A Christmas Howl (4 page)

“
What?
” Frank asked, swiveling his head from side to side. “What's the matter? What did I say?”

“As it happens, Peg and I have Poodles,” Max informed him. “Standard Poodles. The big ones. That's our breed.”

“Oh.” Frank gulped. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down in his neck. “I'm sure they're very nice.”

“They are indeed,” Peg agreed easily, deciding not to take offense. Seriously, did
every
aspect of this conversation have to be a minefield? “We have a very good dog right now named Champion Cedar Crest Target Sighted. We call him Targa. He's one of the favorites to win the variety at Westminster next year.”

“So if you watch the show in February,” said Max, “you might see him in the Non-Sporting Group ring with Peg handling. I can let you know the day and time, if you like.”

“Don't go to any trouble on our account,” said Michael. “I'm sure we'll be too busy to tune in for something like that.”

Eileen forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. “But you'll have to let us know afterward how it all turned out,” she said to Max in a conciliatory tone. “You can do that, can't you?”

“Of course,” Peg agreed.

When pigs fly, she thought to herself.

Eileen and Melanie hopped up to clear the plates and serve coffee. Bob was conscripted to help. By the time everyone was seated once again at the table, the conversation had thankfully moved on. Melanie chatted about her studies. Frank, who was saving to buy himself a car, gave a detailed accounting of the makes and models he was considering. Bob added little, but managed to look politely interested in everything that was said.

In the annals of Christmas dinners she had known, Peg thought with an inward sigh, this was certainly going to go down as one of the worst. At least, mercifully, it was almost over. But that didn't stop her thoughts from returning to the question that had been nagging at her since the invitation had originally been extended.

Why had she and Max been invited to the holiday gathering? If, as Max had hoped, the occasion was meant to mend the long-standing family rift, Peg certainly hadn't seen any evidence of it. In fact, quite the opposite. Throughout the day Michael had treated Max and Peg with an air of careless disregard that bordered on disdain. Peg hadn't seen a single honest attempt to engage with his brother at all.

She looked around the lovely room and saw no genuine warmth or even holiday spirit among the assembled family group. Rather it seemed as though they were all—herself included—performing their roles like actors in a poorly written play. The only attractive thing about the whole occasion was the elaborate stage on which they'd all been brought together. The setting featured polished silver and gleaming crystal. They'd been served premium scotch and an expensive wine with dinner. Beyond the dining table stood an antique sideboard with a very good painting hanging over it.

Peg considered all that for a moment. She remembered the question she'd asked earlier when she and Max were approaching the house. Once again she found herself wondering how such an opulent display was within the means of a family whose finances were as precarious as she'd been led to believe. Clearly her in-laws had spared no expense in the staging of this Christmas celebration . . . but to what end?

As her gaze drifted aimlessly around the room once more, it came to rest on her brother-in-law. Seated at the head of the table, Michael was presiding over the gathering with all the hauteur and pompous arrogance of a banana-republic overlord intent on flaunting his dubious power and prestige.

Family resemblance or not, Peg thought, Max's brother was a nitwit.

Then abruptly she frowned as bits and pieces of disparate ideas began to tumble into place and form a more coherent picture. Finally something began to make sense. All at once, Peg was pretty sure she had the answer she'd been looking for.

Reconnecting with the conversation, Peg discovered that Bob was regaling the occupants of the table with a listing of the finer points of some arcane accounting system. Everyone was doing their best to feign interest in the topic. Delighted that they were otherwise occupied, Peg slid her foot sideways and kicked Max under the table.

He jumped slightly in his seat, then glanced her way.

“I get it now,” Peg whispered.

“You get what?” Her husband scooted his chair slightly closer. His low tone matched her own.

“I know why Michael invited us today. It wasn't to mend bridges, it was to gloat. He wants you to see how well he's doing, even though you got the lion's share of Nana's money.”

“Shhh!” Max turned and glanced quickly around the table. Thankfully no one was paying any attention to them. “For once, give that inquiring mind of yours a day off. It's Christmas, and it's enough that the family is together. We don't need to analyze everybody's motives. Can't we just relax and enjoy our holiday dinner?”

Peg lifted a brow eloquently.
Enjoying themselves? Was that was they were doing?
She didn't even have to say the words aloud.

“You know what my brother is like,” said Max. “He's the quintessential oldest child. He always has to be the center of attention. That's all this day is about.”

“No, it's more than that—”

“Leave it alone, Peg. Please?”

“But—”

“Now is not the time,” Max said firmly.

He was right. Even Peg had to admit that. But something odd was going on with her husband's family. The more she thought about it, the more certain she was. Whether Max wanted to admit it or not.

With Peg on her best behavior, the rest of the afternoon unfolded uneventfully. Scarcely an hour passed before she and Max were finally able to make their escape.

Michael and Eileen walked them to the door. “I'm glad you could join us for our impromptu little gathering,” Michael said as he showed them out.

Impromptu, my foot, Peg snorted. She'd been to formal weddings that weren't this well-orchestrated. Nevertheless, she hugged Eileen, thanked her for the lovely meal, and managed to keep the rest of her thoughts to herself as she and Max walked down the steps and climbed into their car.

Together they coasted down the length of the driveway in silence. It wasn't until Max had turned back out onto Oenoke Ridge—neutral territory, as it were—that Peg's shoulders rose and fell as she blew out a long breath. Beside her, Max finally spoke.

“That was interesting,” he said.

The two of them looked at each other across the car's front seat. Both burst out laughing at the same time. Peg was positively giddy with relief that the visit was finally over. It looked as though Max felt the same way.

“Oh my God,” Peg said on another exhale. Suddenly she felt as though she'd been holding her breath for hours. “That was terrible! What is
wrong
with those people?”

