Thirty-five
At the first sound of trouble, Aunt Peg had called the police. Cy stationed himself at the front door so that nobody could leave until the authorities arrived. In the ten minutes that took, Sharon and Barbara applied cold compresses to Mark's head and managed to bring him around.
He was in a chair, groggy, but mostly upright. His wife was in another chair on the other side of the room, with Bertie and Louis standing over her like a pair of belligerent watch dogs. Mark looked her way once, briefly; then firmly looked away. Penny didn't look up at all.
The first squad car was quickly followed by a second containing Detective Shertz. He listened briefly as all the club members tried to explain everything at once, then zeroed in on me.
Even though I'd heard Penny confess to murdering Monica, I'd been afraid it would be her word against mine. It turned out I needn't have worried. Mark still wasn't looking at Penny, and when Detective Shertz questioned him, his version of events was the same as mine.
Mark's voice was flat as he recounted what had happened. He looked like a man defeated; one who has no reason left to care. He'd enabled Penny to keep drinking and now, like Louis, he was going to pay for his wife's mistakes.
The police put handcuffs on Penny before taking her away. Mark went out with them. I heard the cars start up outside and wondered whether he would follow her to the police station, or turn the other way, toward home. I didn't look out to see. I wasn't sure I really wanted to know.
Everybody had more questions, but I didn't feel much like talking. While Aunt Peg held court, I took a moment to pull Paul Heins aside for a quiet chat, then finished up with a conversation I'd needed to have with Bertie. After that, Aunt Peg shooed everybody away and escorted me out to my car.
“You look like hell,” she said bluntly. “Follow me home and I'll patch you up.”
I felt like hell, too, but a cup of strong, brandy-laced, coffee got the revival process started. Aunt Peg got out a tube of ointment. I could see perfectly well that it had come from her vet, but when she dabbed some on my cheek, the scratches began to feel better. The house Poodles milled around my chair in sympathetic solidarity.
The cosseting lasted at least a good five minutes.
It was followed by a reproach.
“I can't believe I missed all the fun,” Aunt Peg grumbled. “The least you could have done was let me in on it.”
“Some fun,” I muttered, rubbing my shoulder.
She was rooting around in the refrigerator, and came up, after a moment, with a box of Twinkies. Peg set them on the table between us. “There's one thing I still don't understand. Why on earth did Penny steal the club's dinner checks?”
“She didn't. It was simply coincidence that the checks disappeared and Monica was murdered around the same time. The two things weren't related at all.”
I eyed the Twinkies, fully aware that it was well past dinner time and all I'd had to show for the meal were a couple of tiny hors d'oeuvres. Finally I reached over and helped myself. The sponge cake went great with my coffee.
“Do you mean we still don't know where that money went?”
Mouth too full to speak, I shook my head, then swallowed. “Paul Heins has the checks. I told Lydia I'd return them to her this week.”
“Now I'm confused,” said Aunt Peg. “What did Paul hope to gain by taking the club's dinner money?”
“Nothing. He wasn't the one who took it.” I paused briefly for another bite. “I'd been thinking about this for a while. This afternoon when Louis accused Sharon of losing the checks, it finally all made sense. Have you ever noticed the way Darla has of absent-mindedly picking things up and carrying them around?”
“Now that you mention it, I guess I have.”
“Add that to Sharon's propensity for misplacing things. I imagine she meant to put the checks in Louis's briefcase, but never got around to it. Meanwhile, Darla who was sitting next to her at dinner that night must have picked them up.
“Paul didn't discover Darla had the checks until they got home, and then he didn't know what to do. Already they'd been turned into the authorities for not taking proper care of their dogs. What if people were to come to believe that they weren't able to take care of themselves?”
Aunt Peg nodded thoughtfully.
“Paul feels very protective of Darla, remember. He told me tonight that he wanted to return the checks, but he couldn't figure out how to do it. Especially after the club members raised such a fuss at the next meeting when they found out the money was gone. He saw how they went after Louis and decided there was no way he was going to expose Darla to censure like that.”
“Poor Paul,” Aunt Peg said, frowning. “He must have felt terrible.”
“He did. The night that Monica was killed, he had decided he was going to talk privately to Lydia after the meeting. That's why Bertie saw the Heinses behaving so oddly as they left the restaurant. But he never did catch Lydia, and then Monica was murdered and I started asking questions, which made him even more afraid of being found out.”
“Have you spoken to him about this?”
“Tonight, just before we left. Lydia has agreed to take the checks back, no questions asked. I told him I'd keep his secret.” I sent her a stern look. “So that goes for you, too.”
“Of course it does,” Aunt Peg agreed. “I saw you grab a minute to talk to Bertie as well. What was that about?”
“Just confirming a hunch. Do you remember Joanne telling me that she received two notes, one that was signed by a Beagle sketch and one that wasn't? That seemed very odd to me, especially since she was the only one who had gotten a second note.”
“Right,” said Aunt Peg. “I'd forgotten about that.”
