Watchdog (12 page)

Dinner was one of my favorites: pot roast and onion gravy, with noodles and carrots on the side. Sam supplied a bottle of red wine. Davey supplied most of the conversation. No chance that this boy was going to grow up to be the strong, silent type.

Under the table, Tar snored softly. Faith lay down, too, but she kept her eyes open in case any choice tidbits should happen to fall her way.

“I forgot,” Sam said over coffee. He reached down and dug around in his pocket. “I brought something to show you.”

“What is it?” asked Davey. “A toy?”

“Not quite.” Sam held out his hand and opened it. There was a small white object in the middle of his palm. Davey and I both leaned closer to look.

“Wow . . .” Davey breathed out softly. “It's a tooth!”

“A baby tooth. One of Tar's. He's been teething for several weeks now. I thought you might like to have it.”

Davey was beaming. Obviously I wasn't the only one he'd told about Joey's dental precocity. “You mean it's for me?”

“Yup.” Sam tipped his hand and let the tooth slide into Davey's palm. “You can put it under your pillow tonight. Maybe the tooth fairy will give you something for it.”

Davey held the tooth up to the light, studying it like a jeweler with a rare gem. “She might not like dog teeth.”

“I bet she'll be happy to have it. You can tell Joey all about it the next time you see him.”

Sam looked at me over my son's head and winked. It was the tiniest of gestures but it moved something powerful inside me. Warmth flowed through me like a melting tide. My chest constricted. The tips of my fingers tingled.

Until that moment I hadn't been sure. I'd told myself that Sam and I were good together, that he awakened feelings that had been allowed to lie dormant too long. But I'd never allowed myself to call it love. Now I looked at Sam and knew.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I swallowed heavily. “Fine.”

“Jeez,” said Davey. “It's only a puppy tooth. You look strange.”

“Thanks.” The sarcasm was good. It restored my equilibrium.

Sam and Davey went back to examining their prize. I sat there and looked at the two of them and knew I was the luckiest person in the world.

Some women want flowers or sonnets. Others hold out for pearls. I fell in love over puppy teeth. It figured.

Usually when Sam's around, Davey likes to stay up as late as possible. That night he was so excited about the prospect of a visit from the tooth fairy that he rushed right upstairs after dinner. Sam and I followed so that we could make a small ceremony out of placing the tooth beneath the pillow.

Faith came along and watched the proceedings curiously. She sleeps on Davey's bed at night and thinks of herself as his guardian. In her mind it was only fair that we should consult her on any impending changes to her domain.

Davey held out the tooth so that the Poodle could sniff it. When she tried to lick it up off his palm, however, he snatched it away and placed it under the pillow. “That's mine,” he said firmly. “The tooth fairy's going to pay me for it.”

With a thoughtful expression on his face, he looked past Faith to Tar, who was sitting on the floor beside the bed. It wasn't too hard to figure out what he was thinking. My son, the budding entrepreneur.

“How many teeth do puppies have anyway?”

“Not very many.” Yes, I was lying. Mothers have to do that sometimes. “Besides, most of Tar's have already fallen out, haven't they?” I sent Sam a meaningful glance.

“Right,” he agreed, then gave my son a playful poke. “Though if you're lucky we might find a few more.”

“Great.” Davey stifled a yawn. His eyes were already closing.

We turned off the light and tiptoed out.

“Alone at last.” Sam's eyebrows waggled. He looked much cuter than Groucho Marx.

Before I had a chance to answer, someone knocked on the front door. We hurried downstairs before the dogs could start to bark. The porch light was on, and Aunt Peg's face loomed in the window. Seeing us both, she smiled and waved.

“I didn't know she was stopping by,” said Sam. His arm, which had been cradling my waist, dropped away.

“Neither did I.”

“Cheers!” Peg marched inside when I opened the door. “I brought dessert. Is Davey asleep already? He'll just have to have his pie in the morning.”

“Pie?” I asked faintly.

“Pecan.” She waved a fragrant white box under my nose. “My favorite. Is there water on for tea?”

“There might have been if I'd known you were coming.”

Ignoring the jibe, Aunt Peg headed toward the kitchen. “I'll just get it started myself. Plates? Forks? Sam, maybe you could find some napkins?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

I glared at him and he grinned right back. Aunt Peg has always been a favorite of his. Then again, he doesn't know her nearly as well as I do.

There was little I could do besides follow along, so I did. “Aunt Peg,” I said. “Why are you here?”

“To get an update on my nephew's situation, why else? You know I like to stay on top of things. Has anyone called me?” Her accusing look encompassed us both. “Well, there you have it. I had to come and see for myself.”

