Best in Show

by Laurien Berenson

  “Meet me for dinner later?” asked Sam.

  “Of course. I’ll find Bertie and see if she wants to join us.”

  “And I’ll ask Peg.”

  As Sam strode away, I saw Edith Jean approaching through the crowd. Every few feet, someone stopped her to offer congratulations. Though she accepted the good wishes graciously, I could tell she was disappointed.

  “Too bad,” I said when she reached the table.

  Edith Jean looked surprised. “Don’t you want to congratulate me like everyone else?”

  “Id be happy to, if you looked like you’d be pleased to hear it. If my puppy went Reserve Winners here, I’d be thrilled. But I know you were hoping for something more.”

  “What I was hoping,” Edith Jean muttered, “was not to have to watch my handler give the whole shooting match away.”

  Oh.

  Her hand went to her throat, toying absently with something there. The locket, I realized after a moment. Edith Jean was wearing her sister’s locket.

  I was about to comment when I saw Roger Carew hurrying toward us. He must have come straight from the ring; the silver Toy puppy was still tucked beneath his arm.

  Bubba saw Edith Jean and began to whimper excitedly. His small legs paddled in the air as he wiggled in Roger’s arms. The handler paused, looked around to make sure it was safe, then slipped off the puppy’s show leash and lowered him to the ground. Barking happily, Bubba raced the last few feet across the turf to his owner.

  At the sight of her delighted little dog, Edith Jean’s expression brightened. She lifted the puppy up into her arms, murmuring endearments as his small pink tongue covered her face with kisses. The look she sent Roger over Bubba’s head, however, wasn’t nearly as friendly.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. He held out the purple and white rosette and a small pewter bowl, compliments of the trophy committee.

  Edith Jean didn’t even glance at the loot. “You should be. You could have won that, you know. You had the better dog.”

  Having seen the puppies compete, I wasn’t so sure of that. I’d rooted for Edith Jean because I liked her. A judge, however, had to cast such preconceived notions aside and act objectively in making the decision. In this judge’s place, I might well have done the same thing he had.

  “I know,” Roger said to Edith Jean. “And I apologize. So many people came to see him after he won his class. Everyone wanted to have a look, and I knew you’d be pleased by all the attention he was getting. It was my fault for not remembering how young he was. I should have put him in his crate and let him rest. You have every right to be angry with me. He was just too tired to show his best for Winners and I’m the one who’s to blame.”

  Cuddling her puppy and faced with her handler’s sincere remorse, Edith Jean’s ire seemed to be fading. She held Bubba to her and sighed. “Who’s a good boy?” I heard her whisper. The tiny pomponned tail whipped back and forth like a metronome.

  After a minute, Edith Jean looked up. “Reserve is still pretty good,” she said.

  “In that company, it’s excellent,” I agreed.

  “He’s got a good shot at Best Puppy,” said Roger.

  On Friday, after the Best of Variety class was judged in Toys, the winners of each of the four Puppy classes (two in dogs and two in bitches) would be brought back to be judged for Best Toy Puppy. That puppy would go on to compete with the Best Mini Puppy and Best Standard Puppy for Best Puppy in Show. Vic, though still a puppy himself, was ineligible for the award as he had been shown in the Open class.

  “That’s true,” said Edith Jean. “Best Puppy in Show is pretty important. Sister probably would have gotten a kick out of that.”

  Looking vastly relieved, Roger took Bubba back to the grooming area to undo his tight, stylized, show ring coiffure. Edith Jean took over the running of the raffle table. I headed over to the rings to watch the parade. I knew Aunt Peg would be busy getting Hope ready. With luck, her ringside seat would be free.

  As it turned out, Peg’s chair was empty. The one beside it, however, where Sam had been sitting earlier, was taken. Rosalind Romanescue was waiting for the start of the parade as well. Today she was wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt, overalls, and sneakers. A chunky turquoise necklace circled her neck. Her attire was somewhat disappointing. Where were the flowing chiffon, wild colors, and gaudy hoop earrings I wanted her to affect?

