Raining Cats & Dogs (A Melanie Travis Mystery) (10 page)

“That’s right,” Julie agreed, but at least she seemed to be teasing. “I doubt Paul will want to wait that long.”

“For what?” asked Paul.

We’d all been so wrapped up in our conversation that none of us had noticed him and Cora entering the room. Even the dogs seemed surprised.

“It turns out that Melanie’s a detective,” Minnie announced. “She’s going to solve your aunt’s murder. Isn’t that great?”

Paul shot me a startled look, for which I could hardly blame him.

I shrugged helplessly.

Great indeed, I thought.

“I
t’s not like you didn’t deserve that,” Sam said. “A blind man could have seen it coming.”

It was Friday evening, and Sam and I had invited Aunt Peg over for dinner. Davey was spending the night with his father; he’d taken Faith with him for company. That reduced the number of Poodles in the house to four, which meant they still outnumbered the humans. Par for the course around here.

We’d had salmon and asparagus, a meal healthy enough that none of us had really minded that Peg showed up carrying a torte from the St. Moritz Bakery. Sam and I were having coffee with our dessert; Aunt Peg drank her usual tea.

She was also currently enjoying a good laugh at my expense. Sam’s comment had come in response to my admission that the members of the South Avenue Obedience Club seemed to believe that I was going to be solving Mary Livingston’s murder.

“I think it’s your karma,” Aunt Peg said.

“Don’t you start, too,” I warned her. “You’re the one who got me involved in solving mysteries to begin with.”

“Just once,” she said—a bald-faced lie if ever I’d heard one. “I needed your help. Who knew you’d keep it up?”

“It’s not like I’ve had a choice.”

“Sure you have,” said Sam. Part of the reason it had taken us so long to get married was because he disapproved of my propensity to get involved in things that weren’t any of my business. “All you have to do is say no.”

“I
do
say no. But nobody ever believes me.”

“That’s because you’re not firm enough,” Aunt Peg said. This was obviously not a character trait she herself had ever been accused of possessing. “But listen to this. Something interesting occurred to me after the last time we spoke. I might have been acquainted with Mary Livingston’s family when I was younger. Tell me a little about her. Had she lived in Greenwich her whole life? Did she grow up on Clapboard Ridge Road?”

“I don’t know. I only met her the one time, and we didn’t talk about her background. Mostly we talked about dogs.”

“Perfectly understandable.” Peg nodded, helping herself to another slice of torte. “Mary would have been a good bit older than me, of course, but I believe I went to school with several of her nieces. Where’s today’s paper? There must be a notice about the memorial service. That would tell me what I need to know.”

Sam stepped over the Poodles sleeping at our feet and left the room. He returned several minutes later with the Greenwich paper; pages folded back to the information Aunt Peg wanted. She put on her reading glasses and skimmed quickly through the listing.

“Just as I thought,” she said with satisfaction. “Paul’s mother and I went to primary school together. First through eighth, right here in town.”

“What are the chances of that?” I wondered aloud.

“It’s not as unexpected as you might think. Back in those days, Greenwich really was a small town. Everyone went to the same schools and belonged to the same clubs. It wasn’t unusual for families’ lives to be intertwined. I remember Sylvia Livingston quite well. Of course, she’d be Sylvia Lennox now. I wonder if she would remember me as well.”

“No doubt,” Sam said. “You’re pretty unforgettable.”

Aunt Peg narrowed a glance in his direction. “I’ll take that as a compliment. And if that wasn’t the way you were heading, you’d do better not to admit it.”

Sam merely grinned and admitted nothing. He could get away with things that would land me in all sorts of trouble.

“Now that I realize there’s a connection,” Peg said to me, “I expect I had better accompany you to the memorial service.”

“Who said I was going?”

“Of course you’re going. Where else do you intend to begin asking questions?”

“I’m not sure I do.”

I glanced over at Sam. He seemed to be paying an inordinate amount of attention to the crumbs on his plate, all that remained of the large piece of pastry he’d been served earlier.

“Do I?” I prompted after a moment of silence.

Sam lifted his eyes. “Don’t look at me,” he said.

