Game of Dog Bones

by Laurien Berenson

  Chapter 19

  Back at our setup, Sam and Davey had everything under control.

  Coral was once again being brushed. When that was done, Davey would put in her topknot and spray up her hair. Then Sam would scissor the final finish to the Poodle’s trim. My presence was utterly superfluous.

  “I’m going to go wander around the show,” I said. “Kev, do you want to come with me?”

  He pushed his blocks to one side and jumped down off the crate. I reached out and wrapped my hand securely around his. Kev loved to slip away whenever there were spotted dogs nearby.

  “If you see Aunt Peg, whatever you do, don’t send her back here.” Davey flashed me a grin. “We’re doing fine without her help. Coral is going to look great in the ring.”

  “I’m sure she will,” I agreed. “But this is only her first show as an adult, so don’t get your hopes up too high.”

  “We won the last two times I showed her in the Puppy class,” Davey said, sounding cocky. “Now that she’s grown more hair, we’re ready to pick up where we left off.”

  “It doesn’t usually happen that way,” I told him. “There’s less competition in puppies than in the Open class, where you’ll be today. And some of those bitches will be a lot more mature than Coral. To the judge, they’ll look like more deserving winners. Coral is a very pretty Standard Poodle but she’s still young, and showing in Open is a whole new ball game.”

  Sam was thumbing through the catalog. “Not to mention that there will be four professional handlers, including Crawford, in your class.”

  “Davey’s going to win,” Kev said firmly.

  He had joined Davey and Coral in the ring when the puppy’s picture was taken after her last win. The resulting photo was hanging on his bedroom wall. Now he wanted to do it again.

  “Davey and Coral are going to have fun today,” I said with equal firmness. “That’s the goal.”

  “Fun?” Davey groaned. “You’re missing the point.”

  “And you,” I said, “are beginning to sound like Aunt Peg.”

  Kevin shrieked with laughter. Davey looked chagrinned. I knew he wouldn’t like the comparison. But it served to make my point.

  “Speaking of Crawford, where are he and Terry set up?” I asked.

  “Over there.” Bertie gestured toward a recessed alcove I hadn’t previously noticed. “I didn’t see them when I came in; otherwise I’d have been next to them.”

  Professional handlers, with multiple dogs to prep and show, arrived at the dog show grounds as soon as they opened. This morning, Bertie had probably already been hard at work when Sam and the boys and I were home eating breakfast. As if to illustrate that, she swept the Border Collie off its tabletop and went striding toward the ring.

  “You said we were going somewhere.” Kevin tugged on my hand impatiently. He was staring in fascination at the nearby Springer Spaniel ring.

  “Go.” Sam motioned us away. “Davey and I have work to do.”

  We stopped at the Springer ring on our way to say hi to Terry and Crawford. That didn’t take long. This show, falling a week after Westminster, didn’t have a big entry. There were only a handful of Springers to watch.

  “I like Bud better than those dogs,” Kevin said at the end.

  “That’s a good thing, considering he’s yours. Bud would be very disappointed if you found another dog you liked better.”

  Kevin shook his head. “Bud’s the best. We should buy him a new toy.” There was a row of concession stands along the far wall. They offered everything a dog owner could possibly need or want. “Something with a big squeaker in it,” he added.

  Sure. Because we wanted Bud to be able to make more noise.

  Kevin looked up at me imploringly. I sighed.

  “We’ll take a look at the dog toys afterward,” I told him.

  Terry saw us coming. He leaned down and opened his arms. Kev dropped my hand and took off running. I was afraid he would bowl Terry over but the handler was rock steady. He planted a kiss on Kevin’s nose.

  “How’s my favorite five-year-old?” he asked.

  Kev giggled. “I’m only four. I won’t be five until next month.”

  “Really?” Terry looked him up and down. “You’re so big I thought you might be turning six.”

  That made Kevin shriek with delight. More than anything, he wanted to be a big kid.

  Terry rose to his feet. I didn’t get a kiss. Not even a hug. I guess he’d used up my family’s quota on my son.

