Ruff Justice

by Laurien Berenson

  “Umm, yes.”

  “So how is that an improvement?”

  “Because it means she isn’t dead,” Aunt Peg said briskly. “Like her landlady and former employer.”

  I shot Aunt Peg a look. “Do you mind? There are children present.”

  “Oh pish.” She glanced Kevin’s way. He was sitting inside Augie’s big crate, unpacking his bag of toys. “He’s not paying the slightest bit of attention to us.”

  “And I’m not a child,” Davey said.

  “You’re not an adult either,” I told him.

  Davey smirked. “There’s stuff on the internet way scarier than what you guys talk about.”

  “I hope you’re not looking at it.”

  “Who me?” You wouldn’t think that a thirteen-year-old boy could pull off a look of utter innocence, but Davey managed it.

  The illusion that he might be telling the truth lasted only a few seconds. That was how long it took Terry to burst out laughing.

  “Remind me to check the parental controls on your computer when we get home,” Sam said to Davey.

  “I will,” he replied.

  When pigs fly, I thought.

  Augie was lying down on his tabletop. The grooming tools were out of the tack box and ready to be used. Aunt Peg went over to the ring to watch the Poodle judge evaluate some of his earlier breeds. Everyone else was making themselves useful. It was time for me to do the same.

  The last time I’d spoken to Rick Fanelli he’d dismissed my concerns about Amanda’s whereabouts. Now another week had passed and his girlfriend had yet to reappear. It was time for us to have another conversation, hopefully one that was more productive.

  The sporting breeds were being judged in the rings on the opposite side, which meant that Rick would have his setup in the other tent. This show was quite a bit smaller than the one the previous weekend. Now that I knew what Rick looked like, I was sure I wouldn’t have much trouble finding him.

  As I approached the far tent, I spotted Rick in one of the rings with an English Springer Spaniel. His liver-and-white bitch was at the end of a long line of Springers and the judge was looking at the first entrant. I could see that I’d have time to wait before he’d be free.

  I strolled over to the ring’s slatted barrier to watch the class. I hadn’t been dazzled by Rick’s handling skills the previous week, and that first impression was confirmed by what I saw today. He went through the motions of showing his bitch, but his presentation lacked commitment.

  A good handler should be proud of the dog he’s brought to show to the judge. But Rick never conveyed that emotion. Or any emotion at all. Considering his apparent lack of interest in the proceedings, he might as well have been offering the judge a plate of string beans.

  I sighed and waited for the class to finish. Springer Spaniels are awesome dogs. They’re friendly, stylish, and playful. And generally, I could watch dogs run around a show ring all day.

  But Rick Fanelli was even managing to bore me. That was pretty pathetic.

  Chapter 16

  I stepped away from the ring while I waited for Rick’s class to end and found myself standing near two women who were engaged in a lively conversation. Both were wearing skirts and flat-soled shoes. One had a number on her upper arm. The other was holding a black-and-white Springer dog on a leash. They were obviously exhibitors.

  Terry must be a bad influence on me because I found myself listening in shamelessly. Maybe I’d get the inside scoop about which Springer Spaniels to watch.

  “Raina told me she was terrified by the whole experience,” the woman with the dog was saying. “She felt as though she’d been violated.”

  “I can just imagine,” her friend replied. “Having strangers in your house, pawing through your things . . . it must have been horrible.”

  What? That sounded even more interesting than I’d expected.

  “It’s been almost two months and Raina hasn’t been back at a dog show since. She barely even leaves her house anymore because she’s afraid of what she might find when she gets back,” the first woman was saying. “The thieves went straight for the vintage jewelry she’d inherited from her mother. They got things that were irreplaceable, including a ruby ring that had been in her family for three generations.”

  “Nothing is irreplaceable except Raina’s life,” the other woman replied firmly. “Thank goodness she wasn’t there when the thieves broke in. Who knows what might have happened?”