  I introduced myself and sat down beside her.

  “I know who you are,” Rosalind said immediately. “You’re the skeptic.”

  For a moment, I was taken aback. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to doubt the woman’s skills. Then logic prevailed. The communicator hadn’t read my mind, she’d been talking to Aunt Peg.

  “Not entirely,” I said. “Your presentation yesterday was very convincing. I guess I’m merely reserving judgment on a subject I know very little about.”

  “Fair enough. If you’ve got any questions, ask away.”

  In the ring, the Parade of Champions began with the Toy Poodles. The first entrant trotted in and was set up on the table. The dog’s resume was read by the announcer.

  I glanced at the Poodle, then back at Rosalind. “How did you find out you had this. . . gift?”

  “You mean did it come to me all at once like Dr. Dolittle?” Rosalind smiled and shook her head. “Not at all. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve known that I was tuned in to the animals around me in a way that most people were not. Don’t get me wrong, however. I firmly believe that everyone is born with the gift of communication. It’s just that most people never use it. Eventually, they forget how. Like any skill, this one improves the more you practice it.”

  “That Poodle there.” I gestured toward the ring. The second Toy, an apricot, was taking its turn. “Could you tell me what it’s thinking?”

  “For certain, no. Usually, I set up my sessions to take place at a time when things are calm and the animal is quiet. The evening hours work well. I want the dogs to be able to concentrate on me, just as I am concentrating on them.” She gazed into the ring, staring at the little apricot intently. “All I’m getting now is a vibe that goes something like this: happy, happy, happy!”

  You didn’t have to be a psychic to see that. The Toy Poodle had his tail so high in the air, it was curved up over his back. He was prancing with delight at his owner’s side.

  “Not very convincing, hmm?” Rosalind didn’t sound surprised.

  “Not really. What about people? Can you read their thoughts, too?”

  “I wouldn’t say that I read dogs’ thoughts,” Rosalind said carefully. “It’s more that they send me pictures and impressions and I interpret them. Animals are very open to this sort of communication. They ‘talk’ to one another telepathically all the time.

  “Humans, on the other hand, are very resistant to the idea. People value their privacy. Most keep secrets of some sort or another. Nearly all would consider an exercise of that sort an intrusion. It’s definitely not something I would try to do.”

  As she’d been speaking, Rosalind’s tone had changed. Her voice had hardened. I was facing the ring, but I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. “Could you though, if you wanted to?”

  “Excuse me,” said Rosalind. “I see someone I need to talk to.”

  An interesting lady, I thought as she walked away. I wondered what her secrets were.

  15

  As the Toy entries finished and the Minis began, I pulled out my cell phone and gave Davey a call.

  Unlike most people, I don’t usually carry a phone with me. Generally, when I’m out of touch, I like being that way. But being separated from my son for the first time was reason enough to not only have the phone in my purse, but also to actually keep it turned on.

  Of course, nearly three days had passed and Davey hadn’t called me once. I was having trouble deciding whether that was a good thing or not.

  “Hey!” Davey said, when he picked up the phone. “Who’s this?”

&
nbsp; “It’s your mother. In Maryland. Who were you expecting?”

  “Nobody,” Davey said quickly. Too quickly.

  I filed that away to worry about later. “How are things going?”

  “Great. Dad and I are having an awesome time. We went to the beach today. Tomorrow he said we could go to Playland.”

  Ah, the joys of part-time parenting. There was probably no point in asking if he was eating well unless I wanted to hear about a diet of cotton candy and Creamsicles. “How’s Faith doing?”

  “Well. . .”

  The word dragged on entirely too long for comfort. I had the vet’s phone number on speed dial if he needed it. “Yes?” I prompted.

  “She likes it here,” said Davey. “But I think she misses you.”

  My shoulders relaxed. Horrible mother that I am, I was comforted by the thought that at least one of them did. “Are you letting her sleep on your bed at night?”

  “Of course.” He sounded insulted by the question. “She’s been doing that practically since she was born.”

  “And she’s eating okay?”

