Doggie Day Care Murder

by Laurien Berenson

  It was because of my aunt that I’d initially gotten involved with Poodles, as she was the breeder of Davey’s and my first dog, Faith. Aunt Peg had given us the Poodle puppy partly as a present, partly as a reward for some help I’d contributed, and partly as a bond to cement our future relationship.

  Then—because no good deed on Aunt Peg’s part comes without strings attached—she had announced that Faith was going to be shown to her championship. To aid in that quest, my aunt had taken me in hand and shepherded me through the exhibiting process using a teaching technique that had felt like equal parts inspiration and dire threats.

  Aunt Peg doesn’t suffer fools or foolishness, and woe to any relative of hers who can’t keep up. She had taught me more about dogs in five years than most people have the opportunity to learn in a lifetime, and I would always be grateful for her guidance and her support.

  “I was just thinking about you,” Aunt Peg said ten minutes later, as I got out of my car.

  I hadn’t bothered to call ahead, but as I parked beside the garage, Aunt Peg already had her front door open. Her Poodles serve as a canine alarm system, and visitors are announced long before they’re able to reach the porch and ring the doorbell.

  Big, black Poodles eddying around legs, Aunt Peg came down the steps from the wide porch and approached the Volvo. “Where is everyone?” she asked, peering in the back of the station wagon.

  “Everyone who?” I asked innocently.

  Of course I knew what she meant, but sometimes I just can’t resist baiting her. And besides, what was I, chopped liver?

  “My nephews, your husband. Kevin, Davey, Sam?” Aunt Peg frowned and had another look, as if that might turn up someone she’d previously missed. “Faith? Eve? My goodness, I don’t even see a dog in there. The very least you could have done is bring Tar for a visit.”

  Yet again, I’d failed to live up to my aunt’s expectations. Unfortunately, that was nothing new.

  “I brought myself for a visit,” I said.

  “Well, I guess you’ll have to do.”

  “I could leave.”

  “Oh pish,” said Peg. “Now you’re just being pathetic. Of course I’m happy to see you. I was just hoping I might have the opportunity to see my new nephew as well. Babies are like puppies, they seem to change from minute to minute. And you know me, I hate to miss a thing.”

  That was certainly true. But what Aunt Peg neglected to mention was that she’d been at our house at least once a week since Kevin was born and had had dinner with us just two nights previously. So by my estimation, she wasn’t missing much.

  Aunt Peg’s Poodles offered me a brief and genial greeting, then chased each other away for a romp around the front yard. Racing in large, looping circles, they checked the area for new smells, looked for previously abandoned toys, and had a run at a hapless squirrel.

  Of the six Standard Poodles in residence, only one was currently being shown, a young male named Custer. He had competed in puppy classes, wearing the puppy trim, before he was a year old. Now, fourteen months of age and nominally an adult, he was taking some time off from the show ring to grow the copious neck and topknot hair that would be required to balance his new continental clip.

  Automatically, Aunt Peg kept an eye on her Poodles as they played, making sure that none of the older dogs dared to pull on Custer’s oh-so-precious neck hair. Which, of course, they didn’t. They were Poodles, after all. They knew the drill.

  “I’ve just made a pitcher of iced tea,” said Aunt Peg. “Let’s go inside and have something cold to drink. I’m sure you must have lots to tell me.”

  I considered for a moment, then said, “Not really.”

  Nevertheless, I followed her up the steps and into the house. Second in line, I held the door until all the Poodles had followed us inside.

  “That’s all right then, because I have lots to tell you.”

  No surprise there.

  Aunt Peg led the way to the kitchen. I got out glasses while she opened the refrigerator to get the tea. And the butter.

  I lifted a brow.

  “Blueberry scones. The bakery had a batch freshly made.”

  Visiting Aunt Peg was never good for my waistline. Six feet tall and with the vigor of the Energizer Bunny himself, she never had to worry about her weight. The only time I’d been able to match her, sweet for sweet, had been in the latter weeks of my pregnancy.

