Hush Puppy

by Laurien Berenson

  “Aunt Peg will keep Jane safe until I get there. If Detective Shertz calls, would you tell him what happened?” I scribbled down Peg’s address and phone number. “This is where we’ll be.”

  I left Russell’s office at a run. Luckily, the halls were nearly empty, and I was able to convince myself that I wasn’t setting a bad example. Otherwise, I’d have had to put myself on report.

  I stopped by my classroom, fetched Faith, and headed out to Peg’s. It was a straight shot out Lake Avenue to Round Hill, and we made good time. Less than ten minutes after hanging up the phone, I was turning into Peg’s driveway.

  She must have been watching out the window because she met us at the door. For once, Peg’s house dogs didn’t seem to be doing their duty as guardians. Even with Faith on the step, I didn’t hear a single bark.

  “Jane has them with her in the kitchen,” Peg informed me as we headed that way. “They’re all besotted with her, the entire lot of them.” Judging by her tone, she couldn’t decide whether to be disgruntled at the Poodles’ lack of loyalty, or pleased that she’d found a kindred spirit in Jane.

  “What’s she doing here?” I asked, hurrying to keep up.

  “I have no idea. I found her out in the kennel about an hour ago. She’d used some dog beds to make a nest for herself and fallen fast asleep. I think she may have spent the night.

  “Poor girl, she seemed to think she’s in some sort of danger. I wasn’t able to convince her otherwise, or I’d have returned her straightaway to her grandmother. I’m hoping you’ll have better luck.”

  “She’s been missing since yesterday,” I said. “And she may be right about the danger. Let’s hear what she has to say.”

  “Ms. Travis.” Jane looked up and smiled as I entered the kitchen.

  She was sitting on the floor, surrounded by Aunt Peg’s house dogs, who tried, belatedly, to muster a halfhearted welcome. Faith received the lion’s share of the greeting, while I was mostly ignored. It probably says something about the state of my life that this didn’t seem unusual to me.

  “I’m glad you came,” Jane said. “I’m in big trouble, and I didn’t know where else to go.”

  I sat down on the floor beyond the ring of Poodles. “What’s up?”

  “For starters, Gran is probably going to kill me.” Jane toyed with the nearest dog’s topknot, her fingers sifting through the hair.

  “She’s been very worried,” I said. “She called the police, and they’re out looking for you. Why did you run away?”

  “I didn’t know what else to do. Ever since Krebbs died, strange things keep happening. And then yesterday, a car started driving up and down my street. Back and forth, back and forth; it went really slow in front of my house. I think somebody’s watching me.”

  Aunt Peg brought out a plate of freshly baked sugar cookies, offered them around, then pulled up a chair and sat down to listen.

  “A dark blue Acura?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer. Jane nodded. “That’s Michael Durant’s car. Remember him?”

  “The drama teacher. He called me.”

  I was chewing, but I swallowed fast. “When?”

  “Yesterday. He said he needed to talk to me. He wanted to come to my house and pick me up. He said we could go for a ride. Like I would do that with some guy I barely knew. How dumb did he think I was? I told him to buzz off.”

  “Good for you,” Peg said to Jane, then turned to me, “Who’s Michael Durant?”

  “A new teacher at Howard Academy. He signed on this semester. It turns out that he’s related to the school’s founder. Joshua Howard’s daughter, Ruth, had an illegitimate son who grew up to be Michael’s father.”

  “Did Russell know that when he hired him?” asked Peg.

  “That’s apparently why he was hired. Michael said he’d sell his story to the tabloids, otherwise.”

  “I’m surprised,” Peg mused. “I thought Russell was made of sterner stuff than that.”

  I shot her a look. “When it comes to Howard Academy, I gather Russell is open to all sorts of persuasion.”

  Peg’s face paled slightly. Her gaze slid away, and she developed a sudden need to get up and pour us all something to drink.

  “That’s not all,” said Jane.

  Somehow I’d known it wouldn’t be.

  “I didn’t tell you everything before. I wanted to, but Brad wouldn’t let me. He said it was a bad idea.”

