Hair of the Dog

by Laurien Berenson

  Then she finally spoke, and what she said was a surprise.

  She sat up and her shoulders seemed to stiffen with resolve. “I know who you are. You’re Peg Turnbull’s niece, the one who figured out who killed Harry Flynn.”

  I grimaced slightly. There are other ways I’d rather be known.

  “I need your help,” said Alicia. “I want you to find the person who did this to Barry.”

  Four

  “I can’t,” I said. The response was quick and automatic. “You need to talk to the police.”

  “I’ve already done that. They’re questioning the neighbors and running tests on the bullets, looking for witnesses and physical evidence, when what they should be doing is talking to dog people. The dog show world was Barry’s whole life, and the police don’t have a clue how it works. You do. You solved those other crimes.”

  “That was—” I stopped, searching for the right word. “Kind of a fluke. I just happened to be there.”

  “And now you just happen to be here.”

  She had a point. I’d figured Aunt Peg had sent me to Turk’s kennel because she was hoping I’d come back with some good gossip. Now I wondered if there’d been more to it than that.

  Then again, I was the one who’d just been standing out in Alicia’s driveway, trying to imagine where the shots might have been fired from.

  “I’m a teacher,” I said. “Not an investigator.”

  Alicia lifted her hands and let them drop, the gesture conveying her feelings of utter helplessness. I sympathized, but it didn’t change my mind.

  “The police will find the person who shot Barry. You just have to give them some time.”

  “All the time in the world won’t help unless they start looking in the right direction.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Alicia frowned. “The detective I spoke with seems to think that I might have had something to do with Barry’s murder.”

  “Did you?”

  I wanted to see her response, and I wasn’t disappointed. Alicia looked positively shocked. “Of course not. Would I ask for your help if I had?”

  Maybe, maybe not, I thought. A moment ago, Alicia had had me convinced she was totally helpless. Now her jaw was set with determination.

  “You might be hoping I’ll come up with another suspect to draw attention away from you.”

  “No. You don’t understand ...” Her voice drifted, then came back stronger as her fingers spread, once again, over her stomach. “It’s not just me I’m worried about. My baby is going to grow up without a father. I need you to find out who did this to me. Who did this to us.”

  I stared at her for a moment, wondering if I’d misunderstood. “You’re pregnant?”

  “Yes.” Alicia smiled for the first time since my arrival. “Three months. It doesn’t show yet, but it won’t be long.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “Almost no one does. Barry and I didn’t exactly plan this, it just happened. But you can see now why I have to know.”

  I wondered if it had been chance, or if Alicia knew how close to home she’d hit. I, too, had a child who was growing up without a father. But at least Davey knew Bob, and he knew that even though his father lived in Texas with a new wife, he still loved him very much. It wasn’t nearly as much as I would have wanted for him, but it was more than Alicia’s baby was going to have.

  Before I’d sympathized. Now I empathized. The tug was stronger.

  I settled back on the couch. “Will you answer some questions for me?”

  “Of course,” Alicia said quickly. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  “Why do the police suspect you?”

  “Partly because that’s what they do. They always look at the person the victim was involved with first.” She twirled a strand of hair around her index finger. The small, unconscious movement was innocent, almost childlike. “And partly because . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Barry made out a new will about six months ago. I inherit everything. What there is of it.” Alicia cast a derogatory glance around the room. “The house and the kennel are both mortgaged. As to the rest, I couldn’t care less what happens to it.”

  I looked around too. Despite what appeared to be recent attempts to brighten up the decor, the furniture in the room was worn and shabby. The small glimpse I’d had into the kitchen had revealed brown linoleum and outdated appliances.

  Alicia picked at the umber tweed upholstery on the couch and sighed loudly. “The only reason I was even here was because of Barry.”

  “Did you love him?”

  “Of course I loved him. I left my marriage for him. Bill was much more stable. He was established. You know.”

