Raining Cats & Dogs (A Melanie Travis Mystery) (26 page)

Bubbles was pressed up against my legs. Now she began to whine anxiously. I reached down and scooped her up so she wouldn’t step on any broken glass.

“Why?” Michael asked again. He still sounded as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“She was old,” said Stacey. “She had a weak heart. Her life was almost over anyway, what difference did it make? She’d ruined things for me once already, all those years ago with you. I wasn’t about to let her ruin my life again.”

“You don’t even sound sorry,” I said.

Stacey glanced over and saw me holding her dog. The little Papillon was shaking in my arms. Stacey sighed, and her shoulders drooped. She dropped the poker and held out her hands. I placed Bubbles in them.

“Of course I’m sorry,” she said. “But it still had to be done.”

O
nce my hands were free and the china had stopped flying, I pulled out my phone to call the police. It turned out to be unnecessary. You know Aunt Peg. She couldn’t not meddle if her life depended on it. Of course, she’d already contacted the authorities and directed them to Stacey’s house.

Only minutes passed before a knock sounded at the door. By that time, Michael and Stacey had started arguing again. At least they weren’t throwing things. I stepped carefully through the debris and went to let the officers in.

There were two of them, unusual in a small town like Darien, and both looked wary. I knew they could hear the yelling behind me. They exchanged a glance.

“Domestic dispute?” asked one. The older of the two, he looked barely mature enough to shave.

“No,” I said. “Murder.”

The younger officer—short, stocky, blonde—cracked a smile. “You’re kidding, right?”

I took a breath and told myself to bear with them. Darien was a lovely, quiet town. These two probably had no experience with violent crime. Maybe they didn’t even watch crime dramas on TV.

“A woman named Mary Livingston was murdered at the Winston Pumpernill nursing home in Greenwich two and a half weeks ago,” I told them. “The woman who lives in this house just confessed to that murder. The man inside with her is the murdered woman’s son.”

“Holy shit!” breathed the younger patrolman.

I have to admit, it felt good to exceed someone’s expectations for a change.

The other officer’s hand dropped to his holster. “Are either of them armed?”

“Only with a fireplace poker and a whole lot of breakable china.”

As if to punctuate my point, we heard a crash from within. It sounded as though another Hummel had hit the wall.

They looked at each other again. “We better call for backup.”

“Your choice.” Now that I’d reported what I knew to the proper authorities, none of this was my problem anymore.

I slipped around them and down the steps. Looking down the block, I could see Faith sitting in the Volvo, waiting patiently for my return. She spied me through the windshield, stood up, and began to wag her tail. Her whole body wiggled with the effort, and my heart lifted. Being loved by a dog does that to you. It’s an oasis of sanity in a sometimes crazy world.

I called out Faith’s name and ran the last few steps between us. As I opened the door, she launched herself into my arms, knocking me back a step before I could steady myself. I buried my face in her warm coat and felt restored.

Once in the car, I called Aunt Peg and filled her in. Then I reminded her about Bubbles and told her there was a good chance the little dog would need short-term rescuing. She thanked me for the heads-up and promised to get right to work. There’s nothing she likes more than a project.

Midweek, I paid another visit to Winston Pumpernill. I went on my own this time as I had a debt to repay. Before leaving home, I had stopped next door. Anyone with seven cats, I reasoned, had to have at least one that was little and fluffy and cute. Thankfully, I was right.

Amber lent me a six-month-old kitten named Bosco and a traveling bag to put him in. I carried it tucked under my arm like a purse when I walked into the nursing home and nobody even looked twice. I’d called ahead, and Mrs. Ellis was expecting my visit. Even so, she didn’t look pleased to see me.

“You again,” she said when I knocked, then waited in the doorway of her room to be admitted.

“I’m Melanie,” I said, just in case. “Remember?”

“Of course I remember.” The room was large and had a sitting area on one side—two chairs with a small table between them. Mrs. Ellis was seated in one of the chairs. She’d been reading a book, which she set aside. “I’m not daft, you know. Where’s the big Poodle?”

“I left her home.” I slipped inside and shut the door. “I brought a different kind of visitor today.”

I crossed the room and placed the bag on the older woman’s lap. When I unzipped the top, Bosco popped his head out. The kitten was the color of cream, with ears and a mask that were tipped in brown. He looked around alertly and batted at Mrs. Ellis’s fingers with his paw.

