Dog Eat Dog

by Laurien Berenson

  The spot was empty now; there was nothing to mark it as one where a young woman had lost her life. That seemed kind of sad to me, but then I didn’t have to worry about business in the restaurant. I was sure Francisco’s was happy with things just the way they were.

  Inside the door, I ran into Mark and Penny Romano and we went up the stairs together. “I’ve been telling Penny how very lucky you are to have such a delightful son,” said Mark.

  “Thank you.” Delightful wasn’t the way I’d have characterized Davey’s behavior on the day they’d met, but like any mother, I never turn down a compliment. “He’s home tonight with a sitter.”

  “Baby sitters, just think.” Penny sighed. “Soon we’ll have to worry about things like that, too.”

  “Maybe,” said Mark. “Or maybe we just won’t go out.”

  I glanced at Penny’s slender figure. “Are you ... ?”

  “Working on it,” said Mark. “And the sooner, the better. We’re not getting any younger.”

  We walked into the meeting room, and the Romanos went off to flag down a waitress. I headed over to Aunt Peg, who was saving me a seat.

  “It’s about time,” she said. “They’re about to start servring.”

  What could they do to punish me for tardiness? Refuse to let me join the club? Grinning, I sat.

  Since this was the last meeting before Belle Haven’s show, attendance was high. The two legs of the horseshoe shaped table extended the entire length of the room. I looked around and recognized a fair number of faces.

  Lydia was seated at the head of the table. I hadn’t seen the club president since Peg and I had visited her at home. Tonight, she looked tired and drawn, as if the job of leading Belle Haven was weighing heavily on her shoulders.

  Seated to one side of Lydia were Cy and Barbara Rubicov. In contrast to the club president, Barbara was smiling and vibrant, her yellow silk suit setting off a new tan. If I hadn’t just seen her at a dog show, I’d have guessed she’d been on vacation.

  On Barbara’s other side, Cy was sitting next to Louis LaPlante. The two men had their heads together and were talking in low tones. In the next seat, Sharon had her purse in her lap. She was searching through it, and muttering under her breath. I wondered what she’d lost now.

  The Heinses were sitting at the end of one leg of the horseshoe, next to a couple I didn’t know. Directly across from them was Bertie. As always, she looked striking, but tonight there seemed to be a stillness, a wariness about her. When the meal was served, she dedicated herself to eating it with quiet intensity, not joining in any of the conversations around the room.

  I wondered if Louis had spoken to her about my visit, maybe warning her that they had to keep a lower profile. Though I watched, I couldn’t detect any interaction between them. I wondered if that, in itself, might be significant.

  Once again, Joanne Pinkus was seated beside me. She had new pictures of Rupert and Camille to share, and chattered all through dinner like an over-eager puppy, desperate to find something that pleases. At least she wasn’t wearing leggings. That pleased me right off the bat.

  Predictably, Joanne wanted to discuss whether I’d made any progress in finding out who’d killed Monica. Using the excuse of a full mouth, I shook my head. It was kind of depressing, actually. Chewing or not, I wouldn’t have had much to say.

  “I think the whole thing’s ghoulish,” she said, giving her shoulders a little shake. “Imagine being murdered like that. One minute you’re there, and the next ...”

  I stared at my plate with more fascination than it deserved and kept eating.

  “At least it was fast. If Monica had lingered in the hospital, her mother could have lost everything.”

  I looked up. “What do you mean?”

  “She didn’t have any insurance. None.”

  “No health insurance?”

  Joanne shook her head. “None. I talked to her once about buying some, and she wasn’t covered at all. Not life, not health, not even car insurance. She said she couldn’t afford it.”

  “What about the van?” I asked, interested in spite of myself. “Monica must have had insurance on that.”

  “It was in her mother’s name,” Joanne said, looking superior. “Can you believe that? For a thirty-three-year-old woman, Monica was still tied pretty close to home.”

  The sign-up sheet came around, and we both dutifully recorded our names. Dessert was served and Lydia called the meeting to order. During the president’s report, she announced that the dinner checks were still missing, and there was general grumbling all around.

