Authors: Laurien Berenson

Dog Eat Dog (21 page)

BOOK: Dog Eat Dog

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This was going well.

The last thing I'd wanted to do that evening with Sam was argue. Of course it was beginning to look like all the
good
ideas I'd had in mind were out of the question.

“Ready!” yelled Davey. “Come and find us!”

Sam rose. He glanced down at Faith. “You know you shouldn't let her chew on a slipper like that.”

“I know,” I said complacently.

He shrugged and headed upstairs.

Bob and Sam left within a few minutes of each other after I put Davey to bed. Despite my pointed hints, Bob had been determined to hang around as long as Sam remained; and there was definitely something distracting about an ex-husband hovering in the background. I'm sure I wasn't the only one who cheered when the evening was finally over.

I went upstairs and checked on Davey. He was sleeping soundly, his arm curved around Faith who was resting her head on his pillow. She saw me, thumped her tail up and down a few times, then went back to sleep.

Mothers should have it so easy.

Twenty-seven

After a disastrous evening like that, I spent the next day making things up to my son. Joey Brickman came over and I took both boys to an early afternoon movie. It felt liberating to be out running around town during the week. Of course, the only reason we were doing so was because we'd been too broke to go away during the school vacation like everyone else.

That evening, I had Joanie, the neighborhood babysitter coming to watch Davey, while I went to the Belle Haven Kennel Club meeting. I'd also arranged to meet Aunt Peg there. That was a big plus, because it meant I could cut out early if things got too boring.

I arrived a few minutes late, but didn't hurry inside. Instead, I walked down to the end of the row, to the spot where Monica's van had been parked two and a half weeks earlier. Then it had been dark; now it was light enough to see the area clearly. For a moment, I simply stood, scuffing the toe of my shoe back and forth over some loose gravel.

The spot was empty now; there was nothing to mark it as one where a young woman had lost her life. That seemed kind of sad to me, but then I didn't have to worry about business in the restaurant. I was sure Francisco's was happy with things just the way they were.

Inside the door, I ran into Mark and Penny Romano and we went up the stairs together. “I've been telling Penny how very lucky you are to have such a delightful son,” said Mark.

“Thank you.” Delightful wasn't the way I'd have characterized Davey's behavior on the day they'd met, but like any mother, I never turn down a compliment. “He's home tonight with a sitter.”

“Baby sitters, just think.” Penny sighed. “Soon we'll have to worry about things like that, too.”

“Maybe,” said Mark. “Or maybe we just won't go out.”

I glanced at Penny's slender figure. “Are you ... ?”

“Working on it,” said Mark. “And the sooner, the better. We're not getting any younger.”

We walked into the meeting room, and the Romanos went off to flag down a waitress. I headed over to Aunt Peg, who was saving me a seat.

“It's about time,” she said. “They're about to start servring.”

What could they do to punish me for tardiness? Refuse to let me join the club? Grinning, I sat.

Since this was the last meeting before Belle Haven's show, attendance was high. The two legs of the horseshoe shaped table extended the entire length of the room. I looked around and recognized a fair number of faces.

Lydia was seated at the head of the table. I hadn't seen the club president since Peg and I had visited her at home. Tonight, she looked tired and drawn, as if the job of leading Belle Haven was weighing heavily on her shoulders.

Seated to one side of Lydia were Cy and Barbara Rubicov. In contrast to the club president, Barbara was smiling and vibrant, her yellow silk suit setting off a new tan. If I hadn't just seen her at a dog show, I'd have guessed she'd been on vacation.

On Barbara's other side, Cy was sitting next to Louis LaPlante. The two men had their heads together and were talking in low tones. In the next seat, Sharon had her purse in her lap. She was searching through it, and muttering under her breath. I wondered what she'd lost now.

The Heinses were sitting at the end of one leg of the horseshoe, next to a couple I didn't know. Directly across from them was Bertie. As always, she looked striking, but tonight there seemed to be a stillness, a wariness about her. When the meal was served, she dedicated herself to eating it with quiet intensity, not joining in any of the conversations around the room.

