Hair of the Dog (10 page)

“He was just trying to have a little fun.”

I wondered how much Alicia had known about Barry's propensity for having fun.

“Why are you defending him?” I asked.

“Because it wasn't any big deal,” Beth insisted. “Now that he's not here to defend himself, people can say all sorts of things. There's no reason to let it all get blown out of proportion.”

“Did he ever try anything with you?”

Beth shrugged. “How's that bitch coming?”

“Topknot's in.”

Luckily she didn't bother to look. The bubble over the Mini's eyes had turned out flat and the whole thing had a serious list to one side. If there'd been time, I'd have redone it. There wasn't, so I took the can of hair spray Beth held out to me and went on.

“I'll tell you something,” she said as we sprayed. “But it's just between you and me. I don't want you spreading. it around, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Barry and I . . . we kind of had a fling.”

Why wasn't I surprised? “When?”

“Last winter.”

“After Alicia had moved in.”

“Yeah,” Beth admitted. “I guess.”

I wondered if Beth realized her involvement could be construed as a possible motive for murder. “Didn't it bother you that Alicia was living with him?”

“I figured if it didn't bother him, why should it bother me?”

“Did he tell you he was going to leave her?”

“Why would he have done that?”

This was like walking through deep mud with suction cups on my feet. “Well, since the two of you were having an affair . . .”

“You thought I might be looking for something more permanent with Barry?” Beth shook her head emphatically. “Believe me, that wasn't what I was after. Barry wasn't that big a prize.”

“Then why were you sleeping with him?”

“It just kind of happened. You know.”

No I didn't, thank goodness. I waited a little, keeping busy with my hair spray. When her Mini was finally looking like it was almost ready, she elaborated.

“We went away with the dogs on a long circuit,” said Beth. “And let me tell you, there just isn't that much else to do in the winter in upstate New York.”

Well, that explained everything, didn't it?

“Did Alicia know?” I asked.

“No. Do you think we're crazy? And you're not going to tell her either.”

“You're right, I won't. What about Ralphie?”

“He didn't know either, which is a damn good thing. You might not be able to tell by looking at him, but Ralphie has a real hot temper.”

Big muscles, little brain, hot temper. That sounded like a winning combination. Good thing Ralphie was good in bed, otherwise he might have had a hell of a time getting dates.

Beth looked at her watch again. “It's time to go up to the ring. Can you bring her for me?”

I nodded.

As Beth pulled off her apron and ran one of the dog combs through her hair, she appraised my work with a critical eye. “She'll do. You did a pretty good job.”

“Thanks.” I picked up my Mini, waited until she'd picked up hers, then said casually, “Now that Barry's out of the way, do you think you'll be able to make a go of it with his clients?”

Beth smirked. “You mean, now that you know he and I were more than just coworkers, did I blow him away over some imagined slight so that I could let my ambitions run wild while taking over his business?”

Like I said before about Beth, no bullshit.

“Yeah,” I said, grinning back at her. “Something like that.”

“Barry was my meal ticket. Trust me, there's no way I would have messed that up.”

We got both Minis up to the ring in time for judging, but as things turned out, it didn't make much difference. In a small entry, the male managed to go Reserve. The bitch was unplaced in a big Open class. After all the work she'd put in, Beth had to have been disappointed.

“All right, the bitch maybe,” she said as we strolled back to the setup. “But the dog should have won in a walk. Jeez, if I'd have wanted to murder someone, it wouldn't have been Barry. I'd have sicked Ralphie on the judges.”

I delivered the Miniature Poodle back to Beth's setup, then headed over to the concessions to get myself a cup of coffee. It felt strange to be at a dog show without Davey, and stranger still to know that he was somewhere on the grounds without me.

I wondered if he and Frank were enjoying themselves. Since my brother's main interests in life are women, team sports, and beer, it didn't seem likely. If Frank was grinding his teeth in boredom, however, at least I didn't have to witness it. That in itself made for a pleasant change.

Since it was mid-morning, the line at the food concession had dwindled to a mere five-minute wait. The breakfast rush was over, lunch had yet to begin. I did notice, however, that they were already cooking hamburgers on the grill—heating them through, then stacking them on one side to be sold later. No wonder the food at dog shows tastes so bad.

I'd just paid for my coffee, when Douglas Brannigan came strolling up behind me. “Good morning,” he said. “Isn't this a lovely park?”

“Lovely,” I agreed, rolling the word off my tongue. It isn't one I get to use in conversation often, but something about Douglas's dignified demeanor made it seem entirely appropriate. “Did you come with Peg?”

“Yes. She's gone to park the car, and I've been sent to find tea.” He grimaced slightly as the aroma of overcooked meat wafted toward us from the grill. “I assume this would be the place?”

“The only food concession on the grounds. Buy at your own risk.”

“Yes, well.” Douglas eyed the growing stack of mud-brown hamburgers with about as much enthusiasm as I had. “As long as the water's hot and the tea's in a bag, I imagine it's hard to go wrong.”

