“Not necessarily. I’m just trying to cover all the bases.”
“Look,” said Crawford, “Alida Trent is what some might call a feisty old broad. She never does anything she doesn’t want to do. I don’t know a thing about an article or any lawsuit, but I’ll give Alida a call. She’s a bit eccentric. Something like this might just pique her interest. If she wants to meet with you, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks, Crawford. I appreciate it. I don’t want to rush you or anything, but I’m free today.”
“Now you’re pushing your luck.”
I smiled. “I always push my luck, Crawford. You know that.”
“Bye, Melanie.” The phone clicked in my ear.
I spent the next twenty minutes with Faith. First, I took her temperature and recorded the result on my chart. It still hadn’t dropped, which was good because if Alida Trent would see me, I’d have to be gone most of the day. I couldn’t leave Faith alone if whelping was imminent.
After that, I took her upstairs and reintroduced her to her whelping box. Obligingly, Faith climbed in, turned a circle, and lay down. Then she looked up at me expectantly. You put me here, she seemed to be saying. Now what?
Now what, indeed. While I was pondering how to make the box seem like a more appealing nest, the phone rang. I wasn’t surprised to find it was Crawford. Not that I’d ever dream of telling him so, but when it comes to getting things done, he’s a little anal.
“Alida’s heard of you,” Crawford said after we’d exchanged greetings. He didn’t sound happy about this turn of events. “She said she always loved Nancy Drew books, and she can’t wait to meet you.”
“Great.” I grabbed a pad to scribble down directions.
“Alida wants you to have lunch with her in Greenwich.”
“Greenwich? Aunt Peg told me she lived in Millbrook.”
“She does, but she’s got friends in Greenwich she can visit and there’s an exhibit at the Bruce Museum she’s been wanting to see. This way she figured she could kill two birds with one stone.” Crawford named a restaurant on Greenwich Avenue. “Is noon good for you?”
“Perfect.” Now I wouldn’t have to leave Faith alone for nearly so long. “I’ll make a reservation.”
The phone clicked in my ear again before I could even thank him. I owed Crawford one. Actually, now that I thought of it, I owed him several. I was sure he’d find a way to collect eventually.
The restaurant Alida Trent had chosen was near the bottom of Greenwich Avenue, almost across from the train station. Of course, I couldn’t find a place to park. Finally, on my third time around the block, I snagged a space on Mason Street. I shoved some quarters into the meter and hurried around the corner so I wouldn’t be late.
After the hot, bright sidewalk outside, the interior of the restaurant was cool and dark. I’d been wondering how I would recognize Mrs. Trent, but it turned out not to be necessary. As soon as I entered the vestibule, I was accosted by an older woman, who’d obviously been waiting for me.
Alida Trent was probably in her seventies, but one look at the woman told you that she knew she was in her prime. She had silver hair, a face creased with a lifetime’s worth of lines, and a glowing smile. Her fingernails were painted shocking pink, and a jaunty scarf around her neck picked up the same shade. She wore tennis shoes on her feet and crossed the restaurant lobby with a stride as long as mine.
“You must be Melanie Travis,” she said, grabbing my hand and giving it a shake. “I had Crawford describe you for me. I must say he did a pretty fair job. I knew he would. That man has an artistic eye, that’s why he’s so good at what he does.”
I nodded, smiled, sputtered. Before I could answer, she was talking again.
“Call me Alida. And I’ll call you Melanie. You’re punctual; I like that so you’ve scored some points already. They tell me our table’s ready. Come on, right this way. Have you eaten here before? The food’s pretty good. What do you suppose they recommend today?”
I followed Alida and the maitre d’ through the maze of tables to a booth near the front window. It was amazing; the woman had forty years on me, and I could barely keep up. I’d planned this meeting so I could ask her about Sheila, but at this rate, I’d be lucky to get a word in, much less a whole question.
