Hounded to Death

by Laurien Berenson

  “Nice to meet you both,” said Florence. “Now it’s time for me to collect my son from whatever mischief he’s gotten himself up to. He and I will be dining together this evening.”

  In an unconscious gesture, her hand lifted to pat the side of the copious purse. The bag undulated in reply.

  I couldn’t imagine having a dog small enough to fit in a pouch under my arm. Nor would my Poodles enjoy tucking themselves away in a dark cubbyhole.

  “That’s Richard over there, isn’t it?” Alana said innocently. She waved a hand in Aunt Peg’s direction.

  “So it is. That woman he’s talking to looks familiar. Do I know her?”

  “That’s Peg Turnbull from Connecticut,” said one of Florence’s earlier companions. He stepped back in to rejoin the group. “You know, Cedar Crest Standard Poodles?”

  “Is she indeed?” Florence’s lips drew together in a thin line. “I believe that’s the woman Richard has been corresponding with. On the way here, he announced that he was looking forward to making her acquaintance. He admitted that they’d met on the Internet, of all things. Can you believe that?”

  Her friends responded with general muttering and shaking of heads.

  “It’s a nasty business if you ask me. In my day, people knew how to conduct themselves. If you wanted to meet new people, you found someone to make a proper introduction. But now computers bring all sorts of unwanted business right into people’s homes. It’s not the way things ought to be done.”

  Opinion delivered, Florence left us. Shoulders back, head held high, she sailed across the crowded room.

  There was no time to get to Peg first and warn her. Indeed there was no time to do anything but follow along in the hope that I might somehow be able to mitigate the approaching disaster.

  As we crossed the room, I waved frantically in Peg’s direction. I knew she saw me out of the corner of her eye. I watched her glance quickly at Richard, then make the decision to ignore my rude behavior.

  Sometimes Peg has only herself to blame.

  “Richard? Darling?” Florence’s voice was smooth as honey. “I find myself growing hungry. Perhaps you’d be good enough to escort me to dinner?”

  “Mother! There you are. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  As Richard turned to greet the older woman, I saw Peg process what he’d said. Her eyes widened; her face blanched. Then she had the nerve to glare at me like this calamity was all my fault.

  But when Richard turned back to her, Aunt Peg quickly wiped her features clean. She gazed at Florence and forced a smile. Never had I seen my aunt put her acting skills to better use.

  “Your mother’s here at the symposium with you?” Aunt Peg sounded as though a large lump of clay had lodged in her throat. “What an unexpected surprise.”

  “I knew you’d be pleased.” When neither woman made the first move, Richard reached out, took their hands, and joined them in the middle. “I have no doubt that the two of you are going to get along beautifully.”

  “Beautifully,” Florence echoed. She moved a proprietary step closer to her son, like a mother lion staking out her territory and daring the foolhardy interloper to challenge her supremacy. “But that’s for later. Now I’d like to be taken in to dinner.”

  “So you shall,” Richard said smoothly. “I’m afraid I’ve made other plans but Marshall and Derek would be delighted to have you join their party.”

  “Other plans?”

  “Yes, Mother. Peg and I are going to enjoy a quiet dinner alone.”

  “But—”

  Richard circled an arm around his mother’s shoulders and deftly swung her away. He beckoned to Derek and Marshall and they fell into line.

  “Would you excuse us for a minute?”

  “Of course,” Peg murmured.

  Our eyes were riveted on the foursome as Richard and his friends surrounded his mother and maneuvered her away. Unfortunately for the sake of our curiosity he chose to take their argument out of the room.

  Peg frowned into the vacuum created by their absence.

  “Am I mistaken,” she asked, “or did that woman have a dog inside her purse?”

  Under the circumstances, I’d have thought that was the least of her worries. But trust Aunt Peg to gloss over the big problem and focus on the dog.

  “It’s a Chihuahua,” I said.

  As if that mattered.

  There could have been a rabid Bullmastiff tucked beneath Florence’s arm and that still wouldn’t have been the most bothersome thing about the woman’s presence at the symposium.

