Murder at the Puppy Fest

by Laurien Berenson

  That made me laugh. “Not even close. But I deal with seven-year-olds for a living. I’ve learned how to come up with creative solutions.”

  “Do you think Fred would go for that?”

  “All you can do is ask. But based on the way he’s over there struggling with his football terminology, I bet he might actually be relieved to accept an offer that gets him off the hook without losing face.”

  “Come on.” Claire grabbed my arm. “You’re coming with me.”

  “You’re the one in charge,” I said. “What do you need me for?”

  “You persuaded me. Now you can work your wiles on Fred.”

  Wiles? She had to be kidding.

  “Besides”—Claire grinned—“you’ve been able to put up with Peg all these years. After that, dealing with the likes of Fred Brody should be a piece of cake.”

  Chapter 4

  Convincing Fred Brody to limit his contribution to performing the introduction turned out to be easier than Claire and I had expected. Our success might have had something to do with my musing about the unpredictability of puppies, and then casually mentioning that I would never be brave enough to host a live broadcast over which I had so little control.

  Five minutes later, Fred had the short script for the intro in his hand and he’d gone back to rehearsing. It was a toss-up who looked more relieved about the switch: him or Claire.

  “I knew there was a reason I asked you to come today,” Claire said with a smile. She was steering me toward a closed door at the end of the room.

  “Puppies,” I reminded her. “You promised me I could play with puppies.”

  “We’re on our way now. The puppies are in the salon next door. They arrived shortly before you did. A couple of Puppy Posse employees are getting them settled, and then we’ll just have to keep them calm and quiet until game time.”

  “How many puppies are there?”

  “Lots.” Claire consulted a note on her clipboard. “Jane, the director of Puppy Posse, told me they were bringing twenty-two.”

  “Wow, that’s more than I expected. Are they all going to take part in the game?”

  “I don’t think so, but that’s not up to me. Did I mention that Jane is one of Leo Brody’s daughters?”

  I shook my head.

  “She’s the one making all the decisions concerning the puppies. I know she brought extras in case some that are scheduled to play don’t work out. Obviously we want all the puppies to be happy and animated during the game. So those that are intimidated by the lights, or the noise, or the commotion going on around them, will have to be quickly switched out. And that’s something we won’t find out until we’re up and running—and broadcasting live.”

  “Some challenge,” I said.

  “Tell me about it,” Claire grumbled.

  As we reached the door to the salon, I paused and looked back. Even without turning around, I could tell that the level of activity in the ballroom had intensified since we’d entered ten minutes earlier. I watched a nearby worker drag a piece of heavy equipment into place and heard the loud rasp as it gouged the hardwood floor.

  Claire and I both winced.

  “I assume there are other options,” I said. “Why does Leo Brody hold Puppy Fest in his house?”

  “I have no idea. If it were up to me, we’d be in a television studio in downtown Stamford. Maybe he likes the convenience. But who knows? A man with his resources can do whatever he wants, even if it sounds illogical to the rest of us. And it’s not like he’s going to have to deal with all this chaos. That’s my job.”

  “Yes, but—”

  Claire reached past me, turned the knob, and opened the door to the salon. “Why don’t you ask him yourself? Last time I saw Mr. Brody, he was in here sitting on the floor, playing with the puppies.”

  The room we entered felt small and intimate compared to the large expanse of space we’d just left. It was furnished like a cozy parlor with linen-covered chairs, a wide, overstuffed sofa, and matching Queen Anne accent tables. With its plush carpeting and floor-length drapes, the salon didn’t look at all like the kind of place I’d have picked to house twenty-two playful, probably unhousebroken puppies.

  But then again, what did I know about the lifestyles of the rich and famous? I wouldn’t have opted to hold Puppy Fest in a ballroom either.

  A dozen medium-size crates were lined up against one wall of the room. Most were open and empty. Some of their previous occupants were asleep on the rug. Others were busy exploring their new surroundings. Though squeaky toys and rawhide chips were scattered around the floor, one puppy was lying beside an upholstered chair leg, chewing happily. Automatically, I leaned down and scooped him up into my arms.

