Luckily, I’d never need to fit into the kind of clothing I’d seen in Lila’s shop, so I went for the double scoop.
16
The Greenwich Kennel Club was scheduled to hold its annual dog show that weekend. The event was a popular fixture on the springtime circuit and had been in existence for more than three quarters of a century. The show owed its continuing success to a dedicated committee that consistently offered good judges and a workable venue, and to kennel club volunteers who pulled together to ensure that everything went off without a hitch.
Thanks to their efforts, the event attracted a wide range of exhibitors who traveled from all over New England and the Mid-Atlantic states to attend. But for us, the Greenwich show—actually held this year in Norwalk—was a local event, and that was cause for celebration.
That was the good news. The bad news was, none of us had a dog that was ready to show.
A small glitch like that, however, wasn’t enough to put a damper on Aunt Peg’s enthusiasm. She phoned the night before and proposed a family outing to the dog show that would double as a further learning experience for Davey.
Having started his education at home, Aunt Peg now meant to continue it in the milieu in which he would be expected to perform. The two of them would pull up a couple of chairs and watch the junior showmanship classes together, with Aunt Peg providing commentary about what each of the entrants was doing right and wrong.
I thought an outing to the Greenwich dog show sounded like a dandy idea. While there, I planned to reconnect with my sister-in-law, Bertie, a professional handler who would have a small string of dogs at the show. She, Frank, and Maggie had returned from vacation at the end of the week, but I hadn’t yet had a chance to see them.
Sam, meanwhile, would be glued to the Poodle ring. With more than a hundred Poodles entered in all three varieties, the competition promised to be fierce.
Not only that, but having recently retired Tar, his specials dog, Sam, like the rest of the Standard Poodle exhibitors, was on the lookout for the up-and-coming young dog that would prove to be his replacement. While the competition itself would be interesting, the ringside speculation was sure to be even more so.
So we were all in a jovial mood when we arrived at the showground on Saturday morning. For once, we didn’t have to pull up to the grooming tent and unload a carful of equipment. Any mother who’s ever complained about having to lug around a diaper bag or baby seat ought to try showing a Standard Poodle. Trust me, you’ll emerge from the experience with a heightened appreciation of what packing light really means.
Davey skipped on ahead as we approached the grooming tent. The Poodle classes were scheduled to start in late morning, so the exhibitors were already in place under the tent, preparing their dogs for the ring. Between brushing, banding, trimming, and spraying, the process can easily take several hours depending on the size of the dog and the skill of the groomer.
Meanwhile, all I had to do was manage one small baby who, at the moment, was sound asleep in a sling that hung from my shoulders. Compared with how hard everyone around me was working, I felt like I was on vacation.
The persistent whine of blow-dryers, powered by a battalion of generators that sat just outside the tent, masked our approach. Bertie, bending over a grooming table, busy brushing an apricot Miniature puppy, didn’t hear us coming until we were almost upon her.
Then she looked up and smiled. Her luminous greeting lit up the tent and caused more than a few men in the vicinity to drop what they were doing and stare. Bertie, tall and gorgeous with a figure that could halt traffic, didn’t even notice. She’d had that effect on the opposite sex for so long that she took it for granted.
“Welcome home!” I cried, swooping in close for a quick hug.
Both of us were careful not to jostle Kevin into wakefulness. Bertie lifted the flap of fabric and took a quick peek inside.
“I’ve missed you guys,” she said, hauling Sam to her and hugging him harder.
The Mini puppy opened one eye to observe the festivities. When it lifted its head, Davey reached up tentatively and let the Poodle sniff his fingers. He knew better than to touch any hair.
“How’s my best guy doing?” Bertie asked Davey. “I hear I’m going to be having some competition in the show ring soon.”
“Nah.” Davey blushed slightly. “It’s just junior showmanship.”
“Just junior showmanship?” Bertie leaned in close and dropped her voice. “Better not let Peg hear you say that. She’s already been by twice this morning and I don’t know when I’ve seen her more excited. She can’t wait for you to get started.”
“Really?”
“Really. You should go find her and see for yourself. What time do your classes start?”
“Not til this afternoon.”
“Still,” said Bertie, “I bet Peg will find plenty of interesting things to show you in the meantime.”
“Can I?” Davey looked up eagerly at Sam and me.
“Sure,” said Sam.
I gave him a none-too-gentle nudge.
Those are the kinds of questions that mothers and fathers respond to differently. You know, the ones that seek permission for your children to go wandering off alone in strange places?
“What?” said Sam. He managed to look innocent.
On the other hand, I thought, Davey was pretty mature for his age. And he’d been coming to dog shows for years, so he was familiar with many of the exhibitors and the layout of the venue.
I exhaled and said, “Nothing.”
I slipped my cell phone out of my pocket and handed it to Davey. “If you can’t find Aunt Peg, come right back, okay? And call us if you need anything. In fact, call us when you find her so we’ll know where you are—”
“Got it,” cried Davey.
He tucked the phone away and was off like a shot. He zigged and zagged through the setups under the tent like a pro.
I stared after him.
