Hounded to Death

by Laurien Berenson

  “Announce yourselves or suffer the consequences!” a voice cried out.

  Aunt Peg stopped abruptly. When she tugged on the leash, Walter halted too.

  “Florence? Is that you?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  The older woman was standing around the corner of the tall hedge. She couldn’t see us any more than we could see her.

  “It’s Peg Turnbull. And Melanie is with me.”

  “So you say. If this is a trick, I should warn you I’m armed with a weapon and I know how to use it.”

  Aunt Peg and I exchanged a look.

  “It’s not a trick,” I called into the darkness. “We’re just out here walking our dog.”

  “Ha! You can’t fool me. You don’t have a dog.”

  Oops. I’d forgotten Walter was a secret.

  Florence peered cautiously around the corner of the hedge. Below, much closer to the ground, Button’s small head appeared at the same time as his owner’s. His must have been the scent that Walter had picked up.

  “So it is you.” Florence’s eyes dropped to the Shepherd. “Where did he come from?”

  “We found him a couple of days ago,” said Aunt Peg. “He’s a stray who’s been living in the woods near the inn.”

  “Pretty fancy collar and leash for a stray.” Florence sniffed. “Just because you’ve got a big dog don’t think you’re going to get the better of me again.”

  Her arm snaked out from behind the hedge. Light glinted off a long metal bar she brandished above her head. “I’ve got a tire iron and I’m not afraid to use it!”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake,” said Aunt Peg. “Put that thing down.”

  Florence glared at us for a moment, then complied. Her arm was probably getting tired anyway.

  “What are you doing out here in the dark?” I asked as Button scampered out from behind the hedge.

  Walter leaned down and the two dogs touched noses.

  “Same as you, can’t you tell? I’m walking my dog. Just because people behave like idiots doesn’t mean the whole world can come to a stop. Trouble or no, Button still has to do his business.”

  “You shouldn’t be out here alone,” said Peg. “It isn’t safe.”

  “Don’t you worry about me.” Florence hefted the tire iron again. “I’ve got my own protection.”

  She didn’t look nearly as tough as she thought she did. Even after a night in the hospital, Florence still appeared wan and frail.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  “I got a concussion twenty-four hours ago. How do you think I feel?”

  “I imagine your head hurts,” said Aunt Peg.

  “Damn straight.”

  “Maybe you’d like to help us figure out who hit you.”

  “Why should I help you do anything?”

  “Because you’re involved in this mess whether you want to be or not. If we pool our knowledge, maybe we can come up with some answers.”

  When Florence hesitated, I added, “You should know there’s a good possibility that several of Richard’s friends are to blame.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “Derek Ryan and Tubby Mathis.”

  “Tubby’s no friend of Richard’s,” Florence said firmly. “Nor of mine. And if that man’s in trouble, he brought it on himself. I heard he only came to this symposium to do damage control. Tubby’s had his hands in other people’s pockets for years. He’s the kind of judge who gives all of us a bad name. Now he’s about to get his comeuppance. It’s about time if you ask me.”

  “I heard someone was about to report Tubby to the A.K.C.,” I said. “Was it Derek?”

  “Good question. I wondered about that myself. Not that I lost any sleep worrying about it, mind you. But now things have changed, haven’t they? Maybe the answer makes a difference.”

  Florence paused and looked at both of us in the half-light. “Heaven knows you’re not the partners I’d have chosen, but you’re here, so I guess you’ll have to do. Someone needs to put a stop to this idiocy. I don’t see anyone else volunteering, so that just leaves us. Fair enough. I’ve always enjoyed a good tussle myself.”

  Like that was a surprise.

  “Last night,” said Florence. “You were the ones who found me.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I didn’t remember much at first. But little by little, things began to come back. That’s why I brought Button out here tonight. I thought maybe if I recreated the scene, something might jog my memory.”

  “Good for you,” I said and my admiration was genuine. Florence was braver than I’d have given her credit for.

  “Did it work?” asked Aunt Peg.

  “Maybe. I wouldn’t say that things are exactly clear, but I’ll tell you what I do know. I heard someone talking when I was out here last night. You know, people holding a conversation. They must have been standing on the other side of the hedge and they didn’t realize I was here.”

  “Who was it?” I asked.

  At the same time, Peg said, “What were they saying?”

  “Both of you just slow down. Back off and let me tell my story.”

  Aunt Peg was as impatient as I was, but we waited quietly until Florence had gathered her thoughts.

  “One of them was Derek. It sounded like he was arguing with someone. That’s why I could hear what he was saying, because he was so angry.

  “He said something like, ‘You idiot. I told you I could turn this around. Once I talked to Charles there would have been nothing more he could do. Everything would have been fine.’”

  “Who was he talking to?” Aunt Peg asked.

  I didn’t need to hear the answer. I already knew.

  “At the time, I wasn’t sure,” Florence replied. “But now, listening to you lump the two of them together, I realized that you were right. The other man had to have been Tubby.

  “And he was threatening Derek. He said, ‘This is all your fault, not mine. We’re both in this together now, and you’re in as much hot water as I am.’”