  And of course, I was paying for that now.

  Which didn’t stop me from taking a scone. I did sigh as I selected one, however. It made me feel a little better.

  “So tell me about your day,” she said. “Where have you been?”

  Aunt Peg was temporizing, which wasn’t a good sign. Usually she can’t wait to tell me what’s on her mind. Rather than calling her on it, I decided to play along.

  “This might be interesting to you,” I said. “I’ve just come from visiting Pine Ridge Canine Care Center.”

  Aunt Peg looked up. “Is somebody sick?”

  “No, it’s not that kind of place. Pine Ridge is a doggie day care center.”

  “Oh.” The single, clipped syllable conveyed her disdain. “For people who want to own dogs but can’t be bothered to put in the time to take care of them themselves.”

  “Or for mothers who are going back to work and trying to do the right thing by their pets.”

  “Not you, I hope.”

  Aunt Peg vetted potential puppy owners with incredible care and attention to detail. The day a Cedar Crest bred Poodle ended up in day care, she would raise holy hell.

  “No, I was checking the place out for my friend Alice. Now that her kids are older and in school, she’s decided to get a job.”

  “Berkley,” said Aunt Peg.

  She was probably picturing the Golden Retriever in her mind. I doubted if she could tell you how many children Alice had, or what their names were. She was also probably somewhat hazy as to what Alice looked like.

  But Berkley Aunt Peg knew immediately. It was just the way her brain worked.

  “And—what did you think?”

  “It’s a nice place. Nicer than I expected, actually. I was prepared to be pretty wary of the whole idea.”

  “I should hope you would be.”

  Aunt Peg reached for her second scone and buttered it. The older Poodles were stretched out around us on the floor, most of them asleep. Only Custer was sitting up and keeping a hopeful eye on Aunt Peg.

  I could have told him he was wasting his time; my aunt wouldn’t dream of feeding dogs from her plate. No doubt he’d learn that for himself soon enough. In the meantime, Davey’s frequent visits and his habit of slipping forbidden handouts under the table kept the young dog just spoiled enough.

  “I trust you asked all the right questions.”

  I gulped. By her standards, possibly not. Conversation with Aunt Peg always had a way of making me feel like I was on the hot seat.

  “I took a tour,” I said brightly, “and checked out the accommodations. I saw outdoor paddocks and indoor playrooms, and I met the groomer. The dogs have televisions in their rooms and couches to lie on while they watch.”

  “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.”

  “They looked very comfortable.”

  “Dogs don’t need television to make them happy. They need people, and games, and someone who cares about them.”

  “Pine Ridge seemed to be doing a good job with those things too.”

  Aunt Peg narrowed her gaze. “Did you ask which vet they have on call in case of emergencies?”

  Missed that one. And it was a good thought.

  “Um . . . no.”

  “How about which food they feed and why they chose that particular brand? Hopefully the deciding factor wasn’t that someone offered them a bulk discount.”

  Oops. Strike two.

  “Don’t worry,” Aunt Peg said briskly. “New mothers are allowed to be distracted. I’m sure you’ll do better on your second visit.”

&n
bsp; “Second visit?”

  “You did intend to go back, didn’t you? Otherwise how will you know whether or not you simply caught them on a good day? Believe me, Berkley will thank you for it.”

  Not Alice, Berkley. Did you catch that?

  “Now then,” said Aunt Peg. “Let’s get to my news. I’ve had a positively brilliant idea. And you hardly have to do anything at all.”

  “Me?” I put down my scone. “How did I get involved?”

  As if I even needed to ask. Aunt Peg had a plan, which meant that everyone in the vicinity should strap themselves in because, like it or not, we were all along for the ride.

  5

  “Junior showmanship,” she announced.

  “What about it?” I asked.

  Junior showmanship is a dog show competition for child handlers. There are three age categories and both Novice and Open divisions are offered. Exhibitors can show any breed of dog they want in the classes, and they’re judged on their presentation and handling skills, rather than the quality of the dog itself.

