed in doing,” she replied firmly.

  Aunt Peg is a great believer in motivating people to dance to her tune. She’s never confronted an obstacle she couldn’t surmount and has no idea why any of her relatives should either.

  “Tell me about your other suspects,” she said.

  “Unfortunately, I have nearly a whole class full of them.”

  “I take it you’re referring to your obedience club?”

  “Right.”

  Aunt Peg considered that. “What makes you think that one of them would make a more likely murderer than someone, say, in Mary’s own family?”

  “To begin with, we were all there when it happened. Unless one of the other Livingstons happened to sneak in a back door during our visit, the only one who physically had the opportunity was Paul.”

  “I wouldn’t rule them out simply because of that.”

  “I haven’t,” I admitted. “Especially since one of the administrators told me that up until the time of the incident, security hadn’t been very tight. Apparently they hadn’t seen the need.”

  Sam’s older Poodle, Raven, came wandering into the dining room. Peg beckoned the bitch to her side. Given the choice, my aunt would always rather have her hands on a dog than not.

  “I’ve been to Winston Pumpernill,” she said. “The atmosphere there is very casual, as much like living in a private home as they can manage to make it. That’s one of the facility’s strongest selling points. I can see how a phalanx of guards roaming around would have been at odds with the image they want to promote.”

  “Not only that, but I just found out recently that aside from the front door, the building has a number of other exits and entrances, ones that don’t lead into a reception area or straight past the administrative offices.”

  “So we haven’t entirely eliminated the family, we’ve just set them aside for the moment.” Peg was busy coaxing Raven’s front legs up onto her lap. One of my Poodles would have acquiesced immediately. Sam’s trio presumably had better manners. “Tell me about your esteemed classmates.”

  “Well, obviously there’s Paul.”

  “Mary Livingston’s great-nephew. The man who was responsible for taking your group to Winston Pumpernill to begin with.”

  “That’s right—”

  “The man who thinks you may be a charlatan.” Aunt Peg allowed herself a small chuckle.

  “Yes, but—”

  “The one who told you that Michael is a liar, but the rest of the family is above reproach.”

  I stopped trying to get a word in and just sat and stared at her.

  Peg lifted a brow and stared back.

  “Am I telling this story, or are you?” I demanded.

  “Sorry,” she said, not sounding so in the slightest. “Please continue.”

  “So I guess we’ve covered Paul.” I was ready to move on.

  “Except for one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’ve never told me what kind of dog he has.”

  Of course. How could I have forgotten that?

  “Cora’s a Welsh Corgi.”

  “Cardigan or Pembroke?”

  “Cardigan.”

  “So Paul’s a nonconformist. Good for him. Also, apparently, not one of those men who needs a big dog to cover for his own inadequacies. He doesn’t mind a dog that needs some exercise, but probably doesn’t care much for grooming. Cardis can be s
tandoffish with strangers. Perhaps not terribly trusting of people they don’t know.”

  “Sounds a little like Paul,” I said.

  Aunt Peg looked pleased. Pop psychology according to canine. She was a master at it.

  “Who’s next?” she asked.

  “I’ve already told you about Minnie Lloyd.”

  “The lady with the Standard Schnauzer and the criminal record?”

  “Yes.”

  Sam poked his head in the door, saw we were still busy, and withdrew. Seeing him, Raven hopped down from Peg’s lap and followed.

  Aunt Peg glanced over at the empty doorway, then back at me. “You have no idea how very lucky you are.”

  “Yes,” I said softly. “I do.”

  “Marriage is a partnership. It takes work from both sides.”

  “I know that—”

  “Don’t blow it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Sometimes it’s easier just to give her the response she’s looking for.

  “What about the lady with the Doberman?” Aunt Peg segued right back to our previous topic. It was enough to make my head spin.

  “Julie Hyland.”

  “You thought she might have a secret or two.”

