I climbed the stairs to the wide front porch. “Don’t tell me you’re dieting again.”
“Goodness no, that was no fun at all.” Aunt Peg was six feet tall and as strong as a horse. Eventually her doctor had been forced to concede that the few extra pounds she’d gained satisfying her sweet tooth weren’t doing any real harm.
“It was the police,” she said.
“Police?” I stopped and stared.
Aunt Peg didn’t notice. She was still watching the Poodles. Their game had devolved into a free-for-all and she was making sure that no dog committed the cardinal sin of pulling on Coral’s growing show coat.
“The police?” I repeated.
Aunt Peg’s gaze cut my way. “Two New York City detectives. They looked like they’d come from a casting call for Law & Order. As you might imagine, I was quite surprised to find the pair of them standing on my doorstep this morning. It’s a shame you took so long to get here. Otherwise, you might have had the pleasure of meeting them yourself.”
“I had to work.” The impulse to defend myself was automatic. I had no idea why. It never made any difference.
Aunt Peg wasn’t impressed by my excuse. She turned away and snapped her fingers. All Poodle play in the yard promptly ceased. It was real life magic, Aunt Peg style. The six dogs immediately spun around and raced toward the steps. I barely got out of their way in time.
When everyone was inside, I shut the door behind us. It took me only a few seconds to pull off my coat and scarf and hang them on a nearby coatrack, but Aunt Peg was already on her way to the kitchen. I followed along behind. The only people Aunt Peg didn’t entertain in her kitchen were those she didn’t like. I wondered where she’d hosted the two detectives.
Five minutes later we were both seated at her butcher block table. Compared to the February chill outside, the room was warm and cozy. The Poodles had claimed a section of floor that was warmed by the sunlight streaming in through a wide bay window.
Aunt Peg had a mug of her favorite Earl Grey tea. I’d boiled some water and made instant coffee. It tasted stale. The jar of crystals I’d used had probably been in her cabinet for months. At least the drink was hot.
I wrapped my fingers around my coffee mug and said, “Tell me everything.”
“I wish I knew everything,” she replied with a windy sigh.
“Fine, then tell me what you know.”
“Victor Durbin is dead.”
I stared at her across the table. I’d known that since six-thirty this morning. There had to have been further developments since then. Surely she’d learned something from the visiting policemen.
“I didn’t kill him,” said Aunt Peg.
I’d just lifted the mug to my lips to take a cautious sip. I ended up with a gulp of hot coffee instead. It scalded all the way down.
When I’d gotten my voice back, I said, “Does someone think you did?”
“Apparently so.” Aunt Peg didn’t look concerned. If anything, she sounded pleased.
“The New York detectives?”
She nodded.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “What were they doing here? How did they even get your name?”
“A member of the Empire Poodle Club gave it to them. The detectives declined to tell me who it was.”
“That’s not fair.” I frowned. “Isn’t there a law that says you have a right to face your accuser?”
“Very good,” Aunt Peg replied. “You’ve cited the Sixth Amendment to the Constitution. I knew your expensive education wasn’t entirely a waste of time.”
I was pretty sure I’d just been insulted. But if I derailed the conversation to defend myself again, I’d never get any answers. So I ignored that and said, “And?”
“That privilege applies in a courtroom, not an investigation. But there’s something else. Whoever gave the detectives my name also told them that Victor Durbin and I were mortal enemies.”
I nearly choked on my coffee again. “Mortal enemies, seriously? Who even says something like that? It sounds like a line from a Stan Lee movie.”
“I enjoy a bit of hyperbole myself,” Aunt Peg said. “But under the circumstances, I quite agree with you. That comment was definitely uncalled for. Of course, it was the ‘mortal’ part of it that got the detectives’ attention. That, and the fact that I was present at Madison Square Garden last night when Victor was killed.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” I said, sitting back in my chair. “Start at the beginning.”
“Last night I was one of thousands of people in attendance at the Westminster Dog Show,” she told me.
I hadn’t needed her to go that far back. But I didn’t dare interrupt. It was easier to just let Aunt Peg tell the story her own way.
“The Frenchie won,” she said. “It was wonderful. Francine came over afterward and shook my hand. She said the Frenchie was sublime.”
Was it just me or were we really off track now?
“Francine?” I asked.
“The Best in Show judge,” Aunt Peg replied, as if I should have known.
Francine indeed. I was just a lowly exhibitor. I’d thought of that venerable judge as Mrs. Donaldson. But whatever.
“Does this have anything to do with Victor Durbin?” I asked.
“Not that I’m aware of.” Aunt Peg blinked. “I was just starting at the beginning. Until Victor turned up dead it was a marvelous night.”
For everyone except Victor presumably.
“How did he die?”
“He was stabbed.” Aunt Peg shuddered slightly. “Probably at some point during the competition. He subsequently bled to death. It happened in a men’s room at the facility.”
Finally things were beginning to get interesting.
“Do the police think he was the victim of a robbery?” I asked.
“They said no. Victor’s wallet was still in his pocket. It didn’t appear to have been touched. And I gather he was wearing a very expensive watch.”
