Hair of the Dog (20 page)

Presumably all the things that had also attracted Alicia, if the expression on her face was anything to go by.

“Viv made sure he knew she was interested and then she held out for marriage. In the end, she got just what she wanted. Viv may be in love with Ron, but I doubt that means she trusts him. Let's face it, if he were the faithful type, he'd still be with Mona, right?”

I nodded.

“Like I said, Viv's smart. Once she got hold of Ron, she wasn't about to lose him. She sent Leo over to Crawford's because she knew perfectly well that nobody over there was going to tempt him.

“And Ron's no dummy either. When she told him she wanted the dog moved, he read between those lines pretty damn quick. He had to make a choice, and he did.”

“Even though you were carrying his baby.”

“Neither of us knew that at the time. I doubt that it would have made a difference if we had. Ron's in love with Viv. He may stray a little, but that's all there is to it.”

Maybe it was point of view, maybe it was semantics, but my idea of being in love had nothing to do with having affairs on the side.

“Besides,” said Alicia. “It's not as if Viv would let him go without a fight. She worked long and hard to become Mrs. Ron Pullman, and you better believe she intends to stay that way.”

“When did you tell Ron that the baby was his?” I asked.

“After Barry died. I figured he had a right to know.”

Amazing, wasn't it, the way Ron's right to know had neatly coincided with Alicia's loss of support? “What did he say?”

“At first he denied being the baby's father. Then he offered me money for an abortion.” Alicia's finger traced idle patterns in the condensation on the outside of her lemonade glass. “Not that I would have done it, but it was too late anyway.”

“What about after the baby is born?”

“I'll be with Bill then. Everything will be fine.”

Ah, yes, Bill. Another spurned lover. I like to think of myself as a liberal person, but compared to Alicia, I was beginning to feel positively old-fashioned.

“And Bill's okay with all of this?”

“Of course,” said Alicia. “I told you that.”

“What you told me was he doesn't mind being a father to someone else's baby. Are you sure he doesn't mind that you don't love him?”

“What makes you so sure I don't?”

“Call it a good guess.”

“Then you're a better guesser than Bill is,” said Alicia. “Like most men, he hears only what he wants to hear. I told him that my leaving was a huge mistake. I apologized, okay? But I certainly didn't have to grovel.”

I stared at her in disbelief, wondering if she had any idea how callous and self-serving she sounded. All at once it occurred to me that Bill wasn't the only one whom Alicia had fooled. I'd thought she'd made her choices based on a desire to do what was best for her baby. Now I realized that the baby was only a side issue. Alicia was looking to do what was best for Alicia.

“Look,” she said. “I appreciate the fact that you tried, but maybe asking you to help wasn't such a good idea. Back then, I thought I needed to know who killed Barry. But now...” She did her best to look both sad and brave. “Now I think it's best if I just put the whole thing behind me. I have to move on.”

Figuratively and literally, I thought as Alicia went back to her packing. “It seems to me that you were happy to have me asking questions until I started asking about you.”

“Don't be absurd.” She turned and stared. “Life goes on, okay? All I'm doing is going with it. The police will track Barry's murderer down. That's what they're paid for.”

And if they didn't succeed, it wouldn't matter, because now Alicia had Bill to take care of her. A month earlier she'd been floundering, but now the situation had changed. Alicia had found a new means of support, and the last thing she wanted was me asking questions that might hit too close to home and muck things up for her.

I stood up, carried my lemonade glass over to the sink, and poured what was left down the drain. Then I walked out the door without looking back.

 

When I got home, I called Aunt Peg and told her about everything that had happened, including the fact that I was no longer searching for Barry's killer.

“But you can't stop now!” she wailed. “We still don't know who did it.”

“Alicia seems to think that the police will figure it out.”

“Do the police know about Ralphie Otterbach and Ann Leeds?” she demanded. “Have they figured out who the father of Alicia's baby is?”

“I don't know.” The back half of Faith was standing beside my chair. The front was in my lap. I slid my fingers under her wraps and scratched her ears. “Why don't you call them up and ask them?”

“Don't be fresh,” said Peg. “I'm thinking.”

That was not necessarily a good sign.

“What if Ron killed Barry in a jealous fit because they were both sleeping with Alicia?” she asked.

“What right did he have to be jealous? According to Alicia, he was happy in his marriage. All he wanted from her was an affair.”

