Support Your Local Pug

by Lane Stone

  As he supported her he looked into her quite pretty face, forgetting whatever he was about to say. Chief Turner, Lady Anthea, Shelby, and I stood watching the scene play out between the two sets of doors. We supplied our own narration.

  “Smooth,” Chief Turner said.

  “Steady on,” added Lady Anthea.

  The two laughed, a little embarrassed. David let go of her arm and held out his hand and introduced himself.

  “I’m Julie,” she said, shaking his hand, and laughing again. I was once again grateful for my dog-like hearing. I was also thankful she was wearing jeans because the cord of the retractable leash had wrapped around her legs.

  “This is Ariadne, who’s going crazy,” he said, with a laugh, moving the handle of the leash around her back to extricate her. Then they turned to come in.

  “She looks awfully sweet to—”

  Bam. Bam. Their two heads clunked against the closed doors. Neither remembered David had let go of the door he’d been holding for her when she tripped on the dog. The “one–two” of their heads was, well, cute. The word that came into my head was couple. They could be a couple.

  They looked at one another, laughed again and finally came in, ending the floor show. David followed her, staring at the long, thick hair hanging down her back. His lips were moving, but no bon mots, witty repartee, or even urbane small talk filled the lobby to impress her. Julie had seen Chief Turner and sped up to talk to him, leaving David and Ariadne in her wake.

  “Hello,” she said. Even her voice was lovely. Chief Turner gave her a nod but before he could return the greeting she went on, “I’m Julie Berger.”

  The air in the room froze. Once I was able, I stole a glance at Shelby. She had caught that last name, too. I ventured a look at John. His eyes had narrowed by such a tiny amount it would have taken some kind of nano-supercomputer to measure. Maybe something better had been invented. Or maybe we were all wrong and her having the same last name as Billy B. was a coincidence.

  “I was just at my uncle’s house and an officer there told me to go to the police station. I was so shocked by what he said that I didn’t ask where that was,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Then I saw the police car in the parking lot and thought, who better to ask.”

  John looked past her to his car. “Your uncle’s name is?”

  “William Berger.”

  I blinked. A freight train of pain was coming our way and I could do nothing but stand there and be there. I took a deep breath in and stood taller.

  “Would you mind following me to the station? We can talk there,” Chief Turner said.

  “Has he been in an accident?” She looked like she was about to cry. “Or, or, is he ill?”

  David Fourie was inching forward, the hand holding the leash stretched out. I looked at Lady Anthea and she took over.

  “Mr. Fourie, please bring Ariadne out to the side play area. We’re about to begin.” It was a deft move to give the newcomer privacy.

  He followed Lady Anthea’s directions, looking over his shoulder at Julie, almost in a trance.

  John looked at me. “Maybe we could use your office?”

  “Let me clean it up,” Shelby called, already darting back to clear potato chip bags and sandwich leftovers.

  I welcomed a few more pet parents with their students to the class and directed them to the side play area.

  Shelby was back. Chief Turner motioned for Julie to follow him behind the counter and Shelby and I backed up for them to walk in front of us.

  “Shelby, is my son here?” Howard Fourie had come in and stood holding a brown six-foot leash. It was made of leather. Was everything they owned expensive?

  “I’m here,” David came in from the side door. Lady Anthea was behind him in the doorway, with Ariadne. “Thanks for bringing this,” he said and took the leash. “I’d like to add someone to the guest list for dinner.” There it was, he was again speaking like someone twice his age. He gave a slight nod in Julie’s direction.

  “Of course,” Howard said, as he turned his head to follow his son’s gaze. Julie was looking at the floor, but her beauty was still obvious.

  “Ms. Berger,” Chief Turner said, pointing to my office.

  Howard leaned closer to his son. “I’ll have to check with the restaurant.” Then he was gone. Back to do whatever titans of industry do.

  “Sue?” Chief Turner was calling me. I hoped he hadn’t repeated it too many times while I was busy eavesdropping.

  “What?”

  He motioned for me to follow Julie.

  “Oh,” I said, when I finally understood he wanted me there when he broke the news to her. I did a quick scan of his face and saw no trace of condescension, or any sign he might be judging her to be some overwrought female, so I walked the few yards to my office.

  “I need to see her identification,” he whispered behind me.

  I swung around and pointed my finger at him. “No!” I mouthed.

  Julie stood facing the desk, her back to us. She turned when Chief Turner said, “Ms. Berger?”

  He introduced himself and then me. Without euphemisms or phony familiarity, he told her that her uncle had been murdered. I was wondering how a man who looked to be in his seventies or even early eighties could have a niece her age, but it was a little late in the game to let Chief Turner in on my doubts.

  “Would you like to sit down?” I was already guiding her to the sofa.

  I sat next to her and told her about her uncle’s popularity in town. She looked at me, turned her head to one side, and then she fainted.

  Chapter 18

  As soon as Lady Anthea had said goodbye to the last of her agility class attendees, we left in my Jeep to meet Rick at his father’s apartment on Second Street, over the deli. Because we were charging so much for the classes she hadn’t rushed anyone out. She’d stayed to answer questions and give extra help or praise.