  29

  “Florence, you’re a genius!” I cried.

  I leaned down and kissed the tiny woman on the cheek.

  “I am?” She sounded pleased. “All I did is tell you what I heard.”

  “You heard Tubby confessing to Charles’s murder.”

  “That’s what it sounds like to me too,” said Aunt Peg. “It’s one thing to believe that, however, and quite another thing to prove it.”

  “Maybe we won’t have to,” I said. “Derek knows what Tubby did, that’s what they were arguing about. We can give this information to Detective Wayne and let him pressure Derek into telling what he knows.”

  Aunt Peg nodded. She pulled out her cell phone and began to punch out a number.

  “That may not be possible,” said Florence.

  “Why not?”

  “On my way outside, I saw Derek at the reception desk. He was checking out. He said he had a plane to catch.”

  “We’ve got to stop him!”

  I’d directed the statement to Aunt Peg, but she wasn’t the only one who leapt into action. Florence reached down, scooped up Button, and plopped the little dog into her purse.

  “I’m ready,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. Don’t you dare think you’re leaving me behind.”

  We must have looked like a strange procession. Three women and two dogs, all racing around the side of the inn.

  By the time we reached the parking lot, Aunt Peg had finished her call. Now Florence was on her phone. It sounded as though she was talking to her son.

  Was I the only one who didn’t have someone to call for backup?

  “Look,” said Aunt Peg.

  Twenty feet away, standing in the glow of one of the overhead lights, Derek was throwing the last of his bags into the trunk of a dark sedan. Hearing Peg shout, he looked up briefly. Then he slammed the trunk shut and quickly slipped inside the car.r />
  We heard the engine turn over. Backup lights came on.

  “He’s getting away!” yelled Florence.

  She leaned down, picked up a rock, and hurled it at the back of Derek’s sedan. Her aim was surprisingly good. The rock bounced off the car’s rear window.

  “Take that,” she cried.

  When she lifted her hand again, I saw the glint of metal in the light. I’d forgotten she still had the tire iron.

  Arm raised in the air, Florence charged toward the car like a woman possessed.

  “Think you can hit me over the head and get away with it, do you? I’ll show you a thing or two.”

  It was a good thing I ran after Florence because the car had already begun to move. Derek must have pushed the gas pedal to the floor. The sedan came flying back out of its parking space.

  “Look out!”

  I grabbed the older woman’s arm and snatched her back. Florence’s purse slid down her arm and we both grabbed for it. Button yelped as we jumped to one side, yanking him with us. The car skimmed past the three of us with only inches to spare.

  I spun around to give chase, but luck was with us. Either that or good karma.

  Derek was in such a hurry to get away that he misjudged the distance to the next row of cars. The sedan was moving too fast and didn’t turn in time. Instead it shot straight back, hitting the SUV behind it with a resounding crash.

  Derek’s head whipped back, then forward again, with the impact. By the time he got himself sorted out, the three of us, plus Button and Walter, were arrayed in a line in front of his grill, headlights illuminating our angry faces.

  I could see Derek through the windshield. His eyes were huge, his expression panicky. For a horrified moment, I thought he might try to drive right through us.

  Time seemed to stretch forever as he deliberated. Then, finally, thankfully, Derek threw up his hands in surrender.

  Right about then, I realized that my knees were shaking. I felt weak with reaction. Not Florence. She hefted the tire iron upward, then brought it down hard on the hood of the car.

  “Get out here, you coward!” she yelled.

  Derek reached down and turned off the ignition. He opened his door and slowly climbed out.

  In the time it took him to do that, he must have decided that he needed a good offense because when he stood up and faced us, he’d arranged his features into an expression of injured innocence.

  “Are you people crazy?” he demanded. “Look what you’ve done. You made me crash my car.”

  While I sputtered, Florence shouted right back at him.

  “It serves you right, you…you…hooligan. That’s what you get for trying to run away.”

  The tire iron pounded the hood again for emphasis. I winced as the blow landed but Derek didn’t look overly concerned. The sedan must have been a rental.

  “I wasn’t running anywhere,” Derek said. “Except to catch my plane back to Kentucky.”

  “You can’t leave yet,” I told him. “Not before you talk to the police. Detective Wayne is on his way.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have nothing to say to him.”

  “We’re talking about Charles Evans’s murder,” said Aunt Peg. “The attack on Florence last night, and the fact that someone tried to harm Melanie and Bertie at the health club earlier.”

  Something registered in Derek’s eyes, a quick fear that came and went as he deliberately didn’t look my way.

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” I said. “You were the one who locked us in.”

  When Derek didn’t answer, Florence took a step forward.

  “You better talk,” she said, waving the tire iron like a baton. “Don’t make me beat it out of you.”

  “Florence, let’s be reasonable—”

  She hauled off and hit him in the leg.

  I gasped. Derek yelped in pain. He tried to jump back but the car was right behind him.

  “Next one breaks your knee,” she said. “Your choice. That’s as reasonable as I get. I’d talk if I were you.”

