Unleashed (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

by Berenson, Laurien

  Frank stayed until Davey got home. He said he wanted to see his nephew, but I think the real reason was that it took the brownies that long to cool. Fortified by a big square of fudgy cake apiece, the two of them went out in the backyard to kick a soccer ball around.

  Davey had wolfed his snack down, but he hadn’t gone back for seconds. I hoped that was a good sign. Maybe he’d gotten to eat his lunch at camp earlier.

  While the two of them were keeping each other busy, I picked up the phone and called Bertie. Tuesday is the best day of the week to call a handler. The weekend rush is over. They’ve spent Monday recovering and calling clients, but it isn’t yet time to start gearing up for the next weekend’s shows yet.

  Bertie answered the phone in her kennel. I could tell that by the background noise, which all but drowned out what I was trying to say.

  “Hang on,” Bertie yelled. “I’m going to switch phones. I’ll be right back.”

  A minute later, she picked up again. This time the line was blessedly quiet. “Melanie, is that you? I couldn’t hear a thing.”

  “Yes, it’s me. I’ve been talking to Frank.”

  “Good.” Bertie paused, probably considering what she knew about our relationship. “That is good, isn’t it?”

  “Sure. I hear your parents are coming to visit.”

  “Sheesh. Don’t tell me he led with that. Look, getting everyone together at your house was Frank’s idea. I’m perfectly happy to go to a restaurant or do something here. There’s no reason we need to impose on you.”

  “You wouldn’t be imposing,” I said, crossing my fingers in my lap. “It’s fine.”

  “Are you sure?” Bertie needed to be convinced. “The only reason I went along with this is that I think Frank is nervous about meeting my folks. I’ve told him it’s not a big deal, but he really wants to make a good impression.

  “He’s worried that my parents won’t like him, and he seemed to think that having you and Davey around would help. I think he figures that if they hate him—which they won’t—they’ll still be charmed by the rest of his family and see that he has potential. Like if he was related to a really cute kid and a woman who had her whole life pulled together, how bad could he be?”

  “Frank said that?” I asked, amazed.

  My brother was much more likely to make fun of my sedate, school teacher lifestyle than to compliment it. Unless he wanted something from me, of course. Then I began to look like a pretty good provider.

  “I’m paraphrasing, but that was the gist. Still, it doesn’t mean we can’t make other arrangements.”

  “Don’t be silly. We’ll do a barbecue here. I have to admit, though, this whole thing kind of caught me by surprise.”

  “Me and Frank?” Bertie chuckled. “Yeah, me too.”

  “I didn’t even know you guys were seeing each other.”

  “Since right after Christmas. I’d just gotten out of a really bad relationship. Something I never should have hung on to as long as I did. And then, out of the blue, Frank called.

  “I remembered that dinner I had with him and you and Sam last summer and how much fun it was. And how sweet Frank was, just a nice, normal, undemanding guy. I thought maybe seeing him a few times would be just what I needed to get my head back on straight.”

  Bertie sighed. “The last thing I was looking for was anything serious. But when we got together again, Frank and I really hit it off. I don’t think either one of us expected that. Six months later, here we are.”

  “Good for you,” I said. It was nice to hear that the possibility of an uncomplicated relationship actually did exist. “Since you kind of brought it up, I have a question. Was the guy you were seeing before my brother Kenny Boyle?”

  Bertie hesitated for so long that I wasn’t sure she was going to answer. When she finally did, her voice was small. I’d always thought of Bertie as unflappable, but mentioning Kenny’s name had certainly pushed the wrong button.

  “Yes,” she said finally. “How did you know?”

  “It was something Frank said. If you don’t mind, I’d love to get your impression of him. Did you know Sheila Vaughn?”

  “The woman who was killed? I knew who she was from being at the shows. I don’t think we’d ever met. Why?”

  “She wrote an article about Kenny that appeared in the first issue of Woof!. Apparently he wasn’t too happy about some of the things she said.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.” Bertie’s tone was bitter. “Kenny isn’t a happy kind of guy.”

