Ruff Justice

by Laurien Berenson

  In that same cynical vein, I said aloud, “When Barb left you, I guess that meant you were free to go back to Jasmine.”

  “She didn’t want me back.” Abruptly Alan’s eyes refocused on me. “Jasmine said all she’d been looking for was a fling. Apparently I was more appealing to her as a happily married man than I was as someone who might have designs on her freedom.”

  Wow. That had to have been a blow.

  “So Jasmine Crane broke up your marriage, possibly cost you your livelihood, and then after all that, she dumped you?”

  “That pretty much sums it up.” Alan walked around behind the pallet. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to work.”

  “Feel free.” I could talk while he worked. “What Jasmine did to you must have made you very angry.”

  “Of course it did. Being treated that way would have made anyone angry.” Alan’s expression was set in hard lines. “Don’t think I can’t see what you’re getting at. You’re wondering if Jasmine made me mad enough to strangle her.”

  “Did she?”

  “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.” He raked a hand through his sparse hair. I’d never seen Alan Crandall look so jumpy. “Sure, I lost my temper. But I’m not a murderer. I got my revenge another way.”

  “How?”

  Alan didn’t answer.

  I asked again. “What did you do?”

  “Jasmine was inordinately proud of her artwork. She was convinced that it would make her famous one day. But now that’s never going to happen. I took her precious paintings home from the Sedgefield show and got rid of them.”

  I inhaled sharply, then clamped my lips together to cover the sound of my startled gasp. Alan was supposed to be storing Jasmine’s things. Sadie Foster was executor of Jasmine’s estate. At some point she was going to come looking for those paintings.

  “Got rid of them how?” I asked softly.

  “I built a huge bonfire,” Alan replied. “And, one-by-one, I burned them all. Jasmine always displayed the paintings she was the most proud of in her booth. And now every single one is gone. There’s nothing left but a pile of ashes.”

  The magnitude of that loss hit me like a blow. Worse still, Alan had the nerve to look pleased with himself.

  Alan had finally succeeded in shutting me up. There was absolutely nothing I could say in response to that. I just turned and walked away.

  * * *

  My head was still spinning with everything I’d heard when I got back to the setup. Augie had been undone and was in his crate, resting. His Winners Dog and Best of Winner rosettes were proudly displayed in the open tack box. Aunt Peg had disappeared—I knew she’d wanted to watch several herding breeds she planned to apply for in the near future. Sam and the boys were munching on a late lunch. Next door, Terry and Crawford were prepping their entries for later that afternoon.

  Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at me expectantly. As though they thought I should have news to share. But now wasn’t the appropriate time to discuss what I’d been doing.

  This was Davey’s day. We should be celebrating, not talking about murder.

  So I helped myself to a turkey sandwich from the cooler. Then I hopped up and took a seat on the grooming table.

  Davey was eating an apple. Between bites, he said, “I’m going to buzz off all of Augie’s hair when we get home. We can have a coat-cutting party.”

  “I like the idea of a party,” Sam replied. “But you’re not touching that hair until the AKC confirms Augie’s championship.”

  “That’s good advice,” said Terry. “You wouldn’t believe the stories I’ve heard about people who counted wrong and altered a dog’s trim prematurely. Then they had to wait forever for the hair to grow back. Don’t let that happen to you.”

  “It won’t.” Davey grinned. “Because I can count. It only takes fifteen points.”

  “Fifteen,” Kevin told us seriously. “That’s three hands.”

  “See? Even Kev knows how to do it.”

  “It’s better to be on the safe side,” I told him. “It will only take a week or so before you can check the result on-line.”

  “I’d wait until you’re holding that certificate in your hand,” Crawford said.

  “Too bad Jasmine’s not around anymore.” Terry tossed a sidelong glance my way. He was such a noodge. Nobody was allowed to remain reticent around him for long. “Otherwise you could have had Augie’s portrait painted while you were waiting.”

  I refused to take the bait. Instead I tossed the conversational ball back in his court. “Did any of your clients ever have their dogs painted by Jasmine?”

