Game of Dog Bones

by Laurien Berenson

  This time I was successful in diverting Aunt Peg’s attention. Immediately our conversation was put on hold. As the four bitches filed into the ring, she and I moved up to stand beside Sam and Kevin at the rail.

  Terry was holding Crawford’s specials dog. He came over to watch with us. “There were two points in dogs,” he said in a low voice. “That would be enough to finish Crawford’s bitch. Praise the Lord!”

  I turned and stared at him. Terry wasn’t a religious person. The comment seemed quite out of character.

  “That bitch is the bane of my existence,” he muttered. “She chews her hair and barks all night. The sooner we can zip off her coat and send her home, the happier I’ll be.”

  Aunt Peg watched as the judge sent the four Standard Poodle bitches around the ring together. “Mr. Kenny would have to be blind not to put up Crawford’s bitch,” she decided. “And, unfortunately for our chances today, he is not.”

  “What about Coral?” Sam asked.

  Aunt Peg paused briefly. She considered her own bitch with an impartial eye—her judge’s eye—before responding. “Coral looks well in there. Quite lovely, really. She makes me proud to be her breeder. And Davey’s doing a very creditable job. But today, she lacks the other bitch’s maturity—and her abundant hair. And of course Crawford can handle rings around everyone else. No, I would say that today belongs to his bitch.”

  None of us were surprised when once again Aunt Peg’s prediction was spot on. Crawford’s bitch won the class. Coral and Davey placed second. Since Open was the only bitch class with an entry, Crawford’s Standard Poodle was automatically Winners Bitch. Davey and Coral were Reserve Winners.

  “Praise the Lord!” Kevin cried out as the judge handed Crawford two ribbons, one blue and the second one purple.

  It appeared to be our day to draw startled glances—including one from Crawford. Sam was biting his lip to keep from laughing. Terry lost that battle. I heard a loud guffaw come from behind us.

  I leaned down and quickly shushed Kev as Terry hurried over to the gate to switch Poodles with Crawford. The handler would show his champion in the Best of Variety competition. Terry, as assistant, would take the Winners Bitch.

  “Not yet,” I told Kev. “She still needs to go Best of Winners.”

  Davey exited the ring with his ribbons. He stared at us, his family, with a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment. Briefly it looked as though he might try not to acknowledge our presence. Then curiosity won out, and Davey brought Coral over to where we were standing.

  “Praise the Lord?” he said incredulously. “What was that about?”

  “I’ll explain later,” I told him, eyes still on the ring.

  Aunt Peg patted her chest and Coral jumped up. Her front feet nearly reached Aunt Peg’s shoulders. Peg ruffled her hands through the Poodle’s coat. Coral was finished showing for the day. It no longer mattered if her hair got mussed.

  “Sorry,” Davey said. He handed Aunt Peg the two ribbons.

  “Don’t be silly,” she replied. “You have nothing to be sorry about. You did a fine job of handling her. Coral looked good and so did you. Best of all, the two of you are becoming an excellent team.”

  “But we didn’t win.”

  “So what? You were beaten by a more deserving bitch. There’s no shame in that.”

  Davey’s eyes widened. He turned to look at me. No shame in that? he mouthed silently.

  I understood his confusion. Aunt Peg was a fierce competitor. She was never complacent about a loss. But she was also honest enough to acknowledge when her Poodle had been fairly beaten.

  Or maybe she was just mellowing in her old age.

  Crawford won Best of Variety with his champion. Terry handled the Winners Bitch to Best of Winners. As he stood in the ring waiting to receive his ribbon, Terry clasped his palms together. His fingers pointed upward as if in prayer. He looked disappointed that Kevin didn’t treat him to a repeat performance of the invocation.

  Crawford and Terry stayed behind to have pictures taken with the judge. The rest of us headed back to the setup. Aunt Peg waylaid me along the way.

  “Bertie,” she said again in a tone that brooked no argument. “Tell me.”

  I seldom kept mum about confidences I learned from suspects. But I never spilled my friends’ secrets. Not even within the family.