I wondered if Louis had spoken to her about my visit, maybe warning her that they had to keep a lower profile. Though I watched, I couldn't detect any interaction between them. I wondered if that, in itself, might be significant.

Once again, Joanne Pinkus was seated beside me. She had new pictures of Rupert and Camille to share, and chattered all through dinner like an over-eager puppy, desperate to find something that pleases. At least she wasn't wearing leggings. That pleased me right off the bat.

Predictably, Joanne wanted to discuss whether I'd made any progress in finding out who'd killed Monica. Using the excuse of a full mouth, I shook my head. It was kind of depressing, actually. Chewing or not, I wouldn't have had much to say.

“I think the whole thing's ghoulish,” she said, giving her shoulders a little shake. “Imagine being murdered like that. One minute you're there, and the next ...”

I stared at my plate with more fascination than it deserved and kept eating.

“At least it was fast. If Monica had lingered in the hospital, her mother could have lost everything.”

I looked up. “What do you mean?”

“She didn't have any insurance. None.”

“No health insurance?”

Joanne shook her head. “None. I talked to her once about buying some, and she wasn't covered at all. Not life, not health, not even car insurance. She said she couldn't afford it.”

“What about the van?” I asked, interested in spite of myself. “Monica must have had insurance on that.”

“It was in her mother's name,” Joanne said, looking superior. “Can you believe that? For a thirty-three-year-old woman, Monica was still tied pretty close to home.”

The sign-up sheet came around, and we both dutifully recorded our names. Dessert was served and Lydia called the meeting to order. During the president's report, she announced that the dinner checks were still missing, and there was general grumbling all around.

When the room quieted, Cy spoke up. “It seems a shame for everyone to have to pay twice for the same meal. I know those checks are going to turn up eventually. In the meantime, if there's a shortfall, I'd be happy to cover it.”

“Thank you, Cy.” Lydia favored him with a smile. “I'm sure the club members appreciate your offer.” Not only that, but more than a few looked like they'd leap at the chance to take him up on it. “Let's give it until the end of April. Then we'll make a decision about our next move.”

The meeting ambled on through officer reports, committee head reports, unfinished and new business. When it looked like just about everything had been covered, Lydia took the floor again.

She reminded everyone of the reception she was hosting on Sunday for former club member, Thelma Gooding, who was judging at the Riverhead show. I gathered Thelma must have been pretty popular, because nearly everyone was planning to go.

“Now we come to one of the pleasant duties of my job,” Lydia continued. “I'm delighted to announce some recent achievements by our club members. Since our last meeting, Cy and Barbara's Dalmatian, Ch. Sunnyside's Spot On, has won three groups and a Best in Show.”

There was a murmur of appreciation, followed by a burst of spontaneous applause. By anyone's standards, the Rubicovs' Dalmatian had had a terrific month.

“Thank you very much.” Cy rose to his feet. “Of course, you all know I didn't do any of the work.”

I joined in the laughter at Cy's charming self-deprecation. Beside him, Barbara looked enormously pleased.

“I'm lucky to have a dog as good as Spot to show and a handler as talented as Crawford Langley on my team. But that doesn't stop me from being proud as a peacock over the whole business. So who wants to see pictures?”

He reached down and came up with several white cardboard envelopes, filled with eight-by-ten glossies. Cy handed the win photos out in both directions and we passed them around.

“And that's not the end of our good news,” Lydia said when Cy had sat back down. “We have another pair of club members with a group win to celebrate. It happened in Maine two months ago, and nobody even told us. Talk about hiding your light under a bushel!” She directed a coy glance at Louis. “I read about it in the
Gazette.
What makes this win even more exciting is that it came from the classes.”

There was another round of pleased applause.

“Of course we're all envious, but that doesn't mean we don't want to share your good fortune. Louis and Sharon, wouldn't one of you like to tell us all about it?”

