Hair of the Dog (12 page)

The problem was that for a Poodle, Tory didn't have a very pretty head. Aunt Peg wasn't actually obstructing the judge, she was just restricting his view. By the same token, when the man put his hands on Tory's very correct shoulder assembly, Peg stepped back out of the way and let him have all the time he wanted.

“There's a rumor that's been floating around,” Viv confided in a low tone. “I heard the police are going to arrest Alicia for Barry's murder.”

“Really? Who told you that?”

Viv shrugged. “You know how people talk.”

“Well, today they can talk directly to the source. Alicia's here.”

“She is?”

I nodded. “She was watching Bill judge. Last time I saw them, they were on their way to the judges' tent to get some lunch.”

“It hardly sounds like she's running from the law, does it?”

I glanced over at Viv, who kept her eyes firmly trained on the ring. “You sound disappointed.”

“Do I? I didn't mean to. I don't know Alicia well, but I'd be surprised to find out that she was behind Barry's murder. She strikes me as the type of woman who needs someone to take care of her. Barry wasn't much, but he was probably better than nothing.”

“Apparently he was good enough to leave Bill for,” I pointed out.

“I doubt there are many women who would agree.” Viv shook her head. “Talk about adding insult to injury. Now, if someone were to tell me that Bill was the one who shot Barry in the back, that wouldn't surprise me one bit.”

Peg finished gaiting Tory and took her to the end of the line. Sam was next, and I watched as he presented Callie to the judge. Aunt Peg has shown dogs for years and she's very good at it. Sam, however, was all fluid motion and deft grace. It was a joy just watching him move.

“I take it that one's yours,” said Viv.

“The bitch? No, she belongs to—”

“Not the bitch.” Viv laughed. “The man. You're all but drooling.”

“I am not.” All right, so maybe I had to snap my mouth shut.

“That's okay. I guess I might be too if he were mine. What's his name?”

“Sam Driver.”

“Driver,” she purred, drawing the word out. “I like that.”

“Naughty, naughty,” said Terry, coming up behind us. “I heard that.”

“You're just jealous,” I told him.

“Not me. I'm spoken for.”

In the ring, the judge put Callie at the head of the line, followed by Aunt Peg's Tory. He had one last look, reaching out to cup each of the Poodles' heads briefly in his hands before sending the line around the ring and pointing to them the way they were. Sam was awarded the blue ribbon and Peg had to be content with the red.

Callie beat Crawford's puppy for the points, and Tory went Reserve. “Serves you right,” I said to Peg when she emerged from the ring. “What were you thinking, bringing that bitch to a headhunter?”

“He gave Tory's mother points.”

“Did Tory's mother have this head?”

“Go ahead,” said Peg. “Kick me while I'm down.”

Peg and I waited while Sam had his picture taken, then trooped back to the handlers' tent. Terry, Crawford, and Viv had gone on ahead. Ron was just where we'd left him, thumbing through a new issue of
Dog Scene
magazine. Austin and Douglas arrived a moment later.

Peg hopped Tory back up on her table and started taking her apart. Douglas took my arm and pulled me aside. “Don't tell me I missed it,” he said in a horrified whisper.

“Standard Poodles just finished.”

“Oh, Lord. Did Peg win?”

“Reserve.”

Aunt Peg looked pointedly in our direction. I felt like a second-grader who'd been caught passing notes in study hall.

“Maybe you could tell her you were watching from the other side of the ring.”

“You mean lie?” Douglas shook his head. “That wouldn't be right. No, I think an abject apology will do better.”

Before he could make the gesture, however, the sound of raised voices coming from Crawford's setup drew everyone's attention.

“You've got a lot of nerve!” Ron Pullman snapped.

“Let's let the judge determine that, shall we?” Austin fired back.

“Excuse me.” Viv stepped between the two men. “Maybe I've misunderstood. Has either one of you won your groups yet?”

There was a moment of silence. Since we all knew the group judging had yet to start, the question was purely rhetorical.