“Oh, my.” Her eyes softened as she gazed at the kitten. “Where did you come from, little man?”

“I borrowed him for the afternoon. His name is Bosco.”

“Is he a Siamese?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. He belongs to my neighbor. She tends to be a little vague about things like that.”

With a graceful leap, the kitten launched himself up out of the bag and onto the tabletop. He examined Mrs. Ellis’s reading glasses carefully, then climbed up one side and down the other of her hardcover book. She laughed with delight at his antics.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Thank
you.”
I sat down in the chair opposite her.

“For what?”

“For pointing me in the right direction. Mary Livingston’s murderer has been arrested. Have you heard about that?”

Holding out a hand to lure the playful kitten back to her lap, Mrs. Ellis nodded.

“I think you’ll find that people’s belongings are going to stop disappearing, too.”

“Aha. So there was a connection?”

“There was.”

Bosco skittered off the edge of the table and landed on Mrs. Ellis’s legs with a gentle thump. Her gnarled fingers reached up to stroke the smooth, soft fur. The kitten arched his back and flipped his tail, then rolled his shoulders into the caress. After a minute, he began to purr, his tiny engine rumbling with pleasure.

The older woman leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and smiled faintly. “Can you stay long?” she asked.

“I’ve got all afternoon,” I said.

So we traded houses with Bob. Who would ever have thought that such an unlikely idea would actually come to fruition? Certainly not me. But then, all sorts of things in my life have been coming together lately.

Maybe my karma is changing for the better. Or maybe it’s Sam’s doing. Or, what the heck, maybe I’m just having a run of good luck. Whatever was responsible, I’m not about to complain.

The school year is drawing to a close, but while classes are still in session, I’m keeping an eye on Ed Weinstein. I know it and he knows it, and so far his behavior has been above reproach. The minute I get an inkling it isn’t, I’ll shut him down so fast it will make his head spin.

Meanwhile, we still haven’t met Amber’s husband, James. But since Bob is now her next door neighbor and Davey is over there all the time, I imagine we will eventually. One day shortly after Bob moved in, Bosco climbed the fence, came to visit, and somehow never went home. Amber decided she had more than enough cats already, and Bob seems perfectly pleased to have a new pet. As for Davey, he couldn’t be happier.

And if my son is excited about that addition to the family, I’m hoping we’ll have another surprise for him soon. No, I’m not pregnant, but Sam and I are working on it. So we’ll wait and see how things turn out, and maybe something good will happen.

It wouldn’t surprise me at all. I’m on a roll now.

If Melanie Travis was planning on a quiet family summer with her Standard Poodle Faith, son Davey, and new husband Sam, her plans are about to turn upside down. An unexpected competition, a trip to New York, and—oh yes, a murder—later, Melanie finds herself in a choke collar of deceit and corruption.

When she receives the letter from the Champions Dog Food Company informing her that Faith has been selected as a finalist in the All Dogs Are Champions contest, Melanie is mystified—until she discovers it was Davey who entered Faith in the contest. Since he also signed the entry form that legally prohibits contestants from withdrawing, Melanie and Faith swallow their pride, tweak their top knots, and enter the ring.

The winner will be the spokesdog for Chow Down, a new—and decidedly
not poodlicious
—dog food the company is launching, and will receive a hundred-thousand-dollar modeling contract. Too bad Melanie and Faith are less than interested in winning this contest.

At the reception where they meet the other finalists—Ginger, a Brittany owned by a perky couple Bill and Allison Redding; MacDuff, a Scottish Terrier belonging to Dorothy Foyle, an older woman; Brando the Boxer, owned by Ben O’Donnell, an out-of-work actor; and Yoda, a Yorkshire Terrier who belongs to an aloof couple Suzanne and Larry Kim—Melanie immediately picks up the scent that this pack is a bone’s throw away from a major dog fight.