  David Fourie did rush out. Like he was shot out of a cannon, he was back in the lobby and scanning it to see if Julie was still there. She wasn’t and he looked dejected. Shelby had helped her make a reservation at the Dogfish Inn, which was diagonally situated across Savannah Road from Mozart’s. David wanted to invite her to the dinner at the Gate House, but I didn’t feel comfortable giving out her cell number without her permission. I drove while Lady Anthea called to check on her and to extend the invitation.

  When Shelby gave her the directions to the hotel, it seemed that she knew nothing about Lewes. Chances were she’d never been here before. After she fainted I hadn’t wanted to ask her how close she and her uncle had been but I was certainly curious. Maybe they didn’t see one another very often—but then there was the fainting when she heard the news that he was dead. Nor did we know where she had driven from. Would she feel well enough to attend a large dinner party? That would be her decision to make.

  “How are you feeling, dear?” Lady Anthea began. She gave Julie the particulars, like the time and the location, and hung up.

  “She’s going to try to nap and then decide if she’s up to going out this evening,” Lady Anthea said. “I think that’s very sensible. The girl is in bits.”

  I turned left onto West Third Street and then right onto Mulberry Street.

  “Where are we going?” Lady Anthea asked, looking around. “Isn’t Mozart’s located at the next intersection?”

  “Yes, but Rick doesn’t want us to park in front or to go through the deli. He’ll meet us on the corner and we’ll use the back stairs.”

  “And I thought my family was complicated,” she said, shaking her head.

  “How is your brother?” I asked.

  She hesitated and I wished I hadn’t asked. Usually asking a friend about a family member is fine, sometimes even expected, but when the relative is a duke, maybe not.

  It was the duke’s poor business skil
ls or maybe his inferior money management that made it necessary for Lady Anthea to give the classes at Buckingham’s. Her regular share of the profits had kept a roof over her head, but Frithsden’s roof needed repair.

  Now Lady Anthea was fighting back tears.

  I pretended to look extra hard for a parking spot, measuring the pros and cons of each vacant spot. There were numerous options since the season for the beach was months away.

  The fact that the duke was still alive kept him from getting a Darwin award. As far as we knew from Google-stalking him, he had never reproduced, so at least he wasn’t a detriment to the gentry gene pool. His antics did cause Lady Anthea great financial stress, which was high enough already from an estate as large and ancient as Frithsden.

  Finally, she said, “He’ll never change.”

  When I couldn’t stall any longer I parked in front of St. Peter’s Church. We got out and backtracked in the direction of Savannah Road.

  Lady Anthea grabbed my arm and pulled me into Flowers By Mayumi. “Did you see her?”

  “Who?”

  “Julie Berger is out there.”

  I looked out the store’s front window down to the end of the street. She was standing frozen as an English Setter stopped in a “set” on the sidewalk across from Mozart’s. She was staring, head pointed toward the prey.

  Chapter 19

  When Dayle rapped on the window of the flower shop Lady Anthea and I were holed up in, we both jumped. That’s how intently we had been watching Julie, and wondering about her fascination with the deli. Dayle motioned for us to follow her, but our bodies had to realize we weren’t having heart attacks before we could follow even the most straightforward instructions. “Come on, come on,” she was saying.

  Lady Anthea pulled my arm and I followed her out. At the door I took a quick look up the street. Julie was gone.

  “Rick is waiting for us behind Mozart’s,” Dayle said, already jaywalking across the street.

  During the season there’s so much traffic in Lewes that cars had to creep along, so we jaywalk. In the off-season there weren’t many cars, so we jaywalk. It was only a problem on Savannah Road, where even marked crosswalks offered little protection. In true Lewes fashion, there were now holders attached to telephone poles, filled with yellow flags. Pedestrians took a flag and holding it up, crossed the street. Genius.

  We found Rick and followed him up the back stairway to his father’s apartment. He reached over to unlock the door.

  “Wait!” I yelled. “What about a booby trap?”

  “I checked for trip wires and didn’t see any,” Rick said. Sure, he sounded confident, but I noticed he tensed before pushing the door open, like he was bracing himself for the unpleasant job ahead. Nothing happened. No water fell on his head. No detonation of a sound grenade or anything else. He was visibly relieved and walked in. “He cleaned up,” Rick said, sounding shocked.

  Some of the apartments over the shops and restaurants were elegant, and spanned great swaths of the block. Martin’s was not one of those. It consisted of a bedroom, plus a living room, dining area and kitchen combination. The rear looked out onto the canal and tall narrow windows lined the wall. The front of the apartment mirrored it, with the same number of windows. Two massive recliners faced a television.

  I smiled. “Looks like he’s happy here,” I said, looking around at the tidy room. The furniture wasn’t the latest style, but it didn’t look old either, maybe it was just well-cared for. “Rick, what were you worried about? This is kind of nice.”

  “You haven’t seen the bedroom yet,” he answered.