As if there
was
anywhere else to look.

“You’re my husband,” I said. “That entitles you to an opinion. Do you want me to say no?”

“I want you to do whatever makes you happy.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Aunt Peg pushed back her chair and stood. “Maybe the two of you should discuss this in private.”

“No,” Sam and I said together. I was happy to see we could agree on something.

Peg sat back down. Just as I’d suspected, she was only bluffing. Trust me, it would take a steam shovel to remove her from a room where two people she cared about were arguing.

“I think you should go to the memorial service,” she said. “It would be a nice gesture on your part. We can go together. After that, you can decide what you want to do next.”

“Fine,” I said. “If nobody wants to object.”

Aunt Peg and I both looked at Sam. His expression was carefully neutral. I couldn’t tell whether he was happy about the way things had turned out.

Then his gaze lifted, and he looked past me into the kitchen. Though all the Poodles were inside the house, I’d left the outdoor lights on. When I turned in my seat to see what he was looking at, I saw Amber from next door waving at us through the window.

Before I could react, Sam was already up out of his seat and heading her way. It fell to me to shush the Poodles when he opened the back door. Hearing that, they naturally assumed that something exciting was about to happen. All four jumped up to see what that might be.

As I tried to convince the pack not to make a fuss, Sam invited Amber inside. To the Poodles’ way of thinking, that confirmed what they’d suspected all along. Something exciting
was
happening: they had a visitor.

The four big black dogs scooted past me and burst through the doorway into the kitchen. Quickly, I followed behind, arriving just in time to see Amber scream, leap up in the air, and try to hide behind Sam. Her slender arms circled his neck in a stranglehold as she attempted to wedge herself between him and the counter. She looked like she might be seriously contemplating climbing up on his back.

Sam, who appeared to be thoroughly amused by the situation, was no help.

Luckily, Aunt Peg had gone out to the kitchen with him. Now she tried to run interference. “They’re only trying to be friendly,” she said. “They won’t hurt you.”

“My God, they’re enormous!” Amber’s voice was shrill. Her feet hopped up and down in place as the Poodles, mostly blocked by Sam and Peg, eddied around her legs. “They look like a pack of wolves!”

The Poodles seem to understand most things, but thankfully, they didn’t understand that. I’m sure they would have been highly insulted if they had.

“And what on earth,” Amber said, pointing at Tar and Eve, “is the matter with those two?”

“They’re show dogs,” Aunt Peg replied, beating Sam and me to it. Anyone who has ever owned—and shown—a Poodle is well accustomed to explaining why their dogs look the way they do. “The trim they’re wearing is called a continental. Maybe you’ve watched the Westminster Dog Show on TV and seen the Poodles in the Non-Sporting and Toy groups?”

“No,” Amber said flatly.

“It’s a traditional German hunting clip,” I said. “In the show ring, most of that long hair you see is loose. But at home, the topknot and ear fringes would get in the dog’s way. That’s why we have it wrapped and rubber banded like that.”

I didn’t think my explanation had been inordinately long, but Amber was already looking bored. Now that the Poodles had calmed down, and she’d stopped fearing for her life, she had lost all interest in them.

She was, however, still pressed pretty up tightly against my husband.

My thoughts must have been easy to read, because Sam caught my look and grinned. Reaching up, he unwound Amber’s arms from his neck and stepped forward out of her embrace.

“We’re having coffee,” he said. “Would you like to join us?”

“Thank you, but no. I only stopped by to see if either one of you had seen Felix recently. He seems to have disappeared.”

“Felix is your dog?” Aunt Peg was instantly sympathetic.

“My cat. Big, bushy, orange…” Amber’s hands sketched an approximate size in the air. “Loud.”

“Oh.” Aunt Peg shrugged, looking deflated. She’s a dog person through and through and makes no apologies for her allegiance. “Why would you think you might find him here?”

“Because he’s been here every day this week,” I said. “Felix likes to think of our yard as his second home.”

Aunt Peg glanced around at the collection of Poodles, now scattered around us on the floor. “He must not be very bright.”

