Hair of the Dog (7 page)

“Alicia is
pregnant?”

“Apparently so,” Ron told his wife.

“Three months. She told me about it yesterday. How did you find out?” I asked Terry.

“Who had to find out? It was perfectly obvious to anyone who was paying attention. Poor Alicia, for a while she had morning sickness something awful. And if you've ever been in a Portosan at a show, you know nobody visits them unless they absolutely have to. When I saw Alicia heading that way two and three times in a morning, it was pretty easy to figure out.”

“Portosans? Is that what you're all standing over here talking about?” Austin Beamish's voice wasn't loud, but it carried with authority. He strolled up to join the group. “And here I thought it would be something interesting.”

“We know the only thing that interests you,” said Ron. I wondered if I was imagining the edge to his voice. “And that's who's winning Best in Show this afternoon. Care to clue us in?”

“I wouldn't be so presumptuous as to speculate this early in the day.” Austin's gaze swept around the group, settling on Peg, Viv, and me. “Ladies, may I say you're all looking extremely lovely?”

“I don't see why not,” Peg responded lightly, but I could tell she was flattered.

“Now, now,” said Douglas, coming to join us with Davey in tow. “Enough of that. Get your own girl, Austin.”

“I would, but all the best ones seem to be taken.”

“Pish,” said Peg. “Surely you don't expect us to believe you're looking for sympathy?”

“I doubt it,” Ron said dryly. “More likely he's come over to size up the competition.”

“You've seen through me again.” Austin peered around the setup until he found Leo's crate. “And how's your boy today?”

“Very well, thank you,” Crawford shifted his weight ever so slightly, blocking Austin's view. “I trust Midas is the same?”

“Always. Luckily for me, that dog never seems to have a bad day.”

“I'm glad to hear that.” Crawford was obviously unimpressed by Austin's attempts to psych him out. “Tell Tom I hope I have the chance to give him a run for his money later. Terry? We've got Affenpinschers in twenty minutes.”

“Yes sir!” Snapping to attention, Terry cleared away the remains of their lunch.

Ron and Viv wandered off; and Douglas and Austin continued a conversation about municipal bonds that they'd apparently started at Peg's party. While Aunt Peg took Tory's topknot down and spritzed her coat with a conditioner that would dilute the hair spray, I reached for my catalogue and looked up the group schedule. Non-Sporting was first, at two o'clock.

“Go get some lunch,” said Peg. “And bring back plenty for me. I'm starving.”

Was there ever a time when she wasn't? Peg tends to argue the point, but I don't think it's any coincidence that in the year we'd been going to dog shows together, I've put on five pounds. As if that isn't bad enough, but it seems to have attached itself to all the least becoming places. When Aunt Peg puts on an extra pound or two, I think it lands in her feet.

With a selection consisting of greasy hamburgers or generic hot dogs, lunch was hardly a gastronomic treat. After we ate, I took Davey for a walk around the back parking lot, where the exhibitors park the vans and motor homes they use to transport their strings of dogs to the shows. Davey is into big rigs, so the knowledge that he'll eventually have a chance to investigate the trucks up close is usually enough to ensure his good behavior for the rest of the day.

We got back to the rings just in time to join Aunt Peg and Douglas in watching Crawford and Leo in the Non-Sporting group. The breed winners entered the ring and lined up in size order, which placed the Standard Poodle and Dalmatian toward the front, and the slower-moving dogs, like the Bulldog and Boston Terrier at the rear. Leo, with his relatively short legs and stilted gait, was right in the middle.

“That was easy,” I said barely twenty minutes later as the judge awarded the blue ribbon to the Chow.

“Crawford makes it look easy,” said Peg. “Believe me, it isn't. Not only that, but Ron Pullman's been involved with Chows nearly for twenty years, so you might say that dog is the culmination of two decades of dedication to the breed.”

Aunt Peg likes to lecture. In another life, I think she must have been a teacher. Or maybe a mother.

She and Douglas went off to get her car, and Davey and I went back to the handlers' tent to help load up. After that was done, we'd leave as well. Sam was coming over again that evening, and I wanted to go home and get ready.