  I circled around a recliner on my way to the door to the other room, and the others stood behind me. “Is that what I think it is?” I asked after opening the door and walking into the room.

  “Oh, my,” Lady Anthea said. The room held a queen-size waterbed and more six-foot tables than I could easily count lined the other three walls. They were covered with mysterious equipment and appliances.

  When we were all in the bedroom Dayle asked, “Rick, is that bed even legal? I mean on the second floor of a building this old?”

  “Probably not,” Rick said. Then he started laughing. He took off his baseball cap and wiped his eyes.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “I just realized something. You’re looking at the reason Billy B. stopped using Mozart’s side room for functions.”

  Lady Anthea walked closer to the bed, keeping a wary eye on it. “Are you saying it could fall through?”

  “I don’t know,” Rick said and dropped down onto it. He reached for Dayle’s hand for her to join him. Unfortunately, just as he did, Lady Anthea was reaching down to touch the undulating mattress. The bed came up to meet her hand. When the bed’s tide went back out, so to speak, her balance went with it and she lunged forward. Pearls, cashmere sweater, leather pumps, everything. Rick, Dayle, and I all dove for her but the bed was in such a state of agitation at that point that we didn’t have a chance. It had the drop on us.

  “Are you okay?” I called.

  Rick apologized.

  Lady Anthea was laughing. She was lying, or actually sloshing, on her front, which made it hard for us to get her on two legs.

  Rick and Dayle bounded up and between them, righted her. Once she was standing she threw back her head and laughed some more.

  Most people assumed Lady Anthea was several years older than me, but we’re actually almost the same age, which is late-thirties and close enough to forty for a staring contest. When she laughed she didn’t just look younger, she was younger.

  Chapter 20

  When we recovered from our hysterics we got down to the business of finding legal papers that would tell us what happened to the business if one partner died.

  Lady Anthea looked at her watch. “I haven’t had my afternoon tea.”

  “Can’t have it here,” Rick said, leading us out of the bedroom. “I’ll show you why.”

  It was almost six o’clock, but because it was February the sun had begun to set. I stopped when I saw the view from the front windows, then the back. Fairy lights on the trees lining Second Street were lit on one side, and those suspended on trees along the canal glowed in the windows of the back.

  “Now I see why he loves living here,” Dayle said.

  “Sometimes Pop is crazy; sometimes he’s not,” Rick answered. “Sue, this view is what he wanted you to see.”

  “Why?”

  “He figured you’d appreciate it,” Rick said with a smile.

  I looked in one direction, then the other. “It’s like magic. Anyone would.”

  “I don’t know about that. Most people don’t recognize the beauty of just enough,” Rick said.

  Lady Anthea looked at me, then at Rick. When we didn’t elaborate she said, “You’re certain I can’t make myself a cup of tea before we begin?”

  “Uh, yeah. About that.” He walked over to the oven and opened it, pulling out two small cardboard boxes, which he put on the small breakfast table. Then he did the same with a shoe box from the microwave. “I know you use the stove top for boiling water for tea, but I’ve learned not to turn on anything electrical here.” He turned and opened the dishwasher and got out a filled shopping bag.

  “Point taken,” Lady Anthea said.

  We gathered around the table and each opened a box or bag. All were crammed with file folders, neatly labeled in an old-fashioned-looking font.

  “This writing looks like artwork,” I said.

  “Your father is a calligrapher?” Lady Anthea asked, gingerly running a finger over the writing on the closest folder.

  “No, Billy B. was.”

  “A true Renaissance man,” she said with a sigh, as she read the folders in her box, one by one.

  “That reminds me—” I started.

  “She’s no longer
there,” Lady Anthea added.

  “Who?” Dayle and Rick said at the same time.

  “Oh, you don’t know about her,” Lady Anthea said. “A young woman came to town claiming to be Billy B.’s niece.”

  “Claiming to be?” I asked, unhappy that that word was out there in the ether. I had taken the folders out of the shopping bag and was replacing them when I read labels like Payroll 2014 and Payroll 2015. “She was very upset when Chief Turner told her Billy B. had been murdered.” I turned to Rick and Dayle. “She even fainted!”

  “Any actress can faint,” Lady Anthea said. “She could be anyone. Did Chief Turner ask to see her identification papers?”

  I shook my head no.

  “I’m surprised at him. I recall him being much more professional,” Lady Anthea said, with a tsk, tsk tone.

  “I kind of wouldn’t let him,” I said awkwardly. “Anyway, when we were waiting for Dayle we saw her standing across the street.” I pointed toward the Second Street side.

  “What was she doing?” Dayle asked.

  “Nothing. She was just looking at Mozart’s,” Lady Anthea answered.

  “Maybe she was thinking about her uncle being here—I mean, downstairs in the deli?’ Dayle asked.

  “Or because she knows she’s the new co-owner!” Rick said, holding up a file folder.

  Chapter 21

  We had left Martin’s apartment, gone back to my house and changed clothes, only to head back to downtown Lewes, and end up a few blocks from Mozart’s.