Hounded to Death

by Laurien Berenson

  “Aunt Peg?” I sputtered. Florence had caught me by surprise.

  “Yes, of course, Peg. Do you have any other aunts here who are pursuing my Richard?”

  “Well…no. But I’d hardly say that Aunt Peg is pursuing Richard.”

  “I don’t know what else you’d call it. First she wangled herself an introduction over the Internet. I gather they met in some sort of chat room.” Florence spit out the phrase as if she found it highly distasteful.

  “Actually I believe it was a message board.”

  She flipped a hand in the air as if the distinction made no difference.

  “Either way, she found out who he was and singled him out for special attention.”

  “They enjoyed talking to one another online,” I said. “They have things in common. Is that so unusual?”

  “Their relationship isn’t the slightest bit suitable. Something he would have immediately seen for himself if they hadn’t met in such an unorthodox fashion. For one thing, she’s quite a lot older than he is.”

  “Richard doesn’t seem to care about that.”

  “Richard is a kind and generous man. It’s in his nature to overlook other people’s faults.”

  If Florence thought Aunt Peg’s age was a fault, I hated to think how she might feel about her own.

  “They don’t even live in the same state.”

  “That’s the beauty of the Internet,” I said cheerfully. “It makes differences like that one moot.”

  Florence’s brow lowered in what I’m sure she thought was an intimidating scowl. I work with teenage kids for a living, however, and I’ve seen all manner of body language. She was going to have to work harder than that to impress me.

  “I have no idea what you find funny about this situation,” she snapped. “Rather than supporting your aunt’s transgression, I would think you’d be eager to save her from potential embarrassment.”

  If there was one thing I never worried about, it was Aunt Peg embarrassing herself. She could smoothly extricate herself from more tight spots than most people even knew how to get into.

  “Richard’s a grown man,” I said. “Surely he must be old enough to make his own decisions about who his friends are.”

  Florence was looking increasingly annoyed. It was as if she’d scripted this conversation ahead of time and now I was refusing to play along.

  “If my son has a single flaw, it’s that he’s too much of a soft touch. He would never want to hurt anyone’s feelings, whether they deserved such treatment or not. Perhaps he’s flattered by your aunt’s infatuation—”

  Infatuation my foot, I thought.

  “Or maybe he returns her affection,” I said. “I thought they looked like they made a very nice couple.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re simply wrong, that’s all. I want you to talk to your aunt.”

  Right, I thought. Like that would help.

  “You may tell her whatever you like,” Florence continued imperiously, “as long as the end result is that she stops following Richard around.”

  She turned and headed back toward the inn. As far as she was concerned, our conversation was over.

  Earlier Florence had dodged my question about her relationship with Charles Evans. Now seemed like a good time to try again.

  I caught up and fell into step beside her. Button hung out of her purse and rode shotgun between us.

  “You told us this morning that you’d known Charles for many years.”

  Florence nodded curtly.

  “His death must have come as quite a shock to you.”

  “I’m sure the same is true of everyone else here.”

  Except for one person, I thought.

  “Were you very good friends?”

  “We traveled in many of the same circles, we were often invited to judge at the same shows. The dog show community can be a somewhat sheltered environment. Eventually that much proximity begins to feel like friendship.”

  Once again, I noted, she hadn’t exactly answered my question.

  “How did you feel about his keynote address?”

  “I don’t have an opinion about it.”

  If that was true she had to be just about the only person on the premises who felt that way.

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  Florence turned her head my way and gave me a long, measured look. “I didn’t attend.”

  Another surprise.

  “How come?”

  “Occasionally I suffer from migraines. I’m afraid that the thought of someone holding an audience captive while he pontificated on the future of dog shows was enough to bring one on.”

  “Someone?” I asked. “Or Charles in particular?”

  Abruptly Florence stopped walking. Her purse rocked forward, then settled back. Button squeaked in protest and scrambled for purchase.

  “Let me tell you something. I’ve participated in the dog show world since before you were born and I’ve heard predictions of doom and gloom before. I’ve seen changes come and go and I’ve rolled with all of them as necessary. At this particular point in my life, I’d say that I feel as qualified to give that speech as to listen to it.”

  Well, well, well, I thought. So Florence was a bit resentful of the honor that had been accorded to Charles. Perhaps she’d felt that her seniority should have entitled her to take his place on the podium.

  I wondered if I could use her disgruntlement to my advantage.

  “Having been Charles’s friend for so many years, you’d be in a perfect position to know who he might have annoyed or provoked in the past.”

  “I might,” Florence replied, “if I paid any attention to such things. But I don’t. If something is none of my business, I have the good sense to leave it alone.”

  “So you wouldn’t have any idea who among the symposium participants might have been angry enough at Charles to want to kill him?”

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t. Until I heard that Charles had met his early demise—in a hot tub of all undignified places—I hadn’t given him the slightest bit of thought. The only time I’d even heard his name mentioned recently was when I dined with two of Richard’s friends that first night.”

  “Derek and Marshall,” I said.