I studied my menu quickly while Alida conferred with the waiter about what was fresh. I suspected we’d be ordering right away, and I was right. The waiter had his pad out before I’d even finished reading. Alida seemed to have that effect on people. She opted for clam chowder and a cobb salad; I ordered the French dip. Within moments, our iced tea had already been delivered.
Alida took a quick sip, then said, “As you can probably tell, I don’t believe in wasting time. Realistically, at my age, how much do you think I have left? Pack it all in, that’s my theory. Crawford said you wanted to talk to me about Sheila Vaughn. All right, I’m here. What’s up?”
I couldn’t see any point in beating around the bush.
“As I imagine you know, she’s dead.”
“Not just dead.” Alida leaned toward me across the table. “Murdered. I hear that’s your specialty. So Sheila Vaughn is your new case. What’s that got to do with me?”
Now that we were sitting face-to-face, the idea seemed pretty ridiculous. On the other hand, I’ve met unlikely murder suspects before. None, though, who seemed to take such delight in the situation.
“I was told that you threatened Sheila shortly before she was killed.”
“Threatened her?” Alida’s brows knit together. “Oh you must mean that stupid story about Belle.”
“Belle?”
“My Shih Tzu. Well, she’s mine now anyway. Originally, I’d leased her from her breeder as a specials bitch. She’s a gorgeous Shih Tzu and deserved every moment of glory I was able to give her. Her breeder’s another story. Even though we had what my lawyer called a cover-all-the-bases contract, we still ended disagreeing about the terms.”
“What was the dispute about?”
Alida selected a warm roll from the basket on the table and broke it into pieces on her bread plate. “According to the lease we signed, I was to assume all the expenses of giving Belle a specials career and Belle was to live either with me or my handler while she was being shown. When we stopped showing her, she was to return to her breeder, Carlotta, to have puppies.”
“That sounds pretty straightforward.”
“You would think so, wouldn’t you? The problem arose last fall when Crawford and I began to feel that Belle was getting a little stale from the constant grind of being on the road. Those top dogs work pretty hard, you know.
“Crawford and I decided that it was in Belle’s best interest to stop showing her briefly, giving her some time off before Westminster. She’d been third in the Toy Group the year before, and Crawford and I agreed that this time around she had a good shot at doing even better. Westminster was to be her last show, and we both wanted Belle to go out with a bang.”
“And Carlotta didn’t agree?”
“Oh she thought taking the bitch to Westminster was a fine idea. Why wouldn’t she? I was the one who was paying for it all. But she also said that, according to the contract, once Belle stopped being shown she was supposed to go home and have puppies. Carlotta interpreted that to mean that Belle should squeeze in a quick litter between October and February.”
I ticked off the months in my mind. It wasn’t impossible, and I said so.
“Of course it’s not impossible!” Alida’s gaze narrowed. “But that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. This is Westminster we’re talking about, not some backwater specialty show.
“Do you know what bitches do after they whelp a litter of puppies? They blow coat. And I had no intention of taking Belle to New York looking like a plucked chicken. What would be the point? She’d have been beaten in the breed, and I’d have ended up looking like an idiot.”
The waiter appeared with our food, arranging the plates and bowls on the table with car
e, then hovering solicitously until he’d made sure everything had been prepared to our satisfaction. I figured he’d already pegged Alida as a heavy tipper.
“So what happened?” I said impatiently, when he’d finally gone.
“Didn’t you go to the show? Or at least watch it on TV?”
I’d gone into the Garden the first day, Monday, when the Non-Sporting breeds were judged, and I’d watched the group judging both nights on cable. Shih Tzus weren’t my breed, however, and the winner hadn’t made a big impression on me. Thinking back now, I had no idea what had happened in the Toy Group.
I glanced over at Alida. She was grinning.
“Belle won, didn’t she? You showed her and she won.”
“Exactly right. And well she should have. After four months off, Belle was raring to go. The judge said in his critique that he couldn’t deny the Shih Tzu the win. She was asking for it every minute she was in the ring.”
