“How’s that coming?” I asked. “You’re working on something upstairs now, right?”
“Yeah, I’m expanding the bathroom. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
That made me laugh. “Sorry, you’ve called the wrong person. I don’t know a thing about plumbing. And even less about construction.”
“That doesn’t matter. What I care about is that you lived in this house a lot longer than I have.”
Eve tipped her face up to mine. I blew softly into her nose and rubbed a hand along her muzzle. “So?”
“So I found something interesting. Something you’re really going to want to see.”
“What is it?”
“Come over and I’ll show you.”
Of course he couldn’t tell me over the phone. That would be too easy.
I lifted Eve off my lap and stood up. “If it’s Davey’s retainer that he lost in fifth grade, we don’t want it back. In fact, I don’t even want to see it.”
“You’ll want to see this,” Bob said. “I promise.”
He hung up the phone before I could ask any more questions.
Faith and Raven came trotting down the hallway. Casey followed close behind. While I’d been talking, Tar had managed to tangle the rope toy around both the leg of the coffee table and his ear. Now he was stuck.
Augie backed away, then sat down and stared, his head tipped comically to one side. Faith took in the situation in a glance. She looked as though she was rolling her eyes.
While I considered whether or not I wanted to humor Bob, I lifted the table and unwound the rope, then teased it free from the big dog’s ear. Liberated, Tar jumped up and shook his head. He was probably trying to figure out how the table had gotten the better of him.
The phone rang again. I lifted it to my ear.
“Don’t sit there and think about it,” said Bob. “Just come.”
Maybe he knew me better than I realized.
“Does this have anything to do with your ghost problem?” I asked.
“Mel, just get in your car.”
“This had better be good,” I told him.
“It’s better than good. It’s amazing.” Bob hung up again.
I guessed that meant I was going.
I popped Augie—whose show coat needed to be protected—into a crate and left the rest of the Poodles loose to guard the house while I was gone. They didn’t look very fierce to me, but sheer numbers probably made them deterrent enough. Ten minutes later, I pulled into Bob’s driveway and parked the Volvo in front of his garage.
The small, cape-style home was freshly painted in a soft shade of dove gray, accented by white shutters. Bob had redone the walkway that led to the front door; and a month earlier he’d planted a colorful assortment of spring flowers in the beds that skirted the home’s foundation. I had to admit, the place looked great.
I paused on my way to the house and glanced at the neighboring home that belonged to James and Amber Fine. The front door was closed. The shades were drawn against the summer sun. A black and white cat lay on the warm stoop, one hind leg lifted straight up in the air as it arched around nimbly and licked its stomach. Nothing new to see there.
Bob didn’t wait for me to knock. Before I could even climb the steps, he already had the front door open. “Finally!” he cried. “Come on in.”
I hurried inside and Bob shut the door behind me.
“What’s this all about?” I said. “What could you possibly have, that I would need to see so desperately?”
Instead of answering, Bob dug his hand deep into the pocket of his cargo shorts. When he pulled it out a moment later, his fingers were curled protectively around something. He held out his hand and opened it slowly. Nestled in his palm was a diamond ring.
“This,” he said.
“Holy moley.” I expelled a sharp breath. No wonder he’d been excited.
I bent down for a closer inspection. Bob’s find was an ornate, Art Deco-style cocktail ring. In the center was a round cut diamond that was at least a carat in size. Surrounding its high setting were several rows of smaller diamonds. The band appeared to be made of platinum.
“Where did you get that?”
“It was here in the house,” said Bob. “I found it upstairs.”
“May I?” I reached forward tentatively.
He nodded and I skimmed the piece of jewelry up off his palm. It was heavier than I’d expected. Grasping the band, I held the ring up into a shaft of sunlight coming in through a front window. The stones sparkled and a prism of colors shifted and danced on the wall behind us.
“Is it real?” I asked.
“Apparently so. I took it to a jeweler in Greenwich this morning and had it appraised. Judging by the design, they figured it was probably made sometime in the early twentieth century.”
I couldn’t resist. I slipped the band onto the tip of my ring finger. It wouldn’t slide past the first knuckle.
“It’s tiny,” I said.
“People had smaller hands then.”
I tugged the ring off and handed it back. “I want to hear the whole story,” I told him. “I think you’d better start at the beginning.”
“I don’t know the whole story,” Bob replied. “That’s why I wanted you to see it. I thought maybe you’d have a story for me. I was wondering if the ring was yours.”
“No way.” I laughed. “Where would I have gotten a ring like that? I’ve never seen it before in my life.”
“Too bad,” said Bob. “That would have made things easy.”
The dining room was just to the right of the front hall. Bob walked that way. We each took a seat and he set the ring down on the table between us.
I’m not usually drawn to sparkly things, but I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off the jewel-encrusted bauble. I scooped it up, cradled it in my palm for a moment, then tried sliding the band onto my pinkie. This time, with a little effort, the ring pushed down to the base of my finger.
“”It’s beautiful,” I said, holding out my hand to admire the effect. “You’d think that whoever lost this ring would have moved heaven and earth to get it back. Where did you find it?”