Davey ran on ahead to Peg's setup. As I was waiting outside the tent, a familiar-looking maroon van pulled up to the loading zone and Beth got out. I waved and she smiled slightly.

“Leaving already?” I asked. The professional handlers were usually the first to arrive and the last to leave.

“No point in staying,” Beth said. “It's not as if I have any dogs in the groups.”

Oh.

“How about your class dogs? Did they do well?”

“I got one point. On a Tibetan Spaniel. Wow.”

“Better than nothing.”

Beth grimaced. “Not by much, is it?”

As she slid open the van door, a young man with strong arms and a husky build emerged from beneath the tent carrying a medium-sized crate. “Melanie,” said Beth. “Meet Ralphie Otterbach.”

Long dark bangs shadowed a pair of guileless brown eyes. There was a faint line of old acne scars along his jaw. Ralphie looked at me and nodded shyly.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, then jumped as Aunt Peg pulled her station wagon in behind me and tooted the horn.

“I thought you were going to help,” she complained. “All you're doing is standing around.”

“I'm helping,” Davey announced. He was carrying a cardboard tray holding the doughnuts we hadn't managed to finish earlier.

“Good,” said Peg. “Put those on the front seat.”

Aunt Peg makes a pretty good taskmaster. It hardly took any time to load up her table, chairs, crate, tack box, and, of course, Poodle. Then again, Ralphie was no slouch either, because he and Beth finished loading her van at about the same time.

“Here, let me get that for you,” I said, grasping the handle of their open van door.

“Thanks,” said Beth. Ralphie was tying down a crate in back. She hopped in behind the steering wheel.

It took a bit of a tug to get the heavy door moving, but then it slid along the runners smooth as butter and latched firm. “Did that catch?” I asked innocently. “Let me try it again.”

I lifted the handle, slid the door back, then forward once again.

Two tries, and it never stuck at all.

When we got home, Faith greeted us at the door with the clear belief that after a day of abandonment, we now owed her big-time. Davey and I agreed, and a game of catch in the backyard was followed by a walk in the neighborhood, then a round of dog biscuits and cookies. At last we reached the point where both dog and child were content to cuddle together on the couch and watch a Disney video.

That gave me a few minutes to go into the kitchen and call Alicia Devane. The phone rang four or five times before it was picked up, but when Alicia found out who was calling, she seemed pleased to hear from me.

“Beth told me you were at the show today,” she said. “Did you find out anything?”

“A few things. Actually, I was hoping to ask you a question.”

“All right.”

“How come you and Barry never got married?”

For a long while there was only silence on the line. I sat and waited it out.

“What does that have to do with Barry's murder?” Alicia said finally.

“I don't know. That's why I'm asking. It seems to me that you'd invested quite a lot in your relationship with Barry. You'd left your first husband, a nice home . . .”

I was guessing about that, but considering how she felt about Barry's house, it seemed like a good bet. “Certainly your involvement had cost you a great deal more than it cost him. And now you're pregnant with his child. I was wondering—”

“If I was angry enough at Barry to want to kill him?” Alicia snapped. “That's really what you're trying to say, isn't it?”

“Well, yes.”

“I answered that question yesterday ”

“Answer it again.”

She didn't. Instead, she hung up on me. I sat at the kitchen table for a moment and stared at the phone in my hand. It didn't ring.

I guessed this meant I didn't have to figure out who murdered Barry. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

I fixed myself a glass of iced coffee and went in to join the rest of my family on the couch. Just when I was beginning to enjoy Robin Williams's manic impersonation of Aladdin's genie, the phone rang.

“I'll get it!” cried Davey. He jumped up and ran into the kitchen. Faith went along too. A step behind at the start, she beat him to the phone easily. I reached over and pushed the pause button on the VCR.

“It's for you,” said Davey, sounding disappointed. Considering that he's gotten no more than half a dozen phone calls in his entire life, I don't know why he's always so surprised when it isn't for him.

“Who is it?” I asked, taking the phone.

“Some lady.”

Parenthood, I've discovered, is God's way of reminding you of your inadequacies. I knew I'd taught Davey better phone manners than that; now all I had to do was figure out how to induce him to use them.

I got up and left the room before Davey could get the video's sound track booming again. Back in the kitchen, I fitted the receiver to my ear and heard Alicia's voice.