“Don't ask me.” Max shifted his eyes away from the road and shook his head innocently. “How would I know? They're only my family.” He tried to swallow his next laugh. Instead it escaped as a loud guffaw.

“I think that was the longest afternoon of my life,” Peg said as they navigated back through downtown New Canaan.

“At least we were able to escape,” Max pointed out. “The one I feel sorry for is Bob. That poor boy has no idea what he's getting into.”

“I wouldn't worry about him. From what I could see, he and Melanie make a terrible couple. That will never last.”

“He seems to think it will. I gather the announcement of an engagement might not be far off.”

“Oh my,” Peg muttered under her breath. It was a good thing the young couple didn't care about her opinion. “That's a mistake.”

She and Max were once more on the Merritt Parkway and halfway home to Greenwich when Peg again broached the subject that had been bothering her all day. “How does Michael afford all that?” she wondered aloud.

“That's the second time you've asked me that.”

“Because I really want to know. Your brother made hash of his career, and he squandered his inheritance. And based on past performance, I'm willing to bet that whatever job is keeping him busy now isn't nearly lucrative enough to support that kind of lifestyle.”

Max pondered for a moment before answering. “On the one hand, I'm inclined to agree with you,” he said finally.

“And on the other?”

“How and where Michael makes his money is none of my business.”

“You can't tell me you're not curious.”

“I don't have to be curious,” Max replied. “You've always had enough curiosity for the both of us.”

“But Michael's your family—”

“Precisely. And as uncomfortable as today may have been, I'm still determined to look at his invitation as a step in the right direction.”

“Pish,” Peg said stubbornly. “I'm convinced that Michael only invited us so that he could rub your nose in his success.”

“That's your opinion.” Max's tone was mild. “It doesn't have to be mine.”

“You're not going to let me get all worked up about this, are you?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Peg sighed. “Sometimes I think you're just too nice a person.”

Max gazed at his wife across the seat. “I thought that was why you married me.”

“Because you were
nice?
Heaven forbid. I married you because you were hot.”

“Hot?” Max sounded pleased.

“You still are, for that matter.”

“I'm glad to hear that I haven't lost my touch.”

“And you liked dogs,” Peg said loftily. “That was a big plus.”

“I'll bet.”

“Your family,” she mentioned, “was not an added inducement.”

“No,” Max agreed. “They wouldn't have been.”

They'd talked their way around in a circle. Max and Peg completed the rest of the drive in a companionable silence. As they approached their house, Peg gazed at the lighted windows. After a moment, two black Poodle heads popped up into view. Two black noses pressed against the cold glass. Peg couldn't see the dogs' tails, but she knew that they were wagging madly.

The canine welcoming committee was in place.

“I'm glad that's over with,” Max said as he pulled into the garage.

But was it? Peg wondered. She wasn't so sure.

 

 

The unanswered questions nagged at Peg over the next week. She knew that Max wanted her to leave things alone. He'd certainly told her as much. But leaving things alone was not Peg's style. Indeed, it could probably be said that she'd never left anything alone in her entire life.

And it was a life rather well lived.

No need to change her strategy now, Peg decided.

Just after the New Year, she called Imelda Grissom. The dog show community wasn't that large. At least it didn't seem that way to Peg, who'd been an integral part of it for years. She and Imelda competed at most of the same shows, they belonged to a common kennel club, they'd even served together on a committee or two. So it wasn't difficult for Peg to inveigle an invitation to drop by Nana's friend's house on a gray, overcast January afternoon while Max was at work.

What her husband didn't know wouldn't hurt him, she thought. And anyway, maybe her suspicions would prove to be wrong. If that were the case, Max need never know that she'd disregarded his advice. And if she was right . . . well, she would cross that unfortunate bridge when she came to it.

Imelda lived in Indian Harbor, a scenic area of Greenwich south of town along the water. The directions she gave Peg were excellent, and Imelda was waiting for her when she arrived.

“An entertaining visitor is just what I need to brighten things up on a gloomy day like this,” she said as she ushered Peg inside.

A trio of Cavaliers had followed their mistress to the door. The happy spaniels ran on ahead as Imelda led the way into her living room, where a comfortable couch and a china tea service were waiting. When Peg sat down, a lovely ruby bitch hopped up into her lap.

“Sophie, be good,” Imelda said.

“Sophie is behaving perfectly,” Peg assured her. Her fingers stroked the Cav's rounded head and scratched beneath her chin. “I hope you'll feel the same way about me when I tell you why I'm here.”

“Is that so?” Imelda didn't appear at all perturbed by that confession. Instead she sounded intrigued. “Go on.”

“I've come to pick your brain,” said Peg.

“Perfect. I'm all yours.” Imelda was vastly well-informed about all aspects of the dog show world. “Judges? Puppies? Westminster entries? Name your pleasure.”

“Actually it's about a friend of yours.”

“Gossip?
Moi?
”

Imelda's eyes gleamed. She was a woman who enjoyed trading information. The give and take of titillating tidbits was guaranteed to keep everyone in her vicinity on their toes—and especially Imelda herself. Peg knew she had come to the right place.

“Perhaps it would be more correct to call her a former friend,” she said.

“That's the best kind to dish about. Are you going to tell me who it is or do I have to guess?”

“Sarah Turnbull.”

A look of surprise flashed briefly across Imelda's face. Then it was gone and her expression sobered. “Dear Sarah,” she said. “I miss her every day.”

“Were the two of you close?”

Imelda took her time before answering. She poured two cups of tea, placed a delicate sugar cookie on the saucer of each, and handed one to Peg before saying, “Sarah and I were friends for years. We met at the Round Hill Club one summer when we were teenagers. Both of us were mad about tennis back then.”