“I’ve been working on the bathroom. I’d imagine you remember how small it was?”
“Oh yeah,” I said with a laugh.
Bathrooms constructed sixty years earlier had been designed for function not luxury. This one contained just a sink, a toilet, and a bathtub, all wedged into the smallest possible amount of space. The only towel rack was on the back of the door and there was barely enough room for a hamper. I could well understand why Bob might want to do some updating.
“I decided to make it bigger. I started last week.”
I pictured the home’s compact second storey. There were just two bedrooms, the bathroom, and a couple of small closets. “Where?”
“I took out the linen closet and expanded in that direction. I broke through the wall in between, and that’s where I found the ring. When the dust settled, it was just sitting there on the floor. At first I thought it was a piece of broken glass. Then I took a closer look, and here we are.”
“What did the appraiser tell you? Is it worth a lot of money?”
“Probably somewhere between four and five thousand dollars. To get a better estimate, the jeweler said he’d have to remove the center stone from its setting but I told him that wasn’t necessary. Aside from the big diamond in the middle, the others are mostly just chips. Apparently the workmanship is pretty special though and that added to its value too.”
“So it’s valuable, but not worth a fortune.” I wriggled it off my finger and placed it back on the table. “Even so, a ring that was made nearly a hundred years ago probably has sentimental value too . . . for somebody.”
“I agree,” Bob said with a nod. “Now that I know it isn’t yours, it seems to me that we ought to try and figure out who it does belong to. I’ve been thinking about this since I found it. Probably the best place to start is with the pe
ople we bought the house from. Do you remember their name?”
He didn’t ask for much, did he? That was thirteen years ago.
I frowned, thinking back. “It was Morris, wasn’t it? Dan and Emily Morris? I’m pretty sure he worked in New York. They’d just had their second child and needed more room; that was why they were moving. At the closing, Emily Morris told me she hoped that you and I would be as happy in this house as she and Dan had been.”
Abruptly I stopped speaking as the remembered sentiment hit home.
Bob looked at me and sighed. “Well, that didn’t happen. But at least we’re both in a good place now.”
“Absolutely,” I agreed. I was as eager to put that topic to rest as my ex-husband was. “Why don’t you look around online and see if you can find the Morrises? Maybe they still live around here. If that doesn’t work, we can go down to the Town Clerk’s office and have a look at the property records—”
“Hey, Bob! Are you home?” The question was punctuated by the sound of the back door slamming shut. Footsteps headed in our direction.
James, Bob mouthed silently to me. From next door.
“In the dining room,” he called back.
“Phil and I came by to see if you wanted to come with us to Home Depot . . . whoa!”
Two men appeared in the door. Seeing Bob and me sitting together at the table, the man in front came to an abrupt halt. The one behind bumped into him, then stepped back and righted himself.
The speaker, James, looked nothing like I’d imagined in all those months that he’d remained out of sight. He was older than Amber by at least a decade, with pleasant features and hair that was thinning on the top and sides. His body was sturdy and more than a bit overweight. James’s rumpled polo shirt was tucked into an equally creased pair of khakis.
Somehow I’d pictured Amber’s world-traveling husband as someone who’d appear more dashing. Or at the very least, less wrinkled.
Compared to his tall, skinny, companion, however, James looked positively dapper. Phil sported a faded T-shirt worn over baggy jeans that drooped at the waist. Round tortoiseshell glasses, frames too big for his face, magnified his watery brown eyes. His wide, friendly, smile revealed a pair of dimples bracketing his slightly uneven teeth.
“Sorry,” said James. “I didn’t realize you had company.”
“Not company exactly,” Bob told them. “Melanie is my ex-wife.”
“I think there’s a joke in there somewhere.” I stood up and shook hands with the new arrivals. “I used to live here,” I said to James. “Amber and I were neighbors for a while.”
“Is that so? Then that makes you the . . .” James stopped and gulped.
“The what?” I asked.
“Poodle lady.” A flush rose over the man’s neck. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have blurted that out. Amber used to call you that sometimes. I don’t think she meant anything by it.”
“No problem,” I said. “I’ve been called worse.”
And considering that I’d been known to refer to Amber as the cat lady, I really didn’t have room to complain. Not that I intended to tell James that.
“Anyway,” James continued, turning back to Bob, “Phil and I are going out to pick up supplies. Phil has a greenhouse that needs some repairs. I know how renovations go, I figured you might need something too.”
“No, thanks, I’m all set.” Bob slid his hand across the table and cupped it quietly around the ring. Unfortunately the movement had the opposite effect than the one he’d intended.
“Nice jewelry,” Phil said, eyeing the prize. He stepped closer to the table to get a better look.
“Yours?” James asked me. Now he’d noticed the ring too.
“No. It’s Bob’s. At least for now.”
Damn. I gave myself a mental kick. I was just as guilty of blurting out something dumb as James had been. I knew right away that answer wouldn’t satisfy him, and it didn’t.
“For now?” James repeated.
“I found it earlier today when I was knocking down a wall,” Bob said.
