Dog Eat Dog

by Laurien Berenson

  I had to laugh. “The only person who would buy that theory is someone who’s never been to a meeting. The members of the Belle Haven Club can’t even agree on how much they should charge for an entry fee. The thought of them acting together to plot a murder is ludicrous.”

  I fished a couple of dollar bills out of my purse and left them on the table as a tip, then followed Aunt Peg out. We didn’t seem to be much closer to finding Monica’s murderer, but on the other hand, there was a whole month before the next Belle Haven Kennel Club meeting.

  That alone was something to smile about.

  Wednesday, I awoke to the sound of birds singing in the trees. The sky was a clear, cerulean blue and the forecast promised a temperature in the seventies. I told Davey he could wear shorts, then had to scoot around under his bed pulling out storage boxes to find a pair.

  Dressed like summer was just around the corner, my son took Faith out into the back yard for a game of catch. I was busy pushing up storm windows and pulling down screens when Bob arrived. He let himself in and trooped upstairs to my bedroom.

  “Here, let me help.”

  He strode across the room, reached arms around me to grasp a screen that was sticking, and forced it down where it belonged. There was an awkward moment when he realized he was standing with his arms around me, then we both retreated quickly. Bob sat down on the bed; I went to work on the next window.

  “Do you ever wonder what it would have been like if I hadn’t left?” he asked.

  “Not.”

  “Never?”

  “I used to,” I said quietly. “But not anymore. There was a time when I’d have given anything to have you back. I guess I was just that desperate.”

  “Maybe you loved me that much.”

  “Maybe I did.” I turned to face him. “That was a long time ago.”

  “I don’t want us to be adversaries, Mel.”

  “We’re not—”

  “Don’t argue, okay? Let me say what I came here to say. Davey’s a great kid, and I know I have you to thank. Maybe I could have made things easier on you. No, strike that. I know I could have made things easier.

  “But I was young and I had a lot of growing up to do. I thought just because I had a job, and a house, and a family, I was an adult. But I wasn’t. I guess the way I acted proved that. I know you won’t believe this, but meeting Jennifer has made a tremendous difference in my life. For the first time, I’m learning how to be the grown-up in a relationship, how to take responsibility. It isn’t easy.”

  As if this was news to me.

  “I’m very happy for you, Bob.” And I was, truly. But after two and a half weeks in my ex-husband’s company, I was ready for him to pack up his newfound maturity and take it back to Texas.

  “You’ve been here for a while now,” I said, finishing off the last window. “I guess Jennifer must be missing you.”

  “So she says.” Bob tried not to look too pleased, but didn’t succeed. “We talk on the phone.”

  I walked out into the hall and started down the stairs. Bob followed along behind. “I bet she’s wondering when you’re coming home—”

  “Daddy!” Davey shrieked from the foot of the stairs. Faith leapt up, waved her front paws in the air and barked in accompaniment. “When did you get here?”

  “Just a little while ago. Guess what?”

  “What?” Davey grinned delightedly.

  “I’ve got a surprise.”

  “For me?”

  “For you and Mommy. It’s a secret.”

  I continued past them and went into the kitchen. The last thing I needed was to hear any more secrets. There was a bag of groceries sitting on the counter that hadn’t been there earlier.

  I opened it up and found cold cuts, onion rolls, a jar of my favorite sweet pickles, and a rubber chew toy for Faith. Our surprise, unless I missed my guess. I got out plates, napkins, mayo, and mustard and went to work.

  Lunch was an odd meal. It started with the three of us sitting around the kitchen table, and Faith lying next to Davey’s chair where hand-outs were most likely to come her way. Five minutes into the meal, Davey got up and ran to the front door.

  I hadn’t heard anything, and neither had Faith. She got up and went along anyway. Davey was back thirty seconds later. He looked at Bob, and shook his head.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You’ll see!” cried Davey, laughing.

  Bob merely grinned.