  I nodded.

  “But Barry was exciting. He had charisma. He made me feel alive.”

  I wondered if I dared suggest she’d been having a midlife crisis.

  “Barry wasn’t the easiest man in the world, but he had some wonderful qualities. He was caring and sweet, and he could be very romantic.”

  I opened my mouth, then shut it without saying a word.

  “I know some people thought he could be brash, and maybe a little arrogant . . .”

  And grating, pushy, and sexist.

  “... but that was just his way. His childhood was pretty rough. Barry had to learn how to stick up for himself. But he loved me,” Alicia said firmly. “And he took very good care of me.” Her lower lip began to quiver. “And now he’s gone. What am I going to do?”

  I took her hand and held it. “You’re going to stay calm and healthy for the sake of your baby. The last thing you need is more stress.”

  “You’ll help me, won’t you?”

  She looked so hopeful, I couldn’t help but nod. “But I can’t promise I’ll find out anything.”

  “Promise me you’ll try,” she said, and I did.

  I found Barry’s assistant, Beth, out in the kennel. She was small but stocky, with sandy hair that was cropped short and a direct, unwavering gaze. Like Aunt Peg, she was blow-drying a Poodle in anticipation of the next day’s show. She brushed through the damp coat with practiced ease, her movements brisk and efficient.

  “Melanie, right?” she said when I entered. “Peg called and told me you were coming. Let me just finish this side, and I’ll get the bitch for you.”

  “No hurry.”

  In order to achieve the plush, full look needed for showing, the coat had be perfectly straight. Left to air-dry, it would kink and crinkle. Beth had the Standard Poodle lying flat on his side on a rubber-topped grooming table. She was using a large, freestanding blow dryer that directed a strong, steady stream of hot air into the coat. She’d started in the back and was working her way forward. Since she was drying the part of the mane coat that covered the Poodle’s shoulder, I figured another fifteen minutes would do it.

  There was a desk by the window where Barry used to keep his accounts. Now the surface was clean. I dragged out its chair and sat down.

  The dryer made a lot of noise. Beth had been watching a talk show on a small color TV that was sitting on top of a crate, and she’d turned the volume way up. The combination was enough to preclude any hope of conversation.

  “Do you mind if I turn that off?” I asked when a commercial came on.

  “Go right ahead. I wasn’t really paying attention. I just leave it on for something to do.”

  With one source of noise removed, we were able to speak in almost normal tones. “I see you’re getting ready for the shows,” I said.

  Beth nodded. “Two this weekend. We’ve got six dogs entered.”

  “All going?”

  She hesitated before answering. “Only one owner bugged out on me,” she said, sounding almost defiant. If Beth was feeling even a fraction of the grief Alicia’d felt, she was hiding it well. “I told each of them that this was a freebie. Just give me one weekend to show what I can do. The entry fees were already paid. They had nothing to lose by giving me a chanc
e.”

  “Do you think you can handle the business by yourself?”

  “I don’t know. To tell you the truth, I’m not even sure I want to. I liked being Barry’s assistant. All I had to do was work with the dogs, and that’s what I’m good at. Being the one in charge is a whole different ball game.”

  I’d liked Beth the last time I met her, and I liked her now. She didn’t seem to waste a lot of time bullshitting people.

  “So how’s business been lately? Was Barry having a good year?”

  “Better than ever. He was getting some good dogs and having some good wins. He seemed to be calming down a bit personally, and that was good too.” She grinned with all the wisdom of her twenty-two years. “Maybe he was maturing.”

  “I guess that means you think Alicia’s coming was a good thing.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Beth stared downward at a mat she was working free with her fingers. “She’s okay.”

  “She wants me to do some asking around about Barry’s murder.” I noted that Beth didn’t look surprised, and wondered how much the two women spoke. “Would you tell me what happened the night he was shot?”

  “I’ll tell you what I know. The same thing I already told the police. It isn’t much.”