  Once he turned nine, Davey had become eligible for the youngest division. But although he’d spent much of his life accompanying us to dog shows, he’d never shown any desire to enter the ring himself.

  “Davey and I have been talking about it,” said Aunt Peg.

  “You have?”

  There was no point in trying not to sound surprised. Aunt Peg had pulled something off behind my back and we both knew it. The satisfaction on her face was easy to read.

  “Well, more than talking, actually. I’ve been giving him a few lessons.”

  “Handling lessons?”

  “Do try to keep up, Melanie. That is what we’re talking about, isn’t it?”

  I stared at her suspiciously. Davey enjoyed playing soccer and basketball. He’d tried a little acting and he liked to write short stories. He had plenty going on in his life without being coerced into adding another activity that suited Aunt Peg’s interests more than his own.

  “Whose idea was this?” I asked.

  “Davey’s, of course.”

  I sat and waited.

  “And perhaps a little of mine.”

  Now we were getting closer to the truth.

  “Admit it, you’ve been very busy lately,” said Aunt Peg.

  “I had a baby three months ago! There’s a reason I’ve been busy.”

  “Nevertheless, Davey might have been receiving a little less attention than he was used to.”

  I sat back in my chair, feeling deflated. That hit me where it hurt. Had I been so wrapped up in Kevin and his needs that I’d been shortchanging Davey? Was it possible that I’d been too sleep deprived to notice that my older son was feeling left out?

  Motherhood. If there’s a harder job, I’d like to know what it is.

  I looked down at my plate and realized that while I was listening, I’d managed to eat the entire scone. With butter.

  “Did Davey tell you that?” I asked.

  “Not in so many words.”

  Drawing information out of Aunt Peg was like trying to call a hunting dog off a scent. You might as well just give up and wait until she was darn good and ready to give in.

  “Davey didn’t say anything. But the circumstances speak for themselves. You have a new husband and a new baby. There have been a lot of changes in Davey’s life recently, along with many new things for him to adapt to.”

  “You’re talking about changes that Davey wanted . . . changes that he likes . . .”

  I heard myself protesting and stopped. Aunt Peg was making me feel guiltier by the moment. Which, knowing Aunt Peg, was probably her intention.

  “With everything else that’s going on in your life right now, I thought it might do him good to have a special project to work on by himself. Something that was all about him and nobody else.”

  “But junior showmanship?” I asked dubiously.

  “Think about it,” said Aunt Peg. “It’s what I know. It’s not as if I was going to teach him tap dancing or origami. Showing dogs is what I’m good at.”

  Even so. “Does Davey want to learn to show dogs?” I asked.

  “Funny that you can’t answer that question for yourself,” said Aunt Peg. “How is it that you’ve never asked him?”

  “I have—” I said, then stopped and thought.

  Maybe I hadn’t. Maybe I’d been waiting for him to indicate an interest on his own. Kids these days, especially those who grew up in high-achieving, high-stress areas like Fairfield County, were pressured to learn, and perform, and excel in so many different ways. Whenever possible, I tried to back off from adding more expectations from Davey’s already full agenda. Maybe I had been remiss.

  “You’ve been giving him lessons?” I asked.

  Aunt Peg nodded. “He’s quite good for his age. Considering the length of his arms and his stride, someone his size would probably do better with a smaller dog. But the Poodles are very accommodating and they know what’s expected of them, which helps. So between them they manage to make it work.”

  I gazed around the room. All of Aunt Peg’s Standard Poodles, with the exception of Custer, had competed in the show ring long enough to earn the fifteen points required to complete their championships. They were probably just as good at teaching Davey what was expected of him as Aunt Peg was.

  “And Davey’s enjoying this?”

  That seemed to be my role in this conversation, just asking one semi-repetitive question after another. But I wanted to make sure that I got things exactly right. For Davey’s sake and my own.