“That's what I thought,” said Viv. “So this discussion is a little premature, don't you think?”

“All right, everybody.” Terry clapped his hands. “Kiss and make up.”

Viv looked at Ron. Austin looked at Viv. Terry made cow eyes at Crawford. Douglas slipped an arm around Peg's shoulders, and Sam just keep brushing his dog.

It was just like elementary school, only with grownups. There are days, even in summer, when you just can't leave the office behind.

Ron's Chow and Austin's Golden Retriever probably went on to win their respective groups and duke it out in the Best in Show ring, but we didn't stay around to watch.

By the time Sam and Peg had their Poodles brushed out and their supplies packed up, it was mid-afternoon and I was itching to get home to Faith. Davey's nose was sunburned and he was complaining of a stomachache. Frank's nose was similarly sunburned, and now that he had Bertie's business card tucked away in his pocket, he seemed to think that the show had little else to offer. It was time to call it a day.

By common consensus, we all went back to my house. Douglas had an appointment and dropped Peg off, after securing a promise from me that I would drive her home later. After he left, we put Faith, Callie, and Tory outside together in the fenced backyard. The three black Poodles raced around the small area, bouncing from steps to swing set to fence like a pinball game gone amok. Davey added to the excitement by acting as referee.

Frank stayed for a beer but left soon after. It was just as well. Having him and Sam around together can be wearing. It's not that they don't like each other, just that each feels protective of me in his own way, and isn't necessarily sure that the other has my best interests at heart. That left Peg and Sam and me, sitting around the kitchen table, sharing chips and salsa and discussing the day's events. I started by bringing them all up to speed on what Beth had said.

“Goodness!” said Aunt Peg. “For an obnoxious man, he certainly was successful when it came to making romantic conquests.”

“Maybe he had hidden talents,” said Sam.

I scooped salsa onto a chip and aimed it for my mouth. “Speaking of which, have either of you met Beth's boyfriend, Ralphie?”

Both heads shook back and forth.

“Does he have hidden talents too?” asked Peg.

“Apparently so. At any rate, Beth thinks so. And in his case, they'd have to be hidden, because they're certainly not visible to the naked eye. According to her, he also has a ferocious temper.”

“A ferocious temper and a girlfriend who's just had an affair with her boss. That sounds like a recipe for murder to me,” said Sam.

“To me too,” I agreed. “But Beth claims that Ralphie doesn't know what went on. She says no one does.”

Aunt Peg glanced out the back door, checking for potential mayhem, then turned back to the conversation. “Do you think she's telling you the truth?”

“I certainly think she had no reason to tell him. Any more than Barry would have wanted Alicia to know.”

“It doesn't mean Alicia didn't, though,” said Sam. “You know how people gossip at shows. Ralphie isn't part of the dog scene. He might well have been kept in the dark. But Alicia went to nearly every show with Barry and Beth. What are the chances that she didn't find out?”

“If she did, she didn't mention it to me,” I said.

“Of course she didn't mention it to you,” said Peg. “She wants you to believe in her innocence. But think about this. Alicia's been living with Barry for a year. Now she's pregnant with his child. If she'd just found out about his affair with an assistant, I can see how that might be a dandy motive for murder.”

“Didn't you tell me that the police already suspect her?” Sam asked. “I wonder if they know about this.”

I got up, went to the refrigerator, and got out three more beers. In the yard, Davey and the three Standard Poodles seemed to be playing monkey-in-the-middle. My son was the monkey; not surprisingly, he was getting creamed.

“That was supposed to be your department,” I said to Peg. “Did you have a chance to talk to them?”

“Have a chance? I made the chance. I got in my car and drove all the way up there, and for what? I didn't learn a blessed thing. The detective in charge of the investigation asked me whether I was related to any of the pertinent parties, and if not, what my interest was in the case. I'm afraid he didn't find my answer a compelling enough reason to continue the conversation.”

“I can't understand it. You always seem to find a way to make me do things I don't want to do. I thought you'd be the perfect person to ferret information out of the police.”