  I shook my head. “I can’t. It’s not my story to tell. It’s up to Bertie. You’ll have to ask her.”

  “If she wanted me to know, I presume she would already have told me.”

  “Precisely,” I said.

  “Just tell me one thing.” Aunt Peg laid a hand on my arm. She pulled me to a stop. “If the culprit is your brother—my nephew, Frank—there’s going to be hell to pay.”

  Thank goodness, that question was easy to answer.

  “It wasn’t Frank,” I said.

  “Victor?”

  “No, not him either. It was something that happened years ago.”

  Aunt Peg looked pensive. Like me, she’d known Bertie for a long time. “I shall have to think about that.”

  Good. Maybe that would keep her busy for a while. And the rest of us could have some peace.

  * * *

  Or not.

  Aunt Peg called early the next morning. Sunday morning. When Sam and I had once again had every expectation of sleeping in. And again, it didn’t happen.

  Sam picked up the phone. He opened one eye to squint at the caller’s name. “It’s for you,” he said. He handed me the phone, turned over, and promptly went back to sleep.

  “I had a perfectly marvelous idea,” Aunt Peg announced.

  Early on a dark Sunday morning in February, it was hard to think of any idea as marvelous. I levered myself up into a sitting position anyway. I was awake now.

  Faith jumped up on the bed to join me. She liked to listen while I talked to Aunt Peg. More than my husband did, at any rate. I buried my fingers in the Poodle’s thick coat and massaged her shoulders.

  “If this is still about Bertie, I’m not discussing it,” I said into the phone.

  “Certainly not,” Aunt Peg replied. “That’s yesterday’s news. Bertie and I had a long conversation last night. Today you and I are going to visit Olivia Wren.”

  “We are?”

  “Of course we are. Olivia and Victor’s mother are the closest of friends. I’m sure Olivia will have spent the last week comforting Bonnie in her time of loss. Who knows what tidbits of useful information she might have picked up.”

  Aunt Peg was right. That wasn’t a bad idea at all.

  “When are we going?” I asked.

  “How would I know that?”

  “I thought you had a plan.”

  “No, I had an idea. The two things are entirely different.”

  I sighed under my breath. “Are you going to make a plan?”

  “Of course.” She sounded surprised that I even had to ask. “I just have to confirm things with Olivia. Goodness, Melanie, it’s not even seven o’clock yet. On Sunday, no less.”

  “You noticed,” I said drily.

  “Give me a couple of hours. I’ll call you back.”

  Abruptly the connection severed. I set the phone down on the night table.

  “Aunt Peg has a plan,” I told Faith. Her plush tail flapped up and down on the comforter.

  “Peg always has a plan,” Sam muttered from the other side of the bed. I guessed that meant he hadn’t fallen back asleep. “It sounds like you’re going out later.”

  “Apparently I am.” I pushed back the covers and slid out of bed. “But first I’m going to make coffee.”

  * * *

  Olivia Wren lived in Fairfield on a piece of property that had been in her family for six generations. The house was colonial in design, with a square center block that had been built in the mid-1800s. The roofline had four chimneys, one in each corner. An old barn out back looked as though it now served as a garage.

  It was Sunday afternoon and Aunt Peg and I a
rrived together in her minivan. She parked on the side of the gravel driveway and we both got out.

  “Wow.” I stood and stared at the house. Aunt Peg had filled me in on its history on the way there. “This place is amazing.”

  “It is indeed,” Aunt Peg agreed. “Each time I visit I feel as though I’m taking a step back in time. Olivia’s ancestors participated in the American Revolution. I believe they were acquainted with Paul Revere.”

  “I’m impressed,” I said.

  “As well you should be.”

  Olivia greeted us at the door with a warm smile. She was a small woman but she wasn’t frail. Dressed in corduroy pants and a chunky fisherman’s knit sweater, she looked casual and comfortable. There were cozy shearling slippers on her feet.

  “How lovely of you both to drop by,” Olivia said as if she’d been the one to initiate the invitation. Two Toy Poodles, one silver and one white, were dancing around her legs. Their tails were wagging like mad. “Please come in. I don’t believe you’ve met Winkie and Charles?”