“It turns out Bertie was responsible for that second note. She got the idea after Monica sent her one about the Yorkie she showed in Maine. Bertie and Joanne can't stand one another. She told me tonight she was just trying to yank Joanne's chain.
“Her words, not mine,” I added with a smile. “That's why Bertie was so defensive every time I brought up the subject of those notes. She didn't want me to find out what she'd been up to.”
Aunt Peg frowned. “Don't tell me this means the club has a second trouble maker to worry about?”
“I doubt it. Bertie's tough on the outside, but I think she felt pretty guilty about the way things turned out.”
Now that she knew she hadn't missed out on all the excitement, Aunt Peg appeared somewhat mollified. The last Twinkie sat on the table between us, and she eyed it hopefully. “Is that yours or mine?”
“Yours,” I said, standing. I picked up my coffee cup and carried it over to the sink. “I've got to be getting home. Bob's there, and Davey will be waiting up.”
“Speaking of troubles resolving themselves, isn't it about time for Bob to be heading back to wherever he came from?”
“He's leaving tomorrow,” I said. “He's come to the conclusion that full-time fatherhood doesn't suit him.” Grinning, I borrowed a phrase from Davey. “Is that cool, or what?”
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The next afternoon after school, I piled Faith and Davey into the car and we all took a drive up to New London. I knew I owed an enormous debt to Rose and Peter. Even though I'd made my own plan for handling Bob, their intervention had been key, and I wanted them to know how grateful I was.
Rose and Peter lived in a trim, well-maintained row house in a working class section of New London. I found a space for the Volvo right out front. Davey ran ahead with Faith and knocked on the door. I was the one who held back.
Relationships in our family have never been easy. Just the summer before I'd found myself accusing Rose of stealing one of Aunt Peg's Poodles, then mediating a meeting between the two women that had nearly come to blows. Before it was over, Rose had shocked me with revelations that had forever changed what I thought I knew about my own family.
I hadn't wanted to forgive her for that. If it wasn't for Frank, I probably wouldn't have. Rose and I were related, but we'd never been friends. Now I was uncomfortably aware of the thanks I owed her, and unsure how it was going to be received.
Then Aunt Rose threw open the front door and greeted us with hugs and kisses all around. The uneasiness I'd expected to feel, dissolved. Peter was in the kitchen putting together a stew. He threw some extra potatoes in the pot and invited us to stay for dinner.
A few minutes later, when he and Davey and Faith went out to explore the neighborhood, Rose and I had a chance to talk. I told her that Bob had left, and that everything had worked out fine.
“I was sure it would,” she said, smiling serenely. Aunt Rose spent the majority of her life in a convent. Her faith is powerful enough to move mountains, much less sustain her in times of doubt.
“You told me to pray,” I admitted. “But I never did.”
“That's all right, dear.” Rose reached out and wrapped her hand around one of mine. “Each of us does what we can, in our own way. I know God listens when I talk to him. I was praying for you.”
I shook my head slowly, wishing I could believe with such utter confidence, but knowing I never could. “Do you really think that's what made the difference?”
“You needed your ex-husband to come to his senses, and he did. Does it really matter why he changed his mind? I see it as the hand of God working his will on earth. You might see things differently.”
Rose smiled slyly. “You see, I did talk to God about the situation, but I also had Peter talk to Bob. My husband has spent his lifetime counseling people who are confronted by difficult choices. I knew he'd be the right man for the job. Put your faith in God, dear, but have a back-up plan just in case.”
I started to laugh and, after a moment, Rose joined in. We were still giggling like a couple of teenagers when the rest of our group returned. Davey demanded to know what was so funny. Peter slipped me a broad wink over my son's head. Faith just ran around the room and barked.
That note of hilarity set the tone for the rest of the evening. Mindful that we had school the next day, Davey and I started back before it got too late. Even so, it was nearing ten and Davey and Faith were asleep in the back seat before we reached home. The last thing I expected was to find a car in my driveway.
Sam's car.
He climbed out as I pulled in and parked behind him.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Waiting.”
“Yes, but ...”
“Peg called. She told me Bob went home.”
“He did.”
“It's about time,” said Sam. “Did I tell you there's a new pet-sitting service in Redding?”
“Ummhmm.” I nestled my head against his broad chest and inhaled deeply. My arms twined around his back. When one hand slipped lower, I felt an unexpected lump in the back pocket of his jeans. “What's this?”
“Toothbrush,” said Sam. In the silvery light of the full moon, I could see that he was grinning.
“Oh.” I grinned back.
Sometimes it's nice to have things settled just that easily.
The next time a Belle Haven Kennel Club meeting rolled around, I let Aunt Peg go by herself. So far, the club hasn't invited me to become a member. I guess breaking up the club president's reception didn't make the best impression.
Aunt Peg says I should give them time and they'll get over it. She's also mentioned there's an opening for a corresponding secretary. I've told her she's crazy, but that's never stopped her before.
I'm keeping my pencils sharpened, just in case.