Best in Show (17 page)

There's nothing more infectious than a Poodle puppy in a good mood. All at once the knots that had tangled in my stomach began to loosen. PCA might be the Holy Grail of dog shows, but what happened in that ring in the next few minutes wasn't going to change the world. And win or lose, at the end of the week, I still got to take home the puppy that I loved best.

Mr. Lamb was finally making his first judging pass down the line. He paused opposite us. Eve gave him the come-hither look she'd perfected in the whelping box. He smiled slightly before moving on.

We'd passed step one; we'd gotten ourselves noticed. I reached down and slipped Eve a piece of bait. She scarfed the dried liver down and looked for more. I showed her my empty hand. She shoved her nose into it, then jumped back playfully as Mr. Lamb asked the first half of the class to take their puppies around the big ring. Perfect timing.

“Let's show him what we've got,” I said to Eve. The puppy's ears pricked.

We were ready to rock and roll.

E
ighteen big Poodle puppies, eighteen handlers, all trotting in unison around a ring large enough to give everyone room to move about. It could have been chaos. Amazingly, it worked pretty well.

Over time, I'd perfected the savvy exhibitor's skill of keeping one eye on the judge and the other on where I was going. It seemed to me that Mr. Lamb's gaze lingered, ever so briefly, on Eve as we gaited past. So far, so good.

As we awaited our turn to be examined, I pulled out my comb and ran it through Eve's long silky ears. The added grooming didn't do much for her appearance. It did, however, give me something useful to do with my hands.

When the puppy ahead of us began its individual pattern, I brought Eve forward out of line and stacked her again. One of my hands rested lightly under her chin, supporting her head; the other held her tail. When Mr. Lamb spun around to see who was next, we were ready for him.

After all the hours of worry and preparation that had gone into getting us to that point, our turn seemed to pass in a blur. I know I didn't fall down or otherwise embarrass myself. And I know Eve showed well because Aunt Peg clapped for us at the end. My aunt doesn't offer praise lightly. Related or not, she wouldn't have applauded unless our performance warranted her approval.

As promised, Sam met us afterward with a bowl of water for Eve and some encouraging words for me. Then he melted back into the crowd of spectators. I took Eve off to one side and tried to get her to relax. All around us, other exhibitors were doing the same thing. Some chatted in small groups; others were watching the competition. Poodle puppies variously stood next to their handlers or lay down in the grass; sitting wasn't allowed as it would pull apart the carefully sprayed neck hair.

Twenty minutes later a burst of enthusiastic applause accompanied one entry back to the end of the line. I looked up to see who'd merited such approbation and saw Roger Carew heading our way. His puppy was an elegant cream with flowing movement and a beautiful face. Judging by the audience's reaction, she'd be one of the ones to beat in the class.

“Pretty puppy,” I said as Roger found an open spot near me and settled in to wait.

“Thanks.” He glanced over. “You, too.”

“Congratulations on yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” The handler moved closer. Our puppies touched noses, checking each other out. Roger and I both kept a cautious eye on the situation. One unexpected leap, even offered playfully, could pull down a topknot.

“Bubba's Reserve,” I said.

His mouth flattened into a thin line. “Thanks. But under the circumstances, it didn't feel like much of a win.”

“I think Edith Jean was pleased.”

“I hope so.”

He looked past me for a moment, gazing up into the stands. I wondered if he was looking for potential whistlers.

Roger's puppy lay down carefully on the turf; Eve opted to do the same. With the two of them settled, neither Roger nor I would be going anywhere for at least a few minutes. I decided to ask some questions to pass the time.

“I saw you in the grooming room at the hotel with the sisters on Monday night,” I said. “Did you go outside with them afterward?”

Roger glanced back in my direction. He still looked distracted. “You mean when Betty Jean was killed?”

I nodded.

“Originally, yes. I had Bubba with me and I thought he might want to stretch his legs. The sisters were bickering about something.” A tight smile played over his lips. “As usual.”