  As she closed the door behind us, I squatted down on the wide-plank floor and held out my hand. Charles, the silver Toy, immediately came over to say hello. Winkie was busy checking out Aunt Peg’s boots.

  “Charles is the official greeter.” Olivia gazed down at the pair fondly. “He loves everybody at first sight. Winkie prefers to wait and see if you pass muster before offering you her friendship. They are the last of my Toy Poodle line. When they’re gone, I don’t know what I will do.”

  “Hopefully that won’t happen for a long time,” Aunt Peg told her. “But when it does, let me know. We’ll think of something together.”

  Olivia led the way into a spacious living room dominated by a stone fireplace that looked big enough to roast a pig in. Once again, I stopped and stared.

  “That’s original to the house,” she said. “As are the interior beams, most of the flooring, and even some of the furniture.”

  We all chose seats. Olivia sank down on a plush couch. “Of course, not the pieces in this room,” she added. “Here, I’ve decorated entirely for comfort—a concept that would have been foreign to my early ancestors.”

  She patted the cushion beside her. Winkie bounced up in the air and landed on the couch. Charles had deserted me. Now he was lying down beside Aunt Peg’s foot. It figured.

  “We wanted to talk to you about Victor,” Aunt Peg began.

  “So you said on the phone. And while I’m always happy to see you, Peg, I’m not sure I have anything to tell you that you wouldn’t already know.”

  “You mentioned at the seminar that you’re friends with Victor’s mother,” I said. “How is she doing?”

  “Not well.” Olivia sighed. “Victor’s death was a huge shock. Bonnie lost her husband more than a decade ago, so she’s coped with loss before. But a parent never imagines that she will outlive her child.”

  “Was Victor an only child?”

  “Yes. And Bonnie is the first to admit that she spoiled him terribly. Perhaps that’s why he grew up believing that everything he wanted was his by right. Victor wasn’t an easy man to get along with. But murder?” Olivia shook her head in disbelief. “I could never have foreseen something like that.”

  “Have the police been in touch with Bonnie about their investigation?” Aunt Peg asked.

  “No, but she and I arranged things that way on purpose,” Olivia told us.

  “Oh?” Aunt Peg said with interest.

  “As you might imagine, Bonnie is not at her best right now. She didn’t want to have to devote her limited energy to keeping abreast of new details and developments. She asked if I would mind stepping in to act as her intermediary with the authorities. Of course I wanted to help in any way I could, so I acquiesced immediately.”

  “Well done, you.” Aunt Peg sounded impressed. “I wish I’d thought of that.”

  Right. Like that would have worked.

  “You don’t know Victor’s mother,” I pointed out. “And besides, the New York police view you as a suspect.”

  Olivia looked appalled. “Surely not!”

  “Someone at the Empire Poodle Club informed the detectives that Victor and I were mortal enemies,” Aunt Peg told her.

  “That’s ridiculous,” said Olivia. “Who would do such a thing?”

  Aunt Peg cocked her head to one side. “Actually I was hoping you might be able to tell me.”

  Chapter 21

  “Me?” Olivia’s voice faltered. “How would I know?” Yes, how would Olivia know? I wondered. I glanced at Aunt Peg. What was she up to now? And why did she never warn me about these things in advance?

  “You’ve been a good friend to Bonnie for many years,” Aunt Peg said. “And at one time, you were quite close to Victor too. I believe he was your godson, wasn’t he?”

  Olivia nodded. Her hand reached for the Toy Poodle at her side. She cradled Winkie close.

  I knew that move. I’d used it often enough with Faith. The older woman was seeking comfort from her dog. Wherever Aunt Peg was going with her questions, she was on the right track.

  “Perhaps you might have even played the role of his fairy godmother?” she queried.

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Olivia said.

  “I’ve spent quite a bit of time thinking about Victor Durbin over the last few days,” Aunt Peg told her. “More time than I’ve devoted to him in years. Certainly more time than he deserved.”

  I tamped down a smile. Not that it mattered, no one was looking at me. But I knew just how she felt.