  “Precisely. Derek mentioned that he had come to the symposium for the express purpose of meeting Charles. Apparently there was some matter that he intended to discuss with him.”

  “Did he say what it was about?”

  “No, and I didn’t ask. I was enjoying my crab bisque at the time and, as I said, it was really none of my affair.”

  “Do you know if he ever managed to meet with Charles?”

  Florence frowned. “You’re really very inquisitive. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  Little did she know, I thought.

  “That’s not an attractive trait in a young lady. Men prefer women who are demure and retiring, not pushy and aggressive.”

  “I’ll try and remember that,” I said. “But if you don’t mind, please just try and think back for a moment. Did Derek tell you whether or not he and Charles had had a chance to meet?”

  “I’m quite certain they hadn’t. Wasn’t that the whole point? Otherwise he wouldn’t still have been talking about it. Whatever the topic was that he needed to discuss, it was still unfinished business.”

  I stood and thought about that as Florence walked away. I wondered if Derek had found Charles the next evening in the hot tub and had a chance to finish his business then.

  14

  “Wow,” said Bertie. “That was great.”

  I was in the room, preparing to go downstairs for dinner. Bertie had just thrown open the door and walked in.

  Her hair was tousled, and her skin flushed. There was a sheen of sweat on her brow. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought she’d just had sex. Really good sex.

  “What was great?”

  “You have got to visit the spa with me tomorrow.”

  “That’s where you’ve been?�
��

  “Sure.” She flopped down on the nearest bed. “What did you think?”

  “Let me see, how can I put this delicately? You look like you’re in love.”

  “I am.” She sighed and flopped over on her back. “They do this hot rock massage down there that’s to die for. Gunther’s hands are like magic.”

  “Gunther?” I laughed. “You’re cheating on my brother with a man named Gunther?”

  “As if.” She rolled over on one side, propped her elbow on the bed, and rested her chin in her palm. “Gunther’s a sweetheart, but totally gay. He looked at me semi-naked and didn’t even bat an eye.”

  Case closed. Gunther was gay all right.

  “Although come to think of it, I wonder if there’s a way I could get him and Frank together. I love my husband to bits, but trust me, Gunther could teach him a thing or two about—”

  “Stop right there,” I said. “That’s my little brother you’re talking about.”

  “You know Frank has a sex life. Where else do you think Maggie came from?”

  “Well, yes…but it’s not something I like to spend any time thinking about.”

  “Trust me. Even Sam could learn a trick or two from this guy.”

  “Even Sam?”

  I’d been checking my reflection in the mirror as I brushed my hair. Now I slowly turned around.

  “Yeah. That’s what I said.”

  Bertie sat up and crossed her legs, bouncing the bed a few times to demonstrate how good she felt.

  “Even Sam?” I repeated.

  Bertie stopped bouncing.

  “What’s wrong with that? I’m not trying to insult the guy. I mean, nobody’s perfect. Even Sam. There…you see? That’s what I meant.”

  My hand lowered. I dropped the brush on the dresser.

  “I’m just wondering how you know,” I said.

  “Know what?”

  Bertie’s green eyes were wide and innocent, like she was just now beginning to realize what sort of dangerous territory she might be venturing into. But I’d seen her bat her lashes to great effect before and I wasn’t buying her guileless act for a minute.

  “Oh, you know,” I said casually, “how good my husband is in bed.”

  Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t accusing anyone of infidelity. Sam had been in his thirties when we met. I knew he’d had a life before I became part of the picture.

  But every so often in the course of our relationship disconcerting bits of information seemed to rise unexpectedly to the surface. Things that it turned out everyone was already aware of. Except, of course, me. It was a situation that left me wondering why I always had to be the last to know.

  One time, the omission had been an ex-wife that Sam hadn’t deemed important enough to mention. Another, it was a video game he’d invented that had gone on to earn millions in the marketplace. So there was good reason why I might have been a little touchy about information other people possessed about my spouse.

  Or maybe it was just the fact that I was pregnant. And feeling insecure about the shape of my body. And swamped with hormones that made me cranky.

  But whatever the reason, I wanted an answer.

  Bertie must have read the determined look on my face. She paled slightly. Either that or her post-massage glow was finally fading.

  “Ummm…” she said.

  “Not good enough.”

  “Well…you know…it was Alana’s idea that we go and get these massages in the first place. She scoped out all the facilities in the health club and spa, and decided that Gunther’s room was the place to be.”

  “And?” I prompted when her story petered out.

  So far she hadn’t even come close to answering my question. Or had she? My eyes narrowed.

  “So you and Alana went and had a massage together?”

  She nodded.

  “And maybe a little girl talk?”

  “You know how it is.”

  Sure I did. They’d talked about men. Jeez, what else did I think would come up while Gunther was applying his magic hands to their half-naked bodies? Certainly not dogs.

  “And Alana, well…” Bertie lifted her shoulders in an elaborate shrug. “What can I say? She’s been a busy girl.”

  “Alana and Sam?”

  “She was talking about a long time ago. Like years! Long before the two of you even met.”