  Crawford looked up from the Havanese on his table. “Not while we were showing them. Otherwise we probably would have known about it. Maybe later, after they went home.”

  “I thought about it once,” Sam said. “I spoke to her about a portrait of my foundation bitch, Charm.”

  “You mentioned that before. You said you decided against it though. How come?”

  “I don’t know exactly.” Sam thought back. “Jasmine was undeniably talented. But there was just something about her that bothered me. She didn’t seem entirely trustworthy.”

  “You have good instincts,” I told him. “Considering what I’ve learned about Jasmine recently, it’s a good thing you steered clear.”

  “That woman was a whole box of trouble,” Crawford said. I glanced at him in surprise. It was rare for the handler to offer a negative opinion about anyone. “Everybody would have done well to steer clear of her.”

  Crawford gathered up his dog and headed to the ring. Sam took the kids and went to get the SUV from its parking place on the other side of the field. I was left in charge of watching Augie. That was easy. I didn’t have to do a thing.

  When the two setups had emptied out, Terry sidled my way. “Are you all right?”

  “Sure.” Reflexively my hand lifted to my nose. “I’m fine.”

  “Because I’m pretty sure that story about allergies was a crock.”

  I just shrugged.

  “You know, Jasmine Crane is dead.”

  I stared at him. “I know that.”

  “And she wasn’t even a nice woman when she was alive. So if you decided to stop looking for the person who killed her, nobody would think less of you.”

  “It’s not that,” I said quickly.

  Then I stopped and considered. What was this compulsion that drove me to solve mysteries, even when my own safety might be at risk? I had no idea where it had come from. All I knew was that I was pretty good at it.

  Two weeks earlier, I’d told myself that I was looking for Amanda. But it had quickly become clear that wasn’t all I was doing. I was determined to bring Jasmine’s murderer to justice too. And suddenly it occurred to me that Terry might be able to help.

  “Terry, will you do something for me?” I asked.

  “Sure, doll. Anything.”

  “Remember last week when you were telling us about the judge whose house had been robbed?”

  “Marv and Selma Stanberg.” Terry nodded.

  “Would you ask around and find out if anyone else’s home has been burglarized while they were at a dog show?”

  “That’s an interesting question.”

  I’d hoped he might feel that way. “And one more thing. If you do run across someone, would you find out if they ever used a dog sitter when they went away?”

  Terry’s lips quirked in a half-smile. I bet he already knew whom he was going to call first. “Are you going to explain why you’re sending me on this fact-finding mission?”

  “No,” I told him. “Not just yet.”

  “You’re getting close to figuring things out, aren’t you?”

  “I think so.”

  “I’ll ask around on one condition,” Terry said. “Later, I’m going to expect you to tell me everything.”

  “You got it.”

  “Don’t think I won’t hold you to that.”

 
Crawford reappeared behind us. “I always thought you had more sense than that, Melanie. Giving Terry something to hold over you is a dangerous thing.”

  “Thank you for your concern.” I gave the handler a cheeky grin. “But I think I can risk it.”

  “Just so long as you know what you’re getting yourself into,” Crawford replied.

  I did. Or at least I hoped I did.

  * * *

  When we got home, Bud and the rest of the Poodles were waiting for us. By now, Augie had been told what a good boy he was so many times that he knew he’d accomplished something special. He went prancing into the house like he thought he was Leader of the Pack.

  It only took one stern look from Faith to disabuse him of that notion.

  The other dogs weren’t impressed by Augie’s new magnificence either. After all, most of them were already champions themselves. As for Bud, he’d never been anywhere near a dog show. So he didn’t know what a champion was.

  We stayed up late that night celebrating Davey’s achievement. I could still remember the undiluted joy I’d felt when I’d finished Faith’s championship. She was the first dog I’d ever handled in the show ring, and the sense of satisfaction had been enormous. Davey was less than half the age I’d been when I’d accomplished that feat. Maybe Aunt Peg was right to think she had a budding Tim Brazier in the family.