“What if Barry found out about the affair and threatened to spill the beans to Viv? Maybe Ron killed him to shut him up.”

The possibility seemed remote, but I had to give her an A for effort. “Except that Barry wasn't killed until several months after the affair ended. By then Leo had been moved, which means that Viv was already suspicious.”

“Then maybe she did it.”

“Why?”

The silence on the other end of the line lasted just long enough to make me think that I'd finally succeeded in stumping her.

“Viv does know how to handle a gun,” I mentioned, playing devil's advocate. “She told me she used to go hunting with her brothers when she was little.”

“You see?” said Peg. “Maybe she was jealous. Maybe she thought the affair was still going on and intended to put an end to it.”

“By killing
Barry?
”

“Quit interrupting. How do you ever expect me to make a decent point if you keep jumping in? Think about this. Barry was shot at night, from a distance. Anyone who'd been at the show that day would know that he and Alicia were going to arrive home together. Maybe she was the intended victim and the killer made a mistake.”

I had to admit it was an interesting theory. Of course, what did I care? As of that morning, it wasn't my problem.

When I didn't answer immediately, Aunt Peg knew she'd scored a point. “Just think about it,” she said.

As if I had a choice.

In the meantime I had plenty of other things going on in my life, like the prospect of a double date on Friday night. I'd finally heard from my brother in the middle of the week. Frank wasn't at all apologetic about making plans without consulting me.

“What if I'd been busy?” I asked.

“Are you?”

“That's beside the point. What if Sam were still away?”

“I take it he's not,” said Frank, the patience of a saint clear in his voice.

“Well, no.”

“And I bet you even have a sitter.”

Thanks to Bertie's advance warning, I did. Not that I was about to admit it. Frank and I may be adults, but we still bicker like children.

“Little Kitchen, seven o'clock,” he said, naming a popular Chinese restaurant in New Canaan. “Bertie and I will meet you two there.”

Sam arrived just after six. I had Brie and crackers on a serving tray, cold beer in the refrigerator, and visions of Sam and me spending time catching up on the things we'd missed in each other's lives recently. Unfortunately, I'd managed to forget all about Davey, who was just as pleased to see Sam as I was.

“Let's play Nintendo!” he cried before Sam even had the door shut behind him. Faith was dancing around the hall on her hind legs, waiting to be greeted. And there I was, suddenly feeling like I was last in line.

Sam looked terrific in dark, pleated pants and a linen shirt. His wide smile seemed to encompass all of us.

“One game,” he said to Davey. “I'll be there in a minute. Go get set up.”

Davey ran off to the living room. Sam ruffled his hands quickly through the hair on Faith's shoulders, then sent her scooting after Davey. That left just the two of us, with enough privacy for a nice, long kiss.

“I've missed you,” Sam murmured.

“No wonder.”

His hands slid down, squeezing just above my hip, where he knows I'm incredibly ticklish. I yelped and pulled back out of his arms.

“Something's different,” he said. “Did you wash your hair?”

Sam's a great guy, but he isn't perfect.

“I had it cut. Doesn't it look shorter?”

“I guess so. I like it.”

End of discussion. Women friends want to know who did the cut for you and when you had it done. They'll ask about upkeep, and whether or not you're pleased with how it turned out. Not men. Sometimes I think you're lucky if a man even notices that you have hair on your head.

Sam went off to play Nintendo with Davey, and I ended up serving the cheese and crackers in the living room, where the two of them picked at the food between taking turns trying to beat the system. By the time their game ended, the baby-sitter had arrived. Joanie is a neighborhood teenager who's great with children. The only drawback is that her eyes tend to pop out of her head whenever she sees Sam.

He and I didn't have a moment to ourselves until we were in his Blazer on the way to the restaurant, about a twenty-minute drive. I thought Sam might talk about his trip to California. Instead, he wanted to know what I'd learned in the last ten days about Barry Turk's murder.

Sam likes solving puzzles as much as I do, so instead of telling him that I was no longer involved, I simply laid out the facts as I knew them. Maybe his fresh perspective would turn up something I'd overlooked.

“It seems like you've got a lot of new information,” he said. “I'm just not sure where it's all leading.”