  “What’s a Chihuahua?” A woman I hadn’t yet met came over and stood beside Peg.

  My aunt is tall but this woman nearly matched her in stature. She had sharp features, which were arranged, at the moment, in a ferocious scowl. With her chestnut hair scraped back off her face in a tight ponytail, and her dark eyes scanning the room even as she paused beside us, she looked like a Doberman on the prowl.

  “Margo! I’ve been wondering where you were.” Aunt Peg greeted her friend with a quick hug. “Quite a turnout you’ve come up with. Well done. This is my niece, Melanie.”

  So this was Margo Deline, the woman whose organizational skills Aunt Peg admired, the one who’d lured a diverse group of people to the Pennsylvania mountains to focus on learning more about dogs.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said.

  “We’ll just see about that.”

  She grasped my hand and pumped it firmly.

  “Now, Margo,” Aunt Peg reproved. “We just got here. Don’t try to scare Melanie off already.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m accustomed to my aunt’s company. It takes more than a determined woman to scare me.”

  “I see she has your number,” Margo said to Peg. Then she turned to me and stared hard. “Now, what’s this I hear about a Chihuahua?”

  I felt like a second grader being called before the principal. And being asked to tattle on someone else.

  I’m a teacher; I’m used to being on the other side of the equation. So I didn’t even hesitate before spilling my guts.

  “One of the judges has a dog in her purse,” I said.

  Margo sighed. “Let me guess. Florence Donner?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “She takes that silly little animal with her everywhere. Once she even carried him into the ring when she was judging. Left him sitting on the judge’s table while she went about her job. Her steward just about had a fit.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I love dogs as much as the next person, perhaps more. But Button has been so thoroughly spoiled by that woman that he hardly even qualifies as canine.”

  “Margo has sporting dogs,” Peg interjected.

  It sounded like a non sequitur but she knew I’d follow her train of thought. Margo liked dogs that were big and sturdy and useful. Dogs that would leap into icy waters to retrieve game by day and drape their heavy bodies over their owners’ feet to warm them at night.

  “I have nothing against little dogs,” Margo said firmly. “Just little dogs who are where they’re not supposed to be. Every single piece of literature we sent out about the symposium stated in bold letters ‘No Pets Allowed.’ But of course Florence would be the one to assume that she’s above the rules.”

  “I just met Florence earlier,” I said. “She seemed like an interesting woman.”

  “That’s one way to put it.” Margo reached over and patted my arm. “And aren’t you a dear to be so tactful? I guess I’d have to say that Florence is like that dog of hers, more than a little spoiled. In her whole life, very few people have bothered to tell her no, and she certainly doesn’t see why anyone should start now.”

  That didn’t bode well for Peg’s and Richard’s budding relationship, did it?

  I glanced at my aunt. Her brow was furrowed; she was deep in thought. She looked like the Before picture in a Botox commercial.

  “What will you do about it?” I asked. With luck, Florence
might be asked to take her contraband pet and leave the symposium.

  That optimistic thought didn’t last long.

  “There’s not much I can do, is there? Both Florence and Button are already in residence. As long as she keeps him mostly out of sight, I imagine I’ll just have to pretend I don’t notice anything out of the ordinary.”

  Margo turned back to Peg. “Listen, that isn’t why I wanted to talk to you. Florence Donner is small potatoes compared to the other potential problems we’ve got brewing. Two things. First, what have you heard about Charles Evans and the speech he’s planning to give tomorrow?”

  “Nothing.” Aunt Peg perked up. There’s nothing she enjoys more than the prospect of mayhem. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m not sure. Nobody has said anything to me directly, but there are several unsavory rumors floating around. I’ve heard that his keynote address is going to be highly controversial. It’s scheduled to take place in the largest lecture hall and the room is going to be packed. I hope he isn’t planning anything outrageous.”

  “Charles, outrageous?” Peg looked dubious. “That would be most unlike him.”

