Hounded to Death

by Laurien Berenson

  Voices lowered as she passed between the tables, gazes slipped away. Anyone who hadn’t heard the gossip previously was certainly being treated to its more juicy aspects now.

  Aunt Peg might have heard the whispers that followed her across the room if she’d been listening. Instead she appeared oblivious, moving fast, and intent on her own concerns as she zeroed in on my table.

  “I see I’ve missed lunch,” she said, slipping into the chair Rosalyn had recently vacated. “I hope you ate something.”

  “Soup and a sandwich.”

  Aunt Peg’s stern gaze scanned every inch of the table as if she was looking for evidence. “Did you actually eat the food or just push it around your plate before sending it back?”

  “I finished most of it.”

  The talk in the room hadn’t stopped when Aunt Peg sat down. If anything, the buzz was building. Now people were turning to stare covertly in our direction.

  Florence had been due to return from the hospital that morning. I wondered if she was indeed back at the inn—and what she was saying now about the previous evening’s events.

  Even if she recanted her story, the version she’d fabricated was already out there. Judging by the reaction I was seeing, the news had taken on a life of its own. Why was it always so much easier for people to believe the bad rather than the good?

  “You’ve got to do something,” I said.

  “About what?”

  “How can you even ask that? Surely you can’t be that oblivious. Everyone in the dining room is talking about you.”

  “Surely not everyone.”

  Aunt Peg turned and had a look. Catching several friends in the act of staring, she gave them a cheerful wave.

  “You see?” she said, turning back to me. “Not everybody at all. At least half of them are eating, as well they should be.”

  “They’re eating and talking about you.”

  I tried to sound stern, but it was difficult in the face of her relentless disregard for the situation. While I was upset, Aunt Peg was looking remarkably upbeat. And if she refused to be worried about the damage that was being done to her reputation, who was I to insist that she should be?

  “Let them talk,” she said. “Sticks and stones and all that rubbish. Listen, I was hoping you might have a leftover or two. Canine supplies in Mountain View left a lot to be desired. I finally succeeded in finding some kibble, but I doubt that it’s very palatable. A little turkey or hamburger mixed in might go a long way toward making it a more decent meal.”

  “You’re talking about a dog who’s been living out of garbage cans. I’m sure whatever you’ve found will look like prime rib to him.”

  “Oh, I know he’ll eat it. He’ll probably even be grateful. But after all he’s been through, I feel as though he deserves a bit of a treat. For all his issues, he really is a rather lovely dog.”

  “Issues?” I sat up straight. “What issues?”

  But Aunt Peg wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to me. Instead she’d turned away to survey the tables around us. I realized with some dismay that she wasn’t looking at the occupants, but rather at their plates.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” I said.

  She had her eye on a juicy piece of uneaten steak sandwich.

  “Why not? We’re all dog lovers here. Anyone would understand.”

  No, they wouldn’t, I thought. They’d think she’d lost her marbles. And crazy behavior now, coming on top of Florence’s accusation, would only lend credence to the earlier report.

  “Nobody’s supposed to know you have a dog in your room,” I hissed under my breath. “They can’t understand what they don’t know about. You’ll look like you’re begging for food off people’s plates—”

  “With good reason,” said Aunt Peg. “As that’s exactly what I intend to do. Excuse me…” She leaned across to a neighboring table and gestured toward the bit of steak. “Are you going to eat that?”

  The startled diner broke off her conversation and shook her head.

  “Would you mind if I took it and wrapped it up in my napkin?”

  With a little more notice, I might have made my escape before she started this lunacy. As it was, I was stuck there at the table, pasting a sickly smile on my face, and trying to look as though Aunt Peg’s behavior was perfectly normal.

  She reached over with a fork and snagged the tidbit, plopped it into her napkin, and slipped it into her purse. Maybe she’d been fast enough that no one else had noticed, I thought hopefully.

  Fat chance.

  Once again, heads were turning. This time, people didn’t bother to hide the fact that they were staring.

  “Did you have to do that?” I asked.

  “Well, I didn’t have to. But it certainly made sense to.”

  Aunt Peg reached over and patted my hand comfortingly. Like that was going to help.

  “Walter will thank us later, you’ll see.”

  Somehow I doubted that a dog’s gratitude, no matter how sincere, would make me feel better about this incident, which had to rank as a new lifetime low for public displays of eccentric behavior.

  “Besides,” said Aunt Peg, “you can’t blame this entirely on me. If you’d had the decency to leave a little something on your own plate, I wouldn’t have been forced to resort to such drastic measures, now, would I?”

  Of course. This humiliating episode was all my fault. I should have known.

  After that, I couldn’t get out of the dining room fast enough. Booty in hand, Miss Lack-of-Manners and I went out to the parking lot to retrieve the bag of kibble and other assorted supplies from the van. We then snuck up the back stairs to the second floor.

  As we turned onto our hallway, I was relieved not to hear any barking coming from the direction of our rooms. Aunt Peg, I saw, had taken the liberty of posting DO NOT DISTURB signs on both her door and ours. I supposed that meant Bertie and I would be making our own beds.