“Cleaning up the field, I think.”

“Could be. I do know that one or the other of them was complaining about the cold. Anyway, we got separated in the dark. Bubba took off in one direction. The sisters headed in the other. I probably wasn't outside for more than ten minutes, tops. Then I picked Bubba up and headed back to my room. I didn't see the sisters to say good night, but I figured it didn't matter since I'd be seeing them first thing in the morning anyway.”

He paused, then blew out a breath. “Of course, it did matter. But I had no way of knowing that at the time.”

“You had Bubba with you,” I said, repeating what he'd just told me.

“That's right. I took him upstairs and put him to bed.”

“Edith Jean said that she had Bubba. She said that was why she went inside and left Betty Jean out in the field by herself.”

Roger shook his head. “She must have been confused. Bubba's been living with me since early March. I brought the puppy here ready to show. I wasn't about to jeopardize his chances by letting those two spend the night babying him. The sisters understood that. They agreed the puppy should stay with me.”

As would most owners. I didn't dispute the logic of his decision, only the fact that his story didn't jibe with what Edith Jean had told me. On the other hand, she had had plenty on her mind over the last several days. She could hardly be blamed for forgetting one small sequence of events on a night that she would surely be anxious to forget.

While we'd been talking, Mr. Lamb had worked his way steadily through the rest of the large class. Around us, exhibitors were beginning to stand up, brush the grass off their clothes, and smooth their puppies' hair back into place. It was time to go back to work.

Comparing armbands, we re-sorted ourselves back into numerical order. I headed toward the front of the line where I'd started out. Roger aimed for the middle. Eve trotted dutifully beside me. Much as she loved to show, I could tell she was tiring. The long, unaccustomed, mid-judging break had taken its toll. The puppy had lost her edge; now it would be up to me to see if I could bring it back.

For the second time, the entire class stood nose to tail in a long line that took up two sides of the ring. Mr. Lamb started at the front. Walking at a measured pace, he passed the puppies, one by one. A flick of his finger indicated who had made the cut. Those lucky exhibitors left the old line and formed a new one.

The first puppy was called; the next three passed by. By the time Mr. Lamb reached Eve, I'd been holding my breath for so long that my chest hurt. When his hand beckoned us forward, I nearly stumbled in my haste to comply. Then it took me a moment to figure out where to go.

Thankfully, thinking wasn't required on my part. All I had to do was follow the first puppy's lead. I hurried Eve out to the middle of the ring and set her up again.

In all, ten puppies made the first cut, including Roger's cream bitch. The remaining twenty-six were excused. Once they'd filed out, Mr. Lamb got down to the business of choosing his ribbon winners. The spectators pressed closer, marking their catalogs and choosing their favorites.

Ten puppies, four ribbons; it didn't take a genius to see that my odds weren't very good. But now that we were up and moving again, Eve was beginning to revive. We weren't going to concede without a fight.

We moved again, one by one. The ringside applause meter rose and fell with each entry, a telling bit of feedback as to how we were faring. When our turn came, Eve gave it her best shot. She gaited away from the judge straight and true, then headed back with head and tail high. No matter how things turned out, I knew I'd be proud of the effort she'd made.

Mr. Lamb took his time. He stared for a long, final minute at the entries, assuring the spectators that the gravity of his decision befit the size and caliber of the class. Then he picked out his top six. Roger's puppy was pulled second. To my utter delight, Eve was beckoned out sixth. She wouldn't win a ribbon, but she'd made the final cut. As we gaited around one last time, it was easy to believe that the resounding applause was for us.

I left the ring with a goofy grin on my face, and a tired but happy puppy at my side. Several bystanders offered congratulations. We hadn't won anything, but we'd been in consideration. In such exalted company, it was more than enough.

Aunt Peg was beaming when she came to find us. “Well done!” she said. “I'd hoped you would make the first cut. Getting pulled at the end was definitely a nice bonus.”

