I was always game. Before Aunt Peg and I became a team, I weighed ten pounds less and had half as many wrinkles. But at least my life was never boring now.
“You usually have cake,” I said.
“That’s precisely why I’m branching out.” She removed the pie from a bakery box on the counter. “Heaven forbid I become predictable.”
Yes, I thought. We certainly wouldn’t want that.
“It’s blueberry. Fair warning, it might stain your teeth.”
“I’m willing to risk it,” I told her.
Aunt Peg cut two thick wedges oozing with blueberries and placed them on plates. I opened a drawer and got out two forks. We sat down across from each other at the butcher block table in the middle of the room. Sunshine slanted through a picture window overlooking the wide lawn behind the house. The light in the room had a golden glow.
“So,” Aunt Peg said. “Emily Grace’s husband. That’s a surprise.”
“Ex-husband,” I corrected her.
She took a big bite of pie and savored it slowly. “Divorced for how long?”
“Many years. I got the impression she married him before she was old enough to know better.”
“Amicable?”
“Not particularly.”
“Interesting.”
She mulled that over, which gave me a chance to sample my own pie. No surprise, it was sublime. Before Aunt Peg could speak again, I went back for a second bite.
“Is the camp closed?” she asked.
“Just for one day,” I told her. “It reopened this morning.”
“Is Emily sure that’s wise?”
“She seems to be.”
Aunt Peg glanced my way. “You don’t sound as though you agree.”
“At the moment, the authorities are still around, so I know the property is safe. But before this happened, several other worrisome incidents took place at the camp.”
She nodded. “You told me about the three Dalmatian puppies running loose in the road.”
Of course Aunt Peg would remember the part that involved dogs.
“That was one,” I told her. “There was also a runaway truck.”
She swallowed abruptly and set down her fork. Aunt Peg folded her hands on the table between us and prepared to listen. It was somewhat daunting to be the focal point of her scrutiny.
“The truck was supposed to be parked in its carport,” I said. “Somehow it ended up at the top of a nearby incline—with no one at the controls. It went lumbering down the hill and landed in Emily’s pond.”
“That’s not good. I take it nobody was hurt?”
“Luckily, no. But the campers who saw it happen were vastly entertained.”
“Also not a good thing,” she retorted. “Is that all?”
“No.” I snuck in another bite of pie, then said, “There was a fire too.”
“A fire,” Aunt Peg echoed faintly. No doubt she was remembering the fire—deliberately set—that had demolished her kennel building two summers earlier. “Arson?”
“It’s unclear. The blaze started in a very old stove in the school’s kitchen. The head counselor saw smoke and quickly alerted everyone. By the time the firetrucks got there, Emily and her assistant, Mia, had already put it out. Emily insisted it was just an accident.”
Aunt Peg looked skeptical. I knew the feeling.
“What about the ex-husband’s death?” she said drily. “Does she think that was an accident too?”
I shook my head. “The police told her he’d been shot. Murdered. She’s really upset about that.”
“I should hope so,” Aunt Peg muttered. “Does she have any thoughts about how it happened?”
“None. Emily said she hadn’t seen Will in years when he suddenly showed in April. It turns out he was the one who gave her the puppies. He dropped them off, and they haven’t been in contact since. Emily had no idea what he might have been doing in the woods behind her school.”
“Perhaps he was spying on her,” Aunt Peg mused. There’s nothing she enjoys more than the possibility of intrigue.
I shrugged. I didn’t know. That seemed like a good reason to eat more pie.
“The police are treating Emily as if she’s a suspect in Will’s death,” I said around a mouthful of blueberries.
“Of course they are,” Aunt Peg retorted. “The man is her ex-husband, and he died behind her school.” She reclaimed her fork and cut off a piece of buttery crust. “Does Emily own a gun?”
“How would I know that?”
“You might have thought to ask.” She looked down her nose at me. “I would have.”
Nobody in the room doubted that. Not even the Poodles. My first piece of pie was finished. Now my plate looked naked. So I went back for seconds.
“Let’s return to the Dalmatians,” Aunt Peg said after a minute that both of us devoted mostly to chewing and swallowing.
Why not? I thought. Aunt Peg was always happiest when she was talking about dogs.
“What about them?”
“The last time Emily saw her ex, he had the puppies with him. He gave them to her—all three at once. A very odd gift, if you ask me. Maybe that means something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. I was hoping you would tell me. You’re the one who’s seen them. What do the Dals look like?”
“They have spots.”
Aunt Peg stopped just short of rolling her eyes. “Of course they have spots. But what is their lineage? Do they come from common, puppy mill stock, or are they good representatives of their breed?”
I suspected the latter, but there was no way I was going to tell her that. If I did, she would immediately begin to quiz me about why I thought so. The conversation would then quickly devolve into a whole bunch of questions I wouldn’t be able to answer.
“I’m not sure,” I said instead.
“Melanie, dear.” Coming from Aunt Peg, the word didn’t sound like an endearment. “It’s been a decade since you started going to dog shows. Have you learned nothing?”
I stared at her mulishly. “I’ve learned about Poodles.”