  “Where did you leave him?” I asked as she juggled the twenty-pound sack of kibble into her other hand and slipped her card through the lock.

  “It was damn inconvenient not to have a crate on hand. Who knew what he might get it into his head to chew on? I had to lock him in the bathroom, poor dog.”

  The door opened and we walked inside. Both of us immediately looked toward the bathroom door. All was quiet.

  “Walter?” Aunt Peg called. “I’m home.”

  A happy whine answered her greeting. It was quickly followed by a series of small yips. Whether the Shepherd was responding to his name or simply the sound of Aunt Peg’s voice, it was clear that he was happy to hear from her.

  I shoved the outer door shut as Peg pushed the bathroom door open. Walter came flying out and bowled right into us.

  I caught only a glancing blow but Aunt Peg was knocked over backward. The bag of kibble went flying. She landed in a heap on the floor, with the German Shepherd straddling her body.

  Walter’s tail whipped back and forth. He was wuffling softly under his breath. As Peg sat up, he sniffed her face, then her hair, then her hands, as if anxious to reassure himself that she was truly there.

  “I see you’ve made some progress since this morning,” I said.

  Aunt Peg smiled at her star pupil. Gently she braced her hands on his chest and eased him away so she could get up.

  “He’s coming along wonderfully. And of course the fact that I was holding a piece of bacon in my hand when we began our lessons didn’t hurt one bit.”

  Speaking of food, as soon as the Shepherd had stepped away from Aunt Peg, his nose had led him unerringly to her purse, which had fallen on the bed. Good thing the clasp had remained fastened; otherwise the steak she meant to add to his dinner would already be gone.

  I reached around the big dog and rescued the handbag. Walter gave me a remorseful look, but didn’t object to my intervention.

  “Good boy!” Aunt Peg said. “You are such a smart dog.”

  Walter wagged his tail happily in agre
ement. He was a smart dog, and wasn’t it nice to have people around him again who cared about things like that?

  I let my hand drift downward until it rested just behind his ears. I half expected the Shepherd to scoot away, but he didn’t. Instead, he remained motionless. Still a bit wary, but hoping for the best.

  When I scratched the base of Walter’s ears with my fingers, he closed his eyes and leaned into me. I could hardly believe he was the same half-wild dog who’d been crouched on the bed earlier. Aunt Peg’s magical touch had worked wonders.

  “Now that you’ve got him,” I said, “what are you going to do with him?”

  “What? I can’t hear you.”

  Aunt Peg had gone into the bathroom. She was gathering up the towels Walter had pulled off the racks and used to make a nest on the floor while he awaited her return.

  Even so, she wasn’t that far away. I was sure she’d heard what I’d said. And if Aunt Peg was dodging a perfectly sensible question like that, I knew there had to be a reason. Probably one that I wasn’t going to like.

  “Tell me you’re not planning to take him home with you.”

  She appeared in the doorway, arms gathered around a mound of towels.

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means there are plenty of other avenues I can explore first. Best case, he can go back home to whoever lost him.”

  “Unless he was abandoned,” I said. “And not lost.”

  “Either way, the situation Walter finds himself in isn’t his fault. I’m going to make up some fliers and post them at the local vets and markets. Check with the nearest pound and maybe the dog warden if I can find one. Don’t worry, I have plenty of ideas.”

  Aunt Peg smiled down at Walter, who reciprocated by flapping the tip of his tail against the rug. The two of them were bonding right before my eyes.

  “If that doesn’t work, I’ll contact the local German Shepherd affiliate club and see what their rescue people are up to. Maybe they can find a home for him. Perhaps they have one waiting even now. It seems like the least I can do. After all, it’s not as though I lack for resources in this area.”

  This area being dogs and anything that pertained to them. No, no one had ever accused Aunt Peg of lacking resources. Or good ideas.

  “Isn’t it interesting how things work out?” said Peg. She sounded quite pleased with herself. “It looks like you’re not the only one with a mystery on her hands.”

  24

  “Here’s a thought,” I said.

  I sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed, weight still balanced mostly on my feet. Just in case I needed to make a quick getaway.

  “About Walter?”

  “No, about Florence.”

  “I don’t believe I need a thought about Florence.”

  No one, least of all me, ever said that my aunt wasn’t hardheaded.

  “I was thinking you could call Richard and get him to talk some sense into her.”

  “That’s not a good idea,” Aunt Peg said shortly.

  “It’s a very good idea. Just because you’re in denial doesn’t mean you don’t have a problem. Florence needs to step up and tell the truth. Otherwise these rumors flying around here are only going to get worse.”

  “Since when have you paid attention to gossip?” Aunt Peg demanded. “I thought I raised you better than that.”

  Aunt Peg hadn’t raised me at all, which was probably beside the point. And I always listened to rumors, because they often contained a kernel of truth.

  Now, however, didn’t seem like the time to mention that.

  “Here’s another thought,” I said instead. “Maybe Richard has succeeded in getting more information out of his mother. Wouldn’t you like to know what really happened—”

  “No.”

  “No?” I echoed.