  “Brad’s gone,” I said.

  “I know.” Jane’s head drooped. “He came to see me before he left.”

  Peg handed around glasses of milk, then broke a cookie into pieces and divided it among the Poodles. “This is the boy you told me about?” she asked Jane. “The one who was looking after you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “He took care of Jane,” Peg said to me. “He couldn’t have been all bad. By the time you reach my age, you realize that nobody’s perfect. Everybody has their little faults. Sometimes you just have to try and be understanding.”

  Were we still talking about Brad? I wondered. Or was Peg referring to herself; justifying her relentless need to take charge of things that were none of her business? I’d find that out later. Now I had more pressing things to attend to.

  “What didn’t Brad want you to tell me?” I asked Jane. “What happened that made you feel you needed his protection?”

  “It was when Krebbs died,” the girl said softly. “I told you about finding him there, but I didn’t tell you all of it. He talked to me. Not just the name, but other stuff, too. I think he knew he was dying. He told me to watch out for Jason. Krebbs said that Jason was looking for something valuable, and that it was important he didn’t find it.”

  “Did he tell you what it was?”

  “No.” Jane bit her lip. “I’m not sure he knew. He was kind of babbling about things. You know, like maybe he was delirious? He wanted me to bring him some paint.”

  “Paint?” Aunt Peg frowned.

  “That’s what it sounded like. There were a couple of cans stored in the shed. I figured that was what he meant.”

  Hmm, I thought, ideas igniting like sparklers. Not paint . . . not exactly. I bet I knew what Krebbs had been talking about. Things were finally beginning to make sense.

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone this before?” Aunt Peg asked.

  “I was afraid to. Krebbs told me to watch out for Jason, but how could I when I didn’t know who he was? All I could think of was that guy in the horror movies. The whole thing was giving me nightmares.”

  Poor child, I thought. It was a wonder she hadn’t run away sooner. “What about Detective Shertz? You talked to him. Didn’t you think you could trust him?”

  “A cop,” Jane sniffed. “Brad told me never to trust a cop. They say they’re going to help you, but in the end they turn things around and make it all your fault.”

  “Did you really believe that?”

  “I told Shertz about Jason, didn’t I? I figured that was enough. If he was going to help me, he would find Jason, and then I wouldn’t have to be scared anymore.”

  “He did find Jason,” I told her. “The man Krebbs was talking about was Michael Durant. And you were very smart to have nothing to do with him.”

  “What about the thing he was looking for?” Aunt Peg asked. “What was that?”

  “I’m not positive about this part,” I said. “But I have a pretty good idea. There’s a painting at the school of Honoria Howard, one of the academy’s founders. I’ve thought all along that there was something odd about it.”

  “Like what?” asked Jane.

  “For one thing, it’s a terribly unflattering likeness. I wondered why anyone would commission such a monstrosity. Or having done so, why would anyone keep it?”

  “Maybe its very valuable,” said Peg. “Who was the artist?”

  “It wasn’t signed by a name, only initials. R.W.H. The same initials belonged to the author of a diary I’ve been reading recently, Ruth Winston Howard. She wa
s Joshua Howard’s youngest daughter.” I filled in the details of Ruth’s story. “The portrait was dated 1936. Ruth must have painted it shortly before she died.

  “At that point, she probably blamed her aunt for much of what had gone wrong in her life, hence the unflattering depiction. She also placed the family pet in the painting, a Poodle named Poupee. I thought at first that he must have been Honoria’s dog, but he wasn’t. According to Ruth’s diary, Honoria didn’t like him at all. Clearly, Ruth was up to something.”

  “Yes,” said Aunt Peg, beginning to sound exasperated. “But what?”

  “Ruth talked about a hidden treasure in her diary. She said it was something that had belonged to her mother, and she was planning to use it to finance her escape. When Ruth first began painting, Honoria told Joshua that the girl had inherited her mother’s interest in art. I think that’s where the treasure lies. Somehow that painting is the solution to the mystery.”

  “Well done, Melanie. I thought you might figure things out eventually. I’m glad to see my faith in you wasn’t misplaced.”

