Hounded to Death

by Laurien Berenson

  “So we’ve noticed,” Aunt Peg said dryly.

  She looked past him to the doorway where Margo was now leaving the dining room with several friends. “If you’ll excuse me, I see someone I need to speak to.”

  As Aunt Peg walked away, Marshall plucked off his wire-rimmed glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. His movements were jerky with agitation.

  “This is an outrage,” he said. “If you ask me, somebody ought to do something.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe hire a security team or make the police post a guard at the perimeter. If it were up to me, I’d lock down the inn until we find out exactly what’s going on here.”

  “Lock down the inn…?”

  I hoped he was kidding. Marshall was clearly upset, but even so, his suggestions were more than a little extreme. Not only that, but having a guard posted at the perimeter of the property most likely wouldn’t have kept Florence safe.

  “That’s what I said,” he said forcefully. “But what’s the use in telling you? I should take my concerns somewhere where they’ll do some good. This inn must have a general manager. I’m going to find him and demand to know what kind of a slipshod establishment he thinks he’s running.”

  Filled with the power of his convictions, Marshall spun around and stalked away.

  Derek watched him go with a small smile on his face. “Don’t mind Marshall. When things upset him, he tends to have a very short fuse.”

  “Whereas you’re more willing to take the wait-and-see approach.”

  “Something like that. At any rate, I have no intention of getting all bent out of shape until I’ve talked to Richard and found out what happened.”

  More power to him in that attempt, I thought.

  There was an empty couch behind us. I sat down and patted the cushion beside me. After a brief hesitation, Derek settled down beside me.

  “You and Florence are friends,” I said.

  It seemed like a good assumption considering that he and Marshall had had dinner with Richard’s mother on the first night of the symposium. But Derek was quick to correct me.

  “Richard and I are friends,” he said. “We’ve known each other for years. We met in Louisville at the spring cluster, and of course we tend to frequent many of the same shows.”

  It wasn’t unusual for exhibitors to have good friends that lived several states away. Traveling in search of good judges was a fact of dog show life, and close relationships were often forged in the cramped camaraderie of the grooming tent.

  “Florence is an admirable woman,” Derek continued. “Because of my friendship with Richard, our paths tend to cross quite a bit.”

  “I just met Richard,” I said. “So I don’t know anything about his relationship with Florence except what I’ve observed here. It does seem a little unusual for a grown man to spend so much time with his mother.”

  “Not to them. I know I couldn’t imagine living that way myself, but for Richard and Florence, it seems to work. They share the same interests and their mutual passion for dogs takes them to many of the same places. So I guess it only seems natural that they travel together.”

  Natural wasn’t the word I would have used to characterize Richard’s relationship with his mother. But that was Aunt Peg’s problem, not mine. I had something else I wanted to ask Derek about.

  “I was speaking with Florence earlier,” I said. “Before dinner.”

  “I’ll bet she tried to warn you off, didn’t she?”

  “Warn me off?”

  “Florence isn’t happy about her son’s relationship with your aunt.”

  “Yes, so I gathered.”

  “But she’s also not the kind of person to confront a situation like that head-on. Florence likes to manipulate people but she would prefer it if they don’t realize what she’s up to. Did she ask you to tell Peg to leave Richard alone?”

  I nodded. Derek had read the situation pretty well.

  “And will you?”

  “No. And trust me, it wouldn’t matter if I did. Nobody tells Aunt Peg what to do.”

  “Good,” said Derek. “That should keep things interesting.”

  As if that aspect of our lives needed any help.

  “It’s not like there’s been a shortage of interesting things going on at this symposium,” I pointed out.

  “You’re right, of course. Whoever would have thought that a simple little gathering in the Poconos could turn up this many problems?”

  While others had been titillated by their proximity to the dire events, Derek sounded genuinely worried. Perhaps because he had been acquainted with both of the victims.

  “Charles was a friend of yours, too, wasn’t he?”

  Derek looked up quickly. “What? No. Where did you hear that?”

  “From Florence. She told me that you’d mentioned something about coming to the symposium to talk to Charles Evans.”

  “Yes, well…that was true. But as you might imagine, it didn’t happen.”

  “Was that a problem?”

  “Of course not.” Derek fidgeted in his seat. He didn’t look nearly as happy as he had earlier when I’d been answering his questions. “Why would it be?”

  “Florence seemed to think that you’d come to the symposium for that very reason.”

  “Florence exaggerates.”

  “Really?” I tipped my head to one side innocently. “I didn’t get that impression.”

  “You don’t know her as well as I do.”

  I wondered if what Derek had wanted to see Charles about had anything to do with the keynote address. A speech that had, in a span of mere minutes, turned the respected judge into an object of derision from his peers.

  Charles had to have known that his stand would be unpopular. But the man was also no fool. It seemed likely to me that before he would choose to deliver that address to this particular crowd, he might have expected to find support from some quarter.

  Could Derek be another member of the dog show community who believed in the goals that the animal rights groups espoused?

  “How did you feel about Charles’s speech?” I asked.

