Hair of the Dog

by Laurien Berenson

  “Maybe now that Barry’s gone, you can start handling for other people again.”

  “Like Austin?” Christine grinned mirthlessly. “I don’t think so. Trust me, that ship has already sailed. Whatever I thought we had going ended the day he dumped me for Vivian DuCoyne.”

  Aunt Peg had introduced me to scores of people at dog shows in the last year. I wondered if she’d been one of them. “I don’t think I know her.”

  “You probably do, just not under that name. She’s Viv Pullman now. But back then, she and Ron weren’t married yet.”

  “And she was involved with Austin?”

  “No. Viv and Ron were already engaged at the time, and she wasn’t interested. That didn’t stop Austin, though. His ego is so large, he figured he could win Viv away. The jerk. So he ended up with nobody, which is just what he deserved.”

  Her voice had risen. Several heads turned in our direction.

  Christine lifted a hand to fan her throat. “Is it hot in here, or is it me?”

  Even with the windows open, the press of bodies in the room had raised the temperature, and Christine was suddenly looking very much like she could use some fresh air. “It’s a little warm,” I agreed. “Why don’t we go outside?”

  “Good idea.”

  The yard behind the house was large and shady. The grass was freshly mowed and the smell of clippings hung in the air. A wooden bench sat beside an empty bird feeder. Christine sank down onto it and closed her eyes.

  “Ahh,” she said. “Much better.”

  I left her there and went back inside to check on Alicia. Several women were standing in the kitchen, but she was not among them. Picking up a platter to deliver to the buffet table, I walked through to the living room and spotted Alicia chatting with Viv Pullman.

  All right, so I’m nosy. If I hadn’t had that platter in my hands, I’d have been over there like a shot. Unfortunately, just as I was putting the food down, Aunt Peg grabbed me.

  “There you are, I’ve been looking all over. Have you seen this?” She held up a copy of Dog Scene magazine.

  “No. Why?”

  “It’s next week’s issue. Hot off the presses. It goes in the mail this afternoon.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I was keeping tabs on Viv and Alicia. “So?”

  “There’s an obituary in here for Bill Devane. Of course, it’s very complimentary. And the picture they used is ten years old at least. I don’t know who the editors think they’re fooling. Melanie, would you please look at me when I’m talking to you?”

  My gaze swung back around. “What?”

  “Dear girl, what are you looking at?”

  “Viv and Alicia,” I whispered. “Over there. What do you suppose they’re talking about?”

  “Maybe this.” Peg held up the magazine and shook it. “That’s what I’ve been trying to show you.”

  “Bill’s obituary?”

  “No, here. On the gossip page. There’s an item alluding to Ron and Alicia’s affair. It doesn’t mention any names, but it’s clear as day who they’re referring to. Listen to the ending. ‘Revenge is a powerful motivator. And when it comes gift-wrapped in southern-fried charm, watch out.’ ”

  “Good Lord.” I snatched the paper from her hands. “Let me see that.”

  “I thought you might be interested,” Peg said smugly as I skimmed through the column.

  The piece was short but eye-catching. As Peg had said, the writer hadn’t named names. Even so, the majority of the dog showing fraternity would have no trouble figuring out who he was talking about. And Viv came off looking like the woman scorned.

  “None of this is true,” I said, outraged. “They’ve made it sound as though Alicia stole Ron away from Viv.”

  “It doesn’t have to be true. That’s why it’s running on the gossip page. Besides, Alicia did steal Ron away, at least for a little while.”

  “And killing Bill was Viv’s revenge? That’s crazy. Viv’s a smart woman. She would have to know she was much better off with Bill alive than dead. He would have taken care of Alicia. Now she has no one.”

  “No one but the father of her baby,” said Peg.

  As one, we turned to look. While we’d been reading the magazine, Viv had disappeared. Now Alicia was talking to Bertie.

  “You said this was next week’s issue,” I said. “Where did you get it?”

  “Terry had it. He was the one who showed me the item. I don’t know where it came from before that.”