“So you and Crawford were proven right. But how did you get Carlotta to agree to what you wanted?”
“I imagine you can figure out the answer to that. M-O-N-E-Y. The great problem solver. But just because I had enough to buy Carlotta off doesn’t mean I should have had to do it. Our contract spelled out the terms of our deal. She was the one who tried to renege.”
I dipped my roast beef sandwich into the juice, held it over the plate and took a large bite. The beef was rare; the baguette, chewy. “And Sheila didn’t see things that way?” I asked after I swallowed.
“No, though that was hardly surprising considering that she never even bothered to hear my side of the story. The only person she spoke to was Carlotta, and you can imagine the spin she put on things. Thank goodness I found out what was going on because Sheila never made any attempt to call and make sure she had her facts straight.”
“So you called her.”
“You bet your bootie I did. I phoned her office half a dozen times at least. I’d already been taken advantage of once over this deal. I wasn’t about to let it happen a second time. Especially when I heard that the focus of the article was going to be how wealthy backers were using their money to bully poor little breeders into acceding to their unfair demands.”
“That doesn’t sound right.” I considered what Brian had said about responsible journalism. “I can’t imagine why Sheila wouldn’t have wanted to talk to you.”
“That’s what I thought, but I could never get through to her. Every time I called, I got switched over to another editor instead. A woman named Aubrey.”
“Couldn’t she help you?”
“Maybe, if she’d wanted to. But it was pretty obvious she didn’t. I don’t know what kind of an old fool she took me for, but that Aubrey made me madder than a wet cat.
“I’ll tell you one thing. It’s too bad that whoever squeezed the life out of Sheila didn’t have the leash wrapped around Aubrey’s neck instead.”
Twenty-two
“I don’t understand,” I said. “What did Aubrey have to do with Sheila’s article?”
Alida smiled. “Now that’s a good question, isn’t it? I wondered about that myself. Aubrey told me she was managing editor. I figured that ought to mean she could get something done if she wanted to. So the first time we spoke, I spent some time explaining what the problem was. She assured me she understood my concerns.”
“And?”
“And nothing!” Alida snapped. “The two of them must have been in cahoots with each other. One to write the article, and the other to run interference until it was finished.”
Remembering what I’d heard about Aubrey’s resentment of Sheila, I doubted it. It seemed more likely that Aubrey had been waylaying Sheila’s calls in order to undermine her efforts, not assist them.
“So you called again.”
“And again, and again. That article was going to sully my good name. There was no way I would let that happen without a fight.”
“And you kept getting transferred over to Aubrey.”
“Every time but the last. By then I was really mad. By then, I was ready to contact my lawyer.”
And Aubrey had accomplished what she’d set out to do. She’d screwed things up royally for Sheila, then dropped the mess in Sheila’s unsuspecting lap and left her to deal with it. In front of the whole office, and over the speaker phone, no less. I wondered if that little touch had been Aubrey’s idea as well.
It was almost enough to make me feel sorry for Sam’s ex-wife. She hadn’t made many friends after moving to the East Coast, but she certainly had piled up enemies.
“I’m curious about something,” I said. “The piece you objected to was in the researching and writing stages, yet you seem to have been remarkably well informed about its progress. Since you’ve already told me that Sheila never contacted you, I’m wondering how you found out about it in the first place.”
Alida glanced down at her salad, using the tines of her fork to pick among the greens and spear a thick chunk of chicken. “Crawford told me you were sharp,” she said finally.
I recognized stalling when I heard it. “Thank you. I’m delighted Crawford thinks so. He would never dream of saying as much to me.”
“He told me you were looking for suspects in Sheila’s murder. Actually, I was quite tickled to think that I might be on your list. Imagine, at my age. Just when I thought I’d seen and done everything. There’s nothing like a little excitement to get the old juices flowing.”
“You find murder exciting?” I asked dryly.