  “That’s what Minnie told me. Or at least what she implied. But whatever her secrets are, she doesn’t seem to have any intention of sharing them with me.”

  Aunt Peg gave me a look. The same one I aim at my students when they haven’t satisfactorily completed their homework. “I suppose you’d better skip ahead to somebody else then.”

  “Stacey Rhoades,” I said. “She has a Papillon named Bubbles, isn’t terribly serious about learning obedience, and likes to talk baby talk to her dog.”

  “Paps are known for their intelligence. It sounds as though Bubbles might be smarter than her owner. If she isn’t serious about obedience, what is she doing in your class?”

  “Maybe she signed up for fun.”

  “Pish,” said Peg. “Obedience is work. Agility is where you go when you want to have fun.”

  “Says you.” I was almost tempted to stick out my tongue. Thankfully, the impulse passed.

  “Might I point out that nobody connected with my agility class has ever been murdered? And what about that class of yours has been fun? So far, it sounds like one problem after another.”

  I thought for a minute. “We had a relay race the other night to practice our recalls. That was fun.”

  That sounded pretty lame, didn’t it?

  “Whoopee,” said Peg.

  I guessed that answered my question.

  “So far everyone you’ve told me about except Paul has been a woman. Aren’t there any men in that class? If I remember correctly, there should be one running it.”

  “Steve Barton. He seems like a nice enough guy, though several of the women think otherwise.”

  Aunt Peg looked interested. “And when he isn’t being a nice guy, what does he do?”

  “I’ve been told he’s a control freak, and there have been inklings of that kind of behavior in class. He and Minnie had a relationship in the past, and he’s still trying to control her by threatening to reveal things she told him in confidence.”

  “Which would make him not so nice, after all.”

  “Steve also had an opportunity to commit the crime. He was missing from the sunroom for at least ten or fifteen minutes after Mary had also left. He slipped in and out a back door.”

  “Motive?” Peg asked.

  “None that I’m aware of.”

  “Pity.”

  “Indeed. By the way, Steve was holding Kelly Marx’s Akita at the time. She was also missing for a while, and she might possibly have a motive.”

  “This would be the woman who had the temerity to name her dog Boss?”

  I nodded.

  “Go on.”

  “As you might imagine, Boss is a big, strong dog. Kelly’s had some problems controlling him on previous visits, and Mary Livingston had made a complaint about their behavior. Kelly had been told that if anything else went wrong, she and Boss would be banned from visiting again.”

  “You’re stretching if that’s what you’re calling a motive for murder,” Peg said with a frown. “Why do I get the feeling you’re grasping at straws?”

  “Perhaps, because I am?” I said unhappily.

  “Is that everyone who was in your group that day?”

  “There was one other person, a man named Mark Terry. He has a Cairn named Reggie, and for some reason he’s decided that I need an assistant. He’s been drawing diagrams and making time-lines. He says he wants to help me investigate.”

  I half expected Aunt Peg to roll her eyes. Instead, she looked interested. “I certainly hope you didn’t turn him away.”

  “I did my best,” I admitted.

  “Dear girl, don’t be silly. Call the man and get him back! From where I sit, it looks as though you could use all the help you can get.”

  Trust Aunt Peg to point out the truth.

  22

  Life is never simple. What great philosopher said that? Whoever she was, she must have been a mother.

  Thankfully, when I woke up Saturday morning, the child I was worried about wasn’t my own, which didn’t make my concerns any less daunting. Ever since my tutoring session with Brittany Baxter at the beginning of the week, I’d been trying to find a few minutes to corner her English teacher, Ed Weinstein. Somehow, given the demands of both our hectic schedules, it hadn’t happened.

  So I’d sent him a note on Thursday and told him to pick a time for us to meet to discuss one of his students. Improbably, he’d chosen Saturday morning at Hay Day, a country market in Greenwich that sold fresh fruit, sinfully delicious pastries, and great coffee.