  I’d figured as much. I trusted Sam implicitly. He’d never given me any reason not to. But still, when we’d talked about Alana the other night, it might have been nice of him to give me a little warning.

  Men.

  Why do they always think that what they don’t say won’t come back to haunt them later?

  “So Alana and Sam had a relationship,” I said.

  “Alana’s had relationships with lots of men. It’s what she does for entertainment.”

  “We’re not talking about lots of men. We’re talking about Sam.”

  I almost added my Sam, but I caught myself in time. Good thing. That would have sounded whiny.

  “It wasn’t any big deal,” said Bertie. “Probably more like a one night stand. Maybe a fling.”

  Funny thing about that, I felt like flinging something myself. Hormones again, no doubt.

  “Apparently it made enough of an impression on her that she’s still talking about him years later.”

  “That’s what Alana does. She kisses and tells. It’s not Sam’s fault.”

  “I’m not saying it is. I just…” I stopped, frowned, then sat down on the bed. “I just…”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Bertie was looking at me with such concern that unexpectedly I found myself dissolving in a fit of giggles. I knew the reaction didn’t make sense, but it didn’t matter. Pregnancy was a mood swing roller coaster and I was just along for the ride.

  “It just feels weird that the two of you were discussing my husband’s prowess in bed,” I said when I got my breath back.

  “If it helps, she said he was stellar.”

  “I don’t need Alana Bennett to tell me that.”

  “She gave his performance an A.”

  “Not an A-plus?” I started laughing all over again. “He must have learned a few things since she knew him.”

  “That’s the spirit. For a minute there I was afraid you were going to kick my ass.”

  “You’ve been pregnant,” I said. “You know how it is.”

  “Yeah, I do. But now that you’re normal again, there’s just one more thing.”

  “Go for it.”

  “Brace yourself.”

  “It’s that bad?”

  “We were feeling so companionable that I told Alana to go ahead and book us a table for dinner.”

  I knew Aunt Peg had a dinner date with Richard. I’d intended to fall in with whatever plan Bertie had made. That had seemed like a fine idea earlier. Now I wasn’t so sure.

  “The three of us?” I said.

  “And probably a couple of others too. You know Alana, she likes a crowd.”

  That could work. I’d simply sit at the other end of the table.

  “We won’t be discussing Sam, will we?”

  Bertie choked on a laugh. “I highly doubt it. And certainly not in such graphic terms as she managed this afternoon.”

  I threw a pillow at her.

  Bertie dodged and shut up. Which was just what I’d intended.

  The dining room was nearly full by the time we arrived. The buzz of animated conversation was so loud that the sound carried all the way out into the hallway.

  It seemed as though Margo had been right. The same people who, only that morning, had been desperate to hear every detail of Charles’s death were now busy discussing the information they’d gleaned from another day of lectures and seminars. These were hardcore dog people. The murder had already become old news and they’d moved on.

  As Bertie and I were shown to our table, we passed Aunt Peg, who was seated at a table for two with Richard
. The pair looked very pleased to be in one another’s company. They also looked as though they wouldn’t welcome any unnecessary interruptions. Florence, thankfully, was nowhere in sight, so I decided not to worry about the fact that I had yet to deliver her message.

  “It’s about time you got here,” Alana said when we reached our table. “Bertie, back me up. I’ve been telling Rosalyn and Tubby that they simply have to go spend some time over in the spa, but somehow I haven’t managed to convince them yet.”

  “There isn’t time for everything,” said Rosalyn. “I signed up for a symposium, not to come and get pampered.”

  Tubby dutifully hauled himself to his feet and helped me with my chair. He’d been snacking on bread and butter and he wiped his fingers on the napkin he’d tucked into his collar.

  “Spas are for women,” he said as we settled into our seats.

  “Tubby, you’re old-fashioned.” Alana laughed. “That’s a very narrow-minded view.”

  “I may be old-fashioned, but I know what works. And real men don’t get facials and manicures.”

  “What about a mud bath?” Bertie suggested. “Boys like to play in mud, don’t they?”

  “I’d consider it.” Tubby swung his gaze her way. “If you’d like to join me and show me how it’s done.”

  “Ewww,” Rosalyn said under her breath.

  She was seated on my other side and I hoped the sound hadn’t carried. But if Tubby heard, he didn’t respond. He was totally focused on Bertie now.

  “Naked,” he said. “Isn’t that the way you’re supposed to do those things?”

  “Not me.” Alana tossed her head and her silky blond hair lifted, then resettled around her slender shoulders. “That gooey mud seeps into all sorts of little cracks and crevices and it’s hell to get out again…” She lowered her voice suggestively. “If you know what I mean.”

  Obviously Tubby did. He turned away from Bertie to leer at the blond appreciatively.

  Alana smiled and I realized she was competing with Bertie for Tubby’s attention. Not that there was much point. Bertie had no interest in Tubby and I doubted that Alana did either. The only thing he had going for him was that he was the only man at the table. Alana’s response was probably just a knee-jerk reaction.