  The first time that happened, I was mildly curious. The second, I was beginning to get annoyed. Especially as whatever was going on, had Davey too excited to eat. He dropped half his sandwich on the third trip and I watched as Faith gobbled it up.

  “That’s it,” I said. “Sit at the table until you’re finished.”

  “I can’t!” Davey wailed. “I might miss it.”

  “What?”

  Outside, a horn gave two sharp toots. In an instant, Davey was up and running again. Faith went flying after him.

  I looked at Bob. “Who’s here?”

  “Let’s go see.”

  There was an unfamiliar car in the driveway: a top of the line Volvo station wagon, with silver metallic paint and wrap-around lights. The driver was barely visible behind the tinted windshield. He was wearing a sports jacket and sunglasses and didn’t look like anyone I knew.

  “So,” Bob said grandly. “What do you think?”

  “Who is he?” I hissed under my breath.

  “Not him,” Bob said, as the man climbed out. “The car. What do you think?”

  “It’s very nice. Bob, what’s going on?”

  “Surprise!”

  I frowned, feeling very confused. “Surprise what?”

  “Mommy, look!”

  I turned in time to see Davey open the station wagon’s door and scoot inside. Faith quickly followed. “Davey, wait!”

  The sound of the horn cut me off. Davey leaned out the open window and waved.

  “I’m sorry,” I told the driver of the car, as I hurried past him. “I’ll have my son out of there in just a second.” I didn’t even dare mention the dog. Faith had hopped over the seat and was exploring the back of the station wagon. I hoped her feet weren’t too dirty.

  The man grinned and shrugged, like he wasn’t bothered in the slightest. Was the whole world crazy, or was it just me?

  “Mel, wait!” said Bob. “You don’t get it.”

  “Of course I don’t get it.” I stopped next to the Volvo’s shiny new hood and blew out an exasperated breath. “What’s going on?”

  “This is your new car.”

  “Oh, good.” Then I realized what he’d said. “My what?”

  “Your new car. I bought it for you yesterday.”

  I sagged back against the fender. The metal felt smooth and unblemished beneath my hands. New paint, no dings, no rust. The engine probably worked, too. Holy moly, a new car. My new car.

  “Are you kidding?”

  Bob shook his head.

  I ran my fingers over the side-view mirror. Remote control. When my old Volvo had been manufactured they hadn’t even invented that. The windshield was gleaming, and so was everything else. I stuck my head inside where Davey and Faith were tumbling around on the leather seats. Damn, it even smelled good.

  Reluctantly I pulled back out and straightened. “I can’t accept it.”

  It killed me to say it, but it had to be done. Bob had spent the last two weeks trying to buy Davey’s affection and compliance, now he was trying to buy mine. There was no way I was going to let him bribe me into negotiating custody rights for my son.

  “Sure you can,” Bob said easily. “Besides, you pretty much have to. I traded in your old car.”

  “You did what?”

  Bob reached in his pocket and produced a Volvo key. He must have slipped it off my key chain earlier. “Mr. Krup-nick here was kind enough to offer to drive out and make the trade.”

  “Bob,” I said quickly, “we need to talk.”

  “Ok
ay. We’ll talk while we drive. Let’s take her out for a spin.”

  “Yea!” cried Davey.

  He’d gotten out of the new car and was turning cartwheels in the yard. Faith ran circles around all of us, barking like a fool. A neighbor, driving by on the road, slowed to see what was happening. I felt like Alice, spinning down into Wonderland. Any minute now, the red queen was going to show up and yell “Off with her head!”

  “No, now,” I said firmly. “We need to talk now.”

  “What’s the matter?” Bob reached out and took my hand. “This is a present. I want you to have it.”

  “I can’t. It’s too much.”

  “So what? I have the money.”

  “I know that. You’ve been throwing it around ever since you got here.”

  “Maybe things got a little out of hand,” Bob said, looking sheepish. “But this is different. You need this car, and you know it as well as I do.”

  “I need a lot of things, but that doesn’t mean—”

  “The car is yours. It’s a gift, plain and simple. No strings. No conditions. Just take it and say thank-you.”

