Authors: Laurien Berenson
Dog Eat Dog (7 page)
Ten
Sam came over later that evening. Davey and Faith greeted him at the door with their usual exuberance.
“Guess what?” my son demanded, before Sam had even had a chance to take off his coat.
“What?”
“My daddy's coming to our house tomorrow. He called on the phone and everything!”
Sam hunkered down until he and Davey were at eye level. “That's pretty exciting, isn't it?”
“Sure thing!” cried Davey. “Do you think he'll bring me a toy?”
“I don't know. He might.”
Davey grinned slyly. “Did you bring me a toy?”
“Enough,” I said, grasping my son by the shoulders. “You have plenty of toys. You don't need to be begging for any more from our guests. Why don't you take Faith out to the kitchen? Her food's ready, and you can put it on the floor for her.”
“Okay. Come on, Faith.” The two of them headed full-speed down the hall. It was already seven o'clock. I wondered if their batteries were going to run down any time soon.
Sam enfolded me in a hug. “A guest? Is that all I am?”
“A welcome guest?” I cocked one brow and insinuated my body close along the length of Sam's, hips pressing firmly to his. “A
very
welcome guest?”
very
welcome guest?”
“That's better.” He chuckled softly, his fingers tangling in my hair.
My body felt as though it were floating, filled with millions of tiny champagne bubbles. I slipped my hands inside Sam's sheepskin jacket and circled them around his waist. Then I tipped my face up and lost myself in his kiss.
“Gross,” said Davey.
We pulled apart slowly.
My son was standing beside us, hands on his hips. “Are you going to kiss daddy, too?”
I felt Sam start, ever so slightly; but my gaze was trained on Davey. “No honey. Your daddy and I are divorced, remember?”
“You're not married to Sam, and you're kissing him.”
Things were so much easier when he was three. Come to think of it, they were even easier before he could talk at all.
“Kissing's fun,” said Sam. He stepped back, shrugged out of his coat and threw it over the banister, then held out a hand. Davey slipped his much smaller one inside. “People like to do it whether they're married or not. But first they have to be really good friends.”
Together, they headed off toward the kitchen. “What's your mom cooking us for dinner?”
“Chicken. It's in the oven. But there isn't any stuffing.”
“No stuffing?” Sam asked gravely. “What should we do?”
Did they want to hear from me, these two males who were the most important part of my life? I supposed not. Otherwise, I might have mentioned that I'd all but witnessed a murder less than twenty-four hours earlier, spent a full day in school, broken the news to Davey about his father's imminent arrival, then felt guilty enough to take him and Faith for a walk around the neighborhood.
They were lucky to be getting chicken, much less stuffing.
“Try complaining,” I grumbled under my breath, trailing along after them. “Just try it.”
“Smells great,” Sam said when I reached the kitchen. He was getting two beers out of the refrigerator and his grin told me he knew exactly what I was thinking. “I hope you haven't worked too hard.”
“I'll survive.”
Faith's food bowl had been licked clean and she was standing by the back door. While I let her out, Sam dug around in the cabinet for glasses, popped the tops on the beers and poured. Davey had wandered back into the living room where he was building a city out of Legos.
“So tomorrow's the big day?”
“Apparently so.” I took the glass Sam offered and sat down at the butcher block table. “Davey's been wild ever since he found out.”
“This is a big deal for him.”
He sounded as though he was feeling his way, trying to say what he thought I wanted to hear. That irritated me. As well as we knew each other, did he really think I needed to be coddled that way?
“Of course it's a big deal. I just wish I had a better idea what Bob had in mind. He said he wants to get to know his son, but after all this time, why now?”
“You'll find out tomorrow.”
“I guess.”
“Do you want me to be here?” His hand reached across the table and covered mine. “I'm good at moral support.”
All right, maybe a little coddling wasn't a bad thing. I squeezed his fingers gratefully. “I know you are. And I appreciate the offer. But I think this is something Bob and I had better figure out for ourselves.”
“Whatever you think is best. But if you change your mind, let me know.”
“Will I be calling you?” I asked in a sultry tone. “Or nudging you?”
Sam grinned. Tiny lines radiated outward from those oh-so-blue eyes. “Did I mention I've been looking into getting a pet-sitter who could spend the night with my dogs?”
“No, you didn't.” I thought for a moment. The idea had definite merit. And it gave me something to look forward to. “Keep me posted.”
“I will,” said Sam. “Believe me.”
Stuffing or no, the chicken was a success. I'm not a great cook, but I have a repertoire of half a dozen meals that I've cooked so many times, I could probably prepare them blindfolded. Sam is a great cook. He's also very diplomatic. So far, he's eaten everything I've put in front of him.
I waited until Davey was in bedâbathed, pajamaed, and accompanied by his favorite Standard Poodle puppyâbefore bringing up the subject of Monica Freedman's murder. I can't protect my son from everything, but he doesn't have to be privy to a discussion of violence that took place almost in his backyard.
Sam lives in Redding, which is in northern Fairfield County. There isn't a lot of major crime in this area, and the event had made his morning paper. Aside from telling him that Aunt Peg and I had been there, however, there wasn't much I could add to what he already knew.
We wrapped up the conversation quickly. With Davey asleep, Sam and I had better things to do.
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Aunt Peg called first thing Saturday morning. Sam, having perfected his middle of the night vanishing act, was long gone by then. Peg has a soft spot in her heart for Sam. She's determined to nurture our relationship like a rare violet she's trying to coax into bloom. I could have sworn she was disappointed that he hadn't picked up the phone.
