Ruff Justice

by Laurien Berenson

  “I know everybody in the dog world,” Aunt Peg sputtered.

  “Precisely my point,” I affirmed.

  “And don’t forget about the intimidation factor,” Bertie added.

  “What intimidation factor?” asked Aunt Peg.

  Davey laughed out loud. After a few seconds the rest of us—except for Aunt Peg—followed.

  “But it shouldn’t matter who is showing the dog.” Aunt Peg’s tone bordered on outrage. “They’re supposed to be judging the other end of the lead!”

  “That’s how it works in your ring,” Sam replied mildly. “But not everywhere.”

  “But . . .” Aunt Peg was sputtering again. “That’s not fair.”

  “Maybe you should hire a professional handler for Coral, Aunt Peg,” Davey said innocently.

  Okay, that was fresh. But it was also pretty funny.

  Sam spun away to hide a grin. Bertie abruptly got busy digging in her tack box. I swallowed a laugh and bent down under the grooming table to see how Kevin was doing.

  Aunt Peg drew herself up to her full height. She glared around at us as if we’d suddenly morphed into a bunch of back-stabbing traitors. “You people are all annoying me,” she announced. “I’m going to go pick up my new leash. Hopefully by the time I return, you will have realized the error of your ways.”

  “Fat chance of that,” Davey muttered under his breath.

  Thankfully I appeared to be the only one who heard him.

  Aunt Peg hadn’t even been gone five minutes when my cell phone rang. I showed the name on the screen to Sam and Bertie and said, “Do you think she wants to apologize?”

  I should have known better.

  Aunt Peg was already talking before I even got the phone to my ear. “Melanie, run quickly to the ambulance at the end of the field. It’s needed right away at Jasmine’s booth.”

  “Is somebody hurt?” All at once I felt guilty. “It’s not you, is it?”

  “I’m fine,” Aunt Peg snapped. “More or less, anyway. But Jasmine Crane isn’t. She appears to be dead.”

  Chapter 3

  “No,” I said. “That can’t be right.”

  “What can’t?” asked Sam. He came and took the phone out of my hand. He listened for a few seconds and then said, “We’ll be right there.”

  Bertie beckoned me into her setup, away from the boys. “What’s the matter?”

  “You know Jasmine, the art lady who makes the custom leashes?” I whispered.

  Bertie nodded.

  “Aunt Peg said she’s dead.”

  Bertie’s face paled. “How? When?”

  “I don’t know. That’s all she told me.” I was still having trouble absorbing the news myself. I turned back to Davey and raised my voice to normal volume. “Sam and I are going to go see about something with Aunt Peg. You’re in charge of Kevin.”

  “But—”

  The magnitude of my glare stopped that protest in its tracks.

  “Okay,” Davey said grudgingly. Not perfect, but I’d take it. I currently had bigger problems to worry about than a mouthy teenager.

  Sam headed for the ambulance and the EMTs. I went straight to Jasmine Crane’s booth. It was on the edge of the park, located near the end of a long line of concessions. Most of them appeared to be doing a brisk business.

  With the sun shining and the first hint of spring in the air, it was a beautiful day for a dog show. Scores of spectators were wandering around the area, checking out the wares. Even as I hurried closer, nothing looked amiss. I knew Aunt Peg almost never got things wrong, but I was desperately hoping she’d been mistaken.

  On one side of Jasmine’s booth, another vendor was selling dog-related books. On the other, a pet supply company had set out pallets of kibble and stacks of brightly colored, foam-padded beds. Intent on reaching Aunt Peg, I barely spared either business a glance.

  As I approached from the front, Jasmine’s booth looked much the same as it always had. Like the other concessions, it was covered by a tent. But while the others were open on the sides for easy access, Jasmine’s booth was partially enclosed by the portable walls on which she showcased her paintings. A table at the front of the enclosure displayed samples of her collars and leashes, notable for their exotic materials and intricate beading.