Nice, indeed. I'd be reliving the high of this moment for weeks.

By noon, I was back at work at the raffle table. In the interim, I'd taken down Eve's show ring hairdo, rewrapped and rebanded her topknot and ears, and given her a long walk outside. When I slipped her into her crate an hour later, the puppy looked relieved at the prospect of finally getting some downtime.

I wouldn't have minded having some myself. Since Edith Jean had been in charge of the raffle all morning while I'd been busy with Eve, however, I knew she'd be ready to take a break. As I headed toward the table, I saw Edith Jean approaching from the other direction. She was carrying a large cardboard box. It balanced awkwardly between her two hands, one of which was still wrapped in gauze. I hurried over to help.

“Here, let me get that.” The box was heavier than I'd expected. I hefted it over to the table and set it down on a chair. “What's in here anyway?”

“Another prize for the raffle. Something that should have been here weeks ago, but wasn't.”

“I didn't realize you took donations this late in the game.”

“It's not like I have a choice, is it? Some people always procrastinate until the last minute. In this case, the donor said she didn't dare send the item through the mail. Hence the eleventh hour delivery. Since it's all to benefit the club, it's not like I can turn things away.”

“Sure you can.” I opened the box and peered inside. If I wasn't mistaken, I was looking at a pair of Poodle andirons. Presumably they were meant to hold wood in a kennel fireplace. An interesting concept, if somewhat farfetched.

Edith Jean was rubbing her bandaged hand absently. “Does it hurt?” I asked.

“No, the darn thing itches. Probably means it's healing. Another day or two and the bandage will come right off.” Edith Jean tucked her hand behind her back as if she was sorry I'd even noticed. “You did a nice job in there with your puppy. She's very cute.”

“Thanks. Eve's a real doll. She's always fun to show. How were things here? Did you sell lots of tickets?”

“Not as many as we will this afternoon when you get out there and work the crowd.”

She reached beneath the table for the basket. We'd left most of the supplies packed inside it the night before. All I needed to add was some cash for making change. I leaned down to help her with it and as I bent over, Sam's ring, hanging on its chain around my neck, slipped out from beneath my shirt.

Edith Jean caught the diamond between her fingers and peered at it. “That's an awfully nice ring to keep hidden away.”

“I know.”

“An engagement ring?”

“Yes.”

Her gaze dropped to my hand. “Most women like to show those off.”

“In my case, it's a little complicated.”

Edith Jean straightened and let out a raspy laugh. “It's always complicated, honey, and that's the truth. Maybe you're too young to know that yet, but you'll find out in time.”

Her hand lifted. Fingers that had touched my ring moments before now went to the locket around her neck. I hoped she wasn't thinking about Elvis.

“A couple days ago I could have sworn that Betty Jean was the one wearing that locket,” I said. “Now you have it on. Was I confused about that? Or do you each have one?”

Something came and went quickly in Edith Jean's expression. “You're right,” she said. “There was only one locket, and it belonged to Sister. She kept it with her all the time. Never took it off, even when she went to bed at night. The locket meant something special to her. Now it means something special to me. I'm going to wear it every day in her memory.”

Since she hadn't volunteered the information, I supposed I didn't dare ask whose picture was inside. Aunt Peg's curiosity would have to go unsatisfied a little while longer.

“Since we're talking about Sister. . .” Edith Jean paused, gazing at me speculatively. “I was wondering if you might help me out with something.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

“The police are going to release her to me. I guess everyone's thinking I should take her home to Georgia, but that's not what I want to do. It's not what Sister would have wanted either. I'm looking to have her cremated.”

“That sounds like a fine idea.” I wondered where I fit into the plan. “Are you going to hold a memorial service when you get home?”

Edith Jean shook her head. “I've thought about it and I'd like to do one right here. At PCA, on Friday afternoon. I'm thinking we might take Sister's ashes and scatter them over the Poodle ring right before Best in Show. Doesn't that sound like just the very thing?”