  “According to the secretary at the magazine, Kenny made some threats against Sheila shortly before she was murdered.”

  “What do you want to know?” asked Bertie. “Do I think Kenny is capable of something like that? Hell yes, Kenny could kill someone. I was lucky he didn’t kill me.”

  Nineteen

  I nearly dropped the phone. “Bertie, what are you talking about?”

  I heard her sigh; felt her reluctance to answer. I waited, giving her time to gather her thoughts.

  “Look,” she said finally, “I don’t want to do this over the phone. You want to know what Kenny’s like, there’s one surefire way to find out. What are you doing tomorrow?”

  “After Davey leaves for camp, I’m free all day.”

  “Good. I’ll swing by around nine and pick you up. By the way, you don’t mind being used as a human shield, do you?”

  I was so relieved to hear some of the usual spirit back in her voice it took me a moment to realize what she’d said. By then, it was too late. Bertie was already making plans.

  “I left some things at Kenny’s that I’ve been meaning to pick up forever. I could never seem to face going back there, especially after the way I left. I guess I didn’t want to go alone, either. But this will work out well, if it’s okay with you. We’ll go together, and you can see the great man in action for yourself.”

  “Sure,” I said. Great man? “I’ll be ready.”

  As I hung up the phone, I realized I’d half expected Bertie to come back and say she’d been kidding about that human shield crack. She hadn’t, though. I hoped I wasn’t meant to take it literally.

  Later that night, after I’d put Davey to bed, I found myself back on the telephone. Sam called from outside Chicago to let me know that he was okay and staying with Sheila’s parents. The funeral was scheduled for Thursday, he expected to be home sometime over the weekend.

  I acquiesced to all his plans and tried like crazy to read between the lines. Sam said he was fine, but I knew how hard this trip had to be for him. I was sure he was holding his emotions tightly in check; his voice was unusually flat, and he didn’t remember to ask about Davey until the very end of the conversation.

  If he’d been there, we’d have discussed Davey’s lunch dilemma. I would have liked to have Sam’s input; I was sure he’d have had something useful to say. But it didn’t seem like the time to add to his worries.

  Instead, I told him that I’d been speaking to some of Sheila’s coworkers and would see a few more before he got back. Sam seemed pleased to believe that I was making progress. Whether that was actually true or not, I was happy to let him believe it.

  “I love you, Melanie,” Sam said at the end. “You know that, don’t you?”

  Briefly I wondered why he would feel the need to ask.

  “I know,” I said. “I love you, too.”

  After I hung up the phone, I sat and stared into space. Usually I feel a rush of warmth when Sam says those words. There’s a tug of emotion when I say them myself. But tonight, it seemed as though we’d professed our love for each other by rote.

  I hoped it was only my imagination because all I’d felt between us was a long stretch of empty space.

  Bertie has auburn hair, green eyes, legs a mile long, and the kind of figure that men pant over. There, I got that out of my system. Now I feel much better.

  When we first met, I’d thought she was prickly and standoffish. Then again, Bertie was a young woman alone
, trying to build a career in a tough, highly competitive profession. And I was investigating a murder and considered her a suspect. You can see why we might not have hit it off right away.

  Fortunately over the last year, we’ve managed to move past that rocky beginning. I wouldn’t say we’re real friends yet, but we’re heading slowly in that direction. Considering Bertie’s many assets, she hasn’t had things easy. Women tend to be intimidated by her looks; men, by her competence.

  Aunt Peg, who doesn’t notice what people look like (though she can sort out their dogs at twenty paces) and who values the ability to get things done above all else, calls Bertie a pretty sharp cookie. I’d say that assessment is right on the mark.

  Bertie picked me up in a maroon Chevy van whose odometer had just passed one hundred thousand miles. This wasn’t a minivan like those favored by droves of suburban mothers; this was a working truck, used for hauling crates and equipment to shows. The rubber-matted back was empty; the seat next to the driver’s, padded and comfortable.