  “Thank you! I should have caught that.” A harried-looking young man hurried over and took the errant puppy from my hands. “I’ll put him back in his crate for a rest.”

  “Will, this is my friend, Melanie Travis,” Claire said. “She has lots of experience with puppies and she’s here to help out.”

  “Great to meet you.” Will nodded in my direction as he leaned down and placed the puppy inside an open Vari Kennel. “And I’m glad you’re here. We can use the extra hands.”

  “Where is everybody?” Claire looked around. “Jane? Mr. Brody? And aren’t you supposed to have another helper or two?”

  “Mr. Brody was called away. Something about a phone call. Jane’s outside on the terrace where we’ve set up the ex-pens.” Like the ballroom beside it, the salon had French doors that opened to the outdoors.

  “Jack, who was scheduled to be here, called in sick this morning.” Will didn’t bother to hide his annoyance at that turn of events. “Lucy just ran to the bathroom, and yes, we’re still waiting for two or three more people to show up.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Claire. “Why didn’t the rest of the crew come over from Puppy Posse at the same time you did?”

  “Well . . . because they’re not exactly employed by us.”

  Claire flipped back several sheets of paper on her clipboard. She ran the tip of her finger down a list on the page. “I don’t see a notation about that. Where are they coming from?”

  “Claire?” The glass-paneled door that led to the terrace opened, and a woman came striding briskly into the room. She was younger than me, but not by much, with a strong build, short, spiky hair, and a no-nonsense demeanor. “Is there a problem?”

  Then she stopped and stared at me. “Who are you?”

  “Melanie Travis.” I smiled and stuck out my hand. “You must be Jane.”

  “I am.” She grasped my fingers and squeezed them so hard that I nearly gasped. When she released my hand, I found myself taking a step back.

  “Why are you here?” Jane asked.

  “I came to help out—”

  “Who told you that we needed your help?”

  “Jane,” Claire said in a conciliatory tone. “Melanie is a friend of mine. She has lots of experience with dogs and puppies. I asked her to stop by.”

  “Then you’ve done your duty,” Jane said to me. “And now you can be on your way.”

  “You really want me to leave?” I lifted a hand and gestured around the room. “You and Will are outnumbered here nearly a dozen to one. Where are the rest of your assistants?”

  “I’m sure they’re on their way.”

  “They should have been here already,” Claire pointed out. “I was assured that Puppy Posse would have everything to do with our puppy participants under control. Will, do you have phone numbers for the missing handlers?”

  “Umm . . . no?”

  He looked over at Jane. So I did too. Then I thought about something Claire had said earlier and guessed what the problem was.

  “You hired family members,” I said.

  “I didn’t have to hire them,” Jane snapped. “They were coming anyway. Puppy Fest is a Brody family institution—we all pitch in and help out. Not that you would know anything about it.”

  Thank
goodness for that, I thought. The more time I spent in this house, the happier I was to have no connection to the Brody clan. And considering how crazy my family was at times, that was saying something.

  Claire checked her notes again. “I have some names here. Megan Brody?” She glanced up.

  “That’s Ron’s daughter,” Jane told us. “She and her sister, Ashley, are both coming.”

  “Trace Richland?” Claire read aloud.

  “Trace?” Will stared at Jane. “You asked him to come?”

  “He volunteered. You know he loves dogs. He’s been a big help to us at Puppy Posse.”

  “Sure,” Will muttered. “When he shows up. There’s a reason the other employees call him ‘Without a Trace.’ ”

  I bit back a smile. Jane did not look amused.

  “That was uncalled for,” she said.

  Will didn’t apologize. Instead, he picked up two puppies who were playing next to his feet and left the room.

  “I guess it’s a good thing I’m here,” I said into the silence that followed.

  Claire gave me a grateful smile.