“At least you didn’t tell him not to talk to strangers,” said Bertie.
“That was coming next.” I sighed. “He didn’t wait around to hear it.”
“He’ll be fine,” said Sam. “When I was his age, I had my own paper route. My parents never knew where I was.”
“I’ll bet you had to walk miles through the snow in the cold and the dark to deliver those papers,” Bertie teased.
“Smart ass,” Sam said with a grin. “I had a bike.”
“You look great,” I said to Bertie. “Vacation agrees with you.”
She nodded and went back to work on the puppy. “Imagine the three of us cooped up together for ten days in that car. I guess that’s how you find out what your marriage is made of.”
“And?”
I pulled over an empty table, hopped up on it, and sat. Kevin, curled over on himself and snoring softly, never even stirred.
“It was heaven,” Bertie said happily. “We turned off our phones, left the computer at home, and spent our nights in these little lodges that didn’t even have television.”
“Wow,” said Sam. “Just like the pioneers.”
“I guess I deserved that,” Bertie said with a laugh. “Tell me what you guys have been up to while we were gone.”
“Obviously you already heard about Aunt Peg’s plan for Davey.”
“Yup, Peg was here earlier and I wasn’t kidding. She’s really looking forward to getting him off to a good start in the dog show world. He hasn’t even been in his first Novice class and she’s already talking about Westminster.”
That was Aunt Peg, all right. She’d never been one to do anything by halves.
“Davey will keep her busy,” I said. “And I bet the two of them will have a ball together. Which will be great considering that she’s probably despaired of me ever amounting to much.”
“Not so fast,” said Sam. “Don’t forget, you finished Faith and Eve.”
His show of support was touching. And appreciated. Even though we all knew that the two P
oodles in question—one bred by Aunt Peg, the other whose breeding she’d meticulously planned—were both good enough that a monkey could have handled them to their championships.
“What else is going on?” asked Bertie.
Sam cleared his throat and looked at me to answer. As usual, my life was the one that was spiced with all the unexpected twists and turns.
“This could take a while.”
Bertie gestured toward the stacked crates that formed the boundaries of her setup. Each held a dog, waiting to be prepped and shown.
“I’ve got time.”
So Sam took himself off to watch the Rottweiler judging, and I settled into my seat and told Bertie the story of the Pine Ridge Canine Care Center. At least as much of it as I knew so far.
Bertie knew Alice, the women had met previously on several occasions, and she even had a passing acquaintance with Berkley. It was the concept of doggie day care that she found to be utterly foreign.
“People really do that?” she asked.
“Apparently so. Until very recently, Pine Ridge was thriving.”
“But why even bother to own a dog if you’re just going to leave it with someone else every day?”
I gazed around balefully. The dogs sitting in crates around us, the ones who made up Bertie’s livelihood and kept her in Prada and perfume, all belonged to someone else.
“That’s entirely different,” she said.
That’s the good thing about talking to Bertie. We know each other so well that we don’t have to spell everything out. Often a look will do.
“Maybe,” I said, “but the end result is the same.”
“Not really, because these dogs are here for a purpose. Most are competing to finish their championships. When that’s accomplished, they’ll go home. The special dogs may live with me longer, but eventually they’ll go back to their owners too.”
Okay, so she had a point.
We moved on.
“The thing is,” I said, “Alice seems to think I have something like a special knack for solving mysteries—”
“Alice seems to think?”
I let that one rest too.
“Okay, here’s the problem. I’m supposed to be figuring out who killed Steve and I don’t have any idea.”
“You’ll come up with something,” Bertie said confidently. “You always do.”
“That was then.”
Her fingers flew through the Poodle’s coat, untangling snarls and straightening the golden hair. “Then when?”
“You know, before I had Kevin. Back before sleep was just a fond memory and I could still count to ten without having to stop in the middle and regroup.”
Bertie glanced over. I could tell she was biting back a laugh.
“Surely things can’t be that bad.”
“Worse. He never sleeps.”
“I hate to break it to you, but that’s not entirely true. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s sleeping now.”
“That’s precisely the problem!” I wailed. “He sleeps all day and he’s up all night. He sleeps in the car, he sleeps when I’m carrying him, he sleeps in his swing.”
“Movement,” said Bertie.
“I know. We figured that part out too. And his crib is still as a stone.”
“What about a cradle that rocks?”
I nodded sadly. “Great idea, until we fall asleep and stop rocking it. Then he wakes up again.”
“I see your problem.”
“Seeing is good. Solving would be better.”
Bertie didn’t offer any ideas. She just switched from pin brush to slicker, moved from the puppy’s body to his legs, and kept grooming. Which, as far as I was concerned, wasn’t productive at all.
“You’re a mother,” I said, after five unhelpful minutes had passed. “How did you get Maggie to sleep at night?”
“Magic.”
“Pardon me?”
Bertie stopped brushing. She straightened and looked at me.
“I don’t know. She just came that way. I used to hear about all the problems other parents were having and wonder why we were different. Maggie just did everything right, right from the beginning. There was no rational way to explain it.”
She shrugged. “Just, you know . . . magic.”