“A gold Rolex,” I said. I’d seen it the other night.
Aunt Peg nodded. “Obviously that’s the first thing a thief would have grabbed. So the detectives are exploring other possible motives for his death.”
“And people like you,” I said flatly. “Victor’s mortal enemy.”
“Quite so.”
“Victor was murdered,” I said.
She peered at me across the table. “I just told you that, didn’t I?”
She had. “I’m just summing up,” I said. That, and trying to process the information. “The deed took place in a men’s room. Doesn’t that let you off the hook?”
“Hardly,” Aunt Peg sniffed. “If I followed someone with the intention of killing them, I wouldn’t change my plans at the last minute because I was squeamish about the locale.”
“Don’t tell me you said that to the detectives.”
“It might have slipped out,” she admitted. “Perhaps when I was telling them that Victor Durbin would have been horrified to know he’d come to such a sordid end. Dead in a public bathroom, indeed.”
“Victor is beyond caring,” I told her. “And you put yourself right back on the hook again.”
“I was trying to be helpful,” Aunt Peg said primly. “It isn’t a good idea to lie to the police, you know.”
“It also isn’t a good idea to volunteer information that they might find incriminating.”
“I was doing my civic duty. And there’s something else.”
“Wonderful.” I sighed. I probably don’t need to mention that where Aunt Peg is concerned, there is always something else.
“Think about it, Melanie. Unless someone is quite skilled, or exceedingly lucky, it takes strength to kill a person with a knife. You can’t just stick it anywhere and hope for the best.”
“So that’s good news,” I said. “Once again, it sounds as though the person who attacked Victor must have been a man.”
“Or a large woman.”
“Not you,” I snap
ped. “You’re seventy.”
“I’m in very good shape for my age.”
Honestly, I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation. Are you trying to convince me that you did murder Victor Durbin?”
“I’m just trying to point out that it’s a possibility.”
“No, it’s not,” I said firmly. “And we both know it.”
“You used to be more fun,” Aunt Peg said.
Was this fun we were having? I couldn’t tell.
“How did you hear about what happened to Victor?” I asked. “You knew early this morning. When I checked the news reports, all I saw was a vague reference to a possible death at the Garden.”
“Victor’s body was found as the place was emptying out last night. The police were called immediately. The president of the Westminster Kennel Club was notified at the same time. He informed the board members. After that, the news spread like wildfire.”
The dog show grapevine was a model of efficient communication. By now, the entire dog community would know what had happened. The version of the story that was circulating might be the truth. Or it might just be a reasonable facsimile. That didn’t matter. If the gossip was hot enough, either one would do.
“The killer took quite a risk,” I realized abruptly. “Dispatching Victor like that in such a public place. And at a time when there were so many people around. Why wasn’t he afraid of being seen?”
“Good question,” Aunt Peg agreed. “Was the perpetrator fearless, or was he foolhardy?”
“Maybe he was neither,” I said. “Maybe he was desperate.”
Chapter 11
The lights were blazing on Joshua Howard’s former mansion as I drove the Volvo up Howard Academy’s sloping driveway that evening. The large stone house—built in opulent times by a man for whom money was no object—had been designed to impress visitors, and perhaps to inspire their envy. Now, more than a century later, it still accomplished both goals handily.
Though the mansion’s salons and galleries had been converted into administrative offices and classrooms, much care had been devoted to maintaining the home’s character and charm. The soaring front hall had a burnished hardwood floor, a dramatic split staircase, and an ornate crystal chandelier. Those elegant features had purposely remained untouched through the years.
The graceful entrance was the first thing parents saw when they visited the school. Its composition quietly conveyed an image of dignity and refinement. Those were traits embodied by Russell Hanover himself, and ones he felt were an integral part of the Howard Academy experience.
For school functions, Mr. Hanover would begin the evening by taking a position just inside the mansion’s oak double doors. There, he would welcome parents into the softly lit entryway, praise their children, and thank them for their generous patronage. Harriet, Mr. Hanover’s longtime secretary, was equally busy behind the scenes, directing family members to the appropriate classrooms and making sure that the refreshment tables were constantly replenished.
Compared to that, my job was easy. Since I didn’t teach a specific grade, my only assignment was to stand in my classroom and converse with any parents who happened to drop by. My room was located in the new wing at the rear of the mansion, so I was able to bypass the busy front hall and slip in through a back entrance. As I hurried down the hallway, I saw the door was open and the lights had already been turned on.
Once inside, I hung up my coat in the closet, then quickly checked to make sure that everything was in order. Within minutes, Mr. Hanover would be opening the festivities with an address to the parents in the auditorium. Shortly after that, a crush of family members would descend upon us.
Honestly, I had no idea who found these occasions to be more of a chore, the parents or the teachers. What I did know was that regardless of our feelings on the subject, we all felt obliged to show up, plaster a smile on our faces, and attempt to look as though we were having a wonderful time.
Fortunately, the students I was tutoring were all making good progress in their studies. My conversations with their families were not only positive, they also left us feeling as though we were working together to achieve a worthwhile result. That seemed like a good night’s work to me.