  I waited a moment while she gathered her thoughts. The brown Standard Poodle on the table was almost dry. His eyes were closed, his breathing deep and even. No doubt he’d slept through most of the procedure.

  “We’d been at the show all day. Wallkill, you know?”

  I nodded.

  “We stayed through Best in Show, then had some dinner. By the time we got back here it was dark, probably a little after nine.”

  “Had you left any lights on?”

  “No.” Beth ran her fingers through the Poodle’s chest hair, making sure it was fully dry. “It was light that morning when we left, and Barry hates wasting money. I’m sure everything was off.”

  I listened to her refer to Barry in the present tense and felt a small pang. “So the place looked just as you would have expected it to. Nothing unusual.”

  “I guess. I mean, like I said, it was dark. Besides, it had been a long day at the show. I wasn’t really paying that much attention to how things looked.”

  “The three of you were in the van?” I prompted.

  Beth nodded. “Barry and Alicia had the front two seats. I was in the back. Which is another reason I wasn’t paying attention. I couldn’t really see out very well.”

  I wondered why she felt obliged to keep making excuses. Had being questioned by the police put her on the defensive, or did she actually have something to hide?

  “Go on.”

  “Alicia was feeling really tired and asked if we could unload without her. Barry said okay. He stopped next to the house and she went inside.”

  “And you stayed in the van?”

  “Right.” Beth sounded annoyed, as if maybe she’d resented the special treatment Alicia had been given. “Barry pulled up next to the kennel, just like he always does. We had a bunch of big crates with us. The closer we are, the easier it is to unload. Then he got out and turned on the lights.”

  “Did he have to go into the kennel to do that?”

  “No, there’s a switch outside, right by the door. That’s the one he used.”

  “And when he did that, you were still inside the van?”

  “Yeah, I was gathering up my things. Besides, the sliding door sticks, so it’s tough to open from the inside. I was waiting for Barry to let me out.”

  “You didn’t climb up to the front?”

  “What for? I wasn’t in any hurry.”

  The drying process was finished. Beth prodded the Poodle, and he lifted his head. There were some supplies on a crate behind her. She reached over and picked up a knitting needle for making parts and a handful of small rubber bands. Working by rote, she began to section and band the long topknot hair.

  “Then what happened?”

  “I heard a noise, you know, like a car backfiring. I didn’t think anything about it until I heard Alicia screaming. That’s when I looked out and saw the blood.”

  She paused and swallowed heavily. I knew she was replaying the scene in her mind.

  “And then?”

  “Everything seemed to go crazy at once. Alicia came running out of the house. All the noise she was making set the dogs off and they began to bark. I thought I was going to go deaf. Finally, I got the door open and then I saw Barry lying in the driveway. He was on his stomach and there was blood everywhere. Whoever did it shot him in the back.”

  For a minute, neither of us said a word. I’d found a dead body once, so I knew how she was feeling.

  “Do you know what kind of gun the killer used?” I asked finally. “Was it a rifle? A handgun?”

  “One with bullets,” Beth said, frowning. “That’s all I know. I don’t know much about guns.”

  Neither did I except, oddly enough, how it felt to have one pointed at me, which I’d found out the previous November. It wasn’t an experience I cared to repeat, and I’d stayed as far away from firearms as possible ever since. But even with my limited knowledge I realized that a rifle would have given the shooter much greater range. No doubt the police would have the answer to that.

  “What about clients?” I asked. “You said Barry’d been having a good year. Any exceptions to that? Anyone he’d been having trouble with lately?”

  Beth shrugged. “Every operation has a few dissatisfied customers. Some people are impossible to please. But nobody in particular comes to mind.”

  She wrapped the long hair on the Poodle’s ears in colorful plastic wrap, then flipped the ends up and under, and banded them out of the way. The blow-dry was over. The dog stood up and shook. Beth cupped her hand around the Poodle’s muzzle and hopped him down from the table.