“Why didn't you just ask Frank?”

“Is he at home?” Peg inquired. “Or have they already carted him off to jail?”

“Frank's in jail?” Sam looked somewhat stunned.

My brother and Sam don't get along very well and, speaking as the woman in the middle, I can only say that it's a man thing. Still, I'm sure he expected that a bombshell like that might have been mentioned earlier.

I opened the cabinet and got out three plates. “No, he's not in jail. Aunt Peg's being melodramatic.”

“Not by much,” Peg said briskly. “Don't tell me Melanie hasn't told you that her brother is the chief suspect in a murder investigation.”

“No.” Sam's eyes narrowed slightly. “Actually, she hasn't.”

“I was just about to,” I said, my second lie of the evening. What was happening to me? I used to be such a truthful person. Thank God, I didn't have a wooden nose.

Yes, I had promised myself that I'd fill Sam in on the details of Marcus Rattigan's murder. But now that the time had come, I wasn't looking forward to the task. The problem was that over the last year and a half I seemed to have gotten involved in an unexpected number of murders, several of which had placed me in serious danger.

Sam's a pretty mellow guy, and he knows I treasure my independence. But after he'd heard about my skirmish with a killer the summer before, something had changed. Maybe it was because our feelings for each other were deepening. Maybe it was because he'd suddenly realized, as I had, just how fragile the line between life and death could be. Sam hadn't ordered me to start minding my own business, but he had made his feelings on the subject pretty clear.

At the time, with the knowledge of what it felt like to have a gun pointed in my direction very fresh in my mind, I'd even agreed with him. However that was before I knew that the next person to come to me for help would be my brother. A stranger I might have turned away, but Frank was family. I hadn't had any choice.

“We've got time now,” Sam said, sounding deceptively reasonable. “Why don't you tell me all about it?”

“Who wants pie?” I asked, falling on Aunt Peg's offering like a lifesaver. I cut three large wedges and slipped them onto plates. “Maybe I have some whipped cream in the refrigerator. Let me just—”

“Mel.”

His tone stopped me in my tracks. “Yes?”

“Quit stalling.”

Acceding to the inevitable, I walked over to the table and sat down. “Okay, here's the story.”

I told them everything. For Sam's sake, I started at the beginning, quickly rehashing the incidents of the burst pipe and broken floor and then proceeding directly to the murder. Sam lives in northern Fairfield County and since most of Anaconda's property deals had taken place in towns along the coast, he didn't know who Marcus Rattigan was.

Aunt Peg stepped in then to offer a brief biography, while I took the chance to make some inroads into my pie. The gooey filling was rich and dark, the pecans just salty enough to offset the sweetness beneath. Even without whipped cream it was terrific.

It was a good thing Sam was a dog person because Aunt Peg's knowledge of Rattigan's life was heavily tipped in that direction. Though Sam had been living in Michigan ten years earlier when Winter was showing, it turned out that he not only remembered her, but had seen her at the Detroit and Chicago International shows.

“She was a gorgeous bitch,” he said. “I generally prefer the bigger breeds, but in her case I'd have happily made an exception. She
thought
she was big and her expression just dared you to tell her she wasn't. When she won Best in Show at Chicago, she just about brought the house down.”

“She was like that every time she showed,” Peg agreed.

“The truly great ones generally are.”

With Rattigan's dog-show credentials established to everyone's satisfaction, I took over the rest of the tale. Aunt Peg listened as avidly as Sam as I outlined my conversations with Gloria Rattigan, John Monaghan, and Liz Barnum.

“You've been busy,” she said with satisfaction, when I was done.

“I'll say.” Sam sounded less pleased.

“Gloria had the best motive,” said Peg, thinking aloud.

“Unless you think Liz Barnum was lying.”

“Don't forget about Frank,” I said. “Apparently Rattigan was thinking of pulling the plug on the conversion. That would have left Frank out of a job
and
quite a bit of money.

“He also had the means, since he was acting as general contractor for the construction. When a skylight came falling out of the ceiling, that was his responsibility. As for opportunity, according to Rattigan's calendar, Frank had arranged for the two of them to meet that evening at the coffee bar.”

I looked around the table. “All I can say is, it's a good thing Rattigan didn't leave Frank anything in his will or I'd have had to drive down to Cos Cob and arrest him myself.”

“Now, now,” said Peg. “Things aren't quite that bad. You said you were planning to talk to one of Gloria's neighbors.”

“Roger Nye. Gloria left a message about him on my machine. He's expecting me tomorrow morning.”