  Even though I didn’t know the man, I had to agree. He certainly looked like a straight arrow. I remembered Aunt Peg had said that Charles would be talking about the future of dog shows. The topic sounded innocuous enough.

  “That’s what I thought,” Margo said. “And it’s not like anyone actually expects him to prognosticate from the podium. Charles chose the topic and I thought it seemed like something harmless and entertaining that he could have some fun with. But now I don’t know…I’ve heard just enough innuendo to make me start to worry.”

  “There’s an easy solution to that, you know.” Peg nodded across the room to where Charles and Caroline were standing in a group of fellow judges. “Why don’t you march over there, pull him aside, and ask him to tell you what he’s going to say? You’d be well within your rights as director of the symposium to demand a heads-up.”

  “You don’t think I haven’t already tried? Charles can be slippery as a fish when he wants to be. He’s very aware of his position in the dog show world and not above using it to his advantage. I’d barely even gotten the question out before he totally dismissed me. He said he wouldn’t dream of spoiling the effect his speech was going to have by talking about it ahead of time.”

  That didn’t sound good.

  Aunt Peg frowned. “What about Caroline? What does she have to say?”

  “I’ve known Caroline for a hundred years,” said Margo. “She and I started out doing obedience together back in the Dark Ages. I wouldn’t say we’re best friends, but if she thought I needed a warning, I’d like to think I could count on her to pass one along.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. Caroline says that Charles keeps certain things private, even from her. She has no idea what he’s planning.”

  We all stood there and considered that.

  “We’ve been no help with your first problem,” Peg said after a minute. “You mentioned two. What’s the other?”

  Margo looked resigned. “More unsubstantiated rumor, I’m afraid. Apparently one of our esteemed judges has gotten himself caught with his hand in the cookie jar.”

  “Taking bribes in exchange for wins?” Aunt Peg elucidated just in case I hadn’t caught on.

  She needn’t have worried. A story like that wasn’t a new one. For as long as I’d been showing dogs, I’d heard similar rumors. An infraction of that sort was enough to end, or at least severely curtail, a career. But as long as the talk remained just that, nothing ever came of it.

  “Just so. I’ve heard that a disgruntled exhibitor is about to turn him in.”

  “Who’s the judge?” I asked, beating Aunt Peg to the punch.

  “Unfortunately, I haven’t a clue. If I did, perhaps I could put a lid on the scandal before it blows up in our faces. I’ve worked long and hard pulling this symposium together, and I have a great deal invested in its successful outcome. I have no intention of letting Charles Evans, or anyone else, ruin it for me.”

  “Forewarned is forearmed,” said Aunt Peg.

  And wasn’t that a pleasantly cheerful thought on which to start the week?

  5

  The reception was beginning to wind down. That was fine by me because after two Shirley Temples, a slew of introductions to people whose faces I could barely remember, and more inane chatter than I usually heard in a week, I was worn out.

  Richard came back and collected Aunt Peg. Florence was nowhere to be seen; presumably Derek and Marshall had escorted her to dinner.

  Bertie and Alana had disappeared together while I’d been busy talking to Margo and Aunt Peg. I could have hunted them down but the prospect of food held little appeal, and the prospect of Alana’s company held even less.

  There was a granola bar in my purse upstairs that could double for dinner. Better still was the thought of stretching out on the bed and putting my feet up. Sad but true; it was eight-thirty on a Monday night and I was just about done for.

  As I walked up the wide staircase to the second floor of the inn, leaving the noise and the revelry behind, I ran my hand over my stomach. I felt the slight swell and imaged the tiny person nesting within. Life as I knew it had changed dramatically over the last few months. My breasts were tender, my ankles swollen, my energy level flagging.

  You better be worth it, I thought with a smile.

  I hadn’t expected a response and yet I wasn’t startled when one came.

  I am, said a voice in my head, clear as a bell. You know I am.

  No arguing with that.

  Once in the room, I immediately kicked off my shoes and unbuttoned my waistband. A sigh of relief followed. That felt much better.