He placed his order and I waited with him while it was filled. Lemon seemed to be out of the question. Douglas picked up several extra packets of sugar instead. I had to smile at that. Buying for Aunt Peg, it was exactly what I would have done.

“I'm very new to all this,” he said as we headed across the lot toward the grooming tent. “Two months ago, the only dog show I'd ever heard of was Westminster. If somebody had asked me how many shows there were in a year, I'd have said one. So obviously I'm under-informed. Would you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Not at all,” I said, taking a cautious sip of coffee. It was hot and dark, which was about the best that could be said for it.

“Peg seems very involved in showing her Poodles. Sometimes, perhaps, to the exclusion of other things in life. So I was wondering whether this sport has a season, like so many others do. Might it be something one does all summer, and then the activity would taper off in the fall?”

He sounded so hopeful, this nice man carrying my aunt's tea and her extra packets of sugar, that I was almost tempted to lie. But that would have only postponed the bad news.

“I'm afraid not. People show dogs all year round. In the Northeast, there are shows every week of the year except Christmas.”

“Every week?” he mumbled. “You don't say.”

“Of course Peg doesn't go every single week. Nobody does, except the professional handlers, or the exhibitors whose dogs are trying for year-end awards. Peg enters a show only when the Poodle judge is someone whose opinion she respects.”

“You mean, one she thinks she can win under,” said Douglas, who obviously wasn't as much of a novice as he thought.

“Exactly. And then of course there are times when Aunt Peg doesn't have a Poodle in hair that she wants to show. Like me, right now. My Standard, Faith, is fourteen months old. She's sitting at home, waiting to grow up.”

“That would be Hope's sister.”

He was right again, which meant that he must have been doing a good job of paying attention. Even I sometimes still have difficulty telling all of Aunt Peg's Poodles apart, much less figuring out who's related to whom, and how.

“And when will Faith be ready?” asked Douglas.

“Probably three or four months.”

He thought for a moment. “In the meantime, Peg has Tory in the ring. And when Tory has finished her championship . . .”

I saw where he was heading with that idea and finished for him. “Hope will be ready to start showing again.”

Poor Douglas looked morose. “Not to give you the wrong impression,” he said quickly. “I'm enjoying the dog shows, really I am. It's just that I wish Peg and I could do other things together as well.

“For example, last night I had tickets for Shakespeare in Central Park. I thought we could go into New York early and enjoy dinner beforehand, maybe have drinks at the Palm Court afterward. Instead, it turns out that she's made plans to show both days this weekend, and feels that trying to sandwich a trip into the city in the middle of all that would be too much.”

He didn't sound angry, just disappointed, which made me all the more determined to try to explain how committed Aunt Peg was to her Standard Poodles. First, however, I needed to fill in some background.

“Does Peg ever talk to you about her husband?” I asked.

“Max? She's mentioned him. I know they were married for many years, and I gather they had a very good relationship.”

Surprisingly, he probably knew almost as much about their lives together as I did. Max had been my uncle, my father's brother. A third sibling, Rose, had joined a Catholic convent at an early age and remained there for thirty years, before choosing to resume a secular life the summer before.

An old argument over money had driven the three of them apart, and for much of my life the family had been estranged. My parents had been killed in a car accident when I was pregnant with Davey, and it wasn't until a year ago that I'd discovered the reason for the rift. By then Max was gone, and much of what I knew about him, I, too, had learned from Aunt Peg.

“Max was very much involved in breeding and showing the Poodles,” I told Douglas. “It was something that he and Peg did together. Now people think of the Cedar Crest line as being Aunt Peg, but it wasn't always that way.”

We were nearing the grooming tent, which was, as always, a hub of activity. Douglas paused outside the row of exercise pens that marked the boundary of the handlers' area so that we could finish our conversation. “So perhaps this is her way of keeping his memory alive?”

“At least in part, yes. Maintaining the quality of the Cedar Crest Standard Poodles is something that was important to both of them. In a sense, I'm sure Peg feels that she's carrying on Max's work. But there's something else.

“After Max died, Peg was very lonely. She threw herself into the breeding and showing as a way to take her mind off what had happened. Going to dog shows kept her busy at a time when there were other gaps in her life that she didn't want to think about.”

Douglas smiled. “You mean gaps like the one I'm currently filling?”

“Well ... yes. After Max died, Peg needed to fill her life with other things, and she did. Maybe now she needs to create some openings. She just hasn't figured out how to do that yet.”

“You're telling me to be patient,” said Douglas.

“Oh no, I'm not.” I held up a hand. “I would never presume to give advice—”

“Yes, you would.” His smile widened. “You're not Peg's niece for nothing. I thank you for our chat. It gives me much to think about, and it's been most enlightening.”

I followed him under the tent, and we cut across to the other side, where Peg had set up her table and crate. When we got there, Sam was just unloading his things into the space she'd saved for him. He looked all around me, then shook his head. “It's the strangest thing. I could have sworn I just saw Davey over by the rings.”

