Authors: Laurien Berenson

Dog Eat Dog (18 page)

BOOK: Dog Eat Dog

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Davey had left his bag on the table. I opened it and found a poster, a mug, a tee shirt, two candles, and a ship in a bottle. “Do you think you bought enough?” I asked.

Bob had his head down on the table, cradled in his arms. He opened one eye. “Davey asked for all that stuff,” he said. As if that was a perfectly good reason.

“Didn't it ever occur to you to say no?”

“I thought I wouldn't have to. I thought after he got a few things he'd figure that would be enough.”

Such naivete. It was touching, really.

“What a day.” Bob sighed. “I feel like I'm a hundred years old. Doesn't he ever wind down?”

“Not that I've seen,” I said cheerfully. “Want to stay for dinner?”

“I'm too tired to eat. I'm going to go back to the hotel, take a shower, and fall into bed.”

He couldn't wait to get away. It was written all over his face.

“By the way,” I said. “I'm going to be out all tomorrow afternoon. You'll take Davey, won't you?”

The only answer he could manage was a groan.

Twenty-four

Sunday morning, I called Frank early enough to get him out of bed. Nine o'clock. By then, Davey and I had been up for hours. Then again, we hadn't been working half the night, as I knew Frank had.

All right, so maybe I thought the jolt would be good for him, okay?

I'd spent the last week stewing over the fact that it was Frank, my own brother, who'd given Bob the information he needed to feel justified in trying to take away my son. Frank and I didn't have the best of relationships, but I'd never have expected him to betray me like that.

I knew his machine would come on after the fifth ring. I let the phone ring four times, then hung up and dialed again. On my third attempt, Frank picked up.

“Shit,” he said. “This better be an emergency.”

“It's Melanie. And good morning to you, too.”

“Is it morning already? It feels like the middle of the night.”

“Rise and shine. I want to talk to you.”

“Can't it wait until a more civilized hour?”

I'd been waiting seven days already. At first I had been too upset to call. By mid-week, pain had softened to hurt. But sometime in the last few days, my resolve had hardened. Now I was angry.

That seemed to me to be the perfect time for Frank and me to talk.

“Wake up,” I said. “I have something to say to you.”

“I'm awake,” Frank grumbled. “A constantly ringing phone has that effect.”

I knew how my brother felt. I can be grouchy in the morning too. I pictured him sitting up in bed, trying ineffectually to rub the sleep from his eyes. But I refused to feel sorry for him.

“I hear you and Bob got together last week.”

“Is that what this is about? God, Mel. Get a grip. We used to be family, remember? Just because you and he are enemies nowâ”

“We're not enemies,” I said firmly. “Bob and I get along fine.” Especially when we had two-thirds of the country between us and he wasn't trying to take my son away. “I understand you told him some things he didn't know about the family.”

“Yeah.” Frank's tone was guarded. “I guess I did.”

“Why?”

The silence lingered for an extra few seconds. Then Frank said, “I thought it might help.”

“You
what?
”

“Damn it Mel, deafening me isn't going to accomplish anything. I thought it might help if he knew a few things.”

“How could that possibly help?”

“I'll tell you if you promise not to yell again.”

He sounded like a four year old. Seething, I promised.

“We were just talking, you know? Bob mentioned something about taking Davey back to Texas. I knew how you felt about that so I said, you can't take Davey away from my sister He's all she has. You know how broken up she was when we lost our parents. Then one thing just sort of led to another. I thought it might make him more sympathetic if he heard the whole story.”

I sighed softly. Frank had botched things up big-time, but at least he hadn't done it intentionally. I supposed that was something.

“I take it it didn't work?” he asked.

“No, it didn't.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Apology accepted. Just don't try to help anymore, okay?”

“If that's what you want, sure.”

I'd started to hang up the phone, when Frank said, “Listen, since I'm up anyway, there's one more thing. I was talking to one of the other bartenders at Francisco's. A girl named Beth.”

If Beth was old enough to tend bar, she was old enough to be called a woman. I thought about correcting him, as I had Bob, but decided against it. Sometimes Frank and I get along better if I keep most of what I'm thinking to myself.

“Anyway, she and I were talking about that lady who got murdered in the parking lot.”

I sat up and paid attention. “Did Beth see something?”

“No. She was inside the restaurant the whole time. She didn't even know anything had happened until the police showed up.”

“Oh.”

“But she had plenty to say about those kennel club people. I think you ought to reconsider getting involved with them. Beth works most Tuesdays so she gets to see them come and go, and according to her, half of them are nuts. The way they carry on, she said it's less surprising that one of them is dead, than that more aren't.”

I chuckled at that. Beth sounded pretty astute for someone watching from the sidelines. “Did she mention anything in particular?”

“She saw a couple of them get into a fight. In February, I think. Two women came into the bar after the meeting, and both of them were pretty steamed.”

“Was one of them Monica?” I asked eagerly.

“The lady that got murdered? No. The police showed Beth her picture, and she said it wasn't. One of these women was a knockout of a redhead.”

It had to be Bertie. “What about the other?”

“Beth didn't know. Just some middle-aged lady with her glasses hanging around her neck. She ordered a Pina Colada.”

That rang a bell. I had to stop and think for a moment, but then I remembered. Sharon LaPlante wore her glasses on a string around her neck. I'd noticed that because Louis had said she was always losing things. Just before he'd served her a drink that was white and frothy.

“Is Beth on this week?” I asked.

“I guess so.”

The April meeting of the Belle Haven Kennel Club was scheduled for Tuesday night. I hadn't decided if I was going to attend, but the extra bonus of being able to talk to Beth tipped the scales in that direction.

“Take some advice from your little brother,” said Frank. “Stay away from these people. They're a bunch of kooks.”

Tell me something I don't know.