“Melanie? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that.”

“Why did you?”

“I don't know. I'm just so tired of everyone asking questions, and treating me like I'm somehow to blame for what happened. I'm the victim here, why doesn't anybody see that?”

Alicia had played on my sympathies before and gotten what she wanted. This time I was going to hang tough.

“Why don't you tell me about your relationship with Barry?” I said.

“It was good. We were happy together.”

“Even though he didn't want to marry you?”

“That wasn't an issue,” Alicia said firmly. “I don't know why everyone keeps harping on that. Not every woman feels she has to be married, you know.”

“You were married before.”

“That was the past. Bill and I are divorced.”

“So presumably you would have been free to marry Barry if he had asked.”

“He didn't need to ask,” said Alicia. “He knew I would have turned him down.”

“That's not what I heard.”

“I can't help it, it's the truth.”

I wished we were speaking in person so I could have seen her expression. “What about the baby?”

“What about him?”

“Surely it would have made things less complicated if Barry were his legal father.”

“Barry
would
have been his legal father. You don't have to be married for that.”

True. I sat and sipped my coffee, thinking that in general nothing was any clearer to me than it had been when I'd first picked up the phone. I hate it when that happens.

“Why didn't you tell me any of this yesterday?” I asked.

“Because there was no need. It's irrelevant. Barry and I were happy together. It wasn't a perfect relationship . . .” Alicia laughed softly. “But then, what is?”

What indeed? I'd thought my own marriage was maybe not perfect, but certainly very good. And I'd continued to think that right up until the day I'd come home and discovered that my ex-husband had moved out without leaving a forwarding address.

It was hard enough keeping score when you were one of the players, much less when you were watching from the outside. I decided to accept Alicia's words at face value for the time being.

“Just one more thing. You've inherited Barry's assets, yet Beth continues to run the business. How does that work?”

“To tell the truth, we're not sure yet. As of this weekend, there are still fourteen dogs in the kennel. I'm not a handler, and I never wanted to be one. But the dogs are here,. and many of them are entered over the next few weeks. Beth wanted to see if she could keep things running on her own, so I told her to go ahead.”

I thought of the single point she'd won today. “It seems like a lot of work for one person.”

“It is. There was plenty to do when all three of us were going to shows together. I believe Beth said her boyfriend was going today to help her out.”

“Is that Ralphie?”

“Yes, do you know him?”

“We met this afternoon. Long hair? Big muscles?”

“And not a whole lot going on between his ears?” Alicia chuckled. “Yes, that's the one. During the week he works as a car mechanic, but nights and weekends he hangs around here as much as Beth will let him. They seem like a pretty unlikely couple to me, but Ralphie's devoted, I'll say that for him.”

“I was thinking I might have a talk with your ex-husband,” I mentioned casually. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, why would I?”

“No reason.” If she was happy, so was I. “Is Bill a jealous man?”

She sighed softly. “Bill is a complacent man. He has his job, he has his judging, he has his field trials. That's pretty much all he wants out of life.”

“And you wanted more?”

“I guess I did,” Alicia agreed.

The first notice I had that Sam had arrived was when Faith ran to the front door, barking. Then I heard Davey yelling. As I was up in my bedroom putting on lipstick, I caught only sketchy details, but it sounded as though my son was trying to interest Sam in a game of catch. At the top of his lungs, naturally.

By the time I reached the hallway, the pandemonium had quieted. Of course, the house was empty.

I found everyone out in the backyard. Sam was tossing Davey a Frisbee and I stood on the step and admired the way his body swiveled into the throw. It took him a moment to notice me. I tried not to take it personally.

“Oh, good,” Sam said. “You're up.”

As I reached the bottom of the steps, Faith raced across the yard and launched herself at me exuberantly. I took that to mean that they weren't letting her join the game and ruffled my hands through her thick mane hair. “Up from where?”

“Davey said you were lying down in your bedroom. We came out here so we wouldn't disturb you.”

“Davey.” I slanted my son a warning look. He knew perfectly well that fibbing wasn't allowed.

“You were in your room,” said my son.

“I was combing my hair and putting on lipstick.”

“You might have been sick.”