  “I see we’re up against Coral in bitches,” he said to me. “How does she look?”

  “Pretty . . . but maybe a little immature.”

  “Good. A win today would finish Crawford’s bitch and he’s hoping to get it done.”

  I glanced around. Several Standard Poodles, including their Open bitch, were out on tabletops in various stages of grooming. There was no sign of the handler, however. “Where’s Crawford?”

  Terry waved vaguely toward the other end of the room. “At the Pom ring. He’ll be back in a bit.”

  “Your hair looks pretty, Terry,” Kevin said.

  Terry leaned down again, so he could talk to Kevin eye to eye. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

  “I’m surprised to see it’s still purple,” I mentioned. “I thought that was a Westminster thing.”

  “It was. But then I decided I liked it. So I kept it this way.”

  “Are you going to change it back before the wedding?”

  Monday was Valentine’s Day. And dog show people were always busy on weekends. So Monday was the perfect day for Terry and Crawford to get married.

  “We’ll see.” Terry’s eyebrows waggled up and down. Thankfully they weren’t purple too. “It annoys Crawford so much that I’m tempted to leave it. Just imagine the wedding pictures! You know me. I hate to get lost in a crowd.”

  As if anyone believed that could ever happen.

  “How’s the wedding planning coming along? Is everything all set?”

  “I should hope so. It’s only two days away.”

  Terry didn’t sound concerned in the slightest. I couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Terry possessed many admirable traits but a gift for organization wasn’t among them. As long as he and Crawford ended up married to each other at the end of the day, I supposed that was all that mattered.

  “I was hoping you’d ask me to help out with the cake testing,” I said.

  His eyes skimmed up and down my body. “You don’t need the extra calories.”

  That comment was rude. I really wanted to call him out on it. And I would have if it wasn’t true.

  “What about the decorations?” I asked instead. “Bertie’s expecting big red hearts, and lots of little cupids running around.”

  “That sounds like fun.” Terry grinned. “You can volunteer Kevin. We’ll dress him up in a tiny toga, give him a bow and arrow, and let him terrorize the guests.”

  My son with weaponry? Definitely not a good idea.

  Kevin had been amusing himself with a glossy dog magazine he’d found on top of a nearby crate. Now he heard his name and looked up. “Me?”

  “No, not you. Another Kevin,” I told him. That’s what’s called a mother’s lie. It’s like a white lie, but more benign. We’ve all used them. “Keep reading, honey.”

  I turned back to Terry. “You’re not even going to give me a hint what to expect? Will there be dancing Poodles? A full symphony orchestra? Will you be carried down the aisle to Crawford in a sedan chair?”

  “Oh please. A sedan chair?” Terry could scoff all he wanted. I could have sworn he looked intrigued. “Credit me with some taste.”

  “Says the man with purple hair.”

  He reached up and touched his aubergine locks. “I like my purple hair. And as for the wedding, you and Sam will just have to come and see.”

  “We wouldn’t miss it,” I said.

  I glanced back over my shoulder, Crawford was nowhere in sight. And Kev
was still looking at dog pictures. That meant I still had a few minutes to talk.

  “I want to ask you about Victor Durbin,” I said.

  “Of course you do,” Terry replied. “I figured that was why you came over here.”

  Ouch. I frowned at him. “Really?”

  “For Pete’s sake Melanie, the man died at a dog show. Does anyone doubt that you’re going to get in everyone’s business about it?”

  Apparently not.

  “Just one question. You told me you’d heard that Victor was going to be stepping down as president of the Empire Poodle Club. Did you ever find out why?”

  Terry shook his head. “I didn’t even try. After what happened, I figured it didn’t matter anymore.”

  “You said you thought it must be bad, though. What if it was something that led to Victor’s death?”

  “At a Poodle club?” Terry sounded skeptical. He picked up a slicker brush and began to rake through a brown Mini’s back bracelets.

  “I heard that Victor was falsifying the club’s membership records. He’d gotten EPC accredited under false pretenses.”