Not Sharon, apparently. Unaccustomed to being in the spotlight, she was flushing a dull shade of red.

“We didn't want to make a fuss,” Louis said modestly. “To tell the truth, the win came as quite a surprise. We only sent that bitch up to Maine to try and finish her. We never thought she was that good.”

“Hmmph,” Aunt Peg muttered under her breath. “I should be so lucky.”

“It really wasn't a big deal,” Sharon said softly. “It was a very small show.”

Cy's pictures finished circling the table and he gathered them up. “Every group win's a big deal,” he said, poking Louis in the arm. “Come on. Let's see a picture.”

“Come to think of it,” Louis said, frowning. “I don't believe I've seen one. I wasn't at the show myself, but I'm sure Sharon had one taken, didn't you dear?”

His wife nodded. She was still looking uncomfortable, as though she wished the attention would focus on anyone but her.

“Call the photographer,” Mark advised. “They're always getting mixed up. Once I got back a picture of a Bearded Collie.”

Louis made a note on the pad in front of him. “I'll do that.”

After that, Lydia wrapped up the meeting with dispatch. I checked my watch and was delighted to find that it was only just after nine o'clock. There would be plenty of time to stop in the bar and talk to Beth, the bartender.

When everyone began to gather up their things, I told Aunt Peg where I was going and ran on ahead. The bar was through an open doorway at the foot of the stairs. The room was of medium size and dimly lit. On a Tuesday night, there wasn't much of a crowd; one couple at a table in the back, and three men at the bar, nursing beers and cheering over a hockey game they were watching on TV.

The bartender was a woman in her early twenties. She had delicate features and glossy, dark brown hair that was parted in the middle and fell halfway down her back. She smiled when I came in and her face took on a quiet radiance. I could easily see how Frank might have been interested.

“You must be Beth,” I said, slipping up onto a stool.

“That's right.”

I held out a hand. “My name is Melanie Travis. My brother, Frank, works with you on weekends.” Behind me I could hear the low rumble of footsteps on the stairs. “I wonder if you could do something for me?”

“Maybe. Depends what it is.”

“My brother told me that you saw a couple of the kennel club people having an argument. Would you mind looking out that door and pointing out which ones they were as they walk by?”

“I guess I could do that.” Beth had been rubbing down the bar with a white cloth. She tucked it over the rail and stared at the entrance.

Bertie was easy. Beth picked her out as soon as she came into view. Sharon, on the other hand, was almost past before Beth decided she was the one.

“Did you overhear what they were fighting about?”

“I'm a bartender,” said Beth. “All I do is serve the drinks. It's not my job to overhear things.”

“No, but I'll bet sometimes you can't help yourself.”

Beth smiled. “That's the truth. But with these two, I didn't have any reason to pay attention. I mean, the group is from a kennel club. Does that sound flaky, or what?”

“It sounds pretty flaky,” I agreed.

“Besides, it happened a couple of months ago. If it hadn't have been for that other lady being murdered, I never would have given it a second thought.”

“Maybe they were talking about dogs?” I prodded to see if that might jog anything loose.

Beth shrugged.

“A man named Louis?”

“Not that I remember.” She frowned, thinking back. “There was one thing. Actually it was pretty funny. The older lady called the younger one stupid. Said it was a good thing she had big tits because her brain was the size of a pea.”

“Really?” I laughed. That didn't sound like mild-mannered Sharon at all. “She must have really been mad.”

“Believe me, she was. They both were.”

Beth reached up a hand, looped a long strand of hair around her finger and tucked it behind her ear. “I think your brother's kind of cute. Is he seeing anyone?”

“Not that I know of.”

“He's not gay, is he?”

“No.” I laughed again. Frank had had a long string of girlfriends, most of them not nearly as appealing as Beth seemed to be.

“How do you think he'd feel if I gave him a call sometime? I don't want him to think I'm too pushy.”

BOOK: Dog Eat Dog

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