  “Fine. I just think she’d rather be with you than with me.”

  “Tell her I’ll be home on Saturday, okay? Tell her I miss her too.”

  “I will.” Davey didn’t see anything odd about my request. Clearly I was raising him right.

  We talked for another few minutes, and I spoke with Bob briefly. He didn’t volunteer any information about the fire engine episode and I didn’t ask. He said they were sending out for pizza for dinner. That sounded safe enough to me. I told him Eve and I would be back over the weekend and hung up.

  The Miniature Poodles in the parade soon gave way to Standards. Sam did a creditable job of showing off his friend’s dog. When their turn came, Aunt Peg and Hope looked as though they were having a better time than they had in the agility ring. At the end, when all one hundred champions crowded back into the ring for their final lap together, the audience stood and cheered.

  I stopped by the raffle table after that, finding that Edith Jean had already packed things up for the night. Over in the grooming area, I ran into Bertie as I was releasing Eve from her crate. Sam and Peg had already invited her to dinner, she said. We were meeting in the hotel restaurant in an hour. It was nice that someone thought to clue me in on the plan.

  An hour gave me plenty of time to drive back to the hotel and give my Poodle a long, luxurious run in the exercise area before going to meet everyone. Spending a week on the road was hard on a puppy, especially one who was accustomed to living in a home, not a kennel. Faith might be missing my company, but I knew she was better off at home with Davey than she would have been with us.

  Back in our room, I mixed Eve’s dinner in her big, stainless-steel bowl and took a quick shower while she ate it. I still had a few minutes before heading downstairs to the restaurant when a knock came at the door. Immediately Eve jumped off the bed and ran to see who it was. She sniffed at the crack beneath the door and her tail began to wag. I took that as a good sign.

  Sam was standing in the hallway. Obviously he’d gotten delayed at the show longer than I had. He looked hot, and rumpled, and somewhat harried. I had cold beer in my refrigerator. I wondered if that was what he’d come for.

  Then he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. His mouth came down and covered mine. The stubble on his jaw rasped along my cheek. His fingers tangled in my hair. For a full minute, the world seemed to spin in circles around us.

  “Ahhh,” said Sam when he finally pulled away. “Much better.”

  I tilted my head and gazed up at him. “And here I thought you’d come for the beer.”

  “What beer?”

  “I have Coors in the mini fridge with Eve’s food.”

  “You didn’t mention that.” Sam strode past me and helped himself. He popped the top off the bottle and took a long cold swallow. “Ready to go down to dinner?”

  I was. Sam carried the beer with him, drinking it as we wound through the hallways. Thankfully he finished it just before we reached the restaurant. Aunt Peg would not have been amused.

  She and Bertie had already gotten a table. They were perusing their menus when we joined them.

  “Thank goodness you’re here,” Aunt Peg said. “Maybe you can talk some sense into her.”

  Bertie rolled her eyes. I suspected she was beginning to realize that being a member of the Travis/Trumbull family was not always the easiest game in town. Sam grinned and pulled out my chair for me. He’d seen the worst my relatives had to offer and still kept coming back. Go figure.

  “Now what?” I asked.

  “She thinks she’s having an ice cream sundae for dinner.”

  “Suddenly she thinks she’s in charge of my life,” Bertie retorted.

  “I think the whole thing’s none of my business,” said Sam. He buried his face behind his menu.

  “An ice cream sundae sounds good,” I said. “I’m on vacation, after all. Maybe I’ll have one too.”

  “Steak,” Sam muttered. He might have been speaking to himself. “Thick and rare. Maybe a baked potato on the side.”

  “You can’t eat ice cream for dinner,” Aunt Peg said pointedly. “Not in your condition.”

  “If I had wanted to listen to the food police”—Bertie’s tone was equally sharp—“I’d have brought Frank with me.”

  Sam’s menu was vibrating. I suspected he might have been laughing.

  “I have an idea. Let’s talk about something else. Betty Jean Boone, for instance.” I looked around the table. “Amazing isn’t it, that there’s been a murder in our midst, and nobody even talks about it? The show just goes on as if nothing happened.”