Leaving the reception with Faith, who doesn’t care for elevators, Melanie heads for the fire stairs. Above them a door opens and voices waft down followed by a blood-curdling scream as Larry Kim comes tumbling to his death. The police label the fall an accident, but something smells rotten to Melanie, starting with the fact that no one comes forth as the person Larry talked to before he fell. Odder still, Suzanne chooses to keep Yoda in the contest despite Larry’s tragic demise. With the final decision drawing near and the competition getting downright ferocious, Melanie and Faith will have to watch their backs—because Melanie’s digging may well unearth a barking-mad killer who’ll do anything to win.

Following is an exciting sneak peek at

Laurien Berenson’s

CHOW DOWN

coming next month wherever hardcover

mysteries are sold!

“L
et’s start by introducing ourselves again,” Doug said. “Since most of us are meeting for the first time, I think it would be a good idea if we each took a minute to talk about who we are, what we do, and why Champions Dog Food is important to us.”

He paused and looked expectantly around the table. Everyone nodded in agreement except MacDuff who seemed to be eyeing a muffin Chris had placed next to his laptop.

“Since I’m the contest chairperson, I’ll start. I’m also Vice President of Marketing for Champions Dog Food, which means that I’m the one in charge of telling the world that we manufacture the best canine nutritional products on earth.”

Doug sounded as peppy as a high school cheerleader, and I found myself grinning at his extravagant job description. Nothing like a little hyperbole to get the meeting off to a good start. Then I looked around the table and realized that everyone else was taking his pronouncements seriously. Oops.

He nodded to Simone, who was seated at his right.

“Simone Dorsey,” she said. Her tone was flat, modulated. “I’m Director of Public Relations. My job is to keep this company and our products in front of the public eye, so that when the time comes for people to choose a healthy, balanced diet for their dogs, they’ll think of us first. This contest was my idea, and I think we’ve come up with five superb finalists. Any one of your dogs would make a fine representative for Chow Down Dog Food.”

This time everyone smiled when she finished speaking. I was relieved to join in; finally, I was beginning to catch on to the important cues.

Chris Hovick went next. “Hey,” he said, sketching a small wave in the air. “I’m Chris, more formally known as Director of Advertising. I’m the one who comes up with the specific campaigns that best illustrate to the public what our products are all about. And Chow Down is going to be big, man. I’m proud to be part of the campaign and I know you will be, too.”

More cheerleading. I guessed the intended effect was to get our competitive juices flowing. If so, judging by the intent expressions I saw on the other finalists’ faces, it was working.

“Cindy Burrows.” The last member of the team flipped her long French braid back over her shoulder and introduced herself. “Product Manager for Chow Down and delighted to be here. I hope you all are, too. Champions Dog Food is important to me because I believe in the quality of the products.” She stopped and smiled slyly, her gaze sliding around the table. “And because they sign my paycheck.”

Finally, I thought, as we all laughed together. Someone who was willing to inject a small dose of reality into the proceedings. Doug and Simone, I noted, both joined in the merriment, but neither looked amused by the comment.

“Now you know who we are,” Doug said when the laughter had died down. “It’s your turn to tell us something about you.”

“What do you want to know?” The rest of us had hesitated; but not Ben, he spoke right up.

“Whatever you feel is important for the selection committee to consider,” said Simone.

Chris nodded. “Surprise us.”

Nothing like a little pressure.

Ben, however, didn’t seem to mind. He was in his element and happy to go first.

“I’m an actor,” he said. “You’ve probably seen my work on television and on the stage. And Brando is an actor’s dog. Aside from being a gorgeous Boxer, there’s something else we bring to the table that none of the other finalists can. Brando and I are professionals. We won’t require a lot of coaching to put on a good performance. We both know how to get the job done and to look good doing it.”

“Thank you,” Doug said when Ben paused to draw a breath.

The actor looked disgruntled by the interruption. Clearly he hadn’t intended to give up the spotlight so quickly. “No, thank
you
. Brando and I would also like you to know that we appreciate this wonderful opportunity and that if we’re the ones chosen to represent Chow Down Dog Food, we will devote the full range of our considerable talents to the project. I promise you we won’t let you down.”

“Excellent,” said Simone. I wondered if she was responding to Ben’s words or the fact that he’d been flirting with her shamelessly since the moment he’d first entered the room.

“Moving on…” Doug prompted. “Bill and Allison, what would you like to tell us about Ginger?”