  The exhibitor reached down and gave her Springer a pat. “That’s one good thing anyway. The thieves didn’t harm Raina’s dogs. Imagine, there were four Chessies loose in the house and they still had the nerve to break in. Raina said she always felt safe surrounded by her dogs, but these thieves knew what they were doing. They brought marrow bones with them.”

  Marrow bones? That sounded familiar. Abruptly I remembered why. Terry had been telling a story the previous week about a house that had been broken into. Those robbers had used the same ploy to distract the owners’ dogs.

  “I have six Flat-Coated Retrievers in my house,” one of the women was saying. “They raise a hell of a racket whenever anyone comes up the driveway. But this makes me think twice about my own security.”

  “I know what you mean. Raina thought she was safe too. Until suddenly she wasn’t.” The second woman shook her head. “It’s scary to think that something like that can happen in the middle of the day. Raina wasn’t going to be gone for long, so she didn’t have the dog sitter there. Her house was empty except for the dogs she thought were guarding it.”

  The part about the marrow bones had gotten my attention. But now that the women were talking about pet sitters too, I didn’t want to miss a single word. Casually, I edged closer.

  A sudden burst of applause drew our gazes back to the ring. The judge had pinned his class. Rick and his liver-and-white bitch were standing beside the fourth place marker.

  “Springers are almost done,” one woman said, turning away. “We’re in next. I’d better go get my dog.”

  “Wait!” I said, before they could leave.

  Both women looked at me in surprise.

  “I couldn’t help but overhear what you were talking about.”

  “Yes?” said the woman holding the Springer. “What about it?”

  “You said your friend Raina used a dog sitter. Do you happen to know the person’s name?”

  The two women exchanged a look. They were probably thinking I was crazy. I couldn’t blame them.

  “Please,” I said. “It might be important.”

  “To whom?”

  One woman was already walking away. The other looked ready to follow. I wasn’t getting anywhere on my own. It was time to pull out my bag of magic beans.

  “To Margaret Turnbull,” I said.

  The remaining exhibitor looked me up and down. “You’re not Margaret Turnbull.”

  “No. She’s my aunt.”

  “Why would the name of Raina’s dog sitter be important to her?”

  “Because Aunt Peg’s dog sitter is missing.”

  “Is that so?” she said archly.

  “Yes.”

  Her friend stopped again. “Susan, we don’t have time for this. Just give her the name, okay?”

  “I might if I had a clue what it was.” She started to leave too. “I suppose you could call Raina and ask.”

  “Raina who?” I called after her.

  “Raina Gentry. She has Chessies. Don’t tell her I sent you.”

  “Thank you!”

  Neither woman responded. I didn’t care. I’d already gotten what I needed.

  As soon as Rick Fanelli got his fourth place ribbon, he left the ring and went back to his setup. I gave him a couple of minutes to get settled, and then followed. His Springer Spaniel was already back in her crate, and Rick had pulled a can of Red Bull out of a small cooler by the time I reached him.

  He looked at me but didn’t say a word. Instead he popped the top of the Red Bull, tip
ped back his head, and took a very long swallow. He nearly drained the tall can. Eventually Rick pulled the drink away from his lips and plunked it down on top of a crate.

  “So,” he said, “did you find her?”

  Startled by the abrupt question, I said, “Amanda?”

  “Of course, Amanda. How many people are you looking for?”

  “Just one.”

  “Then I guess we’re on the same page.”

  “No, I didn’t find her,” I said. “But Abby got a text from her. Amanda said she was fine.”

  “I could have told you that. In fact I’m pretty sure I did.”

  “You also told me you thought Amanda went away because she was upset about Jasmine Crane’s death.”

  “So?”

  “Abby doesn’t think that’s what happened.”

  Rick shrugged out of his sports coat. He hung it on a hanger that was looped through the back of his tack box. Then he reached up and loosened his tie. It was seventy degrees out, but he was sweating pretty hard. The few laps of the ring he’d done in the class shouldn’t have caused him to overheat that much.

  “Here’s the thing,” he said after he’d picked up the energy drink and taken another swallow. “I don’t really care what Abby thinks.”