  Derek shrugged. “The topic was certainly a surprise.”

  “You didn’t expect him to come out in support of the animal rights’ agenda?”

  “No. Why would I?”

  “I was just wondering if maybe that was what you wanted to discuss with him.”

  “An end to selective breeding? The demise of dog shows as we know them? Hardly. I don’t know what Charles hoped to accomplish by delivering that speech, but he ended up costing himself a great deal of credibility and respect. When he stepped up to the podium, Charles was a shining star on the dog show horizon. When he left, he looked like a bit of a crackpot.”

  Derek leaned toward me. He lowered his voice confidentially. “Besides, even if I did happen to agree with what Charles said—and I’m certainly not saying that I did—there’s no way I’d cop to that now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Come on. You’re kidding, right? That stand not only made Charles unpopular, in hindsight it looks like it might even have gotten him killed. There’s a certain irony in that, wouldn’t you say?”

  His closeness was making me uncomfortable. I leaned back and my shoulders braced up hard against the cushions. There was nowhere left to retreat.

  In some cultures, this much contact would have been grounds enough to insist on marriage. Unfortunately, I was too interested in hearing what he had to say to push him away.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Those of us who breed and show dogs tend to think of the animal rights activists as a bunch of loonies. Fanatics who would go to any lengths to further their agenda. And yet, in our own way, are we really any different than they are? We’re equally fanatic about protecting what we believe in. You only have to look at what happened to Charles to realize that.”

  “What makes you so sure that it was his speech that got
him killed?”

  “It seems like the obvious conclusion, doesn’t it? The views Charles espoused were clearly unpopular. Someone must have wanted to silence him.”

  “If that was the case,” I said reasonably, “the killer should have gotten to Charles before he delivered the address, not after.”

  “Not necessarily. Who’s to say that whoever murdered Charles even knew what the speech was going to be about? But then after he listened to Charles talk, he became so outraged that he struck out in anger. You know, a crime of passion.”

  I knew crimes of passion, all right. And at least in theory, that was a notion I could get behind. I just wasn’t sure that we’d yet succeeded in narrowing down what the killer had been passionate about.

  Derek had been hovering over me for long enough. I slipped out from beneath him and stood up. It felt good to have space around me.

  Before I left, however, I wanted to take one last stab at steering him back to the question I’d originally wanted to ask.

  “You never did tell me what you wanted to talk to Charles about.”

  “It’s not important.”

  “You must have thought it was at the time.”

  “I did.” Derek smiled grimly. “But things change, don’t they? If you must know, before the conference I’d shared a brief correspondence with Charles about a matter of mutual interest. We had intended to continue our discussion here.”

  “And did you?”

  “No, I never had the chance. But as things turned out, it didn’t matter. Someone else was able to solve my problem for me, so I didn’t need Charles’s intervention after all.”

  “Problem?” I said with interest.

  I hoped Derek would elaborate, but he didn’t.

  “As I said, it’s already been resolved. Which was what I would have told Charles had I gotten the opportunity to talk to him. So you see, everything worked out all right in the end.”

  Easy for him to say, I thought.

  I doubted if Charles would have agreed.

  18

  It wasn’t even nine o’clock yet but I was ready for bed. I hadn’t seen Bertie since we’d parted in the dining room, and Aunt Peg had gone off with Margo. Presumably both my relatives were capable of fending for themselves for the remainder of the evening. I was going to go upstairs, put my feet up, and watch a television show that had absolutely no redeeming social value.

  Inside the room, I pulled out my cell phone and started to hook it up to the charger. Then stopped. I had spoken to Sam and Davey that morning, but it felt like eons had passed since then.

  And then there was the matter of that issue which I still wanted to discuss with Sam. Let it slide, Aunt Peg had said.

  Fat chance.

  Davey, who would have been in bed if I’d been home, answered the phone. Thanks to the wonders of caller ID he knew who he’d be speaking to.

  “Scarlett,” he said. “What do you think?”

  “Hello to you too.”

  “Hi, Mom. What about Scarlett?” When there’s something he wants, my son has a one-track mind. “You know, like red?”

  “I assume we’re talking about baby names?”

  “Of course we’re talking about baby names. Sam-Dad suggested Angelina. I think it’s too long.”

  At least they were beginning to come up with girls’ names. And on a Wednesday, no less. That was progress.

  “Too long for what?”

  “You know. The baby’s not going to be very big when it’s born. So you don’t want to give it a really big name.”

  The crystal clear logic of a nine-year-old. You had to love it.

  I sat down on the bed and crossed my legs. It felt wonderful to be connected to home.

  “What do you think of Katherine?” I asked. “We could call her Kate.”

  “No way. There’s a girl named Kate in my class at school. She’s the biggest pain—”

  “Davey!”

  “Well, she is. You wouldn’t like her either. She thinks she knows everything.”

  Okay, so Kate was out. At least for the time being.

  “How come you’re not in bed yet?” I asked.

  “It’s fall break,” Davey informed me as if I hadn’t known. “Besides, we’re having guys’ night out.”