  The answer defied credibility. Aunt Peg was the nosiest person I knew. She always wanted to know what happened. This whole conversation was beginning to take on a slightly surreal cast.

  “I’m not calling Richard, and that’s final.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the man is an ass.”

  My aunt rarely swears, so that got my attention. But to tell the truth, where their relationship was concerned, I was beginning to feel like I had whiplash. The last time I’d seen Aunt Peg and Richard together, they’d at least been speaking to one another, hadn’t they?

  I sat back on the bed and settled in to hear the rest of the story. Peg, meanwhile, had begun to pace. Her steps carried her from one end of the small room to the other.

  Walter chose an out-of-the-way spot and hunkered down to watch. His dark eyes followed her every move.

  “What’s happened now?” I asked.

  “For starters, Richard owes me an apology, which I’ve never received….”

  Presumably that was for the argument that had preceded Aunt Peg’s storming from the dining room the previous evening. I nodded.

  “Not to mention a thank-you for helping his mother…”

  I nodded again. I readily concurred, but even if I hadn’t it hardly seemed like a prudent time to disagree.

  “And then, as if that wasn’t enough, I never heard from him last night. Richard was supposed to call me from the hospital, which he never bothered to do. Instead his mother was the one burning up the telephone lines, telling the rest of the inn’s guests some crazy, trumped-up story that never should have been allowed to surface in the first place.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “The man is an ass.”

  “That’s not all.” Aunt Peg was getting warmed up now.

  “What else?”

  As if she needed an invitation. I probably couldn’t have stopped her if I’d tried.

  “So, being the big person that I am, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. This morning, I called him. And he whispered into the phone that he couldn’t talk.”

  “He must have been with Florence.”

  Aunt Peg scowled mightily. “Of course he was with Florence. He’s always with Florence. He said he’d come to my room to see me. Well, as you can imagine, I couldn’t have that.”

  As one, we turned to look at Walter. Tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth, teeth shiny and white, the German Shepherd grinned back at us. No, this was not the time for Aunt Peg to be entertaining Richard in her room.

  “Why didn’t you meet him downstairs?”

  “Because that would have been too easy,” Aunt Peg snapped.

  She turned and stared out of the window. When she continued speaking, I couldn’t see her expression, just the stiffness in her shoulders and the rigid set of her spine.

  “After what happened last night apparently Richard doesn’t want to be seen with me in public.”

  “He told you that?”

  “Not exactly. He hasn’t got the guts to be that truthful. But from the way he danced around the topic, it was easy enough to figure out. So you can just forget any notion you might have about him worming the truth out of his mother and setting the record straight. It isn’t going to happen.”

  “What a louse.” I was furious on her behalf. “Florence must have told him the same story she told everyone else. But he should have known better. He was there. He saw that we were trying to help her. Why would he believe such a thing?”

  “She’s his mother.”

  “Even so.”

  She turned and nailed me with a glare. “Let this be a lesson to you.”

  “To me? What did I do?”

  “You’re pregnant, remember?”

  Trust me, pregnancy is one of those things that’s hard to forget.

  “When that baby arrives, don’t smother him. And don’t tell him lies. And while you’re at it, don’t let him pick up any women on the Internet.”

  All those things seemed very far in the future. But Aunt Peg didn’t want to hear any protests. She was looking for agreement.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said.<
br />
  Luckily, before Aunt Peg could offer any more parenting advice, a knock sounded at the door.

  “Hey in there,” Bertie called. “Who am I supposed to be not-disturbing? Can I come in?”

  I jumped up from the bed, opened the door, and slipped out.

  “You could,” I said. “But you don’t want to. Let’s take a walk.”

  I grabbed her arm and pulled her down the hallway.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Anywhere but here.”

  “Why?” She skidded to a stop and gave me a suspicious look. “Who else is in there?”

  “Aunt Peg. She’s holding a postmortem on her relationship with Richard.”

  “That’s dead? When did that happen?”

  “It’s a new development.”

  Bertie brightened. “I wouldn’t mind hearing about that.”

  “Aunt Peg is also offering advice on how to be a good mother.”

  “Oh.”

  Bertie resumed walking. A mother herself, she had been treated to Aunt Peg’s parenting advice before. On more occasions than she cared to count. Like me, she knew the value in making herself scarce when Aunt Peg was on a tear.

  “Okay, new plan,” she said. “Let’s go downstairs and see what’s new.”

  We descended the wide staircase into the lobby. The afternoon seminars hadn’t started yet, which meant that most of the symposium participants were either gathered in small groups talking or else milling around trying to look busy.

  “I don’t see Tubby,” I said.

  “No great loss.”

  “I want to talk to him.”

  “Yuck.” Bertie paused at the foot of the steps. “Why would anyone want to do that on purpose?”

  “Because he and Charles didn’t like each other. And since Charles is dead, I’d like to know why. I was thinking you might want to come along for moral support.”

  “You mean so he can grab my ass instead of yours?”

  “Whatever works.”

  “Easy for you to say.” Bertie was not amused. “If you want to sacrifice yourself on the altar of private detection, feel free. Me, I’ll find something else to do.”

  “Come on,” I said. “Be a sport.”