  I arrived first, purchased a cream cheese croissant and a cup of Colombian brew, then staked out a small table by the windows overlooking the parking lot. Ed drove a dark blue Buick, a sturdy, no-nonsense car that suited his sense of propriety and would be easy to spot among the bevy of sleek imports already filling most of the spaces. I leaned back in my chair, sipped at my coffee, and waited for him to drive in. I was so busy looking out the window, I didn’t hear him come walking up behind me.

  “Good morning!” Ed sang out cheerfully, and I jumped in my seat.

  He slid into the chair opposite me and set a mug of herbal tea and a protein bar down on the table. When I’d first met Ed two years earlier, he’d been sarcastic and argumentative, and he’d smoked like a chimney. To be fair, he was also semi-brilliant in his own pompous, professorial way.

  Since then, he’d gotten divorced, shaved off an unflattering mustache, and started jogging. He looked five years younger, and his attitude toward life had improved markedly. Fortunately for his students, the edgy brilliance remained.

  Ed was wearing nylon shorts, a black T-shirt, and a pair of serious-looking running shoes. His shirt was damp, and a bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face. No wonder I hadn’t seen him drive in; he’d jogged over to Hay Day to meet me.

  “I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” he said.

  “No, I just got here.”

  “I apologize for my appearance. Saturdays I run five miles, and I hate to give it up. Especially after a long week at work, exercise really restores the soul.”

  Ed plucked at his wet, form-fitting T-shirt and pulled it away from his body. The move had a practiced look to it, and it achieved its purpose. I noticed how smoothly muscled he’d become.

  “Divorce agrees with you,” I said, breaking off a piece of my croissant.

  He laughed, and I wondered if he’d gotten his teeth whitened, too. “Divorce agrees with everyone. Freedom regained. What’s not to like?”

  I wondered if his ex-wife felt the same way. Not that it was any of my business. The subject I’d come to discuss was touchy enough. No point in starting the conversation by getting his hackles up.

  “You just got married, didn’t you?”

  News travels
fast at Howard Academy; gossip travels even faster. I wasn’t surprised that Ed was familiar with the details of my personal life. In a closed community like our private school, there were times when we all seemed to live in one another’s pockets.

  “Last month,” I said.

  “And are you blissfully happy?”

  “So far, so good.”

  If someone else had asked the question, I might have provided a few details. But there was something about the deft smoothness of Ed’s demeanor that made me wary of sharing confidences.

  “But that’s not what you asked me here to talk about.”

  “No.” I picked at my pastry. The croissant was delicious. Too bad I was mostly just shredding it with my fingers. “Brittany Baxter.”

  “Fourth period English. What about her?”

  “As you know, she’s been seeing me for tutoring.”

  Ed nodded. His tea was green and it smelled vile. I’d have wrinkled my nose if I had to drink it, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  “She was getting behind in her reading. Maybe I jumped on her too hard, but I hate to let stuff like that get out of hand. Let a kid drop back some, and pretty soon they get it in their heads that they can’t catch up. Fortunately, we seem to have gotten things sorted out. I’m sure the sessions she had with you were a big help.”

  “Plus, I hear you scheduled a couple of extra sessions with her yourself.”

  A look of surprise came and went briefly in Ed’s eyes. He recovered quickly. “That, too.”

  “I was told she’s started calling you Ed.”

  His shoulders rose and fell in a negligible shrug. The soft material of the black shirt pulled across his pecs. Ed busied himself getting the wrapper off his protein bar.

  “Do all your students do that now?”

  He glanced up, but his eyes looked past me. “A couple.”

  “The girls?”

  “No.” Ed’s voice was suddenly curt. “Not just the girls. The ones that call me by my first name are the ones that need a little extra nudge in class. I’ve been a teacher for a long time. I’ve seen how it helps when I develop a real relationship with the kids. I want them to know that I’m not just some unapproachable authority figure. That I’m there for them if they need me to be.”