  Aunt Peg called to summon me to her house the following morning. That was getting to be a habit. Then she surprised me.

  “Bring Davey with you,” she commanded.

  “Davey?” I’d assumed she would want to discuss Jasmine’s murder, and all the new things I’d learned recently. “He’ll be bored listening to us talk.”

  “No, he won’t. Davey can use the visit to get to know Coral better. I’m thinking I might enter her in a show next month. No time like the present to get their partnership started.”

  Aunt Peg couldn’t see me, but I rolled my eyes anyway. Even her ulterior motives had ulterior motives.

  Davey was surprised by the invitation too. But he considered for a moment, then said, “Okay. I’ll come.”

  “You will?”

  “Sure, why not? Maybe I’ll handle Coral someday and maybe I won’t. But I wouldn’t mind playing around with her. It beats doing homework. And besides, Aunt Peg always has cake.”

  Like mother, like son.

  Aunt Peg was waiting for us impatiently when we arrived. Let me point out that it was nine-thirty on a rainy Sunday morning. All the other teachers I knew had the day off. They might even still be in bed. But by Aunt Peg’s standards, we were already late.

  She watched with a sharp eye as Davey knelt down in her front hall and her Standard Poodles gathered around him. He greeted each of them by name. At the end, Davey gave Beau a special hug.

  “Coral likes you,” Aunt Peg said.

  Davey looked up at us. He wasn’t fooled by her flattery any more than I was. “Coral likes everybody.”

  “And isn’t that a lovely attribute? I can’t imagine who wouldn’t want to show a Poodle who enjoys everything about life.”

  “I haven’t made any promises yet,” he told her.

  “Of course not,” Aunt Peg agreed smoothly. “I wouldn’t expect you to. For now, the two of you are simply getting to know one another. Maybe when the rain stops, we’ll take her outside and you can put her through her paces. You wouldn’t mind, would you? You’d be doing me a service. Watching Coral with someone else, I’ll be able to see where the holes are in her training.”

  Davey nodded, but also he snuck me a sly glance.

  We were both thinking the same thing. As if any Poodle of Aunt Peg’s would have holes in her training. Even one that was six months old. Having spent her entire life under Aunt Peg’s tutelage, Coral could probably teach Davey and me a thing or two about being a show dog.

  “Now that that’s settled, you can take her down to the playroom. Your mother and I are going to chat for a few minutes while you and Coral become better acquainted.”

  When Aunt Peg and I headed to the kitchen, the entire Standard Poodle pack elected to stay with Davey. They knew who was going to be more fun.

  Aunt Peg poured herself a cup of tea. I heated up some water for coffee. There wasn’t a pastry in sight. Considering the difficulty I’d had zipping up my pants that morning, I figured that was a good thing.

  Within minutes, we were both settled at the table.

  “I get the distinct impression that I’ve been missing out on things,” Aunt Peg said sternly. “That won’t do at all. I would like to be filled in and you may start with what happened yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?” It felt like a dozen different things had happened at the dog show the day before. I had no idea which one she was referring to.

  “You disappeared for half an hour, and when you returned you looked like you’d been in a brawl.”

  Oh. Aunt Peg hadn’t said anything at the time. I’d thought she hadn’t noticed. I should have known better.

  “Rick Fanelli and I had a disagreement.”

  Her brow arched upward. “About what?”

  “Whether or not we should discuss what kind of business he was doing with Jasmine Crane.”

  “I wasn’t aware they’d had any business dealings.”

  “Nor was I until recently. Tamryn Klein was the one who brought it up.”

  “That’s the other girl who dog-sits?”

  I nodded. “She also told me she thought that Sadie Foster was stealing artwork from Jasmine.”

  “Sadie Foster?” Aunt Peg turned the name over in her mind. “I don’t believe we’ve spoken about her before.”

  I sidetracked for a few minutes, telling her first about my initial meeting with Sadie, and then that the woman had since been named executor of Jasmine’s estate.