  When the room quieted, Cy spoke up. “It seems a shame for everyone to have to pay twice for the same meal. I know those checks are going to turn up eventually. In the meantime, if there’s a shortfall, I’d be happy to cover it.”

  “Thank you, Cy.” Lydia favored him with a smile. “I’m sure the club members appreciate your offer.” Not only that, but more than a few looked like they’d leap at the chance to take him up on it. “Let’s give it until the end of April. Then we’ll make a decision about our next move.”

  The meeting ambled on through officer reports, committee head reports, unfinished and new business. When it looked like just about everything had been covered, Lydia took the floor again.

  She reminded everyone of the reception she was hosting on Sunday for former club member, Thelma Gooding, who was judging at the Riverhead show. I gathered Thelma must have been pretty popular, because nearly everyone was planning to go.

  “Now we come to one of the pleasant duties of my job,” Lydia continued. “I’m delighted to announce some recent achievements by our club members. Since our last meeting, Cy and Barbara’s Dalmatian, Ch. Sunnyside’s Spot On, has won three groups and a Best in Show.”

  There was a murmur of appreciation, followed by a burst of spontaneous applause. By anyone’s standards, the Rubicovs’ Dalmatian had had a terrific month.

  “Thank you very much.” Cy rose to his feet. “Of course, you all know I didn’t do any of the work.”

  I joined in the laughter at Cy’s charming self-deprecation. Beside him, Barbara looked enormously pleased.

  “I’m lucky to have a dog as good as Spot to show and a handler as talented as Crawford Langley on my team. But that doesn’t stop me from being proud as a peacock over the whole business. So who wants to see pictures?”

  He reached down and came up with several white cardboard envelopes, filled with eight-by-ten glossies. Cy handed the win photos out in both directions and we passed them around.

  “And that’s not the end of our good news,” Lydia said when Cy had sat back down. “We have another pair of club members with a group win to celebrate. It happened in Maine two months ago, and nobody even told us. Talk about hiding your light under a bushel!” She directed a coy glance at Louis. “I read about it in the Gazette. What makes this win even more exciting is that it came from the classes.”

  There was another round of pleased applause.

  “Of course we’re all envious, but that doesn’t mean we don’t want to share your good fortune. Louis and Sharon, wouldn’t one of you like to tell us all about it?”

  Not Sharon, apparently. Unaccustomed to being in the spotlight, she was flushing a dull shade of red.

  “We didn’t want to make a fuss,” Louis said modestly. “To tell the truth, the win came as quite a surprise. We only sent that bitch up to Maine to try and finish her. We never thought she was that good.”

  “Hmmph,” Aunt Peg muttered under her breath. “I should be so lucky.”

  “It really wasn’t a big deal,” Sharon said softly. “It was a very small show.”

  Cy’s pictures finished circling the table and he gathered them up. “Every group win’s a big deal,” he said, poking Louis in the arm. “Come on. Let’s see a picture.”

  “Come to think of it,” Louis said, frowning. “I don’t believe I’ve seen one. I wasn’t at the show myself, but I’m sure Sharon had one taken, didn�
�t you dear?”

  His wife nodded. She was still looking uncomfortable, as though she wished the attention would focus on anyone but her.

  “Call the photographer,” Mark advised. “They’re always getting mixed up. Once I got back a picture of a Bearded Collie.”

  Louis made a note on the pad in front of him. “I’ll do that.”

  After that, Lydia wrapped up the meeting with dispatch. I checked my watch and was delighted to find that it was only just after nine o’clock. There would be plenty of time to stop in the bar and talk to Beth, the bartender.

  When everyone began to gather up their things, I told Aunt Peg where I was going and ran on ahead. The bar was through an open doorway at the foot of the stairs. The room was of medium size and dimly lit. On a Tuesday night, there wasn’t much of a crowd; one couple at a table in the back, and three men at the bar, nursing beers and cheering over a hockey game they were watching on TV.