“Me either,” I agreed. “Plenty of people had good reasons to be angry at Barry Turk. Beth, who'd been jilted and demoted. Ann and Christine, who'd been harassed. Ralphie, whose girlfriend was sleeping with the boss. Not to mention Ron Pullman, who's had to listen to Barry bad-mouthing him all up and down the East Coast, and Bill Devane, whose wife ran off with him. For someone without much talent or visible charm, Barry certainly cut a wide swath.”

“Don't forget about Alicia. She doesn't seem to have lacked for motives either.”

“Yes and no. She inherited Barry's assets, but a business that's now in trouble and a house that's heavily mortgaged don't add up to much. And while she might have been angry at him for having an affair with Beth, Alicia claims not to have known about that until later.”

“She was probably too busy with Ron Pullman to notice,” Sam said with a frown.

“Nevertheless, once again Alicia has managed to land on her feet. I get the feeling she's good at that. Bill seems happy to take her back. I just hope it's occurred to him to wonder how long she'll stay.”

“Do you think there's a chance Ron might leave Viv for her?”

“Not really. Only because if there were, I bet Alicia would be pursuing the idea like crazy. She's not, which makes me think that she believes what she told me—that Ron and Viv's marriage is pretty solid.”

Sam snorted softly under his breath. I was glad to hear that his assessment of the relationship was the same as mine.

“I wonder what Viv and Austin had to argue about,” he said.

“Maybe she was telling him to stay away from Ron. When those two men get together, it's like watching a pair of Kerry Blues spar.”

Sam slanted me a look.

I sent the same look right back. “You know what I mean.”

Sparring is an exercise used in the terrier rings to encourage the dogs to show to advantage. With their naturally scrappy temperaments, terriers are accustomed to defending their turf. Occasionally the judge will ask two or three to step to the center of the ring and face off.

The dogs are on lead and carefully controlled. They stand at attention, tails up, ears pricked. Many will growl, almost none will show weakness by backing down. Kerry Blues are among the largest of the terrier breeds. When they're sparring, the sound effects can often be heard two rings away.

“Aunt Peg has a theory that Viv Pullman could have been the one who fired the shots, possibly thinking that she was shooting at Alicia.”

Sam thought about that for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I don't think so.”

I smiled at his naivete. “Viv's too much of a lady, right?”

“Actually, I wouldn't know her well enough to say. But whoever murdered Barry wanted something desperately, and I don't see that person as being Viv. She already had what she wanted.”

“Unless she's not as confident as Alicia thinks. Maybe Viv was afraid that Alicia would succeed in taking Ron away.”

As we'd been talking, Sam had been driving down Main Street in New Canaan, scouting for a parking space. There weren't any, so he made a left into the town hall driveway and parked in the lot behind the big brick building. Punctuality isn't my brother's strong suit, so when we got back out to the sidewalk, I was surprised to see Frank and Bertie walking toward us from the other direction.

The block where Little Kitchen is located has half a dozen restaurants, so at seven o'clock on a Friday night, foot traffic is heavy. As Frank and Bertie strolled toward us, more than one man turned and had a second look at the tall redhead. She was wearing a black jump suit made out of slithery material, and when she walked, there was plenty of jiggling and bobbing to gawk at. Beside her, Frank was beaming like the happiest man on earth.

Sam, I was pleased to note, was not staring. He was, however, grinning. “First date?” he asked under his breath.

I nodded. “Frank looks like he just won the lottery, doesn't he?”

“Happier. Much happier.”

Frank had made a reservation, and we were seated at a round table by a large window overlooking the sidewalk. I could tell that my brother was nervous. He pulled out Bertie's chair for her, then forgot to push it back in. When tea came, he poured for everyone, then misjudged the weight of the pot and set it down on the glass-topped table with a loud crack.

Bertie jumped in her chair.

“Sorry,” Frank mumbled. “Here, have some noodles.”

Bertie eyed the deep-fried Chinese noodles he put in front of her, but didn't take any. No doubt a figure like hers wasn't maintained by digging into high-calorie snacks. She reached for her cup and took a sip of tea.

Sam was studying his menu. I was pretending to study mine, but inside I was chortling happily. My brother had the same pained look on his face he'd had in sixth grade when he'd discovered that middle school gym involved stripping down in the boy's locker room.

The waiter came to take our order. Frank asked for Goo Goo Mai Pan. The waiter didn't bat an eye. Bertie, however, was beginning to smile.

