As I pulled up beside the green and white striped grooming tent to unload, the canvas roof dipped and billowed above us. I was dressed in a turtleneck, wool sweater, and corduroy skirt; but even so, I felt the chill as soon as I got out of the car.
Several of the professional handlers had tied plastic windbreaks to the tent poles, which served as partial walls around their grooming areas. Other exhibitors huddled over steaming cups of coffee, their chilled fingers wrapped around the hot mugs. Next week the indoor circuit started. For now, we all had to suffer through.
As usual, Aunt Peg had beaten me there. I found her setup and unloaded my grooming table, crate, and tack box into the area she’d saved. Usually at dog shows, the exhibitors’ tent is filled to capacity. Today, there was plenty of room.
Not that I imagined for one minute that any exhibitor had stayed home because of the inclement weather. Dog show people are a hardy bunch. Once an entry is made and a good judge anticipated, they’ve been known to brave blizzards and hurricanes with equal aplomb. More likely, the empty tent meant that most exhibitors were showing and leaving, rather than turning the event into an all day affair as they might have done in nicer weather.
“Good lord,” said Aunt Peg, when I got back from parking my car. “You look like Nanook of the North. Don’t tell me you’re wearing kneesocks. Are you sure you wouldn’t like a muffler to wrap around your head?”
I hopped Faith up onto her table, which I’d lined up beside Hope’s. “At least I’m almost warm. You must be freezing.”
The unwritten rules of dog show etiquette dictate that exhibitors dress for the ring as they would for any other important social occasion. For the women, this means skirts or dresses; for the men, jackets and ties. Aunt Peg was wearing a high necked corduroy dress in a shade of green that had obviously been chosen to complement her dog rather than her skin tone. Her only concession to the weather was the down vest she’d buttoned on over it.
“I feel fine. Heaven knows what everyone is complaining about.” She stopped brushing Hope and helped clear a spot on top of her crate where we could get Davey settled. “Are you cold?” she asked her nephew.
“Not me, I’m Batman. I have superpowers.” Davey unzipped his jacket to show her that he was wearing the jersey from his Halloween costume underneath.
“You don’t say. I thought Superman was the one with the powers.”
Standing behind my son, I quickly shook my head. The costume was already made. As far as I was concerned, it was much too late for any discussion. “Batman has a cool car. Don’t forget about that.”
“The Batmobile!” Davey cried, pulling his model out of the bag of toys we’d brought. “Can I get down and drive it around?”
“I guess so. Just don’t go too far and don’t get in anyone’s way.”
Supplying his own sound effects, Davey zoomed away down the aisle.
Aunt Peg watched him for a moment, then reached over and flicked her fingers through the shorter hair on Faith’s chest. Though it had been straight the night before when I’d finished blowing her dry, now it was beginning to kink and curl.
“You rushed through her bath, didn’t you? You’re never going to get the job done right until you learn to take your time.”
“As soon as I have more time, I’ll use it. Besides, in this wind, I doubt if the judge will even be able to see the difference. Guess who I saw yesterday?”
“In the afternoon, you mean? When you should have been home working on your dog?” Once Aunt Peg has a complaint in hand, she hates to let go until she’s sure her point is made.
Instead of answering, I opened my grooming bag and pulled out slicker and pin brushes, a comb, and a spray bottle filled with water that I hooked on the edge of the table. Faith, who knew what was coming, turned a tight circle once around the rubber matted tabletop and lay down.
Poodle coats are brushed on each side, layer by layer, from the middle of the back to the bottom of the stomach. The hair is always brushed upward, not down; and the left side, which will face the judge when the dog is in the ring, is always done last. It takes a good amount of time to brush out a Standard Poodle, so instead of arguing, I simply got down to work.
“All right,” Peg said finally. “Who?”
“Liz Barnum.”
“Marcus’s secretary?” Her fingers flew through Hope’s hair as she talked. Peg’s eyes were on the show coat, but I had her attention. “What did she have to say?”