“First and foremost, that she’s a great dog,” Allison said, her voice pumped with enthusiasm. “With a wonderful personality. She’s been almost like a child to us…” She paused and a blush rose to her cheek. “I mean, not that we think she’s human or anything—”

“It’s all right, honey, they know what you mean,” Bill took over for her. “Allison and I aren’t breeders. Ginger is the only dog we own. And look what she’s accomplished. She’s a conformation champion, she’s working on her Utility degree in obedience and she’s also qualified for her field championship. Having the opportunity to own a dog of this caliber is kind of like hitting the lottery, they just don’t come along every day—”

“What Bill’s trying to say is that Ginger can do it all.” Allison was speaking again now. I felt like we were being tag-teamed. On the other hand, I could see how the committee might find the couple’s energy infectious.

Bill reached down and patted the Brittany’s head. “Once you stop and think about it, I know you’ll realize that Ginger is exactly the kind of dog you want representing Chow Down Dog Food.”

“You might be right,” Doug agreed smoothly. “Dorothy, what would you like to tell us?”

The older woman took a moment to gather her thoughts. She looked slowly around the table, her gaze pausing on each of the committee members in turn. “After listening to what other people have to say, I’m afraid maybe MacDuff and I are going to look a little shabby by comparison.”

“No way!” Chris disagreed.

A small, satisfied smile lifted Dorothy’s lips. That was just the response she’d been angling for, I thought.

“Now MacDuff and I, we’re not as young and flashy as some of your other contestants. But I guess you’d have to say that we do have experience on our side. Those of you who go to dog shows, I bet most of you know who MacDuff is from his record in the ring.”

She stopped and waited for us to nod. Dutifully, most of us did.

“This dog…” Her hand reached over to stroke his head fondly. “He pretty much won everything there was and then some. I retired him at Westminster in February. He’d earned his chance to do nothing but sit in the sun and snore.

“But funny thing about that. When it came right down to it, that wasn’t what MacDuff wanted. He missed the excitement of being on the road all the time. Retirement just seemed to bore him silly. In a nutshell, that’s why we’re here. I figure I owe this old dog anything he wants that will make him happy. And if one more chance in the limelight will do it, then I’m just pleased to be along for the ride.”

Wow, I thought, she was good. That appeal had to tug at the judges’ hearts. In her own quiet, unassuming way, Dorothy had just moved MacDuff up to the top of the list.

Simone was writing furiously on her notepad. Chris had his laptop open. I couldn’t see the screen but I assumed he was doing the same. It occurred to me that I probably didn’t have to worry about Faith winning the contest. There was no way I was going to be able to top these performances.

“I’m Larry Kim and this is my wife, Lisa,” Larry said from the other end of the table. Lisa inclined her head slightly. “And this lovely Yorkshire Terrier you see in my arms is Yoda. Others have told you about their dogs’ lofty accomplishments. Of course I could do the same, but instead I would rather get right to the point.

“Yoda loves to eat. Yes, she is a small dog, but don’t let her size fool you. This is a dog who always enjoys a good meal. We feed only Champions Dog Food in our kennel and Yoda was raised on it. She has been eating, and loving, Champions since she was a tiny puppy.”

Approval wafted around the table like a smooth wave. The committee was lapping up this pitch.

“Recently we were fortunate to receive an advance sample of Chow Down. You should have seen Yoda dive right in. I barely had the bag open before she was begging for a morsel.”

Seated beside her husband, Lisa was nodding as he spoke. I wondered why she didn’t say anything herself. It occurred to me that she was the only one in the room who had yet to speak. Well, except for me.

“Let’s be honest,” Larry said. “What you’re looking for is an adorable canine representative who loves your product and can sell it to others. Yoda is that dog.”

Another top-notch appeal. As I listened to my fellow contestants speak, they had me half convinced to vote for them myself.

“Melanie?” Doug turned to me. “What would you like us to know about Faith?”

Oh right. My turn. Unfortunately I hadn’t prepared something to say like the rest of the participants clearly had. Now I needed something fast. Something fresh and catchy. A slogan. A sound-bite. An irresistible anecdote…

And my mind was a total blank. I hate it when that happens.

“Umm…” I said, “she’s a Standard Poodle.”

Doug smiled encouragingly. Cindy nodded. Chris, waiting with fingers poised above his keyboard, was reserving judgment. As for Simone, she already looked bored.