  The crowd in the room was beginning to thin. I didn’t see Terry or Crawford among the guests that remained. Still holding the magazine, I hurried out the front door. A line of cars had been parked along the length of the driveway. Crawford and Terry were heading toward a gold Lexus near the road. I ran to catch up.

  “Wait!”

  Both men turned and paused.

  “The item about Viv,” I said to Terry, breathing hard. “The one you showed Aunt Peg. Who planted it?”

  Terry cocked his hip and braced a hand on it. “Now, how would I know that?”

  I glanced over at Crawford. He smiled slightly. “You give me too much credit, Melanie. I don’t know everything.”

  “You could find out,” I said.

  “Maybe.” Crawford shrugged and continued walking. “If I wanted to.”

  “Terry?”

  “Don’t get me in trouble, hon.”

  “Please?”

  “Deliver me from whining women.” Terry took the magazine from me. “Thank God I’m not straight.”

  “Please, Terry?”

  “Oh, all right,” he whispered. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  I spent the next day waiting to hear from Terry. When he didn’t call, I didn’t dare get in touch with him. Already I was presuming on his goodwill. Applying more pressure certainly wasn’t going to help my case any.

  When the phone finally did ring the next evening, it was Aunt Peg. “I need a favor,” she said. “Are you coming to the Danbury dog show tomorrow?”

  “Possibly,” I said, hedging. Sam was working. He had a rush project he had to finish, so Davey and I were free. Knowing Aunt Peg, however, I wanted to hear more before committing myself. “What’s up?”

  “Douglas is going to be there, it’s his first dog show since mid-July. You know how distracted I get when I’m showing a dog. I was hoping you could keep an eye on him and make sure he enjoys himself.”

  All things considered, that didn’t sound like too hard an assignment. Besides, going to the show would give me a chance to talk to a few people.

  “Do you know if Crawford will be showing Leo?”

  “I imagine so, the dog’s entered every weekend. Why?”

  “Now that Bill’s gone, I’m curious to know what Ron plans to do next. Maybe I’ll find a chance to pull him aside and ask him.”

  “Not tomorrow, you won’t. He mentioned yesterday that he was going away over the weekend. Viv’s staying home to hold down the fort, but I wouldn’t expect to see her at the show either.”

  Too bad, I thought. But I could still use the opportunity to try and pin down Terry.

  “Here’s an idea,” said Peg. “Why don’t you bring Faith along so I can see how her hair is coming?”

  Checking up on me, that’s what she was doing. This was Aunt Peg’s subtle way of making sure that I didn’t slack off on Faith’s coat care. I glanced down at my watch and considered the possibility of factoring bath and blow-drying time into the evening’s activities. It would be a tight squeeze. Then again, I was the one who’d been feeling guilty every time Davey and I went off to a show and left the Standard Poodle behind. This idea might end up working out to suit all of us.

  “All right,” I said. “We’ll see you there.”

  The Danbury dog show was held outdoors in a large, lovely field at the base of a small mountain. The rings were well laid out, and there was plenty of space set aside for parking, even for spectators like Davey and myself, who didn’t arrive until mid-morning.
Since I’d brought along my portable grooming table for Faith to sit on, I pulled over to the handlers’ tent and unloaded. Standard Poodles were scheduled for noon, but most were already out on their tables being worked on.

  “It’s about time!” Peg said as we approached. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

  “Mom slept late,” Davey confided. “You can yell at her.”

  In the eyes of my son the early riser, anything after six A.M. was considered late.

  “Never mind. What matters is that you’re here now. Go park the car then make yourself useful. Douglas said something about Scottish Deerhounds and went off wandering. Maybe you can find him.”

  “Will do.” I hopped Faith up onto her table. Wagging her tail happily, she touched noses with Tory as I opened Davey’s chair and placed his bag of toys in the seat. “Are you staying here or coming with me?”

  “Faith and I are staying with Aunt Peg.” Davey was eyeing Peg’s tack box hungrily. At least I’d managed to get oatmeal into him for breakfast.