“Apparently not,” said Aunt Peg, reduced to smothering her disappointment in salsa.

“Think about this for a minute,” said Sam. “First there's Beth. She's been working for Barry for several years, making some money, learning the trade, probably reasonably happy with things the way they are.”

“And then Alicia shows up,” I said, seeing where he was going. “Suddenly Beth's no longer second in command, but somewhere lower down the ladder. She told me she didn't mind, that she and Alicia got along fine, but still . . .”

“The timing of her affair with Barry is very interesting,” Peg mused aloud. “If they'd felt the urge, presumably they could have done something about it years ago. But they didn't. Not until Alicia came on the scene.”

“Did Beth resent the change in her situation?” I wondered. “Did she think that maybe if she slept with Barry she could use that as a wedge to drive Alicia away?”

“Except that Alicia didn't leave,” Sam pointed out. “Because Beth didn't tell her.”

“Maybe she threatened to,” Peg said.

“And maybe Barry threatened to fire her if she did.”

“So she decided to shoot him?” Sam sounded skeptical. “That seems pretty drastic. It also assumes that she planted a gun in the van that morning before they left for the show.”

“She could have done it,” said Peg. “Maybe Ralphie helped her.”

Even I frowned at that. “Ralphie doesn't seem very bright, but only a real moron would kill his girlfriend's boss because she was jealous that he had a live-in lover.”

“I see what you mean.” Peg frowned too. She rifled through the chips in the basket, taking her time selecting the largest one. “Clearly we need more information. The Elm City show's next week.” She looked at Sam. “Is Callie entered?”

“No, I have to be in California during the week. I figured I'd tack on a few extra days and stop off and see my brother and his family.”

“Too bad,” said Aunt Peg, not looking disappointed in the least. She was probably already counting her points.

“So who do you suppose won the show today?” I asked.

“Fifteen hundred dogs were entered,” Aunt Peg said primly. “It could have been any one of them.”

She likes to remind me that although the top winning dogs sometimes seem like sure things, judging is a complex equation. It takes into account not only a dog's good points and faults, but also its performance on the day. Not only that, but it's subjective as well, with each person free to interpret the breed standard in his or her own fashion.

While nearly all judges would agree if asked to choose between a good dog and a bad one, once the competition gets as far as the group ring, the choices are never that simple. Instead, a judge is often required to sort out the minute differences in a collection of very good dogs. Based on the winning they'd done lately, Leo and Midas might look as though they each had a lock on their respective groups, but in truth, anything could happen.

“What were Ron and Austin arguing about?” I asked curiously. “Did either of you hear?”

“Not the beginning,” said Sam. “Only the final outburst.”

“It's funny,” Peg mused. “For two men who don't seem to like each other very much, they certainly end up spending a lot of time together.”

I bypassed the bowl of chips, knowing full well that was where the calories lay, and dipped my finger in the salsa. “That's because their dogs are going head-to-head at the moment. Both of them strike me as very competitive men. In other circumstances, I could see how they might be friends. One thing's for sure, neither one of them likes to lose.”

“That's true of all of us, isn't it?” Peg asked. “I'm just glad it's Viv who has to keep them apart, and not me.”

She stood up and pushed back her chair. “I've got a bitch with hair spray in her coat that needs a bath this afternoon. Who's going to drive me home?”

Sam and I both volunteered, and in the end we all went. My new Volvo station wagon had room for four people and a Standard Poodle if you didn't mind sitting close, which nobody did. At Peg's house, Sam was invited in to take a look at her new litter of puppies. Davey and I got to go along too. The difference was that Sam, as a fellow breeder, had a valuable opinion. Nobody was going to pay any attention to ours.

The puppies were seven weeks old and Aunt Peg had moved them into her kitchen a few days earlier. Very young puppies require warmth, and privacy, and lots of maternal care. Older puppies need socialization, and all six of these were obviously off to a good start, because they rushed to the baby gate that blocked the doorway, tails wagging joyously, when they saw us coming.