“That the reason Rattigan gave the only bitch puppy from Winter’s litter to his next door neighbor was that John Monaghan wanted to cull the litter and was planning to put her to sleep.”
“No!”
“That’s what she told me.”
“She must have been mistaken.”
“Or misinformed. Her memory seems pretty good, but who knows what Rattigan told her at the time? What if John and Marcus had a disagreement over the terms of their co-ownership contract? Maybe Marcus thought he was owed this puppy after all the money he’d spent. What if he stole her from John to even things up?”
Aunt Peg was willing to consider the idea, but she didn’t look convinced. “If he wanted the puppy enough to steal her, why would he turn around and give her away? Besides, I thought John told you he and Marcus were old friends.”
“He did.” I finished the first side of Faith’s mane coat and ran the slicker through her bracelets. Then I tapped her back and she stood up and turned over.
“That hardly sounds like the kind of behavior that would be conducive to continuing a friendship.”
“I’m not sure the friendship did continue. Listen to what else I found out.” I blew on my fingers to warm them, then parted Faith’s hair and began to brush as I told her about my phone conversation with Audrey DiMatteo.
There’s very little that can distract Aunt Peg when she’s working on a dog, so when she laid down her brush to listen, I knew she was perturbed. “We’re talking about the possibility of a stolen puppy. Do you honestly believe anyone would commit murder over that?”
Since it wasn’t as though I had a lot of other theories, I was beginning to grow attached to this one. “Someone might,” I said defensively. “Maybe a really dedicated breeder.”
“I am a dedicated breeder. And I’ll tell you right now there isn’t a puppy in the world that’s that important. If you ask me, the ex-wife did it. Anyone who won’t even allow a dog into her house is definitely someone who can’t be trusted.”
Good old Aunt Peg. At least she’s consistent.
“You don’t think John did it because he’s a dog person.”
“I’ll admit that biases me in his direction. But that’s beside the point. What you’re telling me doesn’t make sense. The theft took place a decade ago. If it made John angry enough to kill, presumably he’d have done something at the time.”
I’d wondered about that myself. “I never said I had all the answers.”
“No, but you certainly implied you had some of them.” Aunt Peg hates it when any relative of hers comes up short. “Why don’t you go talk to John after the judging and straighten this whole mess out? He’s here today, you know. His new dog won the breed from the classes this morning.”
“How’d you find that out?” Generally, Aunt Peg didn’t follow the action in the Fox Terrier ring.
“You had a visitor earlier, a girl named Kate. It seems she’d seen us together at the Rockland show. When she saw me setting up, she came by to ask if you were here yet.”
Peg waved down the tent. “She said they were set up down at the other end and that they’d be here all day because Summer had to stay for the group. So there’ll be plenty of time to look him up later, after the Poodle judging. And this time, try to get your facts straight, will you?”
“Yes, Mom.”
Aunt Peg sent me a baleful look. “If you were my child, you’d know better than to go barking up the wrong tree.”
Presumably I’d also be taller and better groomed.
I picked up my brush and went back to work.
Twenty-two
When Aunt Peg and I are at a dog show together, she usually allows extra time in her schedule to help me get Faith ready. Preparing a Poodle for the show ring is a long and painstaking process. There are dozens of small steps to be completed, and each one is dependent on myriad tiny details. Slip up even slightly anywhere along the line, and the finished product will suffer.
After a year of showing, I’ve reached the point where my grooming skills are just about adequate. I’m better than a beginner but nowhere near the level of skill that the professional handlers achieve. I have to compete against the pros, however, and that’s why Aunt Peg’s masterful assistance is a godsend.
Since she is Faith’s breeder, the Poodle’s appearance and achievements reflect directly upon the Cedar Crest line. Knowing this, I had perhaps been guilty of taking Aunt Peg’s help for granted, or at least assuming that it would always be there. That morning, however, I was in for a rude awakening.
After I finished brushing Faith, it was time to put in her topknot. The ponytails she wears on her head at home are loose and floppy. Their purpose is to keep the long hair out of her way and allow it to grow without tangling.