  “That’s interesting,” Terry glanced up. “I can see how that would make the other members mad enough to want him to step down. But it doesn’t sound like grounds for murder.”

  He was probably right.

  “Who told you that?” Terry asked.

  “Hannah Bly. She’s the club treasurer.”

  “She was also the steward at their specialty last weekend,” he said. “You know, the woman who was standing in the ring trying to look like she was just about anywhere else when Victor and the judge went at it?”

  “You saw that?”

  Terry grinned. “Everybody saw it. How could we help it? We were hanging around waiting for the Toy judging to start.”

  “Did you hear what the two of them were arguing about?”

  “I wish! But sadly, no. I was at the ring a minute earlier picking up our armbands. But by the time the fracas started, I’d returned to the setup.”

  “I asked Louise Bixby. She said it was just a misunderstanding. And that Victor was the kind of guy who liked to draw attention to himself.”

  “Well, sure. But at his own show? That seems like an odd choice.” Terry sounded skeptical again. Once again, I couldn’t blame him.

  “When I was talking to Hannah, she told me that Louise sent Victor a note. And that was what had brought him storming over to the ring.”

  “Hmm,” said Terry.

  “What?”

  “You know I said I’d just been at the ring to pick up our numbers?”

  I nodded.

  “There was a bit of a backup, and several of us were there waiting. Hannah was busy at the other end of the judge’s table writing something. Then she folded the paper and handed it to someone outside the ring.”

  That was interesting. “Who?”

  Terry shrugged. “I don’t know. I wasn’t really paying attention. It didn’t matter at the time. I just wanted my armbands.”

  “Hannah could have been writing it for Louise,” I mused. “Maybe that’s how she knew there was a note.” Except that Hannah had also told me she was just as baffled about the cause of the argument as I was. It was all very confusing.

  “This is boring,” Kevin announced. He’d finished thumbing through the magazine and set it aside. “I thought you said we could buy Bud a toy.”

  “We’re going to,” I said. “Any minute now.”

  Then I saw Crawford making his way back from the ring with the Pomeranian under his arm. It looked like it was time for me to get moving.

  “We’ll see you at the Standard ring,” I told Terry.

  “You’ll understand if I don’t wish you luck,” he said with a wink.

  “Ditto,” I shot back.

  Kevin led the way to the concession stands. When that child wanted something, he had a one-track mind. The first booth we came to sold a variety of canine supplies. I was happy to see there was a large selection of squeaky toys for him to choose from.

  Kev bypassed the bin of fuzzy toy mice. He ignored the long cloth snake with beady eyes. Instead, he went straight for a big yellow rubber chicken that was hanging from a hook. He took the toy down and squeezed it to see what would happen.

  The squeal that chicken emitted was loud enough to make me jump. Kevin just grinned. “This one.”

  “You’re sure?” I uttered a silent prayer. There was always a chance he could change his mind.

  “This one,” he repeated.

  “Bud’s a little dog. That chicken is pretty big.”

  “He can drag it,” Kev said happily. “Bud won’t mind.”

  I dug out my wallet and paid for the toy. Kevin declined the salesman’s offer of a bag to put it in. Instead, as we stepped away from the concession stands, he clutched the rubber chicken in his hands and squeezed it again.

  Every dog in the vicinity whipped around to have a look. Even those in nearby rings. Oops. The handlers looked at us too. Actually they glared. They were not amused.

  “I’ll take that.” I lifted it out of his hands. “You can have it back when we get home.”

  When we got to the setup, Coral was standing up on her table. Her topknot was in. Her mane coat had been sprayed up. Sam was watching as Davey used a pair of large curved shears to perfect the finish on her trim.

  Even from afar, Coral’s balance, her lovely hindquarter, and her pretty face were evident. But when I compared her to Crawford’s Open bitch, Aunt Peg’s Poodle looked young. And perhaps not quite as ready to win as she would be in a few months’ time.

  “Mom bought me a chicken!” Kevin cried gleefully.

  More heads whipped around. Davey barked out a laugh. Sam looked appalled. He couldn’t seriously believe . . .? Apparently he did.