  I’d been so caught up in the explanation that it took me a moment to realize that the voice had come from the hallway behind me. A man’s voice. Beside me, Jane’s eyes were wide as saucers. The Poodles leapt up and began to bark, but their warning came too late.

  Michael Durant was already in the house, and the gun he held in his right hand was trained unwaveringly on the three of us.

  Twenty-seven

  “Call off the dogs,” he said.

  Aunt Peg hesitated. Beau, a big male, was standing beside her chair, barking as though he meant business. The Poodle wouldn’t attack, but Michael didn’t know that. He shifted the barrel of the gun slightly to point it at Beau’s head.

  “No,” Peg said quickly.

  She laid a reassuring hand on the dog’s shoulder. Immediately, Beau quieted. She stared at the rest of the group, and they followed suit, settling back on the floor.

  “What are you doing here, Michael?” I asked.

  “I was looking for Jane,” he said, his gaze settling on the girl. “I suspected she had information I needed. And I was right, wasn’t I?”

  Aunt Peg glared. “You have a lot of nerve bringing a gun into my house. Is that the way your mother raised you to behave?”

  Michael inclined his head. “I was raised on stories of great wealth that should have been mine, but wasn’t. I was never allowed to forget, even for a moment, that my grandmother was one of the Deer Park Howards. You’re right, however. My mother would be appalled at my manners. I apologize for the necessity of barging in this way. You must be Melanie’s Aunt Peg.”

  “Peg Turnbull.” She stood and extended a hand. “And you must be the drama coach.”

  “Quite right.” Michael eyed the hand, but declined to shake. “Please sit down, Mrs. Turnbull. I have no desire to use this gun, but I assure you, I will if I have to.”

  “Aunt Peg,” I said, “don’t be a hero.”

  She frowned in my direction and sat.

  “Now what?” I asked. “I assume you’ve heard what Jane had to say.”

  “And your conclusions as well,” said Michael. “I hope you’re right about the painting. I wouldn’t have suspected it myself, but Krebbs seems to have agreed with you.”

  “Even if it does contain a treasure of some sort, it won’t have been worth killing for.”

  “I quite agree.” Michael nodded. The gun remained steady. “What happened to Krebbs was an accident. He realized who I was not long after I arrived. I look just like my father. He looked just like his father. Krebbs couldn’t have been more than a kid at the time, but he remembered Jay Silverman. After that, it didn’t take him long to figure out why I was there.”

  “So he tried to beat you to the treasure.”

  Michael shrugged slightly. “Growing up, he’d heard the same rumors I had. The difference was, he didn’t believe them. Not until I showed up, anyway. At first, I thought he was just a dotty old man. I figured he’d stay out of my way.”

  “He wasn’t as dotty as you thought.” Jane laughed. She didn’t seem unduly alarmed by the gun that was pointing in our direction. For once it seemed like a good thing that today’s kids have been so desensitized to violence. “He figured things out before you did.”

  “So it appears. Even so, I never meant to hurt him. I went to the shed to try and reason with him. The way I saw it, the Howard family owed both of us. They destroyed my grandmother. They threw my father away like he was nothing.

  “And look what they did to Krebbs. Seventy years old and still breaking his back for them. The Howards owed us. I proposed that we work together and split the money.”

  Listening to him, I was reminded of the fact that Michael was an actor. He sounded thoroughly convincing. Obviously Krebbs hadn’t been fooled, though.

  “Must be hard to stab someone with a pitchfork by accident,” Peg commented.

  “Krebbs wouldn’t listen to me. I only picked the pitchfork up to threaten him with. I was trying to make a point.”

  He’d done that, all right.

  “Crazy old man,” Michael spit out. “He said I had no right to anything of the Howards. That my grandfather had taken a payoff years ago and run away, leaving Ruth to shoulder the blame for everything. Krebbs blamed my grandfather for her death.

  “Before I could think what to do next, Krebbs charged at me. I guess he thought he could overpower me. He ran right into the pitchfork. It wasn’t my fault.”

  I glanced around at Peg and Jane. None of us believed him; none of us dared argue.