“Shame on you!” Amber cried. “Felix is a very smart cat.”

Aunt Peg folded her arms over her chest complacently. “Then why is he lost?”

“I didn’t say he was lost, I just said he wasn’t at home. All my cats like to go out exploring during the day. But they always show up at night when it’s supper time. We’re having tuna tonight; it’s Felix’s favorite. And it’s not like him to miss a meal.”

“Does he wear a collar with a tag?” Aunt Peg asked.

Amber shook her head.

“Is he microchipped?”

“No, but…” She sighed and plucked at her sleeve.

“But what?”

“He’s a cat,” Amber said, as if that explained everything. “Cats enjoy having their freedom.”

“Well, then, there you go.” Aunt Peg is a big proponent of responsible pet ownership. And heaven help the person who neglects to fulfill his or her duties. “I would expect that Felix is still out somewhere enjoying himself.”

“But it’s dark out!”

“Cats can see in the dark,” I mentioned. “Probably better than we can.”

I jumped slightly. Either one of the Poodles had bitten me in the ankle, or Sam had kicked me. Since the Poodles have better manners than that, I had to conclude that the culprit was probably my new husband. Maybe he was trying to kick some sympathy into me. It would have been better, I thought, if he’d tried to kick some sense into Amber. If she was going to persist in letting her cats run around the neighborhood without supervision, something like this was bound to happen.

“Would you like me to go out and help you look for him?” asked Sam.

“That would be super,” Amber said.

“Me, too,” I offered without much enthusiasm. “Aunt Peg?”

“Not I. I have my own dogs to attend to, and I’ll be running along. I’ll see you tomorrow, however.”

“Tomorrow?”

“The memorial service?”

Oh, right. I’d forgotten.

Aunt Peg headed for the front door and the rest of us, Poodles included, followed along behind. Presumably, Amber had already looked around our backyard. We might as well start in the other direction.

“What about James?” I asked Amber as we reached the front hall. “Is he out looking for Felix, too?”

“James is traveling,” she said with a sigh. “As usual.”

Our search didn’t take long. As Aunt Peg drew open the front door, there Felix was. Her minivan was parked in our driveway. The big orange cat had climbed up onto the hood, probably when the engine was still warm, and had fallen asleep. Curled up tight, with his tail wrapped around his body and over his nose, Felix didn’t even stir when I turned on the lights.

“Oh, bad kitty!” Amber hurried past me and down the steps. “Didn’t you hear Mommy calling you?”

She reached over and gathered the sleeping cat into her arms. He was as limp and pliant as a feather pillow. His long tail hung down beneath her hands, swinging back and forth like a pendulum. I resisted the urge to walk over and check the minivan’s paint for scratches.

“Crisis averted,” Aunt Peg said cheerfully.

“Until next time,” I muttered.

Amber hurried home to feed Felix. Aunt Peg left to drive home to her Poodles. As Sam closed the front door and locked it, I pressed my body against his from behind, winding my arms around his neck and pulling him close.

“Oooh,” I whispered, lips close to his ear. “I’m so helpless, and you’re so big and strong. Save me from the wolves…”

“That,” Sam said, laughing, “is a terrible imitation.” He turned in my arms and cradled my hips with his hands. “Cut Amber some slack. It’s not easy to meet four big dogs at once if you’re not used to them.”

I lifted a brow. “You didn’t see her climbing on me or Peg, did you?”

Sam lowered his head, lips grazing mine.

“And what…” I managed with effort, “is up with her husband? How come he’s never home?”

He paused midkiss and pulled fractionally away. “Would you like me to go ask her?”

Silly man. I dropped one hand, threaded my fingers around his belt buckle, and pulled him closer.

“That’s what I thought,” he said.

T
he next afternoon, I picked up Aunt Peg at her house, and we drove down North Street to Saint Michael’s Church together. Aunt Peg was in high spirits. She hadn’t known the deceased, after all; she merely had a tenuous connection to the family. Plus the prospect of getting to do some snooping around appealed tremendously to her inner sleuth.

“Big crowd,” she said as we drove up the driveway. “Mary Livingston must have been a popular woman.”