  I gazed at the shiny new Volvo, feeling unexpectedly teary. It was silver, like a freshly minted coin. I wondered how it would feel to sit in the leather seats. To turn the key and hear the engine turn over on the first try.

  “No conditions?” I repeated.

  “None.”

  He’d let my hand drop. I reached out, took his, and squeezed it hard. “Thank-you.”

  We spent the rest of the day driving around Fairfield County; bumping over dirt roads, speeding down the parkway, and generally comporting ourselves like people who’d never been exposed to automated transportation before. We had the windows and sun roof open, and the radio on full blast. The Volvo purred when I turned it on, and handled like a dream. According to the sticker, I was even getting good gas mileage.

  I asked Bob to stay for dinner that evening, but he said he was having dinner at Frank’s. That bothered me some. The last time the two of them had gotten together, I’d had good reason to regret it. But Bob seemed happy about the invitation and frankly, I was in too good a mood to worry.

  Left by ourselves, Davey and I drove down to the Bull’s Head Diner and had dinner. Then we opened the sun roof so we could see the stars, and took the long way home.

  Twenty-nine

  Davey had a play-date with Joey the next morning. I dropped him off, then drove into downtown Stamford. According to the phone book, Cy Rubicov’s company headquarters were located in Landmark Square, a tall, brick and glass complex on the corner of Broad and Atlantic. Considering what I’d learned since, I was reasonably certain that Cy had lied when we’d spoken before. It was time to confront him with what I knew and see how much more he might admit.

  The offices for Rubicon Freight (“We’ll take you anywhere you want to go, and beyond”) took up half the fifth floor, with a reception area that was wide and spacious. Floor to ceiling windows filled the wall at the far end and sunlight spilled in from outside. The decor was high-tech; lots of chrome and glass, with a minimum of clutter. In the background, I heard the gentle hum of computers and muffled conversation.

  All at once, the paltry excuse I’d come up with for my visit—that I’d decided to volunteer my services to work on the hospitality committee for the Belle Haven show—seemed just this side of absurd. I gave the receptionist my name, and told her I didn’t have an appointment. I thought that might earn me the bum’s rush right then and there, but she asked me to have a seat and picked up her phone. Only moments later, I found myself being ushered in.

  Cy was talking on the phone, but he grinned and waved when I entered. The receptionist withdrew, closing the door behind her, and Cy quickly concluded his call. He came out from behind his desk, hand outstretched.

  “Melanie, what a nice surprise. What can I do for you?” He motioned toward a grouping of chairs around a small table, and we both sat.

  “I was in the neighborhood, and I decided to drop in and offer to help on your committee for the show.”

  “Offer accepted. Now tell me why you really came.”

  Away from Barbara, in his own milieu, he was brasher, and rougher around the edges than he’d seemed before. This was a man who had amassed a fortune in the interstate trucking business, and though I’d never doubted his intelligence or ability, now I could see the energy and the enterprise that had taken him so far.

  When I hesitated, Cy looked me straight in the eye. “I didn’t get where I am today by letting people bullshit me. You want to work on my committee, I’m happy to have you. Now tell me the real reason you’re here.”

  “Okay.” I straightened in my seat. He wasn’t the only one who could be blunt. “I want to talk to you about your Dalmatian.”

  “What about him?”

  “Did Monica know that he’d had his teeth fixed?”

  Cy swore softly under his breath. “What is it, common knowledge? If Crawford’s been blabbing—”

  “He hasn’t.”

  “Then how’d you find out?”

  “I’m nosy.”

  “I guess you are. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

  “I watched the judge examine his bite at the New Brunswick show. Then I overheard a reference to Dr. Rimkowsky. It was pretty easy to put two and two together. Did Monica Freedman do the same?”

  “Yeah.” Cy frowned. “I guess she did.”

  “I assume she sent you a note about it. Probably something enclosed with your newsletter?”

  “What are you, reading my mail now?” His voice rose.