“Of course.” Alida waved a hand in the air, dismissing my tone. “You do, too, Melanie, or we wouldn’t be here. So now I’ve presented you with a bit of a puzzle, haven’t I? Things aren’t so simple as they first appeared.”
“No, they’re not.”
Alida Trent was proving to be a challenge. Not only that, but she seemed to be enjoying herself enormously. I couldn’t help but wonder if that was because she assumed she was going to get the better of me.
“Let me help you along,” Alida offered. “Did I have means? Did I have opportunity? Of course. I’m rich, so both those things can be easily acquired. Did I have a motive, though? That’s the stickler.”
“You were angry at Sheila.”
“I was angry at the magazine. Killing Sheila wouldn’t necessarily have killed the article.”
Because she was having so much fun, I decided to play along. “Do you have a temper, Alida?”
“Of course I do. And I’m well-known for putting it to excellent use. Ask Crawford, he’ll tell you. Or better still, ask Terry.”
“You lose your temper with Terry?”
“Occasionally. And only when he deserves it.”
“What about Sheila? Did she deserve it? Did you lose your temper with her?”
“This is good.” Alida grinned. “Is this what they call the third degree?”
“No. I think that requires a small, uncomfortable room and hot lights.” It was getting harder and harder to keep a straight face. “But you still haven’t answered my question.”
“Did I murder Sheila? No, I didn’t.” Alida placed her hands on the table in front of her, fingers neatly laced together like a schoolgirl’s. “Does that help?”
I shook my head. “That wasn’t the question I was talking about. How did you know someone was writing an article about you at Woof! magazine? Who was your spy?”
“Goodness,” Alida said. “You make it sound so dramatic. This wasn’t international intrigue we were engaged in. I didn’t have a spy. What I had was more of a facilitator. Someone who was willing to slip me a tidbit of information every now and then in return for a small remuneration.”
Facilitator, spy: there didn’t seem to be much of a distinction to me.
“Tim,” I guessed.
“Right you are.”
Alida looked so pleased by my accomplishment, that I felt obliged to admit, “It wasn’t that hard to figure out. It’s a very small staff.”
The waiter came, cleared our plates,
and took an order for coffee from Alida. I waited until he had gone, then said, “How did the arrangement come about? Did you approach him, or did he approach you?”
“The latter, of course. I may show dogs, but I certainly don’t keep tabs on every facet of the sport. If Tim hadn’t contacted me, I never would have known about Sheila’s article until it was too late. Not unexpectedly, he seemed to think that information might be worth something to me.”
“And you agreed to his terms. That sounds suspiciously like extortion.”
“Not to me. I prefer to think of it as a business arrangement between two mutually agreeable partners. Besides, I think you might be surprised to discover what he wanted in return.”
“What?”
“Tim wants to be an author, and like most writers he thinks he’s written the great American novel. He’s quite sure he has the talent and determination to be the next Hemingway.”
“Does he?”
“I have no idea.” Alida picked up her spoon and stirred her hot coffee absently. “And it hardly matters, does it? Tim needed an entrée into the publishing world. He wanted me to get his manuscript read. I imagine it’s no secret that my former husband, now deceased, worked in publishing for many years. All I had to do was call upon one or two old friends and make an introduction.”
“So you helped Tim and he helped you.”
“Precisely. So you see, what looked like an intriguing question turns out to have had a perfectly ordinary explanation.”
Perfectly ordinary, my foot, I thought. There was nothing about Alida Trent that was even vaguely ordinary. Not only that, but the information she’d given me was leading me to consider the staff of Woof! in a whole new light.
“About the story,” I said. “Do you know what’s happened to it now that Sheila’s gone?”
“Poof!” Alida said gaily. “It seems to have vanished. It turns out Aubrey did have some clout after all. I’ve been told it’s been tabled indefinitely.”
“So you got what you wanted.”
“Of course, Melanie. I always do.”
That was a sobering thought.
Unleashed (A Melanie Travis Mystery) Page 17