  “That remains to be seen,” said Jane. “Try not to get in the way.”

  She reached down for a couple of puppies, then followed Will out to the exercise pens on the terrace.

  “I don’t think I made the best first impression,” I said to Claire.

  “Don’t mind Jane. She can be a bit of a control freak. But when she sees how useful you are, I’m sure she’ll warm up to you.”

  Maybe, I thought without conviction. But I doubted that I would warm up to her.

  “Now that you’re settled,” Claire said, “I need to keep moving. You’ll be okay here, right?”

  “Absolutely. I’m surrounded by puppies. What could be better than that?”

  After Claire left, I checked to make sure that the two water bowls sitting on a waterproof pad near the wall were both full. Then I crossed my legs and sat down on the floor. Ten puppies were loose in the room and when I patted my knees, I was quickly swarmed by warm, wiggling bodies. Several puppies climbed into my lap. One jumped up and tried to grab my hair. Two others began to chew on my shoelaces.

  I was interested to see that several of the puppies looked like purebreds. I picked out a Cocker, two likely Labs, and one mostly Beagle. The rest were a variety of shapes, sizes, and colors. Every single one was adorable. Not only that, but they were all happy, healthy, and obviously well socialized.

  Kudos to Puppy Posse, I thought, for doing such a nice job with them.

  I hadn’t realized that Jane had reentered the room until I heard her speak. When I looked up, she was standing over me.

  “I imagine they’re not up to your usual standards,” she said stiffly.

  I expected Jane to sit down beside me. When she didn’t, I removed the puppies from my lap and gently disengaged the little terrier who was tangled in my laces. Then I stood up too. Jane had already moved away. Now she was looking at the water bowls. There was probably no point in telling her that I’d already done that.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  Jane replied without turning around. “I’m sure you know.”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t be asking.”

  “You’re related to Margaret Turnbull.”

  “So?”

  Jane ignored my question. Instead, she picked up a puppy who was asleep on the rug and placed him inside an open crate. Then she deftly separated two puppies who were squabbling over a toy. She was good with dogs, I had to give her that.

  “Do you know my Aunt Peg?” I asked.

  “Nope, never met the woman. But Libby told me all about her.”

  Libby? I thought. Then the memory cells kicked in. Leo Brody had a daughter named Libby who showed Dalmatians.

  “Your sister,” I said.

  “Half sister,” Jane corrected.

  “Older or younger?”

  She shot me a withering look. “Does it matter?”

  “No, not really. I was just curious.”

  “You and everybody else.”

  I almost laughed. Did Jane think I was trying to dig up information to sell to the tabloids? Did she honestly think that the tabloids cared which one of the sisters was older?

  “Apparently you knew exactly who I was when we met earlier,” I said. “Why pretend differently?”

  “This is my house. I can do whatever I want.”

  Seriously? I’d had conversations with third-graders that were more mature than this.

  “I thought this was Mr. Brody’s house,” I said. At her age, it seemed odd that Jane wouldn’t have moved out of her father’s home by now. “I didn’t realize you lived here too.”

  “You weren’t kidding when you said you were curious.”

  The door that led to the hall opened and a young African-American woman came in. Dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, she had braided hair and a beautiful smile. Before I could introduce myself, Jane stepped between us.

  “Lucy, there you are . . . finally. Take Tandy and Rex outside to the ex-pen, would you?”

  “Of course.” Lucy picked up the puppies and skirted past us.

  “I’m not your enemy, Jane,” I said when we had the room to ourselves once again. “I get the impression that you’d already formed an opinion of me before we even met.”

  “Let’s just say that I know everything I needed to know.”

  “Like what?” Now I was curious.

  “I’ve been to dog shows, okay? I know what you people are like. The only kind of dog that matters to you is one with special parents and a fancy pedigree. Never mind all the inbreeding—not to mention the over-breeding—it takes to produce your perfect champions.”

  “So it isn’t just me you despise. It’s all breeders of purebred dogs.”