“The thing about Poodles is…that they’re a terrific breed of dog. It’s true of Faith, but I can’t take too much credit because, really, it’s true of all of them. Poodles are just wonderful members of the family. They’re intelligent, they have a sense of humor, they’re empathetic. They’re the perfect pet.

“Whatever their owner’s lifestyle, they adapt and fit right in. That’s why so many people have owned Poodles over the years. And why others have fond memories of the Poodles they knew when they were children. Poodles make people happy. They’re evocative of everything that’s good about owning a dog.”

“I see,” said Cindy.

I don’t think she really saw anything. I think she just wanted to stop my disjointed rambling. And it was probably just as well that she had.

“You know,” Chris said, “now that you mention it, our neighbors had a Poodle when I was little. Smaller than yours. A Mini, I think. His name was Chester and, man, that was some great dog. I bet plenty of people would see a Poodle in an ad and be drawn to it for just that reason. They might not even know why, but seeing a Poodle would make them feel good.”

“Subliminal,” Simone said thoughtfully. “I like it.”

“Definitely something to consider,” Doug agreed.

The other contestants shifted in their seats and regarded me with wary respect. Desperate for something to say, all I’d done was describe how great Poodles were to be around. It was the committee members who had taken my idea—or lack thereof—and run with it. Unexpectedly, it looked as though I’d pulled a rabbit out of a hat.

Doug leaned forward and braced both his hands on the table. “Okay, now we know who we are and why we’re all here. Cindy and Chris, why don’t you tell everyone what’s up next.”

“As you know,” the young woman began, “Chow Down is a new product for us. One we’re going to be introducing to the marketplace shortly. To be perfectly honest, it’s not like there’s a shortage of good kibbles already available. So it’s vital that we do something to set our dog food apart in the minds of the consumers.

“That’s where the role of spokesdog comes in. We’re looking for a dog that’s every bit as much of a standout as we feel our product to be. A dog that’s not only beautiful to look at, but that has personality and charisma, too. A dog that’s one in a million.”

“Obviously all your dogs are beautiful specimens of their respective breeds,” Chris told us. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. But now they need to show us something more. What we thought we’d do next is have you take them off their leashes and let them interact with one another. Kind of a ‘free play’ situation where we could observe what they’re like when they’re just being themselves.”

Five strange dogs, all turned loose simultaneously in a small room and encouraged to be entertaining? It certainly wasn’t the best idea I’d ever heard. Years earlier, I had taken Davey to a preschool interview that had used a similar evaluation technique. That meeting had turned into a train wreck. This one, I thought, had similar potential.

“Fine by me,” Doug said happily. Brando was already loose. The Boxer had been roaming freely around the room for the last ten minutes.

Allison shrugged, reached down, and unsnapped Ginger’s leash. The Brittany was beautifully trained. She knew she’d been released, but even so she maintained her down-stay position.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” said Dorothy. “Terriers can be territorial. Nothing wrong with that, it’s their nature.” It was also the reason why terriers were sometimes asked to spar in the show ring. MacDuff was one of the smallest dogs in the room. If he decided to pick a fight, he would be at a real disadvantage in the fray that followed.

Chris looked as though he was about to argue, but Larry Kim’s voice, speaking calmly and deliberately, brought the room to a standstill. “This will not be happening,” he said.

“Pardon me?” Simone sounded shocked. I was willing to bet she wasn’t accustomed to having people deny her what she wanted.

All eyes at the table turned Larry’s way.

“Your idea is not a good one. In such a circumstance, the smaller dogs’ safety cannot be ensured, and, in fact, if something should go wrong, any one of the five might be at risk. I suggest that we find a different way for you to observe the dogs’ personalities. Either that, or we take the time to carefully introduce them to each other before turning them loose.”

“That won’t be the same.” Chris was already shaking his head. “What we’re looking for is excitement, spontaneity. Something fresh and fun, and entirely out of the ordinary.”

Larry’s nod was curt. Yorkie still cradled in his arms, he rose to his feet. “Then what you are looking for is not Yoda.”

For a moment, Lisa merely stared at him, wide-eyed. Then she scrambled to her feet as well. “It was a pleasure to have met you,” she said softly, addressing the group. “But our coming here was obviously a mistake. Now we must go.”