  “I wonder if she knows what ever happened to my pretty leash,” Aunt Peg mused. When I stopped and stared at her, she shook her head and directed me to continue.

  “Sadie denied everything Tamryn said. In fact, she accused Tamryn of being the thief. She said that Jasmine had recently confronted Tamryn, and the two of them had had a major fight about it.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” I agreed.

  “So you were given two differing accounts of the same story. Between Sadie and Tamryn, which one seems more credible?”

  I frowned. “This probably doesn’t help, but my answer is neither one. I also asked Sadie about Jasmine’s association with Rick, and she refused to comment.”

  Aunt Peg put down her mug and peered at me across the table. “Maybe she thought it was none of your business.”

  “Or maybe she has something to hide,” I replied. “And speaking of hiding things . . . Alan Crandall.”

  “What about him?”

  “He was having an affair with Jasmine.”

  “Alan? Really?” She sat in silence for a minute. I knew she was picturing the tall, studious-looking man who ran the concession that had been a dog show mainstay for years. “He always seems so straight-laced.”

  “He probably didn’t initiate it,” I said. “Apparently Jasmine was quite the seductress.”

  Now Aunt Peg looked amused. “There were others?”

  “Other men that Jasmine appears to have conned things out of, yes. I believe that Alan was the only one she was sleeping with. It didn’t end well.”

  “I should hope not.” Aunt Peg snorted. “Alan Crandall is a married man, isn’t he?”

  “He was. His wife is divorcing him.”

  “Oh my. Over Jasmine? That’s a shame. What could that man have been thinking?”

  “Apparently that he wouldn’t get caught,” I said. “Like every other man who ever cheated on his wife. Barb has hired a lawyer and she’s suing Alan. There’s a chance he may lose his business.”

  “How very distressing for him.”

  “Don’t waste your sympathies. You won’t feel sorry for Alan when you hear what happened ne
xt.”

  Aunt Peg sighed. She hated it when people she knew had been caught behaving badly. “You may as well tell me everything.”

  “After Barb found out about the affair, Jasmine dumped Alan. And in retaliation, he destroyed her paintings.”

  “You’re not serious.” Aunt Peg looked appalled.

  “Unfortunately, I am. At the end of the day that Jasmine was killed, the Sedgefield show committee needed to clear the park. Alan had his big truck there and he volunteered to have his crew dismantle Jasmine’s booth. He told Gwen Kimble that he would store Jasmine’s things in his warehouse until it was determined where they should go. But sometime between then and now Alan built a giant bonfire and burned everything.”

  Chapter 19

  “I don’t believe it,” Aunt Peg said.

  “Alan told me so himself. He actually seemed proud of himself.”

  “Then he’s a fool,” she replied sharply. “And perhaps worse. What you’re describing sounds like the behavior of an out-of-control, and perhaps dangerous, man. Who’s to say that he stopped there?”

  “Alan told me that he had nothing to do with Jasmine’s death.”

  “Of course he told you that. It doesn’t mean it’s true. Maybe he confessed to the other thing to throw you off the track. In his place, that’s what I would have done.”

  I loved watching Aunt Peg’s devious mind at work. She also made a good point.

  She frowned and said, “Does Gwen know about that?”

  “I don’t know. I doubt it.”

  “She’s going to be livid when she finds out. Gwen trusted Alan to keep those paintings safe. And since she’s the one who put them in his care, there may be liability issues for her kennel club as well.”

  “I’m sure Alan never considered any of that,” I said. “I think he just got mad and wanted revenge.”

  “A man with a temper is a perilous thing.”

  It felt like we’d come full circle.

  “That brings us back to Rick Fanelli,” I said. “Another man with a temper.”

  “Yes, let’s talk about him.” She didn’t say “finally,” but the thought was strongly implied.

  “First I have to backtrack again—”

  Aunt Peg stifled a small groan.

  I ignored that and continued. “Remember last week when Terry was telling us about a judge whose house was robbed while he and his wife were at a dog show?”