Since we'd all been at a dog show earlier, Aunt Peg made us remove our shoes before entering the house and wash our hands with a solution containing bleach. At their age, the puppies' immunity to disease was uncertain as the antibodies they had received from their dam's milk were wearing off, but they had yet to have their first shots. Considering the number of dogs we'd just been exposed to at the show, Aunt Peg wasn't taking any chances.

One by one, we climbed over the gate and sat down on the kitchen floor. Davey went first. To his delight, he was immediately set upon by all six puppies. There were four girls in the litter and two boys, all black, the only color Aunt Peg breeds. In order to be able to tell them apart easily, she had tied different color shoelaces around their necks like little collars.

Aunt Peg gave Sam a few minutes to form an initial impression of her litter. She tried to contain her curiosity, but I knew she was watching him closely. “So,” she said finally. “What do you think?”

“The red boy's a standout.” By that he meant the black boy who was wearing the red collar.

“I don't need another boy. Find me a girl you like.”

“Yellow is pretty,” Sam said. “I like her carriage, but she doesn't seem to do much with her front, does she?”

“She's seven weeks old!” Aunt Peg cried. “Give her time.”

Davey giggled. I looked over at him and shrugged. As far as we could tell, the puppies all looked alike, cute and floppy, with endearing little faces, dark eyes, and long pink tongues. My son wasn't wearing any socks. Since he'd taken off his shoes, he now had a puppy licking his bare toes.

“Green has the prettiest head,” said Sam. “And they all have nice feet. Pink's a little long for me.”

“She's too long for me too,” Peg agreed. “But she has a lovely temperament and I have a wonderful pet home waiting.”

Sam rolled a ball across the floor and watched as the puppies scrambled after it. If Aunt Peg had wanted an in-depth evaluation, they'd have taken each puppy and set it up individually on a grooming table. Even without that, however, much could be told just by observing them as they played.

“Red,” Sam said again. “That's the one.”

He patted the floor in front of him and the puppy wearing the red collar trotted over to see what was going on. Even I could appreciate the boy's ground-covering movement and elegant carriage.

“Too bad I don't have room for another boy,” said Peg, staring up at the ceiling. “Especially one as pretty as that.”

“Make room,” said Sam. “You'd be crazy to let him go.” He waggled his fingers and the puppy climbed up into his lap. Sam lifted the Poodle's lips and peered briefly into his mouth, checking the teeth and bite.

“Well, you know I have Beau, of course.”

Beau had been Peg's top-producing stud dog before his theft the previous summer. He'd been missing for three months, and at the time I'd suspected that Sam, whom I'd just met, might have had something to do with the disappearance, since he'd offered Peg a blank check for the dog shortly before he was stolen.

“And now I have Joker too,” said Peg, referring to her new, young stud dog. “I have a dog in the house and a dog in the kennel, that's plenty. That boy needs to go to a home where there are only bitches, where he can be top dog right from the start.”

Something flickered briefly in Sam's expression. Surprise, or maybe realization. Then suddenly I, too, realized what Aunt Peg was up to and cracked a grin.

“His parents have had all their genetic testing done,” said Peg. She'd stopped staring at the ceiling. Now she was looking innocently out the window. “He doesn't come down in a direct line from Beau, and yet I can see a number of traits they have in common.”

Sam glanced downward. The puppy had wiggled himself into a comfortable position and gone to sleep, his long muzzle resting between his front paws on Sam's knee. “When do you want me to pick him up?” he asked.

“After you come back from California?”

“Done.”

 

We left Aunt Peg to her puppies and her Poodle bath and took ourselves back home. Of course, Callie had also been shown and needed a bath too. But Sam didn't look too perturbed about the fact that hair spray was still sitting in her coat, and I certainly wasn't about to bring it up. Instead, we ordered takeout pizza and Greek salads and had a picnic in the backyard.

“Is he really going to be your new puppy?” Davey asked Sam for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“It looks that way.” Sam speared an olive with his fork and popped it into his mouth.

“What are you going to name him?”