  The bartender was a woman in her early twenties. She had delicate features and glossy, dark brown hair that was parted in the middle and fell halfway down her back. She smiled when I came in and her face took on a quiet radiance. I could easily see how Frank might have been interested.

  “You must be Beth,” I said, slipping up onto a stool.

  “That’s right.”

  I held out a hand. “My name is Melanie Travis. My brother, Frank, works with you on weekends.” Behind me I could hear the low rumble of footsteps on the stairs. “I wonder if you could do something for me?”

  “Maybe. Depends what it is.”

  “My brother told me that you saw a couple of the kennel club people having an argument. Would you mind looking out that door and pointing out which ones they were as they walk by?”

  “I guess I could do that.” Beth had been rubbing down the bar with a white cloth. She tucked it over the rail and stared at the entrance.

  Bertie was easy. Beth picked her out as soon as she came into view. Sharon, on the other hand, was almost past before Beth decided she was the one.

  “Did you overhear what they were fighting about?”

  “I’m a bartender,” said Beth. “All I do is serve the drinks. It’s not my job to overhear things.”

  “No, but I’ll bet sometimes you can’t help yourself.”

  Beth smiled. “That’s the truth. But with these two, I didn’t have any reason to pay attention. I mean, the group is from a kennel club. Does that sound flaky, or what?”

  “It sounds pretty flaky,” I agreed.

  “Besides, it happened a couple of months ago. If it hadn’t have been for that other lady being murdered, I never would have given it a second thought.”

  “Maybe they were talking about dogs?” I prodded to see if that might jog anything loose.

  Beth shrugged.

  “A man named Louis?”

  “Not that I remember.” She frowned, thinking back. “There was one thing. Actually it was pretty funny. The older lady called the younger one stupid. Said it was a good thing she had big tits because her brain was the size of a pea.”

  “Really?” I laughed. That didn’t sound like mild-mannered Sharon at all. “She must have really been mad.”

  “Believe me, she was. They both were.”

  Beth reached up a hand, looped a long strand of hair around her finger and tucked it behind her ear. “I think your brother’s kind of cute. Is he seeing anyone?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “He’s not gay, is he?”

  “No.” I laughed again. Frank had had a long string of girlfriends, most of them not nearly as appealing as Beth seemed to be.

  “How do you think he’d feel if I gave him a call sometime? I don’t want him to think I’m too pushy.”

  “I think he’d be flattered.” I reached across the bar, picked up a cocktail napkin and wrote down Frank’s telephone number. “Go ahead and try it. My brother’s not the most mature person in the world, but he’s a pretty nice guy.”

  “When it comes right down to it, they’re all immature, aren’t they?” Suddenly looking awfully world weary for one so young, Beth picked up the napkin and pocketed it. “Listen, can I get you something to drink?”

  “Sure, a draft would be good.”

  “Make that two,” said Aunt Peg, coming up behind me. “Let’s move over to a table, shall we?”

  She waited until Beth had served the beers, then said, “Now, tell me everything you found out.”

  It was a big order for a very small amount of information. I repeated what Beth had told me. “I don’t know,” I said at the end. “If I was accusing another woman of having an affair with my husband, I can think of a lot of things I might call her, but stupid isn’t necessarily one of them.”

  “What if Bertie believes Louis is going to divorce Sharon and marry her?”

  I shrugged and took a swallow of beer. The mug was cold, the beer colder still, and it went down very easily. “Bertie doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who’s in any hurry to get married. At the moment, she’s too interested in building her career.”

  That reminded me of something else I’d heard. “Speaking of putting things off until later, did you know Penny Romano is trying to get pregnant?”

  “At her age?” Aunt Peg sniffed. “I doubt it. That woman’s at least forty, and I’m being generous.”

  When it came to dogs, Aunt Peg kept up with all the latest medical developments. Her magazine rack was filled with newsletters from Cornell and the University of Pennsylvania. But where human fertility was concerned, recent advances had obviously passed by unnoticed.