  Bertie was used to traveling in the van, and it showed. There were two mugs of coffee in the cup holders and a dog-eared book of maps in the side pocket of the door. As I climbed in, she grinned a welcome and shifted into reverse.

  “I guess I didn’t sound too grim yesterday,” Bertie said as we backed out of the driveway. “I was half-afraid I might have scared you off.”

  “Who me? You should know better than that.”

  Her grin widened. She’d been on hand when I’d confronted one murderer, and she’d probably heard about others. “Yeah, I guess I should.”

  The other times I’d seen Bertie had been at dog shows or functions, so she’d always been dressed up. Today she looked very different in jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers, with her hair pulled back into a casual ponytail. She wore no makeup, no jewelry, nothing intended to draw the eye. I wondered if that was the way she normally dressed on her days off or whether the drab look she’d aspired to was a calculated response to the fact that we were going to visit her ex.

  “You didn’t tell me where Kenny lives,” I said. “Where are we going?”

  “North Haven. It’ll take about an hour each way. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Sure.” I settled back in my seat. “I’ve got all day.”

  “I brought coffee. Help yourself. I didn’t know how you took it so I added a little milk and sweetener.”

  “Close enough, thanks. You want to tell me about you and Kenny now, or would you rather beat around the bush for a while first?”

  Bertie cast a startled glance my way, then quickly recovered. “Now’s fine. But first, I have a question for you. Why do you care? What’s your interest in this?”

  “I told you yesterday. Kenny was heard making threats against Sheila Vaughn just before she was murdered.”

  “Isn’t that a problem for the police?”

  “It should be, except that they seem to think she was killed in a random act of violence by robbers who had broken into her home.”

  “How come you don’t agree?”

  I explained about Sheila’s Pugs being outside. Bertie’s a dog person. She understood immediately and was nodding before I’d even finished.

  “All right, I’ll go with you on that. But still, so what? Who was Sheila to you?”

  “My fiancé’s ex-wife.”

  “No shit.” Bertie choked on a strangled laugh. “Sam was married to Sheila?”

  “You didn’t know?”

  “No, why should I?”

  I shrugged uncomfortably. “I didn’t find out myself until recently, and I have to admit the news came as a shock. But since both of them were involved with dogs, I wondered if everyone had known all along but me.”

  “Not me. Maybe I’m out of the loop.”

  Bertie? Never.

  “Sam and Sheila.” She shook her head, still surprised. “You don’t get things easy, do you?”

  “Apparently not.” I waited a beat, then added, “I gather you didn’t have things too easy with Kenny either.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. Have you ever met Kenny?”

  “No. My Aunt Peg told me some stuff about him, but I don’t think I’ve ever even seen him.”

  “Considering all the showing you’ve been doing, you probably have, you just didn’t know it. If there’s a show with halfway decent judges, Kenny’s there with a big string of dogs. Picture someone tall, with neatly trimmed hair, always in place. Wire-rim glasses. Strong cheekbones.” Bertie looked sideways at me. “Great lips.”

  “Sounds interesting. Too bad he’s a jerk.”

  “Yeah.” Bertie yanked the wheel and changed lanes. “He’s a jerk, all right. Most people don’t realize that right off. Certainly there are plenty of owners and judges who think that Kenny’s an all-around great guy.”

  I thought about the article I’d read in Woof!. Even though Kenny had been exposed as a thief, he was still doing business with the man he’d stolen from. It seemed amazing that some people were able to skate through life without ever being held accountable, and I said so.

  “That’s Kenny all over,” Bertie said. “Nothing’s ever his fault. No matter what goes wrong, he’s never the one to blame. I’m sure he found some perfectly reasonable explanation for how that money got spent—something that didn’t implicate him as the son of a bitch he is.”

  I reached for my coffee and took a sip. It was sweeter than I normally take it, but hot and strong. “If Kenny’s such a louse, what were you doing with him in the first place?”