“Sharp!” said Phil. “Can I see?”
Bob handed the ring over. He and I both kept an eye on it.
“So it’s like buried treasure,” said James. “You’re rich.”
“Not exactly,” I said drily. “For one thing, it’s not worth enough to make anyone rich. And for another, it doesn’t belong to us.”
“Finders, keepers,” James intoned.
Phil nodded. “That’s the law.”
“Not around here,” I told them. “Bob and I are going to figure out who the ring belongs to and return it.”
“That’s no fun.” James plucked the jewel out of Phil’s hand and held it up to the light. “You ought to do some more digging around up there. Where there’s one piece of loot, there’s bound to be more. Let me know if you want my help.”
“No, thanks,” said Bob. “There’s no need to get carried away. It’s not like pirates stopped by and buried a treasure here. It’s just one old ring, that’s all.”
He held out his hand. James dropped the jewelry into it.
“Pretty, though,” Phil commented. “I wouldn’t mind finding something like that around my house.”
“And you’d know better than to give it back,” James pointed out.
“I sure would,” Phil agreed.
“Nice to meet you, Melanie,” James said. He and Phil headed for the back door. “Do me a favor? If you don’t mention that Poodle lady thing to Amber, my life will go a little smoother. If you know what I mean.”
“Consider it forgotten,” I said.
I watched the two men walk through the kitchen and let themselves out. “Don’t you ever lock your doors?” I asked.
“Not when I’m here.” Bob shrugged. “It’s not like this is New York. Or even downtown Stamford. Isn’t that why people move to the suburbs? So that they can feel safe without having a million locks on everything?”
“I don’t know about you,” I said. “But I’d feel safer without neighbors who felt free to wander through my house whenever they felt like it.”
“Don’t mind James. He means well. The poor guy is just bored. As soon as the economy picks up and somebody gives him a job, things will go back to normal around here.”
“Or maybe you should just think about locking your doors,” I said.
Chapter 6
Kevin and I were out running errands when Aunt Peg called.
“Melanie!” she sang out cheerfully. “You’re a genius.”
There’s nothing that pleases my aunt more than having one of her relatives succeed at something she considers important. She doesn’t hand out accolades lightly—and almost never to me. So even though I had no idea what had occasioned that unexpected burst of praise, it seemed safer not to question my good fortune in case she might be tempted to change her mind.
“Thank you,” I replied. “I’m happy to be of service.”
“I’m not sure I’d go that far,” Peg retorted.
Of course not. I shouldn’t have presumed.
“But you did introduce me to Nick Walden and that was well done. He’s quite an interesting young man.”
“So I take it his visit to meet your Poodles went well?”
“I should say so.... Melanie, what is that noise? Where are you?”
We were on the Merritt Parkway approaching North Street exit in Greenwich. A driver in the left lane ahead of us must have seen the exit sign too late because he swerved to the right, heedless of oncoming traffic. Horns blared. He flipped the other drivers the bird and shot up the ramp.
“Kevin and I are running errands,” I told her. “But as it happens we’re not too far from you. Should we stop by for a few minutes?”
Perhaps it was immodest of me to want to prolong the conversation. But seriously? I’m not in Aunt Peg’s good graces often and I wanted to bask a little.
Besides, Peg’s sweet tooth is legendary. And she always has cake.
My aun
t lives in back country Greenwich. Her house, once the hub of a working farm, is situated on five acres of private, rolling land. The kennel building behind the house—which over the years had housed dozens of Cedar Crest champion Poodles—now sits empty. Due to the time and travel demands of her busy judging schedule, Peg has had to greatly curtail her own showing and breeding.
Her five remaining Standard Poodles are all house dogs. Among them are Faith’s litter sister Hope, Eve’s litter brother Zeke, and Beau, an older, neutered, male who is the love of her life. Since Aunt Peg is the one who got me started in Poodles, it’s not surprising that our canine connection is as interwoven as our human one.
As always, Aunt Peg’s Poodles alerted her to our arrival. She opened the front door and the pack came spilling out onto the porch. Together they galloped down the steps and raced across the driveway. I had unsnapped Kevin from his car seat and placed him on the ground but as the Poodles quickly surrounded us I reached down and hoisted the toddler up so that he wouldn’t get bowled over by their enthusiastic greeting.
“Put down,” Kevin said firmly. Just like his older brother; if something interesting was happening, he wanted to be right in the middle of it.
With caution, I complied. Now that the race to welcome us was over, the Poodles’ tempo slowed. They swarmed around our legs and sniffed our clothes. No doubt they were comparing notes on where Kevin and I had been before our arrival in their world.
“Zeke,” Kevin announced, pointing. The male dog wagged his tail.
“Hope.” He pointed again. And was right for the second time.
“Amazing,” I said.
Even at his young age Kevin was clearly a dog lover, but I’d never seen him do that before. There were plenty of adults who couldn’t separate out a group of similarly bred, similarly groomed, black dogs with just a single glance.
“Bobo!” Kevin finished with a triumphant giggle. The Poodle in question sidled over and pressed his nose against Kevin’s chest.
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