  Aunt Peg looked at me reprovingly. “Now, Melanie. It is PCA after all.”

  Most people reserve that hallowed tone for referring to the Vatican.

  “Besides,” said Bertie, “the police are handling things. Aren’t they?”

  “I suppose. I spoke with Detective Mandahar yesterday.”

  “I met him Monday night,” said Peg. “I understand from Cliff that they’re still nosing around and conducting interviews. I don’t know what they’ve turned up, however. Nobody seems inclined to keep the board informed.”

  A grievous oversight on the part of the local police, I thought. But hardly surprising when you stopped to consider that they might still be exploring the possibility of interclub warfare.

  The waitress came and took our orders. Aunt Peg sighed loudly, but didn’t interfere when Bertie and I both ordered ice cream. At least Bertie went for the banana split. The only fruit I asked for was extra cherries.

  “That was too bad today for Edith Jean,” Bertie said when the waitress had gone. “I was hoping Bubba would win.”

  “Edith Jean was very disappointed,” I said. “Roger came over afterward and apologized. He said the loss was all his fault.”

  “That’s a hard call to make,” said Peg. “But his handling in the winners ring certainly didn’t help matters any.”

  “He fell over his own dog,” Bertie snorted. She was an accomplished professional handler herself. She could afford to throw stones. “No wonder Edith Jean was upset. That’s a beginner’s mistake.”

  “He was looking for the biggest win of his life,” said Sam. “Maybe he was nervous.”

  “Or maybe someone distracted him on purpose,” I said. “Harry’d already tried several times to remove Bubba from the competition. Maybe he sent someone up into the stands to take one last shot at keeping the puppy from winning.”

  “If so, it worked,” said Peg. “Not that Harry’s puppy wasn’t a good one. I imagine there’s every possibility that Vic would have won anyway. But after that initial mishap, Bubba never really recovered. He didn’t show nearly as well in the winners ring as he had earlier in his own class.”

  “Roger told Edith Jean that the puppy was tired. He said he’d let too many people come and look at him after he won the puppy class.”

  “H
e did,” Aunt Peg agreed. “There was a crowd around that table all afternoon. I don’t know why Roger didn’t put a stop to it.”

  “Because this is PCA,” said Sam. “And the things you might think to do at a regular show go right out the window when you suddenly find yourself the center of attention here. It’s a heady feeling. Not that Roger made the right decision, but I can see how he might have succumbed to the temptation to bask for a little while.”

  “Nevertheless,” Bertie interjected, “Harry Gandolf kept his eye on the ball, and he’s the one who got what he wanted. I went by his setup earlier today when I was in the grooming area. Did you know he brought a string of thirteen Poodles to PCA? You’d think that would give him plenty of chances to do well. I wonder why he was so determined to win with that particular puppy.”

  Before the rest of us could offer opinions, the waitress appeared with our food. I’d chosen a butterscotch sundae with butter pecan ice cream. It tasted wonderful. I decided I ought to have ice cream for dinner more often.

  My bowl was half empty when I paused with a spoonful of whipped cream on the way to my mouth. “I saw something odd this afternoon.”

  “What’s that?” asked Peg. Oddities are her specialty. She was eating very proper pork chops, but I’d have been willing to bet she wasn’t enjoying her dinner half as much as I was.

  “Did you ever happen to notice that one of the Boone sisters wore a locket around her neck?”

  “Now that you mention it, yes.” Aunt Peg frowned briefly. “Though I could never remember which one it was. She had a habit of playing with it which caused some comment once among the committee members. It probably seems unkind now.”

  “What does?” asked Bertie.

  “I’m afraid we began to speculate about whose picture might be inside. None of us, as you might imagine, knew enough about their personal lives to hazard an informed guess. Someone thought that perhaps, being a southerner, Sister was keeping a picture of Elvis near and dear to her heart. In the end, consensus among the group was that the locket probably contained a photo of their favorite Poodle.”