“You probably did,” I said.

Aunt Peg looked horrified. “Melanie, that child's five years old. Don't tell me you're letting him run around the dog show all by himself.”

“Not at all. He's with Frank.”

“My nephew Frank?” Peg looked no happier than she had a moment before. “What is he doing here?”

“Taking good care of my son, I hope. Today was their day to do something together. According to Frank, Davey wanted to come to the show.”

“And Frank agreed?” Sam laughed.

“What's the matter with that?” asked Douglas.

“Frank doesn't like dogs!” Peg snorted. “That's what's the matter with that. I'll have you know that boy once sat me down for a heart-to-heart talk in which he recommended that I get rid of every single one of mine.”

“He was trying to help,” I pointed out. “It was right after Max died, and Frank seemed to think that you would want to simplify your life.”

“The only thing that needed eliminating from my life at that point was Frank.”

“He meant well. And he's getting better. He's even starting to like Faith.”

“Says you.” Sam was still laughing. “He calls her ‘that bear' behind your back.”

“He does?”

“You see?” cried Peg. “That boy is impossible!”

“He's not a boy, Aunt Peg. Frank is twenty-seven.”

“Physically, perhaps. Not mentally. Just to be on the safe side, I think you'd better hunt them down and make sure Davey is being well taken care of.”

“You don't understand,” I protested. “This is my day off.”

“I don't care. You've entrusted my grandnephew's well-being to someone who'd probably benefit from having a keeper himself.”

“Frank's not
that
bad. . . .” My voice trailed off, probably due to lack of conviction. I'd spent a lifetime alternately defending my brother or cleaning up after him. Besides, Peg wasn't the only one who'd suspected that a dog show might not be the best idea.

Peg's glare never even wavered.

“All right,” I said, sounding every bit as grumpy as I felt. “I'm going.”

I started my search at the section of the show grounds devoted to the obedience competition. Dogs who show in obedience have been trained to follow. a variety of commands. Rather than simply remaining at their owner's side as the breed dogs do, these competitors jump, retrieve, and stay on command. Because the routines are entertaining and easy to follow, novice spectators are often drawn there first. The ringside was crowded, and there were several family groups in evidence, but no sign of Davey and Frank.

After watching a Sheltie turn in a near-flawless performance, I headed back the other way. As at most dog shows, the breed rings had been set up in two parallel rows with a tent running down the middle between them. At the near end were the big rings, where the large breeds from the Sporting, Working, and Hound groups were judged. The first one I came to was filled with Irish Setters.

Six of the beautiful red dogs were gaiting around the perimeter of the ring, seeming to move almost in unison. With their heads up and tails out, they were the picture of canine good health and exuberance. Dogs are judged at a trot because it's a functional gait for assessing soundness, but watching these Irish Setters move was like reading poetry. There was elegance, there was simplicity, and a perfect blending together of parts into a harmonious whole.

The line finished its circuit, then came to a stop in the portion of the ring that was shaded by the tent. Handlers toward the back of the line began to chat and run combs through their dogs' windblown coats. The first Irish Setter was walked out into the sunlight and stacked for his individual examination. I'd been so busy watching the dogs that it wasn't until the judge approached the Setter that I realized it was Bill Devane.

At home Bill had struck me as easygoing, but inside his ring he was all business. He'd donned a jacket and tie for the occasion, though he didn't look particularly comfortable in either. The jacket was rumpled and his cuffs were slightly frayed, but Bill assessed the Irish Setter entry with an air of authority that left little doubt, at least in my mind, that he knew just what he was looking for.

As he moved the first dog, I glanced around the ringside. No sign of Frank or Davey, but I did find one familiar face I hadn't expected to see. Alicia Devane was sitting just outside the tent on one side of the ring, watching her ex-husband work.

Hair freshly washed, makeup neatly applied, she looked markedly more composed than she had the last time I'd seen her. In keeping with the warm weather, she was wearing a sleeveless cotton shift that was loose enough to hide any changes in her figure. On her face was the rapt expression of a groupie at a rock concert. I pulled a chair over beside her and sat down.

Alicia glanced in my direction, smiled briefly, then turned her eyes back to the ring. “I've gotten some calls. I hear you've been talking to people.”

“That's what you wanted me to do, isn't it?”

In the ring, Bill awarded the Open Dog the purple ribbon for Winners. His judging was careful and precise, but he took time out every few minutes to glance over to where Alicia was sitting. When he caught her eye, they both smiled.

“I thought so. Now I'm not so sure.”

“Have the police turned up anything?”

“If they have, they aren't sharing it with me.” Alicia sighed softly. “I do want to know what happened to Barry. It's just that for the baby's sake, I wish I could simply put all this behind me. Bill called me after you spoke with him.”

“I figured he would. Were you angry?”

“That you told him about the baby?” She shook her head. “I should have told him myself. This forced the issue, that's all.”

“He seemed very concerned.”

“He would. Bill doesn't take responsibility lightly.”