“I’m not surprised.” Only a few empty parking spaces remained. I found one and pulled the Volvo into it. “I really enjoyed our one meeting. I only wish I’d had a chance to get to know her better.”

Aside from the assembled cars, two dark green vans were parked along the edge of the lot. The words
Winston Pumpernill, Skilled Nursing Facility
were written in gold on the side doors. I was glad to see that the other residents of the home had been given the opportunity to come and pay their respects.

“Let’s split up,” Aunt Peg suggested as we walked inside. The service wasn’t scheduled to start for fifteen minutes or so, and friends and family were mingling in the foyer. “That way, we’ll be able to cover more ground.”

“This is a memorial service,” I whispered, “not a fact-finding mission. Covering ground shouldn’t be an issue. It’s not as though we’re going to subject people who’ve come here to mourn to questioning.”

“Speak for yourself.” Aunt Peg gazed around the room. “I’m pretty sure that woman by the window is Sylvia Lennox. I believe I’ll go over and pay my condolences.”

She melted into the crowd. I looked around myself, seeking familiar faces. About half the members of the obedience club were in attendance. I also saw a number of older men and women, some of whom I remembered meeting at Winston Pumpernill. Many of them were attended by nurses and had already taken seats in the chapel.

I heard a snuffling sound, then something brushed past my ankle. Startled, I looked down and saw Cora gazing up at me. I wondered if she’d been looking for a familiar face, too.

“Hello, girl.” I squatted down to give the Corgi a pat. She wiggled her body happily in reply. “You’d better watch out. You could get trampled in this crowd.”

“Don’t worry,” said Paul. “I’m keeping a pretty close eye on her.”

I stood up and said hello. Though the majority of the people around us were making small talk or sharing reminiscences of Mary, Paul got right down to business.

“Are you really a detective?” he asked. Class had started shortly after he arrived on Thursday evening. There hadn’t been time then for us to talk.

“No,” I answered quickly. And firmly. “As it happens, I’ve solved a couple of mysteries. I guess…” I stopped and thought for a minute. “I guess I like figuring out puzzles. And asking questions. And maybe finding clues in unlikely places and trying to figure out how all the pieces fit together.”

Abruptly, I stopped speaking. Paul was looking at me curiously.

I’d said more than I’d intended to say. In fact, I’d said more than I was in the habit of admitting to anyone, including myself. For years, I’d been blaming Aunt Peg for getting me mixed up in one murder after another. And now it turned out that all this time, my involvement had been nobody’s fault but my own.

“So you’re like an amateur detective,” he said.

“It looks like it.” I reached out and placed a hand on his arm. “I really liked your Aunt Mary. She seemed like a wonderful woman.”

“Yes, she was. As it happens, I’d only come to appreciate her myself relatively recently. You know what it’s like when you’re young. You’re careless about relationships; it never occurs to you that people you love won’t live forever. When Aunt Mary was on her own, living in an apartment in town, I don’t even think I saw her twice a year. I was so wrapped up in my own life, I thought I didn’t have the time to spare.

“Having her move to Winston Pumpernill the year before last was a wake-up call for me. That’s when I realized that she wouldn’t always be here, and that I should make the most of the time we had. The irony is that my mother moved Aunt Mary to Winston Pumpernill because she thought Mary would be safer there than she was living alone. Until last week, I’d have thought the same thing.”

A perfectly understandable assumption. Too bad it had turned out to be wrong.

“Do the police have any idea what happened?” I asked.

Paul lowered his voice. In the close crowds, he didn’t want to be overheard discussing the details of Mary’s death. “All they know so far is that she died of suffocation. The evidence suggests that it happened right in her own bed.”

“How awful,” I said under my breath. “I guess she must have gone to her room to lie down. When was the last time you saw her?”

“Shortly after you and Faith moved on to talk to someone else. Aunt Mary was in her eighties, and she didn’t have the strongest heart. Sometimes the excitement of a big visit like that would get to be too much for her. She loved meeting everybody and seeing all the dogs, but she tired easily. When that happened, she’d excuse herself and go to her room to rest.”