“That doesn’t help.” I’m sure I sounded more than a little grumpy.
“I didn’t figure it would.” Bertie nodded over my shoulder. “Here comes Terry. Why don’t you ask him? Terry knows the answer to everything. He probably knows the secret to the universe.”
That wasn’t strictly true, of course. Terry only thought he knew the answer to everything.
“Do I hear people talking about me?” he asked happily. “Are you saying nice things?”
Terry was one of my best friends. We had met years earlier when he joined the dog show community as assistant and partner to top professional handler Crawford Langley.
He was funny, and brash, and impossibly handsome; with baby blue eyes and hair that changed color more frequently than Britney Spears’s. Terry liked to shop and his wardrobe was infinitely better than mine, a fact he liked to remind me of with annoying frequency. I maintained that my vocabulary was better than his, but it seemed small consolation by comparison.
Terry knew all the best vacation spots and the finest wines. He was always tuned in to the choicest gossip. Of course, it wasn’t uncommon for him to have had a hand in creating at least some of it.
He cut my hair, he watched my back, he made me laugh. In short, he was the ideal male friend. Except that he got bitchy when ignored. But hey, nobody’s perfect.
“Of course we were saying nice things,” I told him. “Would we talk about you any other way?”
Bertie smirked as Terry leaned in to give me a smooch. He was obviously on his way back to Crawford’s setup from the show ring as he was carrying a Norfolk Terrier under one arm and had a pin brush sticking out of his back pocket.
One kiss was never enough for Terry; he had to aim for the second cheek too. It wasn’t an easy maneuver for either of us, considering the burdens we were both toting.
Then he glanced down and jumped back. “There’s a baby in there.”
“I know. I put him there.”
“Well keep it away from me!”
“Why?” Bertie asked. “Do you think he has cooties?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Terry sniffed, as only he can do. “Cooties! ”
“Why then?” I asked.
I really was curious. Crawford and Terry had sent flowers and a charming card to the hospital when Kevin was born. And of course I’d spoken to Terry since, but this was the first time we’d seen each other.
No big deal, I thought. I’d been busy. He’d been busy. But now I began to wonder what was up.
“He’s too little,” said Terry. “If I look interested, next thing you’ll be making me hold him. And then what will I do if he breaks?”
“He won’t break,” I said.
“Sure, you say that now. Afterward, you won’t be so happy.”
I glanced at Bertie, who shrugged.
“He didn’t want anything to do with Maggie either.”
“It wasn’t my fault. Every time I looked at her she cried. Women. No wonder I’m gay.”
“Kevin’s a boy,” I mentioned.
You know, in case that might help.
“When he learns to bark and needs a good grooming, let me know. Until then, he’s all yours.”
“Thank you,” I said sweetly. “I think I’ll keep him.”
“Motherhood agrees with you,” Terry said, considering.
He plopped the Norfolk down on an empty tabletop and leaned against a bank of crates. I didn’t see Crawford anywhere. Presumably that meant Terry had a few minutes to talk.
“Except for . . . you know.”
Trust Terry never to give a compliment that didn’t have strings attached.
“What do I know?” Always a dangerous question, but even more so when Terry
was in the vicinity.
He puffed out his cheeks and sketched a round figure in the air with both hands.
“Are you calling me fat ?” I asked incredulously.
“If the muumuu fits . . .”
“Five pounds,” I said.
My tone might have been a little sharp. Kevin stirred in his sling. I reached up and patted his back, lulling him back to sleep.
“That all?” Terry cocked a brow.
I wanted to slug him.
Bertie looked like she might do it for me.
“If I were you, I’d change the subject,” she said. “Before somebody strangles you with a leash.”
Terry nodded. He had a narcissistic streak a mile wide, but he knew good advice when he heard it.
“Now there’s a topic Melanie can relate to,” he said lightly. “Anybody died recently?”
“Now that you mention it.”
“Oh.” He looked crestfallen. “I was only kidding. I haven’t heard any bad news on the dog show grapevine recently. I assume it’s no one I know?”
“You’ll never believe this,” said Bertie. “It was some guy who owned a doggie day care place in Stamford with his sister.”
“Not Steve Pine.”
Bertie and I both stared at him.
Small world, huh?
17
I probably shouldn’t have been surprised, but come on.
It wasn’t difficult to accept that Terry knew everyone in the dog show world, and to understand that his charm could pry state secrets from a sphinx. After all, the dog community was, at its core, a rather small, enclosed universe where die-hard exhibitors revolved around one another in an endless circuit of show rings.
But Steve and Candy Pine operated in an entirely different milieu. The dogs they dealt with wore bandanas looped around their necks and probably needed their ears cleaned. The Pines lived in the real world, which on a daily basis was pretty far removed from Terry-Land.
Terry looked at Bertie’s and my faces. They confirmed his guess.
“It was Steve, wasn’t it?”
I nodded. “He was shot in his office last week. The police have no idea why.”
“I’m so sorry.” Bertie sounded stricken. “I never would have been so flip if I’d realized it was someone you knew.”
Doggie Day Care Murder Page 14