  Then I pulled out my cell phone and pushed the buttons to connect me with home. As I listened to it ringing, I piled up a nest of pillows on the bed and lay down gratefully.

  I imagined Davey running to pick up the phone, Sam pausing in what he was doing to hear who was calling. All the little routines of home, going on in my absence. The Poodles would follow Davey out to the kitchen; several would bark to add to the excitement.

  I could have called Sam’s cell phone, but that would have spoiled Davey’s fun. When you’re nine, things like picking up the phone are still exciting.

  I felt a swift stab of homesickness as I heard a click and Davey yelled, “Hey!”

  “Hey yourself, it’s Mom.”

  I could hear the Poodles in the background and I quickly picked out Faith’s distinctive voice. She was the first dog I’d ever owned and she’d become my canine soul mate. Since Faith can pretty much read my mind, I assumed she knew it was me on the phone.

  “I figured it was you,” Davey said, sounding very pleased with himself. “How are the Poconos? Are they big? Do they have snow on them?”

  Told that I’d be spending the week in the mountains, my son had pictured me scaling the Alps or living at a Mount Everest base camp. Unfortunately my real life wasn’t that exciting.

  “They’re medium-sized and I haven’t seen any snow yet. Actually the weather here is pretty much like it is at home.”

  “Oh. No skiing?”

  “Not this week. And probably not at all for me until after the baby is born.”

  “The baby needs a name,” said Davey.

  This was a familiar complaint. Davey is very organized and he likes the world around him to be the same.

  “Sam-Dad and I are working on it,” he said.

  “Good. What have you come up with?”

  “We’re thinking maybe Rufus.”

  I swallowed a laugh. “Really.”

  “You know, in honor of Sam’s Scottish heritage.”

  “Sam doesn’t have a Scottish heritage.”

  “That’s not what he told me.” This time it was Davey who let a giggle escape.

  “Okay,” I said. “Rufus sounds good. What if it’s a girl?”

  “It w
on’t be.”

  “It might be.”

  “It won’t.”

  The utter confidence of youth. While I loved the idea of a baby daughter myself, I was really hoping he wouldn’t be disappointed.

  “How’s everything going at home?” I asked.

  “Mom, you’ve only been gone a day. Not even.”

  “Yes, but I know you guys. And things can go wrong in less time than that.”

  “No problems here,” said Davey. “Everything’s cool. Wait! Here’s Sam.”

  “Hi, Mel.” Sam’s voice replaced my son’s on the line. “How’s everything going?”

  “Great. If you don’t count the fact that Aunt Peg came to this symposium to rendezvous with her new forty-nine-year-old boyfriend whom she met over the Internet, that some sort of judging scandal is brewing, and that the organizer of the event is afraid the keynote speaker is up to something nefarious.”

  “In other words, business as usual,” said Sam.

  “Pretty much.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Good.” I leaned back on the pillows and closed my eyes. “Tired.”

  “Don’t do too much. You’re there to enjoy yourself, take in a few lectures, learn a little something, have a week off. A low-stress vacation.”

  “There is such a thing?”

  “Damn straight. You’re on it. Let me talk to Bertie. I want to find out if she’s keeping an eye on you.”

  “Not here,” I said with a yawn. “She’s out partying the night away with her new friend, Alana.”

  “Not Alana Bennett?”

  “The very same.”

  Like Aunt Peg, Sam had been involved in the dog show world for eons. Her knowledge and connections were legendary, but his were pretty impressive too.

  “Tell Bertie to keep her hand on her wallet and her back to the wall,” said Sam.

  “Will do. Aunt Peg has already said much the same thing. Now, what’s this about Rufus?”

  Sam’s deep laugh rumbled through the phone. “Just trying it on for size.”

  “And your supposed Scottish heritage?”

  “Supposed, hell. I look fine in a kilt.”

  “No arguments from me, not that I’ve ever had the pleasure. Maybe when I get back?”