  On a normal day, Jasmine would have been standing out in front of her booth, talking to browsers and inviting them to step inside for a closer look. Though I didn’t know her personally, our paths had crossed on numerous occasions. The dog show circuit was like a giant traveling circus. The locations changed from week to week, but the same participants showed up repeatedly. After a while, almost everyone started to look familiar.

  Now I pictured a woman in her forties, with dark, curly hair and striking green eyes. Jasmine’s clothing style was Bohemian chic. She favored peasant tops and colorful, tiered skirts, often accented with oversized jewelry. I assumed that her free spirit, flower child look was probably part preference and part performance, meant to enhance her image as an artiste.

  The front section of Jasmine’s booth was empty. I strode past the table and dodged around a tall, free-standing partition that served as an interior display. Now I could see the rear portion of the enclosed stand. With the sun shining behind her, Aunt Peg was outlined in a narrow doorway. The opening led to the area behind the booths where the vendors parked their trucks and stored their extra stock.

  Aunt Peg spun around as I approached. “Finally! Did you bring help?”

  “Sam went to get the EMTs. He and the ambulance should be here soon.” I skidded to a stop beside her and tried to peer through the doorway.

  Aunt Peg yanked me back. “Don’t look. Trust me, you’d rather not see that.”

  “What happened? Are you sure Jasmine is dead? Did she have a heart attack? I know CPR. Maybe we can help—”

  “We can’t.” Aunt Peg’s forceful reply left no room for argument. “Jasmine is beyond our help. Or anyone’s for that matter. I’ve called nine-one-one. The police are on their way.”

  I fell back in shock. Suddenly I was quite sure that Aunt Peg was right: I didn’t want to see what lay on the other side of the doorway.

  “The police?” I blew out a breath. Immediately I felt as though I needed more air. “But why . . . ?”

  “Jasmine was strangled. And it looks like one of her own leashes was used to do the job.”

  “Not yours, I hope.” The words just popped out. Then I wanted to kick myself.

  “No,” Aunt Peg said drily. “Though I suspect my hopes of securing that particular item will go unfulfilled.” She stopped and shook her head. “What a shame.”

  Hopefully she was talking about Jasmine’s death. And not her missing custom order.

  We couldn’t see the rest of the showground from where we were, but Aunt Peg and I both heard the sound of running feet. Sam must have arrived with the medics. I stepped around the partition and went out the front of the booth. The ambulance was now parked at the end of the vendors’ row. Sam and two EMTs were covering the last bit of distance on foot.

  I waved them over to the right place, then moved aside to let them pass. Sam stopped when he saw me. The medics kept going and ducked inside the booth. I figured Aunt Peg could tell them what they needed to know.

  Sam looked at me inquiringly. Slowly I shook my head. “It wasn’t an accident. Jasmine was strangled. Aunt Peg has called the police.”

  “How awful.” Sam briefly closed his eyes as he processed the news. “And even worse for Peg to have been the one who found her.”

  Aunt Peg’s voice reached us from the back of the booth. “Young man, the police are on their way. I think you’d better wait until they arrive before touching anything.” If she received a reply, it wasn’t audible.

  A moment later Aunt Peg came around the partition and walked outside to join us. “Well, I tried. But those two were determined to go about their business, even if it meant contaminating a crime scene. If I’m so intimidating, how come I co
uldn’t intimidate them?”

  “You can’t blame them for wanting to do their job,” Sam said. “And I’m glad they’re here to take charge. Now that Jasmine’s death has been reported, I think we should leave the authorities to deal with it.”

  “Good idea,” I replied. Knowing what lay on the other side of those walls, I had no desire to linger.

  Sam and I started to walk away. Aunt Peg didn’t move. Instead she positioned herself in the entrance to Jasmine’s booth, crossed her arms over her chest, and stood like a sentinel poised to deny access to interlopers.

  Sam paused. “Peg, are you coming?”

  “No, I’ll wait here until the police arrive. I’d imagine they’ll want to talk to me.”

  Knowing Aunt Peg, she’d probably have questions for them too.