In the show ring, however, the topknots the Poodles wear are tight and precise. The rounded bubble of hair above the eyes complements the dog’s expression while the mass of loose hair above and around it provides a softening frame for the face. I parted the thick strands of hair with a knitting needle and put in the front elastic just behind Faith’s eyes.
On my first try, my bubble was loose and uneven. On the second it tilted to one side. Muttering under my breath, I cut out the rubber band with a small pair of scissors and called for Aunt Peg’s help.
“You can do it,” she said. “Try again.”
“I’ve tried twice already. At this rate, I’ll never get her sprayed up.”
“Sure you will,” Peg said blithely. She had Hope’s topknot already in, and the bitch was standing on the table while Peg scissored the trim. “It’s time you began doing things for yourself.”
I spritzed Faith’s topknot hair with water, gathered it up, and started over. “Two weeks ago, you couldn’t wait to push me out of the way and fix Faith’s lines.”
“Quite right. And then you took my nice trim into the ring and beat me with it.”
We were both silent for a moment, pondering the implications of that.
“What do you know?” Aunt Peg said finally. “I always thought I was a good sport and now it turns out I’m a sore loser.”
Looking suitably annoyed, she set down her scissors, strode over to my table and in less than a minute had a perfect bubble arranged above Faith’s eyes. “I hope you were paying attention,” she said. “I’m not going to keep this up forever.”
“I wouldn’t dream of asking you to.” I sprayed up Faith’s mane coat myself and did all my own scissoring. When I was finished, she didn’t have the highly polished look of her sister, but I was glad to see that she was still a very presentable Poodle.
The ring where the non-sporting breeds were being judged was at the far end of the other tent. As our scheduled time approached, I left Peg to keep an eye on Davey and the Poodles and went to get our armbands from the steward. The judging was running a few minutes late and there was a line to pick up numbers.
As I waited, a trio of Bulldogs circled the ring. Obviously enjoying the cool weather, the heavyset dogs were unusually animated. The judge, who was bundled up just as warmly as I was, watched them with a smile on her face.
“Hey, Ms. Travis!” I jumped slightly at the sound of an excited squeal. Kate Russo came skipping up beside me. “I thought I’d find you here. Are you showing today? Where’s your Poodle?”
“She’s back at the grooming tent. I just came over to get the armbands.”
“I met that lady you’re with, Mrs. Turnbull, right?”
I nodded.
“Did she tell you that Summer won this morning? He beat the specials and everything! John’s really psyched. He says this is just the beginning. Summer might even be a better dog than his grandmother.”
“That’s great.” I peered around the person in front of me as the line inched forward. Bulldogs were wrapping things up in the ring. If I didn’t get the armbands soon, Aunt Peg and I were going to be late. “Please congratulate John for me. I’ll come by later and watch him in the group.”
“There’s something else.” Kate stepped closer and lowered her voice. “You know how you wanted me to ask questions?”
“One question,” I corrected, frowning. Though she’d gotten the information I needed, I still felt guilty about Kate’s burst of extra initiative. “I hope you haven’t been bothering John again.”
“Of course not.” She managed a wounded look. “I Just figured it wouldn’t hurt to keep my ears open. You know, keep tabs on how things are going?”
“Kate,” I said sternly. “You weren’t supposed to go overboard. I never asked you to spy on anyone.”
“I’m not spying, I’m paying attention. There’s a difference. Did you know that John is looking for a backer for Summer?”
“He mentioned it briefly. I don’t believe he’d found anyone yet when we spoke about it.”
“Well, he has now—”
“Breed?” asked the steward as the person in front of me took his armbands and stepped away.
“Standard Poodles. I need two.” I looked in the steward’s book and pointed out Faith’s and Hope’s entries. Once again, they were entered in two different classes: Hope in Bred-by-Exhibitor and Faith in 12—18 Months. The steward checked them off, then fished through the pile of numbers on the table, looking for the ones I needed.
“It’s some guy with a lot of money,” said Kate.