  “Is Amanda afraid of you?” I asked.

  “Hell, no. Why would you say something like that?”

  “Because it’s what I’ve heard,” I said mildly.

  “From Abby? Listen, I told you before. You can’t pay any attention to what that girl says. She’s loco.”

  “How about Jasmine? Was she loco too?”

  Oddly, the question made Rick smile. Then he sobered and shook his head. “She wasn’t entirely normal, that’s for sure.”

  “I heard that the two of you were doing business together. What kind of business was that?”

  Rick moved quickly. One second there was a bank of crates between us, and the next there wasn’t. All at once he was standing much too close. I took a step back and found myself pressed up against a grooming table. Now I couldn’t move away.

  There were people at setups all around us. They were talking, grooming their dogs, getting ready to go in the ring. But suddenly everyone else seemed very far away. It felt as though the world had narrowed to just Rick and me.

  “Lady, it sounds like you heard a lot of things.” His voice edged toward a snarl. “Things that have nothing to do with you. Let me give you a tip. Don’t go sticking your nose into stuff that doesn’t concern you. Somebody might come along and cut it off.”

  As his hand lifted, I pulled back reflexively. But I still had nowhere to go. He pinched my nose between his thumb and forefinger and gave it a vicious twist. “Get it?”

  Hot tears pooled in the corners of my eyes. I quickly blinked them away. I got it, all right. Now it was time for Rick to get his. I brought my knee up quickly. At the same time, I braced both my hands against Rick’s chest and gave him a hard shove.

  Rick had good reflexes, I had to give him that. But he was so busy dodging the knee, that my push caught him unaware. He went sprawling backward into the bank of stacked crates.

  He bounced off a hard metal edge and I heard a satisfying thud as he fell to the ground. Rick landed on his butt. He braced his hands in the grass on either side of his hips and glared up at me murderously.

  I stared down at him for a few seconds—long enough to make the point that he didn’t scare me—then spun around and strode away.

  When I was well beyond Rick’s gaze, I reached up and gently checked out my nose. My fingers started at the top of the bridge and slid all the way down to the tip. Thankfully nothing felt broken, but damn that had hurt.

  I started to shake my head, then quickly thought better of it. That outcome wasn’t even close to how my conversation with Rick was meant to go. Now I had a clearer idea of why people like Jasmine and Tamryn might have been intimidated by him. What I couldn’t begin to fathom, however, was why Amanda would have wanted him for a boyfriend.

  Back at our setup, Augie was standing up on the table. His collar was on, his topknot was in, his coat had been sprayed up. Davey was using a long pair of curved shears to scissor impossibly small bits of hair from the rounded curves of his front bracelets.

  Augie turned his head slightly. His dark eyes followed me as I approached. From his chiseled head to his muscular hindquarter, Augie was every inch a gorgeous Standard Poodle. Even better, he knew it.

  Davey already had his jacket and his armband on. Fifteen feet away in the ring, our judge, Darla Denby, was sorting through her Mini Poodle Best of Variety class. I hoped she’d give the win to Crawford. That would give Davey a better chance of success when his turn came.

  Terry, Aunt Peg, and Sam were all watching the competition. Davey was tending to Augie. But Kevin jumped up when he saw me coming. I knelt down and gave him a hug.

  Kev frowned at me and said, “Your nose looks funny.”

  Davey glanced over and had a look. “Yeah, it does. It’s all red.”

  “It’s nothing.” I covered the lower half of my face with my hand. “How’s Augie doing?”

  “He’s ready. He wants to get this over with as much as I do.”

  “Over with?” I echoed, surprised. “I thought you were having fun showing him.”

  “I was,” Davey said, then quickly amended that. “I mean, I am. But it’s time to get this part finished and move on to the next thing.”

  I could see that.

  “What is the next thing?” I asked curiously.

  “I don’t know.” Davey shrugged. “We’ll see when the time comes. Maybe obedience. I wouldn’t mind teaching Augie to jump over things and retrieve stuff. I think he’d like that.”

  “I bet you both would,” I said.