  Back at the grooming tent, Davey had finished taking Augie’s hair down and was giving the Standard Poodle a drink. Bertie must have been up at the rings, but in the setup on our other side there was a rare lull in the activity. Crawford was leaning against a stack of crates, looking at something on his phone. Terry was sitting in the grass, playing with Kevin.

  Terry saw Sam and me and shot to his feet. “Something’s happened,” he said.

  So help me, there was more?

  “What now?” I asked.

  “I have no idea, but you two look awful. What’s wrong?”

  Sam gave his head a slight shake to silence us. Then he turned to Davey. “Hey sport, why don’t you take your brother over to the rings to watch the Dalmatian judging? You know how Kev loves dogs with spots.”

  Davey wasn’t dumb. He knew something was up. “You guys are going to talk about something you don’t want me to hear.”

  Before I could reply, Terry chimed in. “Yes, we are.” His voice dropped to a confidential tone. “But don’t worry, I’ll tell you all about it later.”

  I waited until Davey had taken his brother’s hand and the two of them had departed before saying, “You will not.”

  “Of course I won’t,” Terry agreed. “But it got them moving, didn’t it?”

  “You lied to my children.”

  “It’s good for them. They should know better than to trust strangers.”

  “You’re not a stranger,” Sam pointed out.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Crawford looked up from his phone. “If I promise to yell at him later, will you quit bickering and tell us what’s the matter?”

  “Jasmine Crane is dead,” I said. “She was strangled with one of her leashes.”

  For a minute there was only silence. Terry’s eyes widened, his mouth opened in surprise. Crawford set down his phone and walked over to stand beside us. The two of them might have been expecting bad news, but I doubted they’d anticipated something of this magnitude.

  “Well, there you go,” Terry said finally. “Now you have another mystery to solve.”

  I turned and glared at him.

  “What?” He was unrepentant. “I’m only saying what everybody else is thinking. Besides, it’s not as if I knew the woman.”

  “I know her.” Crawford stopped and frowned. “I guess I mean . . . I knew her.”

  “I knew her too,” said Sam.

  That surprised me. “You did?”

  “Sure.” He shrugged. “Jasmine has been part of the dog show scene forever. I believe she started as an exhibitor.”

  “Afghan Hounds,” Crawford said.

  That made sense. Afghans were gorgeous. They were exactly the kind of dog I would expect an artist to own.

  “She never had much success in the show ring,” Crawford added. “Jasmine was a hippie-dippy kind of handler, if you know what I mean. The judge would ask her for one thing and she’d do something else entirely. She always had her head in the clouds.”

  “She must have had an artistic background,” said Sam.

  “Because overnight it seemed like she went from showing dogs to painting them.”

  “Now I know who you’re talking about.” Terry looked interested again. “The Leash Lady, right? The one with the art concession?”

  I nodded. “Yes, that was Jasmine. I browsed around her booth a few times. She appeared to be a talented artist.”

  “She was,” Sam agreed. “I even thought about commissioning a painting from her once, but it never came together. I can’t imagine why anyone would have wanted to harm her though.”

  “Here comes Aunt Peg.” I pointed across the open field. “Maybe she knows something.”

  We stopped talking and waited for her to draw near. Terry started firing questions as soon as Aunt Peg was within earshot, but it didn’t do any good. She was still as baffled by Jasmine Crane’s death as we were.

  “The police are here,” she told us. “They’ve cordoned off the area and now they’re busy doing whatever else needs doing at times like this.”

  “But you must have talked to them,” Terry pressed.

  “Of course I talked to them. It wasn’t as if I had a choice. After all, I was the one who found Jasmine’s body.”

  I wondered if I was the only one who noticed that Aunt Peg sounded almost pleased to have played a central role in the drama.

  “Unfortunately, the two officers weren’t interested in telling me anything. They did, however, have plenty of questions. Like what was my relationship with Jasmine? When was the last time I’d seen her before today? What had I been doing poking around in the back of her booth?”

  Terry’s brow rose. “What were you doing nosing around in her booth?”