  “The few lessons we’ve had, very much so. He likes being the one holding the end of the leash—and having someone he can tell what to do. And of course, the Poodles play along and let him think he’s in charge.”

  They would.

  “So now what?” I asked.

  “Now we let him practice some more until we think he’s ready to venture out into the real world and try his hand at a few dog shows. I imagine there will be someplace this summer where he can get his start.”

  “He’ll need to show a Poodle in hair in order to be competitive.”

  All of Sam’s and my dogs were cut down. Once a Poodle had stopped showing, maintaining the elaborate clip required for the ring took entirely too much time to be feasible. Although Davey would be allowed to show a Poodle that wasn’t wearing the traditional continental trim, he would have a harder time winning if his dog didn’t look the way the judges expected it to.

  Aunt Peg smiled. “I’ve been having him practice with Hope, so there’s no long hair to get in the way of everything else he needs to learn, but I’m sure that Custer will be happy to step in and help out when the time comes. Indeed, I suspect the two of them might have quite a bit of fun together.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Aunt Peg raised a brow. Just one. Don’t ask me how she does it.

  “For starting all this behind your back?”

  “For noticing something that I should have.”

  “Oh my dear.” Aunt Peg laughed. “You must have realized by now. I notice everything.”

  Wasn’t that the truth?

  On the way home, I called and checked in with Alice.

  Most people can drive and talk on the phone at the same time; I see them doing it all the time. For me, however, the maneuver is a major challenge. Either I’m thinking about my driving or I’m thinking about the conversation I’m holding. When I try to do both, my brain short-circuits.

  Which was why shortly after she picked up, I took a wrong turn. It would have been fine if I’d noticed where I was going, but of course I was so busy talking that I didn’t. So instead of driving home, I drove to Alice’s house.

  On some convoluted level, I’m sure that made sense to my subconscious.

  We’d barely gotten past the small talk before I found myself turning onto the road where the Brickmans lived. Which, as it happens, was also where Davey and I had lived until fairly recently. The small, Cape Cod
house we’d shared was now the residence of Davey’s father, my ex-husband, Bob.

  It’s kind of a long story how that came about. Just another one of those things that seems to make more sense when you’re in the process than it does later when you look back and try to explain how it all happened. But since I was already in the neighborhood, I figured I might as well stop in and see Bob later on too.

  Alice is well acquainted with most of my foibles, and I’d already explained about the driving thing while we were talking, so she was standing out on the sidewalk, waiting for me, when I turned onto the road. She had Berkley on a leash beside her. The Golden Retriever looked thrilled at the prospect of an unexpected, midafternoon walk.

  Alice snapped her phone shut as I got out of the Volvo. Stepping up onto the curb, I reached down and greeted Berkley first. He was wriggling in place with excitement; his long, feathered tail lashed back and forth across Alice’s legs.

  “Berkley, sit,” she said firmly.

  The Golden had been to obedience school. In fact, I seemed to recall that he’d taken the six-week beginner course three times. But since no one had taken the time to practice with him between sessions, much of what he’d learned in class hadn’t stuck.

  Now Berkley brushed his big butt briefly across the ground before using the position as a launching pad to spring back up in the air. I jerked back just in time. Otherwise the dog’s broad head might have broken my nose.

  “Sorry about that.” Alice shortened the leash and hauled him back to her side. “He gets a little exuberant around people he likes.”

  As far as I could tell, Berkley liked everybody. Which made exuberance his way of life. Trying to hold him still, Alice looked a little desperate. She might have outweighed Berkley, but when it came to energy level, he definitely had her beat.

  “Let’s walk,” I proposed.

  When the Golden Retriever’s first step turned into a high-spirited lunge, I reached over and took the leash from Alice, giving it a little snap so that Berkley would know he’d changed handlers. His collar was made of thick, rolled leather, however, and I doubted he even felt the tug. Nevertheless, once we were moving, he was happy to accompany us. He matched his strides to ours and fell into step.