  Crawford came flying back into the setup next door. He had his black Mini special under his arm and a purple-and-gold BOV rosette in his hand. So far, so good.

  Terry was ready for him. He took the Mini and plopped it on a tabletop. While Crawford tossed the ribbon in the tack box and grabbed a quick drink of water, Terry swept the handler’s Standard puppy dog off his table.

  Once on the ground, the puppy gave a good shake. Terry quickly smoothed his hair back into place, then handed the leash to Crawford—who took off toward the ring. As the steward called the Puppy Dog class, Crawford was already filing through the in-gate. The entire exchange had taken less than a minute and was accomplished seamlessly.

  I thought Terry would attend to the Mini special, but instead he simply folded up the dog’s leash and banded his long ear hair, then came over to stand and wait for the next class with us.

  “What?” Terry said, when I glanced over at him. “You think I’m not going to watch this”—his hand gestured eloquently toward Augie—“happen? No way I’d miss it.”

  “You’re supposed to be rooting for Crawford,” I said.

  “Crawford’s puppy can take the points another time. This is Davey’s day.”

  The confidence with which he delivered that pronouncement warmed my heart.

  Then Terry turned and stared at me. “What is wrong with your nose?”

  “Allergies,” I ad-libbed. It was almost time for Augie’s class. I didn’t want to go into an explanation now.

  “They make pills for that,” Terry told me. “You really should check it out, because you look terrible.”

  “Thank you,” I said curtly. Anything to end the conversation.

  “You’re welcome, Miss Snappy Pants.” Terry’s tone was bland. It took better skills than mine to get a rise out of him.

  In the ring, Crawford’s puppy had prevailed over one other entry. At today’s show, only four Standard Poodle dogs were entered. Just one point was available to be won. But that didn’t matter. One point was all Augie needed.

  It was never good to be overconfident, however. Mrs. Denby still had to like Augie. And he still had to beat the competition.

  Davey hustled Augie into the ring first w
hen the Open Dog class was called. A professional handler with another black Standard followed him. Sam moved to stand beside me.

  Without taking his eyes off the ring, he said, “Since when do you have allergies?”

  I continued to stare straight ahead too. Davey had Augie stacked just right. He took a piece of bait out of his pocket but the Poodle wasn’t watching him. Augie had his eye on the judge.

  Mrs. Denby returned the favor.

  “Since I came in contact with Rick Fanelli.”

  “You’re allergic to Amanda Burke’s boyfriend?” Sam managed not to sound too incredulous. I’d probably told him stranger things.

  “Apparently so.”

  The summer before, Sam had offered to punch someone on my behalf. He’d been kidding about that. At least, I hoped he had. But I had no desire to reawaken my husband’s primitive instincts now.

  There was something much more important going on right in front of me. And I didn’t want to miss a minute of it.

  Aunt Peg walked over to stand closer to the ring. As the judge sent the two dogs around for the first time, Aunt Peg was so absorbed in the competition that she probably didn’t even realize that she was gaiting in place with them. Aunt Peg’s lips were moving too.

  She might have been sending up a prayer. Or murmuring an incantation. With Aunt Peg, you can never tell.

  “Look.” Kevin giggled. “Aunt Peg’s dancing.”

  Terry picked up my son so he could see better. “No celebrating yet,” he said. “It ain’t over till it’s over, kid.”

  Kev’s face scrunched up in an expression of intense concentration as he tried to puzzle out what that meant. Though he knew who Yogi Bear was, I was pretty sure he’d never heard of Yogi Berra.

  Augie won the small Open class handily. As the dog who was second exited the ring, Crawford returned with his Puppy Class winner. I wanted Davey to win so badly that I almost wished Crawford would throw the competition.

  But as soon as the unworthy thought crossed my mind I knew it wasn’t fair. Crawford was our friend, but he was also a professional with a job to do. He had a responsibility to his owners to do the best he could every time he handled their dogs.

  If Davey was going to beat Crawford for that last, all-important point, Crawford was going to make sure that he earned it.