  “Look around,” Jane said shortly. “This is the end result of what you people do. An over-abundance of defenseless, abandoned puppies. The unwanted dog problem is huge. Do you ever stop to think about that when you plan your upcoming litters?”

  “I’ve only ever had one litter,” I told her. “Standard Poodles. Both parents are champions, which means that they have correct conformation, plus the intelligence and great temperament that dogs need to be successful in the show ring. Not only that, but both parents have had all their genetic testing done to ensure that they’re healthy and to give their offspring the best chance of being healthy too.”

  Jane looked like she wanted to say something. I didn’t give her a chance.

  “There were six puppies in the litter. I kept one and Aunt Peg took another. The remaining four went to homes on Aunt Peg’s waiting list, and I can guarantee you that none of them were unwanted. Some of the people on that list had been waiting more than a year.”

  Jane shook her head. “Screw the list. Those people should have just picked up a puppy from their local animal shelter. I’m sure there would have been plenty to choose from.”

  “Lots of people prefer to own a specific breed of dog,” I said. “Sometimes due to past experience or maybe because of the job that they want the dog to do. You can’t fault them for that.”

  “Why not?” Jane snapped. “Pound puppies and rescue dogs have just as much going for them as your pedigreed dogs do.”

  “I never said they didn’t.” I thought of Bud, who was hopefully on his way to the vet right now. “But you’re not giving conscientious breeders enough credit. Does the shelter offer a health and temperament guarantee? Does it teach new owners how to groom and handle their puppy? Would it let them meet the puppy’s parents, or offer to take it back at any time if they aren’t able to keep it?”

  “Look around.” Deliberately, I repeated the words Jane had said earlier. “There isn’t a single puppy in this room that came from a responsible breeder of purebred dogs. What you have here are the results of negligence, accidents, and just plain stupidity on the part of pet owners. People who are too lazy to walk their dogs or fence their backyards. Those who refus
e to spay and neuter their pets. Or who think that letting their bitch have a litter with the dog next door will teach their children the facts of life. That’s where these puppies came from.”

  I expected Jane to fire back another volley. I was readying another argument in reply. Instead, we were both startled into silence when the door was flung open and two teenage girls came bounding into the room. One was blonde, the other brunette, but both shared the same pale blue eyes and scattering of freckles over their cheeks.

  “Hey, Aunt Jane! Here you are. We’ve been looking all over for you.”

  As one, Jane and I dove to the floor, both of us quickly scooping up recumbent puppies in the energetic teenagers’ path. The brunette hopped to one side out of the way. The blonde just giggled at our hasty maneuver.

  “Not so loud,” Jane told them. “We’re trying to keep things quiet in here so the puppies will rest until it’s time for them to perform.”

  “Sure. Sorry.” The blonde was still grinning. “Whatever you say.” Her gaze slid my way. “We haven’t met. I’m Ashley. This is my sister, Megan. Leo Brody is our grandfather. I guess you work at Puppy Posse with Aunt Jane?”

  I took a moment to enjoy the affronted expression on Jane’s face, then said, “No, I’m just here for the day, helping out. Jane and I met a few minutes ago. I’m Melanie Travis. Are you two twins?”

  “Good guess,” said Megan. “Not everybody catches that because we’re not identical.”

  “You look alike to me.” The puppy I’d picked up—a tan-colored female with long silky hair and big paws that promised growth to come—was asleep in my arms. Megan appeared to be the calmer of the twins so I asked her if she wanted to hold a puppy.

  “Sure. Whatever.” She held out her hands. “He won’t, like, pee on me or anything, will he?”

  “I doubt it.” Will and Lucy had been popping in and out of the room, exchanging the puppies in the ex-pens for those that were playing inside. I was pretty sure this puppy had been a recent arrival. “And he is actually a she.”

  “She. Cool.” Megan received the puppy into her arms. “Does she have a name?”

  I looked at Jane for help.