“Yes. But along with that, you should have also learned about correct structure and movement. And you must have picked some knowledge about breed type.”
One could only hope. But still. That didn’t make me an expert on Dalmatians.
“Poodles,” I said again. Learning one breed had been hard enough.
Aunt Peg reached across the table and helped herself to another piece of pie. “Now you’re just trying to be difficult. And I dare say you’re succeeding.”
I sighed. It was always a shame when Aunt Peg was right. Because it happened so darn frequently.
“They’re nice puppies,” I told her. “Definitely purebred. What difference does it make beyond that?”
“It could make a great deal of difference,” Aunt Peg said. “Think about it. Their appearance points to where they came from. And that might turn out to be something we care about very much indeed.”
“Will picked them up somewhere,” I said. “That’s all Emily knew.”
Aunt Peg frowned in annoyance. “Jack Berglund’s neighbors might have said the same thing about the new Standard Poodle that he showed up with. A dog improbably named Scotty, as I recall.”
She looked down at the kitchen floor where Beau was lying contentedly beside her chair. His eyes were closed, and his muzzle was nestled between his two front paws. In his youth, the elderly Poodle had been spirited out of Aunt Peg’s kennel in the middle of the night by a rival breeder. The dog had been used as a pawn in a scheme to defraud both the American Kennel Club and a former family business associate. And for a brief period of time, he’d been known as Scotty.
Aunt Peg and I had both cared a great deal about Beau’s whereabouts. We’d devoted an entire summer to finding him.
“What a minute,” I sputtered. “Are you saying you think those three Dalmatians might have been stolen?”
“Don’t look so sur
prised. Surely you must realize how improbable the current story is. No one in their right mind would simply appear out of the blue to hand over three young puppies to an ex-wife he hadn’t seen in years—”
“Emily had an explanation,” I said.
Aunt Peg stared at me. “Then perhaps you should have started with that.”
“She said Will gave her the puppies as a gesture of goodwill. He was hoping the two of them could get back together.”
“Oh pish.” She snorted. “If that was the case, he should have bought her a bouquet of flowers. Or a new stove. Three lively, untrained puppies is no one’s idea of goodwill. Those babies were obviously going to run Emily ragged. And what working woman—much less one who owns and operates her own business—has time for that?”
I nodded. She was right. Again.
“That explanation makes me even more skeptical about the veracity of the entire scenario. It’s utterly nonsensical.” Her point made, Aunt Peg slivered off a bite of pie and put it in her mouth.
I still had questions, however. “Suppose a good Dalmatian breeder did have three nice puppies stolen from him. Don’t you think we’d have heard about the theft?”
“Maybe,” Aunt Peg replied. “But maybe not. Don’t forget, I didn’t tell anyone when Beau was missing.”
Well, she’d told the local police and the FBI, but since both had declined to investigate, I supposed she figured they didn’t count. She’d also told me. But at the time, I’d had no connections to the dog show community. So I supposed that meant I hadn’t counted either.
“People have their reasons for keeping things secret,” she mused. “And sometimes those reasons can be every bit as important as the information they’ve withheld. I think I shall have to do a little snooping around.”
Aunt Peg looked enormously pleased by the thought.
“But first I’m going to need to see those puppies for myself,” she announced. “That will tell me if we’re even on the right track. I’ve judged Dalmatians in the area numerous times. A look might be enough to nudge me in the right direction.”
“You’re kidding,” I said. She could really do that?
“Certainly not. I never joke about important things.” Aunt Peg pushed back her chair and rose from the table.
Apparently we were finished talking. I quickly shoved the rest of my pie in my mouth.
“Plus there’s another reason I need to meet with Emily,” she told me. “If I’m going to arrange a benefit on her behalf, I’ll need to get some input from her. Have you spoken with her about it?”
Of course not. With everything that had happened in the meantime, I’d forgotten all about that.
“Not yet,” I said.
“It figures,” she said. “Will you set up a meeting for me? Sometime in the near future, please. We need to get this ball rolling.”
Unexpectedly a picture came to mind—Indiana Jones swiping a gold idol, then being chased from a cave by a giant rolling ball. At times like this, I knew just how Indy felt.
Chapter 13
My phone rang that night when we’d just finished dinner. I was clearing the dining room table, but Sam picked up the device from the sideboard, glanced at the caller, and handed it to me.
“It’s Emily,” he said, shooing me away.
I grabbed the phone, blew him a quick kiss, and crossed the hall to the living room. Faith and Eve came with me. I connected the call as the Poodles and I were getting situated on the couch.
“I want you to know I’m nearly back to normal,” she said.
“Thank goodness for that.” I laughed.
“It’s a good thing you told me to take a shower before going downstairs. Imagine if I’d gone outside to talk to parents looking like that.”
“You might have caused a precipitous drop in enrollment.”
I’d thought the two dogs and I were settled, but apparently not. Faith and Eve were now both jockeying for the best position on my lap. Since each of them weighed around fifty pounds, I was getting pummeled.
“Hang on one sec,” I said to Emily.
“You, over here,” I told Faith, draping the big Poodle over my left leg.