I reached around her and plucked two rubber bands out of the bag. “They always are.”
“John said the man was here today to look at Summer and if he liked what he saw, they’d go ahead and make out a contract. So I got this idea—”
“Next?” The steward slapped the two armbands into my hand. Pushed from behind, I wasted no time in stepping out of line.
“Can we talk about this later?” I said to Kate. “I’ve got to get back and get my dog.”
“Well sure, but—”
Behind me, the steward began calling the first Standard Poodle class into the ring. Dogs were judged first, followed by bitches, but the entry wasn’t large and I knew Faith’s class would be called within minutes.
“Gotta go,” I said and ran.
When I got back to the setup, Aunt Peg was pacing beside the tables. “You took long enough. Are you sure they haven’t started yet?”
“They just did. Puppy Dogs are in. We’d better hurry.”
Faith stood up, wagging her tail. I kissed her on the nose, stuffed some dried liver in my pocket to use for bait, and hopped her off the table. “Where’s Davey?”
“Right here,” said my son, poking his head out of Faith’s crate. “Aunt Peg told me to stay somewhere where I wouldn’t get lost.”
“Good thinking. We’re going up to the ring now. Can you carry my hair spray and extra comb?”
“Sure.” Davey held out his hands. Having a job to do made him feel important. “Aunt Peg called you a slowpoke.”
“Aunt Peg didn’t have to wait in line to pick up numbers. Come on, everybody ready? Off we go.”
By the time we got back to the Poodle ring, Winners Dog was being judged. There was only one Puppy Bitch; then it was Faith’s turn. I tried to remember everything Sam had coached me to do two weeks earlier, but we were the only entry in the class and our time in the ring passed so quickly it was all a blur. Aunt Peg was also alone in her class and there were no Open Bitches. That left only Hope, Faith, and the winner of the Puppy Class to compete for Winners Bitch.
The judge took her time with the decision. Aunt Peg, clearly in no mood to be beaten again by her upstart niece, used every
handling trick she knew to showcase her bitch to advantage. I wasn’t surprised when Hope was awarded Winners Bitch, but I was disappointed. Having tasted the thrill of victory once, I’d been hoping I could turn winning into a habit.
Peg left the ring with the all important purple ribbon, and Faith was awarded Reserve Winners over the puppy. The first time she’d won Reserve, I’d been ecstatic. Now I’d been around long enough to realize all it really meant was that I wasn’t getting any points. I stuck the striped ribbon in my pocket and joined Davey outside the ring as Peg and Hope went back in to compete for Best of Variety.
While the judge sorted through her entry, I looked around hoping to spot Kate. It was a shame I’d had to run out on her earlier when she’d wanted to talk. She’d said something about John Monaghan choosing a sponsor for his new dog. Frankly, the subject didn’t interest me much. But it had interested Kate for some reason.
Too late I was realizing the magnitude of the mistake I’d made in asking her to talk to John about his puppies. Kate was obviously a mystery buff, and somehow she’d gotten the idea that she should do some investigating of her own. I was going to have to talk to her about that hare-brained idea before she managed to parlay her small involvement into big trouble for both of us.
Now that I was free, however, Kate was nowhere to be seen. In the ring the judge awarded Best of Variety to one of the specials and gave Hope Best of Winners. Aunt Peg collected her ribbon and exited the ring. She declined to have her picture taken for winning only a single point and we headed back to the other tent.
“Can I have your armband?” asked Davey, trotting alongside.
“I don’t see why not.” I slipped the cardboard number down off my arm. “Do you want to wear it?”
Davey nodded and looked at Aunt Peg. “Can I have yours, too?”
“Are you going to wear them both?” she asked.
“Sure. One on each arm. Then everyone will think I’m showing two dogs.”
Armbands are worn one at a time in the ring, and only on the left arm where the judge can see them easily for identification purposes, but I couldn’t see any point in bursting Davey’s bubble. We stopped and I banded both numbers on over his jacket. “Now you look very official.”
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