  Jeez, I thought, I would too. Florence was serious.

  “I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone.” Derek reached down and rubbed his thigh. “I just wanted to slow you down a little.”

  “So you could escape,” Florence accused.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong….”

  “Then why were you in such a hurry to get away?” I asked.

  My memory of the afternoon’s events was still too fresh. I wasn’t about to cut him any slack. Florence looked as though she felt the same way about the bump on her head.

  “Look, it wasn’t me—”

  She went for the other leg this time. Her aim wasn’t as good; the metal bar bounced off the car’s bumper and didn’t entirely connect, but Derek still got the point.

  He grunted with the impact, then glared at me. “Can’t you do something? I’m going to be covered with bruises tomorrow. Make her stop.”

  “Why would I want to do that? All you’ve done so far is make excuses. Maybe if you tell us what really happened, Florence will give you a break.”

  Poor choice of words on my part. But effective as it turned out.

  Derek looked from me, to Florence, to Peg, and found no sympathy anywhere. I could see the moment he decided to capitulate. His shoulders slumped. He expelled a long sigh.

  “I had nothing to do with what happened to Charles. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “Then tell us who did.”

  “It was Tubby. I didn’t know anything until after, when it was too late.”

  “Why did he do it?” Aunt Peg asked quickly.

  Now that Derek had decided to talk, none of us wanted to give him a chance to catch his breath. Or change his mind.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Tubby’s an idiot,” said Florence. “We all know that so you can skip that part.”

  “We also know that he was about to be reported to the A.K.C.,” I said. “Was that your doing?”

  Derek nodded reluctantly. “What choice did I have? Showing dogs is hard enough. Hell, just breeding good dogs is harder still. You try for years to get that once-in-a-lifetime dog and even then you’re still up against it. Between the pros with their enormous strings of dogs and all the bullshit politics…”

  I couldn’t help feeling a modicum of sympathy and I suspected Aunt Peg did too. We’d both been there.

  Derek’s voice rose in anger as he continued to speak. “When Tubby dumped me in a group that I should have won and then pulled me aside afterward and told me I could win the next time and as many times after that as I wanted as long as I was willing to pay the price, I got so mad I guess something inside me just snapped. I looked at Tubby and thought, By the time I get through with you at least there will be one less crooked judge for exhibitors like me to contend with.”

  Except that wasn’t what had happened, I thought. Tubby was still judging and Charles was dead. Somewhere along the way, things had gone horribly wrong.

  “You planned to turn him in,” said Aunt Peg. “But you didn’t. What stopped you?”

  Derek gave a small, mirthless laugh. “I’ve been involved in the dog world long enough to know how things work. Shows aren’t the only place where politics is the name of the game.

  “After I calmed down, I thought about how it would work. Who was going to take my word over that of someone like Tubby? He’s approved to judge two groups and he has big assignments almost every weekend. I realized I needed to get someone bigger than me…someone important…on my side to speak for me.”

  “Charles Evans,” I said. He’d been a man of stature and, according to most of those who knew him, a man of principle. Derek had made a good choice.

  “That’s right. I contacted him by e-mail a couple of weeks ago. Told him enough of the story to see whether he’d be interested in getting involved. He e-mailed back and said that we should get together and talk about it. That’s why I signed up to come to the symposi
um.”

  “Tubby found out what you were going to do, didn’t he?” Aunt Peg said. “You were threatening not only his career but his entire way of life.”

  Florence nodded in agreement as Aunt Peg spoke.

  The two women understood Tubby’s predicament in a way that few other people would have. Both of them had devoted decades to the sport of dogs. Their social group, their hobbies, their livelihoods, everything that was important to them revolved around their involvement in the dog show world.

  Derek had given us a motive for what Tubby had done, but there was still a big piece of the puzzle missing.

  “There’s something you’re not telling us,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “So far you’ve made yourself sound like a pretty upstanding guy. So how did you get from wanting to do the right thing to knocking Florence out and locking me in the steam room?”

  “Oh, that.”

  “Yes, that,” Florence repeated sharply. “You’re lucky I have such a hard head. Otherwise, you might have killed me.”

  “You have that part all wrong,” said Derek. “You ought to be thanking me for saving your life. Last night when Tubby realized you’d overheard us, I was afraid he was going to do something drastic. It’s a good thing for you I was there. If I hadn’t knocked his arm away, he would have hit you harder than he did.”

  “Mother?”

  The door to the inn opened and Richard came hurrying out. He saw our group standing in the parking lot and headed our way.

  “I just got your message. What’s going on?”

  He slowed as he drew near and took in the entire scene. “Has there been an accident? Is everyone all right?”

  “Everyone is fine, dear,” Florence said. “I thought we might need your help, but it turns out we’re doing just fine on our own. So stand aside for a moment and let us beat the rest of the confession out of Derek here.”

  “What confession?” Richard sounded more confused than ever. “What are you talking about? And why are you holding a tire iron?”

  Florence didn’t bother to reply. Like a Cocker with a bird to flush, she had her attention focused on Derek.