  “I know it seems crazy now, but in the beginning I didn’t realize what he was like. I was fooled, just like everyone else. I mean there he was, this older, very successful man—his dog won the Nature’s Recipe Award for Pete’s sake—and he was interested in me. I was flattered. Hell, let’s face it. I was smitten.”

  “Smitten?” I smiled at the old-fashioned word.

  Bertie fluttered her lashes. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “At first, everything was fine. Kenny was the big, important handler, and I was the lowly sycophant.”

  “No, you weren’t. You had your own string of dogs, too. Bertie, you’ve been out on your own, earning a living as a handler, for five years.”

  “Maybe, but we sure weren’t equals. Kenny knew it, and I knew it, too. So when he said something uncomplimentary about my technique or my performance, it was easy to believe, like he said, that he was doing it for my own good. I figured being with Kenny would be good for me. I thought there was a lot he could teach me.”

  She stopped and grimaced. Her eyes stared straight ahead out the windshield.

  “And did he?” I asked, even though I was sure I knew the answer.

  “No. Kenny wasn’t interested in helping anyone else, though it took me a while to figure that out. Why should he bring someone along and try to make them better? In the end, they’d only be more competition for him.

  “Kenny didn’t say those awful things to me because he wanted me to improve. He did it because he wanted me to feel worthless. The lower I got, the more important it made him feel.”

  I thought back to what she’d said the night before. It wasn’t hard to see where this was heading. “Did he hit you?”

  “Once.” Bertie spat the word out. “He gave me a black eye. At the time I was appalled. Now I realize it was a good thing because it brought me to my senses. I got up the next morning, looked in the mirror and thought, Alberta Kennedy, if you think any guy in the world is worth this, you must be out of your friggin’ mind.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Yeah, it was.” She nodded. “Finally. I packed up most of my stuff that morning and left. The kicker was that Kenny was surprised, shocked even, by my reaction. He came back all full of apologies and bullshit and couldn’t understand why that didn’t make everything all right between us.”

  “Idiot,” I muttered.

  “You can say that again. That happened right before Chris
tmas, so I ended up spending the holiday alone.”

  “I wish I’d known.”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered,” Bertie said matter-of-factly. “It’s not as if I was going to let anyone see me looking like that. And besides, it gave me time to think. It wasn’t just the black eye, it was everything that had led up to it, too. Kenny Boyle took me to the lowest point of my life, and the really rotten thing is, I think he enjoyed doing it.”

  “Have you seen him since?”

  “Seen him, sure. We go to the same shows all the time. In the beginning, I couldn’t even stand to look at him. But I’m getting better now.” Bertie smiled. “I can even talk to him without clenching my fists.

  “Kenny’s been bugging me for months to come and get this stuff I left behind. I doubt if it’s in his way; I think he just wants to erase all sign of my presence from his life. Which probably makes sense when you consider that I feel the same way about him.

  “It should only take us a few minutes to load. It’s just some kennel stuff—a couple of wooden crates and a box of supplies. The only thing I really missed is the big hair dryer. It’ll be nice to finally get that back.”

  “Does Kenny know we’re coming?” I asked.

  “He knows. I called him last night. Heaven forbid we should show up unannounced. Kenny doesn’t like surprises.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Is there anything he does like?”

  “Sure. He likes attention. He likes flattery. He likes to win. Brace yourself, we’re just about there. Oh, and Melanie?”

  Her tone was serious. I looked at her and lifted a brow.

  “Whatever you do, don’t tell him you think he might have killed somebody. Trust me, with this guy news like that wouldn’t go over well.”

  Twenty

  Most of the kennels I’ve visited have been small, private operations, tucked away in residential areas and usually hidden discreetly behind high fences. Not Kenny Boyle’s. A large sign, posted next to the four-lane highway, announced that we’d reached our destination.

  GOLDEN TOUCH KENNEL, it said. KENNY BOYLE, OWNER. BOARDING, GROOMING, AND SHOWING AT THE HIGHEST STANDARD.