by Susan Conant
Axelrod was right and wrong about Horace Livermore, by the way. Over a glass of wedding champagne, Horace shamelessly told me that he’d used small doses of arsenic to improve Isaac’s coat. Horace maintained that he’d been hired to see that Axelrod’s dog won, and since Isaac had been a consistent winner, Norm had had no cause for complaint. Axelrod’s only mistake, in his handler’s view, had been taking the dog away from him so abruptly. Look at Isaac now! His coat was in terrible condition. He wouldn’t win so much as a booby prize at a pet fair looking like that. What a waste of a show dog! I didn’t suppose, did I, that Gabrielle would be interested in sending Isaac back out with him again? No, I told Horace, I was sure she wouldn’t. Somewhat to my surprise, Horace generously gave me the name of a vet who’d supply me with arsenic for my own dogs. Or was I already using it on Rowdy? Beautiful coat. Kimi’s could stand a little help. Hormones would fix that. If I intended to do anything serious with her, I should get her on something. As far as my dogs’ show careers went, I told him, my only intention was to have fun. Horace lost all respect for me. By then, however, I had little for him. He was not, however, an international smuggler. Norman Axelrod was correct in his suspicions that Horace was sneaking something into Canada, but wrong about what it was. To avoid being hassled by customs officials about crossing into Canada with a supply of aerosol cans, Horace always hid the aerosol spray-on cheese that his sister, Candace Livermore-Smith, used in training her Border collies.
Malcolm Fairley’s escape was my father’s fault. Buck should have known better than to carry a firearm in Acadia National Park. His shoddy excuse is that he was protecting a witness to murder. As if I needed human protection! But it was true that I’d overheard Axelrod and Fairley when I’d followed them up Dorr, and I’d seen Fairley push Axelrod off the cliff. True, Fairley hadn’t used his hands. Rather, he’d used a booted foot to trip Axelrod. I guess that’s what Anita meant when she’d talked about the murder. She understood that her father hadn’t exactly murdered Axelrod. Rather, Fairley had told himself that Axelrod had had an accident. Fairley had used a boot on me, too. The second I saw and heard the fatal fall, I should have bolted up the slope in search of my big dogs. Instead, I hunkered down on the ridge. After all, I couldn’t lead a murderer to Rowdy and Kimi! Fairley must have spotted me after Axelrod’s plunge. Maybe he heard something. He appeared behind me in what seemed like seconds. He bumped into me almost as if by accident. My feet went out from under me. He couldn’t, however, have finished me off without admitting to himself that he’d committed murder. I’m pretty sure of all this. I can’t, of course, be certain.
My vet, Dr. Delaney, and his bride, Ms. Fairley-Delaney, were not at the wedding, which was held at Gabrielle’s big house. In fact, if Gabrielle manages to hold on to the house despite her major financial losses—she’ll be lucky to keep even the guest cottage—she should consider renting it out for large festivities. The house had room for many more guests than she and Buck invited. More people had attended the clambake for Malcolm Fairley than were present at the wedding. The ceremony was short and traditional, at least as defined in my family’s tradition: The minister was also an AKC-licensed judge, and quite a few members of the bridal party were dogs. Mandy, Buck’s golden, was hormonally fit to appear in public. She comported herself with her typical air of perfection. Molly stood at Gabrielle’s side. Isaac, Pacer, and a few other dogs were there, too. Against Buck’s objections, Gabrielle invited Opal and Wally. Buck did not shoot them. After the ceremony, we ate lobster and drank champagne. Most of us did. Effie ate a tofu casserole that she’d made herself.
Malcolm Fairley wasn’t there. The Pine Tree Foundation for Conservation Philanthropy was in bankruptcy, and Malcolm and Anita were charged with seventy-six counts of fraud and money laundering. Also, it’s a long trip from Guatemala to Maine. We aren’t sure exactly how Malcolm got to Guatemala. I certainly know how he evaded the law on Mount Desert Island. After the ruckus on Dorr, my father, still in his bold-alpha-leader role, convinced everyone to hike immediately back down to the Nature Center. In the case of Malcolm and Anita, he reinforced his alpha status by drawing his handgun. The tourists we encountered on our descent were alarmed at the sight of a firearm, but otherwise, all went as well as could be expected until our whole crew arrived at the Nature Center, where Buck intended to turn Anita and Malcolm over to the authorities. Instead of taking the culprits into custody, however, the two park rangers at the Nature Center politely asked Buck to surrender his weapon. Feeling the need to explain the situation, he refused. In the resulting melee, Malcolm Fairley slipped away.
The suspicion is that a friend with a private plane, probably a grateful investor in the Pine Tree Foundation, flew him to Toronto. From there, he took a flight to Miami, and then a flight to Guatemala City. He wrote to Gabrielle from an undisclosed location in Guatemala. She says she burned the letter, which, she maintains, was almost exclusively about the rain forest. When pressed, she admits that Fairley briefly mentioned the benefactors. I asked what he said about them. “He sees them when he closes his eyes,” Gabrielle told me. “He finds them a great comfort.”
I haven’t seen Dr. Delaney since the eventful day I discovered that he’d married Anita. My animals haven’t been sick. Or needed any shots. I may switch vets. I’d like to forget him. I’m hoping for… amnesia.
Author’s Notes
Could such a scheme fool anyone? It did. The Foundation for New Era Philanthropy, of Radnor, Pennsylvania, lured investors with the promise of combining charity with high returns. According to New Era’s founder, John G. Bennet, Jr., matching grants from anonymous benefactors made it possible to double investors’ money in six months. The scheme collapsed. On September 22, 1998, Bennet was sentenced to twelve years in federal prison. New Era’s victims included churches, charities, and universities, as well as such individuals as Laurance and Mary Rockefeller.
Acadia National Park’s Homans Path remains officially abandoned. The reclamation project described in this book is, alas, imaginary.
For the appearance of Alaskan malamutes Sno Ridge’s Gabrielle DeBoyd (Gabbi), Sno Shire’s Trophy Edition (Bentley), and the late Ch. Nomarak’s Malcolm DeBoyd, who is greatly missed, I am grateful to Bruce and Ann Ratcliff.
About the Author
SUSAN CONANT, a three-time recipient of the Maxwell Award for Fiction Writing given by the Dog Writers Association of America, lives in Newton, Massachusetts, with her husband, two cats, and two Alaskan malamutes—Frostfield Firestar’s Kobuk, CGS, and Frostfield Perfect Crime, CD, CGC, Th.D., called Rowdy. She is the author of thirteen Dog Lover’s Mysteries.
This edition contains the complete text
of the original hardcover edition.
NOT ONE WORD HAS BEEN OMITTED.
CREATURE DISCOMFORTS
A Bantam Book / published by arrangement with Doubleday
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Doubleday hardcover edition published May 2000
Bantam mass market edition / March 2001
The words to “I Love to Tell the Story” were written by
Katherine Hankey in 1866.
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2000 by Susan Conant.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 99-36817.
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eISBN: 978-0-307-56933-2
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two<
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Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one