Bob arrived at noon, no surprise there. Meal times seemed to activate his homing instincts. I fixed sandwiches for the three of us, and let Davey have two double-fudge brownies for dessert. Why should I be the parent who is always the mean one?

Besides, by the time the sugar hit his blood stream, I'd be long gone.

Usually Aunt Peg likes me to bring Faith along when I visit. But today the puppy was staying home. With a brand new litter coming, Peg wasn't taking any chances with germs.

I didn't bother to ring the doorbell. As I climbed the steps, I could hear the Poodles barking up a storm and figured that was probably notice enough of my arrival. A few moments later, Aunt Peg opened the door and quickly drew me inside.

“Come on,” she said, sprinting back up the stairs with amazing speed for someone her age. “Hurry up. I think we're about to have another one.”

“Another puppy?” My eyes widened. “She's having them now?”

“Since eight o'clock this morning. I was up all night watching and wouldn't you know, Chloe waited until it got light to get started. Six so far, three boys and three girls. Hurry
up.
”

Striding down the second floor hallway, Aunt Peg opened the door to a guest room just wide enough for me to slip inside. Shooing away the curious Standard Poodles milling about outside, she came in too, then shut the door behind her.

The black Standard Poodle bitch was lying in a large, low-sided wooden box. She rose a bit as we came in, dislodging the small black babies nursing at her side.

“There's a good girl,” Aunt Peg crooned. “You're doing a fine job. You remember Melanie.”

Peg took my hand and extended it so the bitch could sniff. Chloe did indeed remember me and she settled back down among her new brood with a groan.

“What's the matter with her?” I asked. “Why does she sound like that?”

“She's having contractions. It won't be long.”

I was wearing a jacket and I took it off and threw it on the bed. A minute later, my sweater followed. Chloe was lying on her side, still moaning softly.

“Maybe she's hot. It's awfully hot in here. Why don't you turn the heat down?”

“It has to be hot,” said Aunt Peg. “Puppies are born without the ability to regulate their own body temperatures. The worst thing you can do to a newborn puppy is allow it to get chilled. They can live without food for a certain period of time, but they can't live without warmth. Ohh, here we go ...”

Moving quickly, Aunt Peg reached into the whelping box and began to gather up the puppies. There was another, much smaller box sitting off to one side. It was made of cardboard and had a heating pad in the bottom. Hurriedly, Peg transferred the puppies into the small box and out of the way as Chloe began to have the hard, pushing contractions that would soon produce another puppy.

“Good girl,” Peg whispered, stroking the bitch's side. “You're doing great.”

Three good pushes and the job was done. The puppy arrived head-first and curled in a fetal position. Aunt Peg broke the sac and cleaned off the puppy's nose and mouth. As soon as she was sure that the baby was breathing, she took her hands away and let the bitch take over.

Chloe dried the puppy and severed the umbilical cord. Moving blindly, the puppy crawled around the floor of the box, seeking food and warmth. Aunt Peg lifted Chloe's hindquarter, replaced the soiled pads beneath her with fresh ones, then guided the newborn to a teat. It latched on and began to suck contentedly.

“What about the others?” I asked. “Shouldn't we put them back?”

“Not yet. Puppies very often arrive in pairs. You get a long time off in between, then two come almost together. Let's wait a few minutes and see.”

As usual when it came to dogs, Aunt Peg was right. In what seemed like no time at all, Chloe's contractions started again. This time I knew what to expect. As Peg encouraged the dam along, I picked up the new puppy and placed her on the heating pad with her litter mates. They'd all piled together into a small heap and were sleeping soundly.

Ten minutes later, another girl puppy had arrived. Aunt Peg changed the bedding once more, then Chloe lay back down in the whelping box and we moved her litter back in with her. The puppies awoke, cheeping like little birds. They scrambled around, then began to nurse.

“That may be it,” said Aunt Peg. “Eight is a good size litter for a Standard. But there could also be one or two more.”

“How do we know?”

“We don't. So we wait and see. If any more are coming now, it will be a while. How about some tea?”

I followed her down to the kitchen. The herd of house Poodles was waiting outside the bedroom door and milled around us as we walked. I recognized Beau, the dog I'd spent the previous summer searching for, and gave him an extra pat. His tail came up, wagging happily, and he trotted along at my side.

If Aunt Peg noticed the defection of her favorite, she didn't mention it. She put the pot on for tea and plunked a jar of instant coffee down on the counter for me. No wonder Belle Haven hadn't asked her to run hospitality for their show.

“There are sticky buns in the bread bin,” she said. “How many shall I heat up?”

“I just had lunch.”

“I haven't eaten since last night. I'd better warm the dozen.”

She did. And got out the butter, too. When I'm with Aunt Peg, I need all the willpower I can muster. She eats like a longshoreman. And she keeps enough sweets around to stock a bakery.

She got out a tray and we carried our supplies back upstairs so that we could eat and keep an eye on things at the same time.

“I had an interesting conversation with Frank this morning,” I told her, when we were settled once more beside the whelping box. “According to another bartender at Francisco's, Bertie and Sharon LaPlante had a fight in the bar after the February meeting.”

“Bertie and Sharon? That's an unlikely pair.”

“That's what I thought.”

“Let's go back for a minute,” said Peg. “I know you've been doing some asking around. How many club members have admitted to getting notes from Monica?”

“Nearly every one I spoke to. First of all, Lydia. You know about her.”

Aunt Peg nodded. “She sent us on to Cy, who was adamant that he had nothing to hide.”

“Nothing except the braces on his top winning dog's teeth,” I said around a bite of sticky bun.

All right, so I'd caved in. Aunt Peg was on her third.

“And then Barbara sent you on to Joanne.”

“I saw her last Sunday. She got two notes.”

BOOK: Dog Eat Dog

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