“Derek Ryan?” Caroline straightened. Her brow lowered in a frown. “I don't even know who he is. I do know that Charles had several important matters he meant to attend to while he was here. Perhaps that was one of them.”
“Do you know if the meeting took place?” I asked.
She walked to the door, turned the knob, and drew it open. “If it did, I never heard about it. That was the thing, of course. Charles thought he'd have more time.”
Charles wasn't the only one who'd thought that. We all had.
W
onder of wonders, the next thing I did was take in a lecture. My first in two days, in case you're keeping count.
No, I didn't follow Caroline into her seminar on genetic anomalies. Not that it wouldn't have been interesting, but it seemed to me that we'd seen enough of one another for a while.
Upstairs in Conference Room C, three judges and breeders I didn't know were giving a talk on Rhodesian Ridgebacks. A discussion of the sleek, lion-hunting hounds from Africa seemed like just the thing to take my mind off everything else that was going on; and the diversion worked like a charm.
I emerged from the seminar feeling thoroughly rejuvenated. And also starving. About that time it occurred to me that I'd skipped breakfast.
Or, more precisely, watched as “my” breakfast was fed to a hungry German Shepherd.
It was early for lunch, but the dining room had already opened its doors and people were beginning to wander in. I pulled out my phone and called Aunt Peg.
“Where are you?” I asked when she picked up.
“Shopping for kibble and rawhide bones in downtown Mountain View.”
We'd passed through the small town on our way to the inn. The shopping possibilities hadn't looked promising.
“I didn't know Mountain View had a downtown,” I said.
“It's a figure of speech, and in this case not a very accurate one. It seems to consist of two strip malls and a mini-mart. So far, all I've managed to locate are two boxes of stale biscuits and a pink plastic leash. What are you up to?”
“Looking for someone to eat lunch with. Hear that rumble in the background? It isn't approaching thunder, it's my stomach.”
“You'd best feed it, then.” Aunt Peg was ever practical. “I wouldn't want my niece or nephew to be going hungry. Try Bertie. I bet she'll be happy to join you.”
Bertie might have been, but she wasn't picking up her phone. I hadn't seen her since we'd parted company earlier, and I was willing to bet that in the intervening time she'd found her way back to the health club. She was probably stretched out on a slab somewhere, enjoying Gunther's expertise.
Which left me on my own. I walked into the dining room and stood by the hostess station. “Table for one” sounded pathetic but a quick scan of the room didn't reveal anyone I knew well enough to foist myself upon.
Then Rosalyn came striding through the double doors like a woman on a mission. “Melanie! Perfect. You're just the person I've been looking for. Do you have a minute?”
“As many minutes as you like, as long as they involve food.”
Rosalyn grinned. “I never turn down a bathroom or a meal. Lead the way, we'll talk over lunch.”
We were quickly seated, and our drink order taken. After weeks of having to force down any food at all, suddenly everything on the menu made my mouth water. If there was any logic to the fluctuations of pregnancy I had yet to figure it out.
Rosalyn ordered a salad. I asked for a bowl of vegetable soup and a turkey sandwich. Then I dug into the bread and butter as soon as they were delivered to the table. Rosalyn watched me with amusement.
“You're pregnant,” she said.
I slathered some butter on a roll and stuffed it in my mouth. “Eating for two,” I mumbled around the mouthful.
“You're lucky. When I was pregnant, I couldn't keep anything down but dry biscuits for the entire nine months.”
“Actually this is the first time I've been hungry in days.”
Rosalyn reached for the bread basket and delicately transferred a roll onto her plate. “Adversity does that to a person.”
My gaze lifted. I forgot about food for a minute.
“What?”
“You know, hardship?”
“I know what adversity means. I just didn't realize I was suffering from any.”
“I'm thinking of your aunt. She must be quite a trial to you.”
In oh-so-many ways, I thought. Probably none of which were what Rosalyn had in mind.
Perhaps I'd been entirely too hasty to seize upon her as a lunch companion.
“I'm sorry,” I said. “What are we talking about?”
“Florence was released from the hospital this morning. Richard and Derek went to pick her up.”
“I'm glad to hear she recovered so quickly.”
“Naturally you would be. With Peg being to blame and all.”
“Okay,” I said, “you can stop right there. You have no idea what you're talking about.”
“I most certainly do. Florence called me last night from the hospital. I spoke with her directly. And she told me that Peg Turnbull was the person responsible for her injuries.”
“Which you, without verifying whether that was true or not, immediately felt obliged to tell everyone within earshot.”
“People deserve to know what happened.”
“I agree with you. And that isn't what happened.”
“Are you telling me that Florence was lying?”
“Yes.”
The word, and the accusation, blunt as I could make them, hung in the air between us.
“I don't believe you,” said Rosalyn. “You're protecting your aunt.”
“My aunt doesn't need protecting, at least not from a conniving old lady like Florence Donner. She ought to be thanking us rather than trying to stir up trouble. Peg was the one who found Florence, and the one who called for help.”
“That's her story.”
“No,” I said firmly. “That's
my
story. I was there.”
“You were?”
Rosalyn sounded surprised. This part was something she hadn't heard.
“Yes, I was. Aunt Peg and I were outside walking. We found Florence lying in a heap near the courtyard. She was unconscious at the time. When she revived, she was pretty confused. She told us that someone had hit her but she didn't know who.”
“Hmm.” Rosalyn was still reserving judgment. “That's not the version I heard.”