  “If you must know I was looking for my leash. I was disappointed not to be able to show Coral in it this morning, but I was determined to have it for next time. Jasmine had promised it to me today, so I was sure it had to be there somewhere. The officers did not appear to be impressed by my explanation.”

  “At least they didn’t arrest you.” I was only half joking.

  “No, but they did ask me to stop by the police station on my way back to Greenwich and fill out a statement regarding the day’s events. I told them I would be happy to.”

  “I’m sure the police will talk to the vendors on either side of Jasmine’s booth,” I said. “Maybe somebody saw something.”

  Aunt Peg’s lips pursed. “If so, you’d think they would have had the decency to say something before I went and stumbled over her body.”

  She had a point.

  Despite the fact that there had been a death on the showground, the competition continued. Crawford and Terry went back to their setup to prepare their dogs for the group judging. Usually the rest of us hung around to cheer them on. Today, our hearts weren’t in it.

  News of Jasmine’s death had to be rocketing around the park. No one would be paying attention to the competition in the rings. Instead people would be chattering and speculating, perhaps even reveling in the shocking news.

  I didn’t want the boys listening to that. I didn’t want to hear it myself. I hadn’t known Jasmine Crane, but nevertheless I felt her loss.

  Instead we packed up and went home.

  * * *

  The show had taken place in eastern Connecticut. It was a subdued two-hour drive back to our home in North Stamford. Between Augie’s loss and Jasmine’s death, the only one in the car who was feeling cheerful was Kevin. And that was because he was mostly oblivious to the day’s events.

  Stamford is a thriving city on the Connecticut coast in lower Fairfield County. Our house was located in a residential area far from the bustle of downtown. In our small neighborhood, homes had two acre lots, streets were shady and quiet, and children could play outside all day. Colonial in style, our house was set back from the road and surrounded by trees. Its best feature was a spacious backyard, enclosed by a tall cedar fence.

  When we finally arrived home, Sam and Davey began to unload the car while Kevin and I went to let the dogs out. Kev and I had the better end of that deal. No matter how bad your day had been, it was impossible to remain dejected in the face of a dog’s ecstatic wel
come. And the Poodle pack never disappointed.

  First to come flying out the door was Tar. Tall and handsome, he was Sam’s retired specials dog and our resident goofball. Right behind him were the two younger bitches, Eve and Raven. Always anxious not to be left behind, Bud came scrambling out between their legs. He was a rescue dog of mixed heritage, and a relatively recent addition to the family. Bud was also the dog most likely to be causing mayhem at any given moment.

  When the first four had gone dashing by, only one dog remained. Faith, our oldest Standard Poodle, had hung back and waited for the melee to subside. A gift from Aunt Peg eight years earlier, Faith was the first pet I’d ever owned. I could still remember vividly the moment Aunt Peg had placed her in my arms. As I’d held the small, black puppy close, my heart had unfurled like a blossom after a long drought.

  Now I let the other dogs race around the yard and went straight to Faith. She was waiting for me. When I crouched down and opened my arms, the Poodle walked into my embrace and we shared a warm hug.

  “Did you have a good day?” I asked her.

  Faith wagged her tail in reply.

  Good. That meant the boys hadn’t gotten up to too much mischief while we’d been gone.

  Poodles are easy to train and all of ours knew how to behave in the house. But Tar, who was incredibly sweet and well-meaning, was also the only dumb Poodle I’d ever met. And on those rare occasions when he got a new idea, he was apt to get so excited about it that every sensible thought flew right out of his head.

  As for Bud, training-wise he was still a work in progress. Tell one of the Poodles to do something, and they leapt to obey. Bud assumed that all commands were open to negotiation. In the nine months he’d been part of our family, he’d definitely managed to keep things interesting.

  After the long day at the dog show, we all went to bed early. I was happy to have a chance to put the day’s distressing events behind me. Not only that, but I had another busy week coming up.

  Sam was a software designer who worked from home, but early Monday morning the rest of us were due at school. Davey took the bus to Hart Middle School where he was a student in eighth grade. Kevin had started preschool at Graceland Nursery School at the beginning of the new semester. He attended sessions five mornings a week.