  I parked the Volvo, then headed over to the main tent with its double row of parallel rings. Scottish Deerhounds are one of the largest breeds of dogs. Though there weren’t many entered, I could pick them out from across the field. Douglas was standing in the shade beneath the tent. Catalogue in hand, he was concentrating so intently on the proceedings in the ring that he didn’t even notice my approach. Aunt Peg might make a dog fancier out of him yet.

  “See anything you like?” I asked.

  “Oh, Melanie, hello.” Douglas leaned down and kissed my cheek. “Look at these dogs. They’re magnificent, aren’t they?”

  “They’re certainly big.” Several feet away a Deerhound stood awaiting its turn in the ring. Its back was higher than my waist, and I was sure it outweighed me.

  “Big? Of course they’re big. They were bred in the Scottish Highlands to hunt wild stags. They needed to be that size to get the job done. Did you know this breed has been around since the Middle Ages? They’ve served for centuries as guards and companions of the Scottish lairds.”

  “You’re very well informed. Is this a new interest?”

  “I’ve been studying up a bit.” Douglas smiled sheepishly. “I guess it shows.”

  “You know more than I do.”

  “No, I don’t. But I hate feeling ignorant about something. I knew that if I were going to enjoy myself at dog shows, I needed to understand where all these different breeds came from, and why they developed the way they did. I bought several books and I’ve started reading.”

  I stared at him incredulously. “You mean you know that much about every breed?”

  “Heavens, no.” Douglas looked startled by the thought. “I’m just beginning my education, after all. I started with the breeds that looked interesting. To me that means the big ones, the ones that have been useful in some capacity. Once you understand how these dogs came to look the way they do, it’s really quite fascinating. The Rhodesian Ridgebacks will be along shortly. Did you know they were originally bred to hunt lions?”

  “No,” I said, grinning. His enthusiasm was infectious. Sometimes I get so caught up in the small world of Poodles that I tend to forget about all the other great breeds there are. It was nice to be reminded once in a while that there were other things in the world beside topknots, bracelets, and big hair.

  “You think I’m silly,” said Douglas.

  “No,” I said quickly. “I think you’re charming. And I hope my aunt is making half as much effort to learn about your interests.”

  “We’re working on it. Peg doesn’t take to compromise easily.”

  “You’ve noticed, have you?”

  We laughed together, then watched the rest of the hound breeds. Douglas kept up a running commentary on the breeds he’d read about. It was a refreshing change from the usual ringside chatter, heavy on fact and history, and totally unconcerned with current fads and who was beating whom.

  Toy breeds were being judged two rings down. When Maltese were called to ringside, I kept an eye out for Terry and Crawford. It didn’t take long for them to appear.

  “Would you excuse me for a minute?” I said to Douglas. “There’s someone I need to talk to.”

  “By all means,” he said, eyes still trained on the action in the ring. Just like an old hand, I thought happily.

  “Isn’t that nice?” Terry said, seeing my smile as I approached. “A happy person. At a dog show, no less. I think you may be an oxymoron.”

  “You’re too young to be such a cynic.”

  “But getting older by the minute. Here, spread this towel for me, would you?”

  He handed me a thick terry-cloth rectangle in a wicked shade of neon green. The words Bedford Kennels were stitched along one end in script. In the ring, Crawford was showing his class dog. Terry had the Maltese special in his arms.

  I spread the towel out on the ground beside the barrier and he carefully set the Maltese down upon it. The tiny dog was immaculate, its coat ice-white and silky smooth. Two small black bows held up the hair above its eyes. Terry took out a brush and fussed needlessly.

  “About that item in Dog Scene,” I said. “Did you have any luck finding out where it came from?”

  Terry shrugged as he knelt down beside his tiny charge. “The whole point of that gossip page is that it’s anonymous. If people had to own up to what they were saying, there wouldn’t be anything to print.”

  “What they said about Viv wasn’t true.”

  “It didn’t have to be. In fact, even though you read it that way, the item didn’t even have to be about Viv. It never mentioned her name.”