  “Victor was a man whose ideas were always more grandiose than his resources,” Aunt Peg continued. “So I found myself wondering where he might have found the money to open his own business. Even with a partner, that had to have been an expensive undertaking. Then I remembered something you’d once mentioned when we were talking about investments. Victor used your seed money to open the Pooch Pub, didn’t he?”

  For a moment, I thought Olivia was going to deny it. Then her spine stiffened. She gazed calmly across the room at Aunt Peg. “At the time, I thought I was doing a good thing. Victor came to me with the idea. He’d written up a proposal for me to read. It was all very professional. He wanted me to invest in his vision—but quietly, behind the scenes.”

  Of course he would set it up like that, I thought. Victor always did want to have things all his own way.

  “Meaning that you wouldn’t have any say in the operation of the café?” Aunt Peg asked.

  Olivia nodded. “In the proposal, the puppies were homeless dogs in need of rescuing. Victor told me he would get them from the pound and local rescue groups. There was certainly no mention of breeding Poodles—much less Poodle mixes—to be offered for sale. I would never have condoned that.”

  “When you discovered what Victor actually intended to do, did you try to withdraw your investment?” I asked.

  “Of course I did. I didn’t want any part of it. Victor just laughed. He told me I was lucky to be involved with someone who could spot up-and-coming trends. He treated me like I was a dotty old woman who didn’t have a single sensible thought in her head.”

  “I’m sorry that happened to you,” said Aunt Peg. “It must have been a terrible way for you to find out just how nasty Victor could be.”

  “Maybe I am a dotty old woman,” Olivia said unhappily. “Because it never occurred to me that Victor would betray me like that. I’d known him since he was a child. I was well aware of his faults. But previously, he’d always treated me with respect. I had no idea he thought so poorly of me.”

  She looked so dejected that I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. “You aren’t the only person whose investment in the Pooch Pub brought them nothing but grief,” I said.

  “Perhaps that should make me feel better, but it doesn’t.” Olivia sighed. Then she turned back to Aunt Peg. “Victor and I were no longer close at the time of his death. In fact, quite the opposite. My relationship with Bonnie is very precious to me, but
I had distanced myself from her son. So I’m afraid I wouldn’t have any idea who was telling tales about you behind your back.”

  “I can appreciate that,” Aunt Peg replied. “What will become of your investment now that Victor’s gone?”

  “It looks like I’ll never see a penny of it back.” Olivia lifted Winkie into her lap. Her fingers stroked the Toy Poodle’s feathered ears absently. “My accountant is talking about a write-off.”

  “Have you met Victor’s partner, Clark Donnay?” I asked. “He now thinks he’s the sole owner of the Pooch Pub.”

  At least that was what he’d told me. But at this point, who knew if anyone was telling the truth?

  “That man.” Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “I told the police they should focus their investigation on him.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Clark and Victor were always at loggerheads over something. Even before the Pooch Pub opened, there were problems between them. Then working together every day led to even more friction. Victor often complained about him to Bonnie. If someone was angry enough at Victor to want to kill him, it was probably Clark.”

  “Plus, he’s a man,” Aunt Peg pointed out.

  Olivia’s gaze cut her way. “I’m surprised at you, Peg. I would think you, of all people, would believe that women are capable of doing everything men can do.”

  “We never heard any details about Victor’s death,” I said. “All we know is that he was stabbed during the dog show. It seemed like something that might have been easier for a man to accomplish.”

  Olivia digested that. “If you’d like to hear it, I’ll tell you the rest,” she said. “It’s not for the faint of heart, though. Are you sure you want to know?”

  Aunt Peg and I both nodded. I tried not to look too eager.

  “Victor was stabbed in the stomach. It appeared that his assailant must have taken him by surprise because there were no defensive wounds on his hands. The only sign that there might have been a struggle was that Victor had a very badly bruised finger.”

  Abruptly I gulped. Aunt Peg and I shared a look. With everything that had happened since, I’d almost forgotten about Aunt Peg’s encounter with Victor outside Madison Square Garden the night before he died.