  “What about the drugs the police found?” I asked. “Who did they belong to?”

  “Nobody. They were supposed to be, what do you detectives call it . . . a red herring? I bought some stuff from Brad and stashed it in the shed. Then I called in a tip and waited for everyone to go running in the wrong direction.”

  “How did you get into the shed? The police had it sealed up tight.”

  “Nothing about that place was tight,” Michael said. “Every damn window had a chink in it. I’d just killed someone. Do you honestly think I was going to worry about breaking into a crime scene?”

  Now that he mentioned it, no.

  “What about the fire?” Aunt Peg demanded. “Was that your doing, too? You nearly burnt my niece to a crisp. Not to mention Faith.”

  At least for once she’d given me top billing.

  “You were getting too close,” said Michael. “At first I thought it was a good idea that you were searching through the archives, too. I figured you’d bring whatever you found to me.”

  “Michael was head of the pageant committee,” I explained to Peg. “We were supposed to be doing a program to commemorate the school’s founding.”

  “That was convenient,” she said.

  “Perfect,” Michael agreed. “I couldn’t have planned things better. But then you told me you had a diary that Ruth had been keeping when she knew my grandfather. There was no way I wanted that whole story to come out.”

  Of course not. He’d been using it for leverage to insure his job.

  “I had nothing against you personally, Melanie,” Michael said sincerely. “I wasn’t trying to harm you. I set the fire to destroy the book.”

  Pardon me for not appreciating the distinction, I thought.

  “The book wasn’t in the basement,” I told him. “I’d left it at home that morning. But it doesn’t matter now anyway. Plenty of people know who you are and what you’re up to, Michael. The police are looking for you.”

  He shrugged, looking unconcerned. “They won’t find me. By the time they track me down here, I’ll be long gone. After I stop at the school and pick up the painting, I’m going to disappear. Ruth planned to use her mother’s treasure to run away. After all these years, it seems fitting that her grandson finish what she started.”

  “Is this the point where you threaten to shoot us all because we know too much?” asked Aunt Peg.

&nb
sp; I sent her a look. So help me, she seemed to be enjoying herself. For my part, I’d be enjoying things more if she didn’t go putting any ideas in his head.

  “Don’t be melodramatic.” Michael sounded annoyed. “I’m not going to shoot anybody. All I need is a head start. I’m going to tie you up and leave you here. Later tonight, when I’m safely on my way, I’ll call and tell the police where you are.”

  “For a murderer, you’re very accommodating,” said Peg.

  I shot her another look. What was she up to?

  “I’m not a murderer,” Michael snapped. “I told you what happened. The whole thing was Krebbs’s fault.”

  “Just like the fact that you grew up poor was the Howards’ fault?” Peg goaded.

  Michael glared at me. “Shut her up,” he demanded.

  “I’ve often wished I could,” I said wistfully.

  “It looks to me like you’re the sort of person who always needs someone to blame,” said Peg. “Even if Ruth’s treasure still exists after all this time, do you honestly think that finding it will change your life?”

  “It better,” Michael said through gritted teeth. He reached around behind him and produced a roll of duct tape he’d left on a table in the hallway. “You first,” he said, motioning to Peg. “Stand up, walk over here slowly, and don’t try anything stupid.”

  “Stupid?” Peg sniffed. “I’d say that was your department.” Unaccountably her voice rose. “When I walk, the dogs will come with me. You’re going to be mobbed.”

  “Tell them to stay.”

  “They never listen to me,” Peg said blithely, a blatant lie if ever I’d heard one. As she started toward Michael, I distinctly saw her give Beau a nudge with her toe. The Poodle leapt up; immediately, the others followed. “Don’t worry. They’re a big distraction, but they don’t bite.”

  Subtle, Aunt Peg wasn’t. Obviously she had a plan, but what was it? Was I expected to take part?

  Beside me, Jane was grinning. Just my luck, I was the only one who didn’t know what was going on. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time.

  Dogs milling around her legs, Peg walked toward Michael. She held out her hands obligingly, a sure sign that something was up. Peg never does anything she doesn’t want to do without an argument.