“You, this way.” I wedged her daughter against my right hip.
The two Poodles grudgingly complied. Then they made faces at each other across my lap. Was that really necessary?
“Okay.” I replaced the phone against my ear. “I’m back.”
“Who were you talking to?”
“Faith and Eve,” I said. Emily had met Faith on numerous occasions. “They’re mother and daughter. Occasionally they like to squabble. And I get to play referee.”
“Families.” Emily sighed. “Sometimes they’re the pits.”
I assumed she was talking about her ex-husband.
“Tell me about it.” I glared first one way, then the other, making sure both bitches had gotten the message that I was the alpha dog in the room.
“I had an idea,” she said. “I think you should talk to Owen Grace.”
“Okay.” I was all in favor of good ideas. “Who’s he?”
“Owen is my former brother-in-law. He is . . .” She gulped, then corrected herself. “. . . was Will’s older brother. The two of them were pretty close. If anyone knows what Will has been up to recently, it would probably be Owen. I’m sure he can tell you a lot more about his brother’s life than I can.”
There was a pad of paper and a pen on the end table beside the couch. It required cooperation from all three of us for me to get to it. The bitches made more stink-faces as I negotiated my way around them, but I persevered. “Okay,” I said, when I’d written down Owen Grace’s name. “Do you have a phone number?”
Emily supplied one and told me that he lived in Southbury. I added the information to my note.
“Have you spoken with him since Will died?” I asked.
“I called him yesterday as soon as the police left,” she said. “Owen was totally shocked by the news. He’s a decent guy. I’m sure he’ll make time to talk to you. I’ll send him a text and tell him to expect you. How does tomorrow morning sound?”
“That works,” I said. Once I dropped the boys off at camp, I didn’t have anything else scheduled. “Listen, on a different topic, my Aunt Peg would like to come and see you.”
Emily made a strangled sound.
I frowned at the phone. “What’s the matter?”
“That can’t be good.”
“Why not?”
“You’ve told me about her. She sounds like some kind of gorgon. Is she going to come and yell at me?”
Offhand, I didn’t remember what I might have told Emily about Aunt Peg. Apparently I hadn’t painted her in a flattering light.
“I hope not,” I said. Knowing Aunt Peg, she might want to have a conversation about Emily’s dog-management skills.
“You hope not?” Emily squeaked. “That doesn’t sound reassuring.”
“I never reassure people when it comes to Aunt Peg,” I admitted. “But in this case, she just wants to meet your puppies and talk to you about an idea she had for a fundraiser.”
“A fundraiser?” Several seconds ticked by before she spoke again. “For the school?”
“Yes. If it’s okay with you, I’ll let Aunt Peg explain everything in person when we stop by.”
“Sure.” Emily still didn’t sound enthused. “Maybe Saturday morning? I’ll be busy tomorrow. My brother, Miles, is arriving at some point. I don’t know when, so I don’t want to schedule anything.”
“Of course,” I said. “Will your brother be staying for a while?”
“At least a week. With everything that’s been happening around here, Miles wanted to come and lend support. Under the circumstances, I certainly don’t mind having a big, strong man staying on the property.”
“Good idea,” I agreed. “Where’s he coming from?”
“New Hampshire. Hanover, actually. Miles is a school administrator, so he has free time during the summer months.”
“Interesting that you both went into education.”
“I know.” Emily laughed. “You never would have guessed that would happen if you’d known us as kids. We were wild back then.”
“Is Miles older or younger than you?”
“He’s my little brother, three years younger. But that’s never stopped him from thinking he should look out for me.”
“He sounds like a nice guy,” I said.
“He is.” Emily replied. “I’m looking forward to having the chance to spend time with him.”
I ended the call and carefully maneuvered myself out from underneath the two Poodles. Eve and Faith were both asleep now. They were lying side by side on the cushions, their bodies rising and falling in unison. Dogs don’t know how to hold a grudge. They’d probably already forgotten that they’d had a disagreement.
As I left the room to go find my family, I was struck by a sudden thought. Emily had asked for my help that morning because she’d said she needed someone on her side. Had that comment been merely a ploy to arouse my sympathy? Or was Emily’s relationship with her brother not nearly as close as she’d made it seem?
* * *
“Make sure you take all your stuff when you get out of the car,” I said to Kevin the next morning. “If you forget something, I can’t come back later and drop it off.”
Davey had opened the back door, and he was unfastening the straps on Kev’s seat. “You’ll probably still be here later,” he said with a smirk. “You’re just going to go park in front of the other building anyway.”
I had been stopping in to see Emily a lot since camp started. But that wouldn’t be happening this morning.
“Very funny,” I said. “But today I have places to go and people to see.”
“Are you going to the supermarket?” Kevin asked as he hopped out of the car. “Because I need raisins.”
“Raisins?” I swiveled around to look at him. “What for?”
“Because they taste good.” As if the answer was perfectly obvious.
Far be it from me to deny a request for fruit. Even dried fruit. “Okay,” I told him. “I’ll get raisins. Anything else?”
“Chocolate chip ice cream!” Kevin crowed.
I would take that suggestion under advisement.
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