The two of us leaned back and made room as the waiter appeared with our food. Too bad all this arguing had made my appetite disappear again. I picked up my spoon and gave my soup a desultory stir.
“Eat.” Rosalyn doused her salad liberally with dressing. “It's good for you.”
“It seems I'm not as hungry as I thought I was.”
“I've upset you.”
“No.” I sighed. “You're just the messenger. Florence is the one who's upset me. She resents my aunt's relationship with her son and obviously she'd do just about anything to drive them apart.”
“Don't tell me you think she hit herself over the head and knocked herself out? Sorry, but I'm not buying it.”
“No, I wouldn't go that far. But the story she's spreading is also untrue. I'd love to know what really happened.”
Rosalyn paused, a lettuce leaf suspended on her fork between plate and mouth. “You really mean that, don't you?”
“Absolutely. The fact that Aunt Peg has been made to look bad is only part of it. We're four days into this conference. One of the participants is dead and another has been attacked. It amazes me that most people are simply going about their business as if nothing is wrong. I don't know why any of them feel safe here. I know I don't.”
Maybe it was all the trouble I'd seen and gotten into in the past. Or maybe it was the pregnancy that was making me feel vulnerable; the responsibility I now had not only for my own welfare, but also for that of my unborn child. But whatever the reason, the threat that surrounded us felt more personal than usual. And more dire.
“Interesting.” Rosalyn pushed aside a sliver of cucumber and speared a tomato with her fork. “If Peg isn't the person who attacked Florenceâ”
“She isn't,” I said firmly.
“Then we're left with another mystery.”
“Or two facets of the same mystery.”
I tasted a spoonful of soup. The broth was rich with flavor and the vegetables were crisp instead of soggy. I felt my appetite begin to revive.
Rosalyn stopped eating to consider what I'd said.
“So you think the same person that killed Charles also hurt Florence?”
“That's the only way things makes sense to me. One crazy person running around a conference seems like plenty. Two would be stretching credibility.”
“Unless someone didn't actually want to kill Florence, but rather put her out of commission for a while.”
I frowned. Then added a glare for good measure. We both knew which
someone
Rosalyn was referring to.
“Okay,” she said, after a moment. “Scratch that. But the one-assailant theory brings up other questions. Like why Charles and Florence in particular? Aside from their long tenure in the dog show world, the two of them don't have anything in common. They judge different breeds, they come from different areas of the country. Granted, Florence may have her moments but basically she's a rather harmless old ladyâ”
“Tell that to Aunt Peg,” I muttered.
“And as for Charlesâ¦wellâ¦good riddance to bad rubbish is all I can say.”
“I had the impression that you two weren't the best of friends.”
“What clued you in? My obvious contempt for the great man himself or my lack of dismay when I heard about his death?”
“Both,” I said. “And that puts you in a minority. Scoff if you like, but there are plenty of people here who thought that Charles was, if not a great man, at least one who was worthy of their respect.”
Rosalyn laughed derisively. “Trust me, that last speech of his changed a few opinions on that score.”
“Maybe so, but Caroline thinks that if he'd had the time, Charles would have been able to change them back.”
“Caroline is the little woman. She thought whatever Charles wanted her to think.”
The comment surprised me. Rosalyn struck me as a woman who was strong enough, and independent enough, to recognize the same traits in another woman.
“That's not true,” I said.
“Isn't it?”
Our waiter had begun to hover solicitously in the background. She lifted a hand and sent him away.
“Charles has been stepping out on her for years. Caroline can't be so stupid that she doesn't know that.”
“She knows,” I said quietly.
“So why didn't she stop him?”
“She said she didn't mind.”
“And you believed her? You must not be very bright either.”
“Bright enough,” I said, “to recognize a diversion when I see one. A minute ago we were talking about your feelings toward Charles.”
“That's old news. I resented the hell out of him, okay? Mostly I just tried to stay out of his way. I found it entertaining when he made an ass of himself delivering his keynote speech and I wasn't sorry when he turned up dead. Is that plain enough for you?”
“Without a doubt. Do you mind telling me why you felt that way?”
“Is it any of your business?”
“Humor me,” I said. “I'm pregnant.”
Rosalyn had been working herself into a lather of righteous indignation but now, to my surprise, she stopped and laughed.
“I didn't expect that,” she said.
“Does it buy me an answer?”
“Hell, why not? Been there, done that, and you're right. Under the circumstances, you probably do deserve a few special privileges. What do you know about the Bedminster Kennel Club?”
Mostly that it was the stuff of legend, I thought. Founded by a very wealthy dog fancier at the turn of the twentieth century, the Bedminster Kennel Club was one of the oldest and most prestigious in the country. Their yearly dog show, held in high summer, was an invitation-only affair.
The event took place on acres of manicured lawn in the high-priced horse country of northern New Jersey. It featured only the best judges and attracted top dogs and exhibitors from all around the country. Over the decades the show had become esteemed as much as a social event as a sporting competition.
Most people in the dog world considered a win at Westminster to be the pinnacle of achievement, but there were others whose reverence for Bedminster placed that event on the same pedestal.
“I've never shown there,” I said. “Someday, I'd like to.”
“But you know what it's about?”
I nodded.
“Then you probably know that for many years the membership of Bedminster was closed. The entire kennel club consisted of twelve men, all with impeccable credentials, all of whom thought their opinions were sacrosanct. They held quarterly meetings, did a little fund raising and the occasional educational program, and put on the annual show. When one of their members died or resigned, another just like him was elected to take his place.”