  “Be back in a minute,” she said, disappearing through a door that led back to the pens where the dogs were kept. It seemed like less time than that before she returned. This time her hand was cupped around the muzzle of a rangy black bitch.

  “This is Vanna,” she said, releasing the Poodle. The bitch came over and sniffed my outstretched hand. “Tell Peg today’s day four.”

  “Got it.” That meant that this was Vanna’s fourth day in season, which meant that she would probably be ready to breed in about a week. “Anything else?”

  “No. She’s a real sweetheart, I’m sorry to see her go. Barry’d already put six points on her and he hadn’t shown her that much. If you talk to her owner, you could give me a plug. I’d love to get her back.”

  I slid my hand around the Poodle’s muzzle as Beth had done. That way, I didn’t have to use a collar that might make mats in her all-important neck hair. “You really think you can make a go of it on your own?”

  “Who knows?” said Beth. “But I’m sure as hell going to try.”

  By the time I got back to Greenwich, it was almost twelve-thirty. My stomach was rumbling, but I didn’t hold out any hope that Aunt Peg might feed me lunch. When she’s doing out a dog, she never allows herself to be sidetracked by anything as mundane as mealtime. I found her back in the kennel, just as I knew I would.

  Aunt Peg’s kennel building consists of two large rooms. The one in back contains the pens that house the Poodles she’s currently keeping in hair. The room in front is where she works.

  Windows in two walls and a skylight above provide plenty of light, and a wall of shelves holds her grooming equipment, everything from pin brushes and shampoo to extra ear wraps and clipper blades. A bathtub mounted waist-high fills one corner of the room, and a glass-fronted trophy cabinet takes up another.

  The rest of the wall space is covered with pictures, “win photos” from the shows the Cedar Crest Standard Poodles have attended over the last three decades. Aunt Peg tends to ignore the silverware, most of which needs polishing, but given the slightest encouragement, she’s delighted to walk a visitor through the rows of pictures. They’re a visual history of all t
hat she and her husband had accomplished over the years, and she’s justifiably proud of the results.

  When I arrived, Aunt Peg had Tory on a grooming table in the middle of the room. The Poodle was dripping wet and Peg was blotting her coat with a succession of thick towels. I opened the kennel door a crack and peered inside.

  Aunt Peg’s favorite Poodle is a retired campaigner named Beau, who’s almost always by her side. He’s also a retired stud dog, and with Vanna in season, I could think of all sorts of reasons why the two of them shouldn’t meet. At least not on my watch.

  “Where’s Beau?” I asked.

  “Up at the house,” said Peg, leaving Tory on the table to come and open the door. “And not the slightest bit happy about it. I knew you’d be along any minute. Come on in, let’s have a look at you.”

  The second half of her comment was directed at Vanna. Being around Aunt Peg, I’d gotten used to that. She tends to include Poodles in the conversation as if they’re extra family members.

  “You’re a big girl, aren’t you?” Aunt Peg crooned as she ran her hands over the Poodle’s sides. Vanna wagged her tail and did a little dance in place. In dog-speak, that meant they were already halfway to being friends. “Pretty face. Could use a better front. Maybe Joker can help with that.”

  Peg fished a dog biscuit out of a bin by the door, then led the way into the other room. Vanna followed happily in her wake. “Now then,” she said when she returned. “How were things in Poughkeepsie?”

  “Unsettled,” I said, and told her about my visit.

  Aunt Peg likes solving puzzles, and she’s nosy too. It’s a dangerous combination. She listened carefully to everything I said. If she hadn’t had a wet Poodle on her hands, I got the impression she’d have been taking notes.

  “Interesting,” she said at the end. “I’d say that all worked out rather well.”

  No surprises there. “I told Alicia I’d ask a few questions,” I said firmly. “That’s all.”

  “A few questions here, a few questions there . . . Who knows what may turn up?”