When the waiter left, she said, “Are you always this nervous around women?”

“No,” Frank blurted out, red around the ears. “Are you always this gorgeous?”

“Yes.” She reached out and patted his arm comfortingly. “Get over it.”

Amazingly, by the time our main courses had arrived, Frank looked like he almost had. Bertie had fumbled with her chopsticks when the appetizers were served and happily accepted a lesson from my brother on their management. Since I've never known her to be anything but competent, I suspected Bertie was putting him on, but Frank didn't seem to notice.

As we ate, the talk turned to dogs and dog shows. My brother, who'd been to only one show in his life, didn't have much to contribute. Instead, he kept himself occupied by sitting and staring at Bertie. When she got tired of that, she made her feelings known by abruptly changing the subject.

“So,” she said to me, “have you figured out who murdered Barry Turk yet?”

I shook my head. Mouth filled with curried beef, it was easier than trying to explain that since my last meeting with Alicia, I was no longer trying.

“Who's Barry Turk?” asked Frank.

“He was a professional handler,” Bertie told him. “Mostly Poodles, but he had some other breeds too. Nobody liked him much, and it turned out that somebody hated him enough to shoot him in the back.”

Frank stared at me in amazement. “And you're trying to figure out who did it?”

“I was,” I said, hoping to downplay my involvement. The last thing I needed was Frank feeling he needed to play the role of protective brother.

“Did you ever get in touch with Ann and Christine?” asked Bertie.

“I spoke with both of them. Their stories were pretty much just what you said they'd be.”

“What's shocking to me,” said Sam, “is that Turk would have been allowed to get away with such offensive behavior for as long as he did.”

“What behavior?” asked Frank, looking around the table. “What did he do?”

As we finished our meal, we brought my brother up to speed on the facts surrounding Barry Turk's murder. “What a slimeball,” he said at the end. “Why didn't anybody stop him?”

“Somebody did.” Bertie smiled slightly.

“Ann wanted to,” I said. “But when nobody else was willing to go on record, it was only her word against his.”

“You have to understand how the system works,” said Bertie. “It's no different at dog shows than it is anywhere else. Barry'd been around for a long time, and he had friends where it counted. With that kind of support, it wouldn't have mattered whether he was right or wrong.

“The most he'd have gotten was a slap on the wrist. Ann's an owner-handler. Dog shows are her hobby. But this is what I do for a living. If I got branded as a troublemaker, I'd put myself right out of business.”

“You were strong enough to deal with it,” I pointed out. “According to what Christine told me, Barry ended up putting her out of business anyway.”

“That may be the story she's telling now. It isn't the way I remember things.”

“No? Christine said her problems with Barry cost her her biggest client.”

“That's one version.” Bertie used her chopsticks to snare a shrimp on her plate. “Christine's big client was Austin Beamish, and he wasn't only her client, if you know what I mean.”

“They were involved with each other,” said Sam.

“Right.” Bertie favored him with a dazzling smile. I couldn't even imagine what it would be like to have such an arsenal of enticing expressions at my command. “Austin had only a couple of dogs back then, and they weren't as good as the ones he has now. But for a handler who was just starting out, they made a nice string.”

“Christine said Austin took his dogs away because she wasn't winning enough.”

“Austin can be pretty ruthless,” said Bertie. “He wants what he wants, and if he doesn't get it, watch out. But right around the same time he moved his dogs to another handler, his social relationship with Christine ended as well. Gossip at the time said that part came first, not the other way around.”

“That doesn't excuse the way Turk acted,” said Sam. “If nobody's willing to stand up to him, there's nothing to prevent the next jerk who comes along from doing the same thing.”

As the waiter left us a plate of fortune cookies, I voiced my agreement. Still, I could understand why Bertie had acted the way she had. She was working hard to build a career. In the insular world of dog showing and breeding, it wouldn't help to ruffle any important feathers.

Smiling at Bertie, Frank refused to take sides. Instead, he played peacemaker and changed the subject by asking if anyone had seen any good movies lately.

I'd never seen him so besotted. Actually, I found it rather endearing. Shallow perhaps, considering the fact that his infatuation was clearly based on Bertie's looks, but still somehow sweet. Besides, I figured Bertie could take care of herself. She'd probably been dealing with this kind of attention for years.