“I thought you were seeing Sam last night,” she said.
“I did.”
“And you're not feeding him breakfast ... ?” Aunt Peg let the suggestion dangle. Where subtlety was concerned, she and
Geraldo
had a lot in common.
Geraldo
had a lot in common.
“And who would have been taking care of his Poodles?”
That shut her up. Like Peg, Sam's hobby is breeding Standard Poodles. She would never have left her own dogs unattended overnight, and could fully understand why Sam wouldn't either. I never even had to mention the fact that with Bob about to reappear, I'd decided that the less change there was in other areas of Davey's life, the better.
“Speaking of Sam,” I said. “How come you haven't been dragging him along to these Belle Haven meetings?”
“Sam's a very busy man. He knows the club's there. When he's ready, he'll take steps to join.”
Well that made me feel about two years old. As if she trusted Sam to make decisions about his own life, but not me. I don't usually sulk. In fact, in most situations I'd say I'm much too mature for behavior like that. But sometimes Aunt Peg has a way of bringing out the worst in me.
“Listen!” she said cheerfully. “I've got a great idea.”
If there's one thing worse than sulking, it's having nobody notice.
“Why don't you and Davey come along to the Rockland show today? It's not far, just across the Tappan Zee Bridge. I'm showing Hope,” she added as an incentive.
Hope was Faith's litter sister. Since Aunt Peg knew what she was doing, her Standard Poodle puppy had more hair and was better trained than mine was. She was also being shown more. Faith wasn't entered again until the end of the month. In the meantime, I was delighted to have the chance to see her sister in the ring.
“Sure,” I said, then stopped. “Oh wait. I forgot. Bobâ”
“Is arriving late this afternoon. Isn't that what you said? Frankly, I can't think of anything worse than sitting home all day waiting for him.”
Now that she mentioned it, neither could I. We made plans to meet in the grooming area, and I went off to get Davey dressed and break the news to Faith.
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Aunt Peg has a theory about Standard Poodle puppies and dog shows. Because so much of the emphasis in the ring is on animation and showmanship, she feels it's vitally important that puppies never think of going to a show as anything but fun. Which means they're never simply thrown in the car and taken along for the ride. Aunt Peg wanted Faith to think of dog shows as a special treat, an activity where most of the attention would center around her. Since that wasn't the case today, the puppy was staying home.
The Rockland County dog show is held in the field house at Rockland Community College. There's lots of room to park, and plenty of space inside for concession stands and large rings. A portion of the room was set aside for grooming. Even in a spacious facility like Rockland's the area was crammed with crates, exercise pens, and portable tables.
Davey's getting to be an old hand at going to dog shows. He used to point and stare at all the different breeds, and once tried to talk himself into ownership of an Old English Sheepdog. Now he's able to walk by even the wrinkly skinned Shar-Peis without comment. I hate to think that at the ripe old age of five, he might be getting jaded.
Exhibitors tend to cluster together by breed in the grooming area. That makes it easier to talk to your friends, and it was no surprise when we found Aunt Peg holding court in the middle of the Poodle section. I'd met many of the breeders and professional handlers the summer before when I was looking for Aunt Peg's missing stud dog; and since I'd started showing Faith, they'd accepted me as part of the group.
“Not showing your pretty puppy today?” asked Crawford Langley as Davey and I passed by on our way to Aunt Peg's set-up.
Crawford was a professional handler, once among the best in Poodles. Now getting older, with a career that was winding down, he still knew how to play the game just about better than anybody. He had several Standard Poodles out on top of tables, as well as a Maltese and three Papillons.
“No, I came to watch the rest of you work.”
“Fine by me.” Crawford smiled. “That's one less for me to beat.”
Aunt Peg had her things set up in the next aisle over. I boosted Davey up on top of Hope's empty crate and opened the bag we'd brought with us, filled with things I hoped would keep him busy for the next several hours. I had let Davey do the packing. True to form, there were toy cars, picture books about cars, and a fire engine coloring book. At least he was consistent.
“Do you need any help?” I asked Aunt Peg, just to be polite. I couldn't imagine any dog show situation she wouldn't have well in hand.
“I'm fine.” Hope was lying quietly on her side on the grooming table, while Aunt Peg line brushed through her coat with a pin brush. “If you ask me, Crawford's the one who could use some extra hands. His assistant's in the Yorkie ring and Papillons go in five minutes. How's he going to show all three at the same time?”
Crawford inclined his head slightly in our direction. “Do I hear the sound of someone volunteering to help?”
“Sure.” I left Davey to his coloring book and what I hoped was Aunt Peg's watchful eye. “What do you need?”
“I've got two dogs in the Open class,” said Crawford. “The older one only needs a major, so I doubled entered in case the numbers didn't make it. It turned out to be a major on the nose, so now I've got to show them both.”
Nine months earlier, that all would have been gibberish to me. But now I knew just what he was talking about. Dogs who have not yet attained their championships are entered in shows for the purpose of accumulating points. Breed classes are divided by sex and points are won by beating others of the same sex.
Fifteen points makes a champion, with the proviso that along the way each dog must have two “major” wins; that is, it must defeat a substantial number of its peers at a single show. The number of dogs necessary to make a major varies from breed to breed and from one part of the country to another. Crawford hadn't intended to have to show two of his clients' dogs against each other, but the way the entries had turned out made it impossible for him to do anything else.
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