  “Monica sent out a number of notes. She’d found out some secrets, and apparently she wasn’t above gloating about what she knew.”

  “You mean I wasn’t the only one?”

  “Not by a long shot.”

  Cy swore again. “Imagine that. And here I thought she had it in for me.”

  “Did she try to blackmail you?”

  “No, although after I got the note, I figured that was coming next. Then she got killed, and it never did.”

  “You must have been relieved.”

  Cy gave me a hard look. “Monica Freedman was small time. She was nothing to me one way or another. I ignored the first note she sent me. I wouldn’t even have bothered to read a second.”

  “Even if she threatened to have your top winning dog disqualified?”

  “First she’d have to prove to me that she could do that,” Cy said complacently. “It would have been her word against mine and Crawford’s. Monica was a nobody, she’d have been crazy to take us on.”

  “Still, she could have made a lot of trouble for you.”

  “All right, worst case. She gets Spot ousted. You think I would commit murder over something like that? Think again. Spot’s a good dog and he’s going to win his share. But if he doesn’t?”

  Cy’s shoulders rose and fell in an eloquent shrug. “In terms of everything else I’ve got going on, it’s no big deal. And believe me, I know from big deals. If I don’t win with Spot, then I’ll win with another dog. It’s the way the game is played.”

  I had to admit that what he said made sense. Cy wasn’t Spot’s breeder. He had no emotional ties either to that particular dog, or to the Dalmatian breed. To him, Spot was a commodity, an investment no different from others he might have made over the years.

  Not that I was willing to absolve Cy completely. He’d lied to me once, and was perfectly capable of doing so again. He was also a man of driving force and ambition. In his climb to the top, no doubt he’d had to push some people out of the way. He’d referred to Monica earlier as a nobody. Maybe for him, disposing of the club secretary had been no more than a minor annoyance.

  “The night Monica was murdered,” I said. “Where were you when it happened?”

  Cy eyed me shrewdly. “How would you expect me to know when that was?”

  “All right then, when the Beagles began to bark.”

  “Babs and I we
re in the car. We had the windows up and the motor running. We didn’t hear a thing. When I started to back out, I saw everyone running around. That’s the first time we knew something was wrong.”

  By then, Monica was already dead. If Cy was telling the truth.

  “One last question?”

  “No point in stopping you now.”

  “Are you going to use Bertie as a handler?”

  “What does that have to do with Monica’s death?”

  “Maybe nothing. Let’s just say I’m curious.”

  “Hell, we passed curious a long time ago. We’re heading straight for damn annoying now. Not that it’s any of your business, but no, at the present time, I’m not planning to send any of my dogs to Bertie.”

  “Do you mind telling me why?”

  “That part’s easy.” Cy rose from his chair, signaling the conversation was over. “She’s not good enough.”

  “She’s pretty enough.”

  “Lots of pretty women in the world. The kind of money I’m laying out, I’m looking for talent, and results. What Bertie’s got, that only works for some judges.”

  I wondered if he was referring to Louis, but Cy was already striding across the room to open the door. I guessed that meant I wasn’t going to find out.

  “Glad you could stop by,” he said, as I gathered up my things. “I could use a few more people on my committee working breakfast. Think you can make it to the show by six?”

  Six, right. The show ground was in Purchase, New York. And I had to get Davey up and ready, too. I could see I wasn’t going to be getting much sleep the night before the show.

  Cy grinned happily. I imagined he was thinking the same thing.

  “No problem,” I told him breezily. “See you there.”

  Friday was the last day of school vacation and I wanted to spend it with Davey. The dog shows that weekend were only an hour away on Long Island; and both Sam and Aunt Peg had agreed that Saturday’s Poodle judge was worth an entry. The problem was, if I showed Faith, I’d have to spend most of Friday getting her ready. The choice was pretty easy. While Sam and Aunt Peg were busy clipping and bathing and blowing dry, Davey and I took the train into New York and went to the Museum of Natural History.