  Give me some credit, I thought. Besides, where did he think I was going to find a chicken at a dog show?

  I held up Bud’s toy. “It’s rubber,” I said.

  “Thank God for that,” Sam muttered.

  “You might not say that after you hear how much noise it makes.”

  Davey carefully lifted the shears away from Coral’s coat. He motioned to his little brother. “Go ahead.”

  I snapped my arm upward, beyond Kev’s reach. “Not here. We nearly caused a riot over by the rings. You can hear what it sounds like when we get home.”

  “Who caused a riot?” Aunt Peg asked, coming up behind us. Her gaze swung my way. “You?”

  “Not on purpose. The rubber chicken was the real culprit.”

  She leaned down and examined Kev’s purchase. Her fingers poked the chicken’s bald yellow body. “My dogs would tear that ugly thing to pieces,” she said with a sniff.

  “Ours probably will too,” Sam agreed.

  “It was Kev’s choice,” I told them. “It’s a new toy for Bud.”

  “Good.” Sam brightened. “He can drag it under the couch and leave it there.”

  Aunt Peg propped her hands on her hips. She looked around the setup. “So now I see what happens when I leave you lot to your own devices. Why is everybody standing around here talking about rubber chickens when the judging starts in five minutes?”

  Chapter 20

  That got us all moving in a hurry.

  Aunt Peg let Davey unwrap Coral’s ears, hop her down from the table, and then walk her to the ring without any interference on her part. Maybe she was learning something, I thought. Maybe we all were.

  Sam took Kevin’s hand. The two of them led the way, clearing a path so that no one would jostle Davey’s ring-ready Poodle. I fell in behind with Aunt Peg.

  “What did you find out?” I asked.

  “Not as much I wanted to. Unfortunately, this isn’t a large show. Louise isn’t here at all. I found a number of people who knew who Victor was—which isn’t surprising considering the current situation. But only a few of them had actually known him when he was alive.”

  “Were any of them women?”

&
nbsp; “Four, which is a regrettably small sample. And none had anything useful to say.” Aunt Peg sighed. She didn’t deal well with frustration. “I poked and prodded to no avail. I couldn’t come up with a single complaint about Victor’s behavior.”

  “I assume your questions weren’t too subtle?”

  Aunt Peg slanted me a look. One I’d seen many times before. That was a hard no.

  We reached the Poodle ring. The Open Dog class was already being judged. There were just two in it. Sam went to get Davey’s number from the steward. Davey was standing off to one side with Coral. One of his hands held her balled-up leash, and the other was cupped around the Poodle’s muzzle. The two of them looked totally relaxed.

  “Just because none of the women would confess to you doesn’t mean nothing happened,” I said.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Aunt Peg demanded. “Why shouldn’t they talk to me? I’m a perfectly lovely conversationalist.”

  Who sometimes left people feeling like they’d been run over by a Mack truck. Delicate subjects were not Aunt Peg’s forte.

  “I was discussing the situation with Bertie earlier,” I said. “She reminded me that many women are embarrassed to admit they’ve let themselves be taken advantage of. They think it makes them look stupid, or that people will think it’s their fault it happened.”

  Aunt Peg reared back. Her expression froze. “Bertie? How would she know anything about that?”

  Abruptly I realized what I’d said. A quick change of subject was needed. “Oh look! Winners Dog is being judged.”

  Aunt Peg flicked a glance toward the ring. “The Open dog will win,” she said as if any idiot could see that. “Now back to Bertie. Talk to me.”

  “Umm . . .”

  Not only was I the idiot in question, now I sounded like one. Inside the ring, Aunt Peg’s prediction quickly proved true. The Open dog took the points.

  “Don’t you want to wish Davey good luck?” I asked.

  “Davey already knows he has my felicitations.” She glared down at me. “Quit stalling and tell me what happened.”

  I was about to try another dodge when fate lent a hand. The sole entry in the Puppy Bitch class was absent. I gestured toward the ring. “I can’t talk now. The Open bitches are going in.”