“So then it wasn’t unusual for her to leave, even though the therapy dogs and handlers were still there?”

“Not at all. Why?”

“Because maybe the killer knew that. Maybe he was counting on it. He knew our visit would provide a distraction, and he hoped that Mary would leave in the middle. He could have waited and watched and followed her when she went.”

“Possibly,” Paul agreed. “But how does that help? Since no one was paying any attention at the time, we don’t know who left the room around the same time she did. In fact, unless Winston Pumpernill kept some sort of a head count, we don’t even know who was there to begin with.”

“
We
don’t,” I said. “But surely the police would. That’s just the sort of question they should have asked.”

“I know they’ve spoken to Catherine Stone, Lynn Stephanopolus, and several of the other administrators. They’ve also questioned most of the staff who were there that day. So far, the facility hasn’t let them talk to any of the residents. They’re patients, really, and the administration is trying to protect them. Plus, of course, nobody wants to plant the suspicion in their minds that where they’re living might not be the safest place for them.”

Much as that made sense, I doubted that the facility could shield the residents forever. Unless the police got a lead that pointed them in another direction, they’d undoubtedly be back at Winston Pumpernill shortly.

“The police have talked to you as well.”

It was more a statement than a question, but Paul nodded anyway. “Being family and being the one who found her, I was right at the top of the list. But I imagine they’ll be in touch with you too pretty soon. The detective told me they were going to talk to everyone who was there, including all the members of the obedience club.”

“Do you mind if I ask you a really nosy question?”

Paul cocked his head to one side and stared at me for a minute. He took his time before answering. “I really loved my aunt,” he said finally. “And I want to see her murderer found. Since we’re both being honest with one another, I’ll tell you the truth. Consulting with an amateur detective seems to me to be about as useful as calling in a psychic to solve the case. But so what? I don’t see how your involvement can hurt. And if it took hiring a psychic to figure out who killed my aunt, I’d be willing to try that, too.

“Honestly? I don’t have a whole lot of faith in your ability to accomplish any more than the police can. But as long as you don’t impede their investigation in any way, feel free. Have at it. Ask your nosy questions and I’ll answer them.”

He stopped abruptly and smiled. “Or if I think they’re
too
intrusive, I guess I’ll just tell you to go jump in a lake.”

Well, that cleared the air.

Good for him, I thought. And good for me, too. Now we both knew where we stood.

“Winston Pumpernill isn’t an inexpensive facility,” I said.

Paul nodded. “You want to know if my aunt had money.”

“Yes.”

“And probably who stood to inherit.”

“That, too.”

“I understand where you’re coming from, but nobody in the family did this to Aunt Mary.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you’re right, she did have pots of money. But for the most part, so do the rest of us. Nobody needed hers. At least not badly enough to kill for it.”

Too bad, I thought. That would have made things much easier.

“I know this will probably seem like an odd question, but did your aunt have any enemies?”

“You met her,” said Paul. “How could a harmless old lady like that have enemies?”

“Maybe she wasn’t always harmless.”

“You think something like an old grudge might have gotten her killed?” Paul didn’t look convinced. He was probably wishing I had psychic ability instead. “At this point, it all seems so unreal, I guess anything’s possible.”

Then his gaze moved past me to a couple who had just entered the room. “You’ll have to excuse me,” he said. “I see some people I should say hello to.”

He and Cora had barely left when Mary’s friends, Madeline and Borden, came walking by. Madeline stopped and squinted hard in my direction. “I know you,” she said.

“I’m Melanie. We met last week. I have a black Standard Poodle named Faith.”

“Met last week, did we?” asked Borden. He looked at me without recognition. “I’m glad to hear that. I’m always pleased to meet a pretty lady.”

“Pay no attention to him,” Madeline advised me. “He’s nothing but an old flirt.”

“That’s not a problem,” I said. “I like old flirts. Young ones, too, for that matter.”

Her voice dropped as she added, “And he probably won’t remember you from one day to the next.”