When my classroom was finally empty, I glanced up at the clock on the wall. Just half an hour of the two-hour event remained. I decided it was a good time to head over to the dining room in the main part of the mansion. Harriet had set out the refreshments there. So that was where everyone ended up gathering as an event drew to a close. It wouldn’t hurt for Mr. Hanover to see me mingling with the remaining parents.
Like the rest of the mansion, the dining room was a showpiece. It had a high ceiling, dark wainscoting, and mullioned windows that sparkled when the sun shone through them. A light buffet supper had been set up on two long trestle tables pushed against the near wall.
I knew better than to drink coffee at that time of night, but I poured a cup from the silver urn anyway. I added a generous dollop of real cream from a nearby pitcher, then helped myself to a bright pink petit four. Harriet had made all the arrangements so I knew the food would be delicious.
Fortified with food and drink, I turned away from the table and gazed around the half-full room. There were plenty of chairs available, but most people had remained standing. Parents and teachers were chatting in small groups. Mr. Hanover was busy making the rounds. I knew he would count tonight’s event as a success.
I was about to grab another petit four when, to my surprise, I saw Louise Bixby conversing with two other women on the opposite side of the room. I hadn’t realized that the Empire specialty judge had a Howard Academy connection. When I stopped to consider, I recalled there was a seventh grader named Marla Bixby. The girl was cute, vivacious, and a serious student—which meant that she’d never had need of my tutoring services.
Mrs. Bixby must have felt the weight of my stare because she glanced in my direction. A minute later she excused herself from the conversation and came striding across the room. Aunt Peg was acquainted with the Poodle judge, but Mrs. Bixby and I had not previously met. Apparently that was about to be remedied.
“Hello.” She stopped in front of me and extended a hand. “I’m Louise Bixby. You look familiar but I’m afraid I don’t remember your name. Are you one of Marla’s teachers?”
The dog show world was a relatively small community. Once you’d been involved long enough, everybody began to look like someone you knew. Or maybe Mrs. Bixby had noticed me sitting ringside at the specialty.
“My name is Melanie Travis. I’m the special needs tutor here,” I said. “Marla is a great student so I’ve never had an opportunity to work with her. I probably look familiar because I show Standard Poodles. I watched you judge the specialty in New York last Sunday.”
“Oh, right.” She gave a small laugh. “That’s entirely different then.”
“My aunt is Peg Turnbull,” I added. “I believe you two know each other?”
Mrs. Bixby nodded. “Everybody knows Peg. She’s a force of nature in the Poodle world.”
And just about everywhere else, I thought.
“I would like to have gone to her seminar,” she said. “I was sorry to see it scheduled at the same time as the show.”
“That actually happened the other way around,” I told her. “Victor Durbin chose that show date to conflict with the symposium. As you probably know, he doesn’t have a good reputation in the Poodle world. What made you decide to accept the assignment to judge his club’s specialty?”
Mrs. Bixby’s eyes narrowed slightly. She hadn’t liked the question.
“Of course I was aware of Victor’s previous transgressions. But I was also well aware that a show Westminster weekend would be bound to draw a stellar entry—one that any judge would want to get her hands on. After due consideration, I decided to accept Victor’s invitation. It was time to let bygones be bygones.”
Wow. I paused
to drink my coffee, because I couldn’t come up with an answer for that statement. Had Mrs. Bixby really just admitted that she’d put aside ethical concerns in favor of self-interest? If so, she didn’t seem to have a problem with it.
Abruptly I noticed that Mr. Hanover was watching us from the other side of the room. Had he somehow picked up on the undercurrent of friction in our conversation? I certainly hoped not. The headmaster didn’t expect his teachers to be obsequious, but we were meant to conduct ourselves with deference toward school parents and alumna.
Deliberately I relaxed my shoulders and gave Mrs. Bixby a friendly smile. “The specialty did draw a wonderful entry. Did Victor ask you to judge because you and he were friends?”
She looked at me sharply, as if trying to discern whether the question implied something else entirely. When she replied, she appeared to be choosing her words with care. “Victor and I were acquainted, of course. But I wouldn’t have characterized our relationship as friendship. When he started the Empire Club, he asked me to join. But that didn’t mean anything. I think he asked just about anyone who’d ever seen a Poodle to join that club. He was desperate to add more local members.”
I set down my cup and saucer on a nearby tray. “Did you become a member of EPC?”
“No. I attended a couple of meetings and knew right away that it wasn’t for me. Victor was an autocrat. He wanted to do everything his own way. That club works better for people who want to follow rather than lead. I’m not surprised there’s been quite a turnover in membership through the years.”
“Victor did seem to have a hard time getting along with people.” I paused in case Mrs. Bixby wanted to elaborate about her own problems with the man. When she didn’t take the bait, I added, “I suppose that’s not surprising, considering what happened.”
Mrs. Bixby frowned. Her eyes narrowed. “Now I know who you are,” she said abruptly. “You’re that girl who goes around solving mysteries.”
My cheeks grew pink. She’d made that sound like it was a bad thing.
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