  “She’s not too old. Not these days. Anyway, they said they’d been working on it. They’re probably seeing a fertility specialist.”

  “If the doctor has any sense, he’ll enroll her in A.A. first thing,” Aunt Peg said briskly. “Now enough about that.” She’d never had any children of her own, and couldn’t be bothered faking an interest in anyone else’s.

  “I’ll have you know I’m finding this whole situation extremely irritating. We’ve done nothing but go around in circles. The problem with trying to find Monica’s killer is not that we don’t have enough clues, we have too many.”

  I nodded in agreement. “Everybody had a secret. What we need to figure out is who thought their secret was worth killing over.”

  Twenty-eight

  “Who had the most to lose?” asked Aunt Peg.

  “Cy,” I said. The answer seemed obvious. “He’s put a lot of money into Spot’s career. If word got out that the dog had had his bite fixed, Cy might as well have poured it down the drain.”

  “That’s true,” Aunt Peg agreed. “But Cy and Barbara are very well off. I imagine they could take a loss like that in stride. Besides, I happen to believe that there are plenty of things more valuable than money.”

  Only because you have enough, I was tempted to retort. Wisely, I kept those thoughts to myself.

  “You mean like Lydia’s good name?”

  “Precisely. She is president of Belle Haven. We may not be the largest club, but in certain circles, we’re very well regarded. Lydia can be quite forceful when she wants to be, and the fact that she cut a corner or two doesn’t necessarily surprise me.”

  “But is she capable of murder?”

  “I imagine almost anyone is capable of committing murder if they feel they have no choice. If the A.K.C. were to have proof that a signature had been falsified on the litter registration, they would revoke all showing and breeding privileges. For someone like Lydia, that would be a tremendous blow.”

  All right,” I said, sipping at my beer. “So Lydia had a pretty solid motive. And I still think Cy did, too. What about the Heinses?”

  “I suppose they stood to lose their dignity,” Aunt Peg said slowly. “What little Joanne hadn’t robbed them of already. Do you see them killing over that?”

  “No.” In truth, I couldn’t imagine either Paul or Darla hurting a fly.

  “Which brings us to Joanne
, herself.”

  “She’s young and strong enough to have done it fairly easily. And based upon what she did to the Heinses, I’d have to say that she seems to be lacking in basic human compassion.” I stopped and shook my head. “But think about motive for a minute. Her secret was pretty much out of the bag already. We know she told Monica and Barbara, and she discussed it with me quite readily.”

  “She was justifying again.” Aunt Peg frowned mightily. It was obvious Joanne wasn’t one of her favorite people. “If that girl isn’t stopped, she’ll justify her way right onto the Board.”

  On TV, a hockey player scored. The trio of patrons at the bar erupted into cheers.

  “We haven’t talked about Mark and Penny yet,” said Peg.

  “Unless I’m missing something, they didn’t have much of a motive either. Like Joanne, their secret was out in the open. Almost everyone seems aware of Penny’s drinking problem. I can’t possibly see how killing Monica would help.”

  “Which brings us around to perhaps where we should have started: Louis and Sharon.”

  “And Bertie, don’t forget about her.”

  “Hardly,” Aunt Peg said drily. “Of all the club members who were there that night, she’s the newest, and probably the one I know least. What’s your take on her?”

  “I doubt I’ve learned anything that you don’t already know. Everyone else I’ve spoken to has at least professed to want to help. Not Bertie. Whenever I try to ask her anything, she immediately goes on the defensive. She says she never received anything from Monica.”

  “Nor did Louis, if we’re inclined to believe the two of them.”

  “If they are having an affair,” I said, “how much would they stand to lose?”

  “In Louis’s case, maybe his marriage.”

  “Except that we’re supposing Sharon already knows what’s going on. Otherwise, what would she and Bertie have been fighting about?”

  “Good question.” Aunt Peg drained the last of her beer. “Monica really did manage to tie this club up in knots, didn’t she? Maybe it’s like that Agatha Christie book and they all acted together.”