“And you might be looking to miss tonight's dessert.”

Davey glanced at Sam, just in case there might be any support coming from that quarter.

“You heard the boss,” said Sam. “That's about as far as I'd push my luck if I were you.” He turned back to me. “I'm glad you're well. Come here.”

I didn't have to. As he spoke, Sam was closing the distance between us. He reached out ,and folded me into his arms.

“Ugh,” said Davey.

“Nobody asked you to watch,” Sam told him over my shoulder. “Throw Faith a ball.”

Davey picked up an old tennis ball. Luckily my son doesn't have a poker face; I could read his expression perfectly. “If you hit us with that, you're really going to miss dessert.”

He spun around and tossed the ball the other way. Head up, hair flying, Faith took off in pursuit. Sam and I turned to watch.

“How are your dogs?” I asked.

Sam, like Peg, breeds Standard Poodles, although his family of dogs is considerably smaller than hers. Over the winter, he'd lost Charm, his devoted friend and foundation brood bitch. She'd lived to be almost sixteen, an incredibly advanced age for a Standard Poodle, and I knew he missed her terribly.

Dogs are like children that way. No matter how many you have, you still love each one individually, and each leaves a hole in your life when they're gone. I watched Faith scoop up the tennis ball and come galloping back. With any luck, I wouldn't have to worry about that for a long time.

“Everyone's doing well,” said Sam. “Callie's in coat, finally. I've never seen a bitch grow hair so slowly. I've got her entered next weekend at Trap Falls and Putnam. Want to come and give me moral support?”

“Sure.” As if he needed it. Sam hadn't been in Poodles as long as Peg, but he had a good eye for a dog and an athlete's natural grace in the ring. I always enjoyed watching him show his Poodles, and I especially enjoyed it when he beat Aunt Peg.

She'd been a big fan of his since he moved to the East Coast eighteen months earlier. In fact, it was she who had originally brought us together. Actually, the truth of the matter was that she'd pushed us together repeatedly, as if we weren't adults who were capable of making up our own minds. It was nice to occasionally see her get her comeuppance.

“We're having hamburgers for dinner,” Davey told Sam. “We're going to cook on the grill.”

“Sounds like a great idea. Who's the chef?”

I've had Sam's cooking. He's also had mine. Believe me, there's no comparison. “You,” I nominated.

“Done.” Sam bowed with a flourish. “And you, young man, will you agree to serve as my assistant?”

“Done.” Davey bowed as well, then turned to Faith. “And you, young dog, will you agree to serve as the assistant's dog?”

If my mother were still alive, she'd have said my son was being fresh. But I'm sorry, I found it funny. Apparently so did Faith. She cocked her head to one side and wagged her tail.

“I think that's a yes,” I said.

With that many hands helping, it took twice as long as usual to get dinner on the table. Nobody cared. As we were cooking outside, the game of Frisbee continued unabated. Once the coals were hot and the burgers and corn went on the grill, whoever was closest took a turn at picking up the spatula and flipping anything that looked like it needed flipping.

With that small amount of attention being paid to the details, the meal could have been a disaster, but it turned out amazingly well. Sam had fashioned an extra little hamburger for Faith, and when it was done, I crumbled it on top of her regular food. As usual, the Poodle pushed the bowl around the floor, picking out the good parts, then begged shamelessly at the table.

Davey, who managed to stay on his best behavior for the rest of the evening, didn't have to miss dessert. All right, so I'm a pushover. So far he's turning out to be a pretty good kid, so I figure I must be doing something right.

Sam's been around so much lately that Davey and I no longer think of him as a guest. I gave him the choice afterward of cleaning up in the kitchen or helping with Davey's bath. After a bit of negotiation, the two of them trooped upstairs with Faith trailing along behind to see what kind of mischief they were going to get into.

I heard a few shrieks and plenty of splashing; and at one point Faith came skidding into the kitchen with a clutch of bubbles dangling from her tail, but I resisted the temptation to go up and see how things were progressing. Half an hour later Davey was back downstairs, clean, dry, and freshly pajamaed, with tales of how he'd soundly defeated the Spanish Armada. It was Sam whose shirt was wet clear through. It looked as though he'd fought hard and gone down with his ship.