  I stared down at him. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

  “I would if I could, hon. Honest. I tried, but all I got was a dead end. I called the editor. Pat’s a friend, if you know what I mean. I thought he’d help out. Instead, he gave me some nonsense about editorial policy.”

  Terry shook his head sadly. “I want you to know I’ve lent that man my best pumps, and his feet were much bigger than he said they were. Ask me if those shoes will ever be the same.”

  Sarcasm was desperately called for. I told myself that Terry was trying his best, and I held my tongue.

  “So I asked Pat, then who sets the policy? And he said, that would be the owners.” Terry rolled his eyes. “Pat can be a little dense when he wants to be. So I tried again. And who would they be, I asked?”

  I glanced in the ring. Crawford’s entry had just gone Reserve, and he was heading in our direction. “And?”

  “And he said the owners of Dog Scene were Greyhound Publishing and Austin Beamish.”

  Twenty-four

  Austin Beamish?

  Funny, I thought, the way his name kept popping up.

  “Thanks, Terry,” I said distractedly.

  “Don’t mention it, hon.”

  Lost in thought, I wandered back to Aunt Peg’s setup. Faith was lying contentedly on the table where I’d left her. Davey was coloring in his fire truck coloring book. Peg was putting up Tory’s topknot.

  “Where’s Douglas?” she asked.

  “Douglas?” I’d forgotten all about him.

  “Melanie, what on earth is the matter with you?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  Peg frowned. “Well, apparently it doesn’t suit you.”

  “Did you know that Austin Beamish is one of the owners of Dog Scene magazine?”

  “No.” Peg picked up a slender knitting needle and deftly parted Tory’s long topknot hair. “I’d imagine that a man with his money has lots of investments. Does it matter?”

  “I don’t know. It just seems like every time I turn around, somebody else mentions Austin’s name. Did you know that he bought a Chow from Ron Pullman and had Barry Turk finish it for him?”

  “No, but Austin’s had all sorts of dogs. Was it a good one?”

  “Not according to Beth. He bought the dog because Viv recommended it to him.”

  “Odd,”
Peg muttered, mouth filled with rubber bands.

  Belatedly I was beginning to realize that much of the time Austin’s name came up, Viv’s did too.

  “Christine Franken told me that Austin dumped her because he was interested in Viv,” I said.

  “Viv’s married.”

  “She was only engaged when they met.”

  “That must have been several years ago.”

  “It was. But Bertie says that Austin’s a very persistent man.”

  Aunt Peg laid down her comb and stared at me. “What are you trying to say?”

  “I don’t know exactly. But I remember a comment you made a couple of weeks ago about Austin and Ron. You said that for two men who didn’t like each other, they certainly seemed to spend a lot of time together. Maybe we were missing the point. I always thought Viv was trying to keep those two apart. Maybe it was she who unwittingly brought them together.”

  Aunt Peg considered that for a moment. “You could be right,” she allowed finally. “But that still doesn’t explain who shot Barry Turk.”

  “Austin did.”

  “Why?”

  I’d been afraid she’d ask that.

  Peg reached out, took my hand, and placed it under Tory’s chin to hold her head steady. While I thought, she finished putting in the topknot.

  “All right, listen to this. Austin wants Viv. Viv wants Ron.”

  “End of story.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “Because although Ron wants Viv, he also wants Alicia. And now she’s pregnant with his baby.”

  “Which everyone thinks is Barry’s.”

  “Maybe not everyone. Maybe Austin knew differently.”

  “How?”

  I sighed windily. “I’m not a mind reader. Just go with me on this, okay?”

  “All right, keep talking.” Topknot done, Peg removed my hand and set it aside just like the rest of her equipment. She popped the rubber band holding Tory’s ear wrap and unbound the long hair within.

  I perched on the edge of Faith’s grooming table, nestled her head in my lap, and continued to think aloud. “Austin wants Viv to leave Ron and come to him. She’s not interested. For a while there’s nothing he can do about that but pine from afar. Then Ron screws up big-time and Austin sees his chance.”