“And what about those protesters you mentioned? Surely they could stand some scrutiny.”

“I'm going to try and track some of them down on Sunday. Supposedly they all live right in the area. And if I get really lucky, I might even find a neighbor who noticed someone climbing around on the roof.”

“There you go.” Peg eyed the pie as if debating whether or not to have another piece. “Don't break out the handcuffs for Frank just yet. There are all sorts of possibilities here.”

On the other side of the table, Sam was silent. He's wonderful at figuring things out and I hadn't realized until that moment how much I'd wanted, and needed, to hear his input. Beneath the table I slid my foot along the floor until it connected with his.

Methodically chewing a bite of pie, Sam didn't look up.

I slipped off my loafer and ran my toes up the side of his calf. He glanced at me and lifted a brow.

“Well?” I said.

“You don't want to hear what I have to say.”

“Yes, I do.”

Sam set down his fork and straightened in his seat. The movement shifted his leg away from mine and suddenly I was sure that the distance he'd placed between us wasn't accidental.

“I think your brother ought to be allowed to fight his own battles for once.”

Uh oh.

“You baby him, you coddle him, and then you wonder why he never grows up. What was he doing getting involved with a man like Marcus Rattigan in the first place? And you . . .” His gaze shifted to Aunt Peg. “What were you thinking, giving him money? What he really needed was a swift kick in the butt.”

“Money was easier,” Aunt Peg said with dignity. “I'm too old to go around kicking people.” She pushed back her chair and stood. “Perhaps I should leave you two to sort this out.”

“No!” Sam and I said together. It seemed likely to be the only thing we agreed upon all evening.

Aunt Peg ignored us both and left.

Sam stood, as well. He gathered up the plates and dumped them in the sink. I boxed the pie and shoved it in the refrigerator. In less than a minute, we'd run out of things to do.

. Sam crossed his arms implacably over his chest. “I know you don't want to hear this, Melanie, but I have to say it. I don't want you getting involved in Marcus Rattigan's murder. Let the police do their job. That's why they're there.”

Before he'd finished speaking, I was already shaking my head. “The police think Frank is guilty. They're not trying to clear him, they're trying to gather enough evidence to convict him.”

“I know Frank needs you,” Sam said softly. “But I need you, too. I can't just stand by and watch you put yourself in danger.”

“I'll be careful.”

“I know you will. But it's not enough.”

He reached under the table and scooped up his sleeping puppy. Then he walked out of the kitchen without looking back. I almost didn't follow. When I did, Sam was standing beside the front door.

“You've been lucky so far. What am I going to do when your luck runs out?”

The expression in his eyes was bleak. Bleaker still was the knowledge that there was no answer I could give that would satisfy us both. Sam reached for the knob and opened the door.

“I love you,” I said, hoping that the words would work their magic, that they would turn him around and bring him back into my arms.

“I know,” said Sam.

He walked out into the night.

I went upstairs, slipped the tooth out from under Davey's pillow, and left a dollar and a dog biscuit in its place. Then I went to bed and stared at the ceiling until my eyes hurt, because it was better than crying myself to sleep.

 

Saturday morning Davey was up just after dawn. The thought that the tooth fairy might visit had made him sleep fitfully, and when he discovered that Tar's tooth had indeed been exchanged for cash, his shriek of joy was probably loud enough to wake the neighbors. I know it woke me.

Hoping for another hour of sleep, I congratulated Davey on his good fortune and told him to go downstairs and watch TV. My son was not that easily deterred.

He stood in the doorway in his woolly-footed pajamas, a dollar and a dog biscuit clutched in his hand, and said, “Where's Sam?”

“Who?” Not the most intelligent answer I might have come up with, but considering that I was operating on about four hours of sleep, it didn't seem all bad.

“Sam,” Davey repeated. “He was here last night. I thought he was staying over.”

If I ever needed a reminder that every decision I made, big or small, impacted on two lives not one, Davey was there to point it out.

“He had to go home,” I said lamely.

“Why?”

Good question. I sat up and patted the bed beside me. Davey came over and hopped up. Faith did, too. She was eyeing the biscuit in Davey's hand with proprietary interest.

“You know that you and I don't always agree about everything, right?”

Davey nodded.

“Sometimes that's true for grown-ups, too.”

“Did you and Sam have a fight?”

“No, of course not,” I said quickly. When I was growing up, a fight had meant screaming and throwing things. “It was more of a disagreement.”

Davey's lower lip began to quiver. “Did he go away forever?”

I reached out and pulled him into my arms. “No, Sam didn't go away forever. He'll come back and we'll all be together again. I promise, okay?”