“I heard that!” Borden announced. “My memory may be a bit faulty, but there’s nothing wrong with my ears. Besides, Maddy dear, you’re a fine one to talk. Who was it this morning who couldn’t remember where she put her ruby ring last time she wore it? Held up the bus for ten minutes looking for it.”

Madeline’s gaze dropped to her ringless fingers. “Mary always loved that ring. It seemed only fitting that I wear it in her honor.”

“Big as a grape, that ruby was. Don’t know how you could misplace something like that.”

“I don’t either,” Madeline replied. “But I’m sure it will show up in a day or two. Most things do, you know.”

“Maybe it’s in a safe?” I guessed. “Or a lockbox in your room?”

Looking at Madeline’s other jewelry, it was easy to believe that the woman had a ring with a ruby the size of a grape. But surely she wouldn’t leave something like that out lying around?

She waved a hand dismissively. The light from above glinted off the diamonds on her watch. “There’s a safe in the office. We’re supposed to use it, but mostly nobody bothers. What’s the point of owning pretty things if you can’t look at them, or put them on when the mood strikes you?

“Stuff goes missing all the time. Heather Winkleman can
never
find her glasses, and she wears them on a string around her neck. Mostly we just get a good laugh out of it, and everything seems to show up again sooner or later. At our age, we’ve learned the value of patience. Everything happens in God’s own time.”

“Not everything, Maddy,” Borden said darkly. “Don’t forget why we’re here.”

“I’m so sorry about what happened to Mary,” I said. “I know you and she were very good friends.”

“The best,” Madeline agreed. “Mary was like a sister to me. You better believe that if I knew who was responsible, I might be tempted to knock somebody off myself.”

“Now, Maddy, you know it doesn’t do any good to let yourself get all riled up.” Borden looked at me and sighed. “It wasn’t just the fact that Mary passed on that’s so upsetting. It’s the way it came about. By the time you get to be our age, well…you’ve lost a lot of friends. It’s never easy, but at least you can learn to be accepting about it. But this…”

“It didn’t need to happen!” Madeline snapped. “At least that’s the rumor going around. Catherine, Lynn, the other directors, they’re not saying much at all. Treating us like we’re all senile, and thinking what we don’t know won’t hurt us. I guess it never occurred to them that what our imaginations conjure up might be worse than the reality.”

I looked at them, incredulous. “You mean you don’t know what actually happened?”

Borden and Madeline shook their heads. “Not for a fact. Even the newspapers have been missing from the morning room for the last couple of days. All we know is that Mary died last Sunday and there was something suspicious about it. Regina Mayhew, did you meet her?”

“I don’t think so.”

“She has a room right out front. She’s seen several police cars come and go, but none of those nice young men in uniform come in and talk to us.”

“Would you like them to?” I asked.

“Hell, yes!” Borden snorted.

Madeline lifted a brow but didn’t admonish him. “Worst thing about growing old,” she said, “is that people begin to treat you like a child. They think they’re protecting you, but what they’re really doing is preventing you from thinking for yourself. Like you’re no longer capable of forming a decent opinion. And all this happens in the name of doing what’s best for you. Mary was our friend, and Winston Pumpernill is our home. We have a right to know what’s going on.”

It was probably one of those moments when I should have stopped and thought. But I didn’t. I went with my gut.

“Mary Livingston was murdered,” I said. “Last Sunday afternoon, shortly after you saw her in the sunroom, she was smothered in her bed.”

“I knew it,” Borden muttered.

“Right in her own bed,” Madeline said. She looked worried, and I felt a pang.

“Who did it?” Borden demanded.

“The police don’t know yet. They’re investigating.”

“Wait ’til I tell Sandy,” he said with satisfaction.

“Sandy?”

“One of his cronies,” Madeline said. “Men say women gossip, but all the women I’ve ever known have nothing on Sandy Sandstrum. That man loves to talk. The only thing he likes better is smoking his cigars. That’s probably why you didn’t meet him. He waits until there’s a function going on, then sneaks outside and has a smoke. Of course he isn’t even supposed to have cigars, but he pays one of the orderlies to smuggle them in for him. This is a red-letter day for Borden. He almost never gets the scoop on Sandy.”