  “Out where?”

  “Well, Sam and I aren’t actually out. It’s more like we’re in. You know, like home. But Dad and Frank are here. We’re playing poker and drinking beer.”

  I assumed that was the royal we. Still, Davey would be disappointed if I didn’t muster a little outrage.

  “How much beer have you drunk so far?” I asked.

  My son giggled into the phone. Right answer.

  “Winning any money?”

  “No, but Sam-Dad’s doing okay.”

  No surprise there. I’d seen my husband bluff. I suspected he was cleaning up. The other two guys would probably be happy to take a break.

  “Would you ask Sam if they can deal him out for a hand?”

  “Sure,” said Davey. “I’ll go check. Scarlett. Think about it.”

  He must have set the phone down because now I could hear the keening wail of a jazz trombone, pouring from a nearby speaker. It helped to set the mood.

  I pictured the four of them hunched around a green baize tabletop, concentrating on their cards, fingering their chips, a veil of dusky smoke hovering in the air above them…

  “Hey, babe,” said Sam.

  The image dissolved, replaced by a reality that was much better. It was great to hear Sam’s voice.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you again today.”

  “I know. Me either. But it’s been that kind of a day.”

  “What kind?”

  “Long. Eventful.”

  “That doesn’t sound good. You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”

  “Believe me, I’m trying. Things just haven’t worked out that way.”

  “But you’re feeling good?” Sam sounded anxious.

  “I’m fine,” I said quickly. “And much better now that I’m talking to you. I hear you’ve taught Davey to play poker and drink beer.”

  Sam snorted a laugh. “Every kid deserves a well-rounded education, don’t you think?”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s why I became a teacher. How’s the game going?”

  “I haven’t had to dig into the retirement fund yet.”

  I smiled into the phone. “That’s good to know. Listen, I wanted to ask you about something that came up earlier. Let’s try some free association. I’ll say a name and you say the first thing that pops into your mind.”

  “Okay,” Sam agreed. “Shoot.”

  An ironic choice of words, considering that this was suddenly beginning to feel a bit like an ambush.

  “Alana Bennett.”

  “Oh, crap.”

  “Nice mouth, Driver.”

  “Who have you been talking to?”

  “Bertie, among others.”

  “Bertie?” Sam sounded perplexed. “What does she know?”

  “She and Alana have become best buddies. And apparently Alana’s the type who likes to kiss and tell.”

  “So I guess I’m busted?”

  “It looks that way.”

  “Did she also tell you that it was all over a long time ago?”

  “She didn’t have to. I could figure that part out for myself.”

  “Then we’re okay—”

  “Not entirely,” I said. “You know, a heads-up on the subject would have been nice. Since Alana’s here and I’m here, and we talked about her the other day, so you knew that we’d met. It would be easier for me if when stuff like this came up, I didn’t always feel like I was the last to know.”

  “Stuff like what?” Sam asked.

  He sounded puzzled. Selective memory at its finest.

  “Remember Sheila?”

  It was a rhetorical question. Of course he remembered Sheila. She was his ex-wife, the love of
his younger life. The woman he’d somehow neglected to mention until we were engaged and she’d reentered his life on a mission to win him back.

  “Oh, right,” said Sam. “Sheila.”

  “Sheila?” I heard Frank echo in the background. “She was a fox. What are you talking about her for?”

  “Give me a minute.” Sam turned his mouth away from the phone. “Why don’t you guys go take the dogs outside for a walk?”

  The yard was fenced. The Poodles didn’t need to be walked, merely let out an open door. But either Frank and Bob had drunk enough beer that that didn’t occur to them, or else the look on Sam’s face told them they’d be better off leaving the vicinity.

  I heard the sound of feet scrambling and a couple of random barks. Davey whooped, probably just for the heck of it. A door opened and shut; then all was quiet and Sam was back.

  “Sheila?” he repeated.

  “She was just an example,” I said. “Move on.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” Now he was confused. “I thought we were arguing about Alana.”

  “We weren’t arguing, we were discussing.”

  This whole conversation was starting to wear me out. I was beginning to suspect that Aunt Peg had been right.

  “All I’m asking for is a little advance notice before another of your exes pulls me aside to discuss your performance in bed.”

  “Alana didn’t do that.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Well, now that you mention it,” Sam said glumly, “I guess I’m not. She isn’t the classiest lady. Want me to call her and tell her to cut it out?”

  “No way,” I said with a laugh. “Feel free to stay as far away from her as possible.”

  “That I can do. Listen, not that I’m in any hurry to change the subject or anything but I did a little asking around. Rumor has it—and we’re talking unsubstantiated here—that there’s a multibreed judge from the Midwest named Tubby Something, whose judging was recently found to be a bit irregular.”

  “Tubby Mathis,” I said. “That could be the scandal Margo was worried about because he’s here. And probably greatly relieved that all this other stuff has overshadowed his problems and given everybody something else to talk about.”

  “Timing is everything,” said Sam. “The rest is going okay?”