Doggie Day Care Murder

by Laurien Berenson

  “I’m thinking I’ll lie,” said Alice.

  “About what?”

  “You know, on the application for Pine Ridge? Whatever kinds of questions they ask about your dog’s behavior, I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to tell some big, fat, whopping lies.” She sighed heavily. “I’m a terrible person, aren’t I?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “No,” Alice said sadly. “I’m pretty sure I’m terrible.”

  “Not about that, about the application.” I slowed my steps as Berkley paused to sniff an interesting tree. “Are you serious? I know you said there was a waiting list, but it never occurred to me that dogs actually had to apply to get in.”

  “That’s what they told me on the phone. I’ve been worrying ever since that he wouldn’t get accepted.”

  It was bad enough that getting children into the right schools and activities was a trial. Who would have guessed that dogs had to be judged worthy as well?

  “Nobody said anything about that to me when I was there,” I said. “And I met both the owners.”

  “Steve and Candy Pine, right? I saw their pictures in the brochure they sent. And of course everything seemed perfect on the web site. But how did the place look to you in person?”

  Berkley, having finished lifting his leg, took off down the sidewalk like a dog on a mission. I could have corrected him, but I figured power-walking probably burned off more calories than strolling. Beside us, Alice adjusted the length of her stride to keep up.

  “There’s a little gray-and-white Lhasa Apso that lives right around the corner,” she said. “Her owner absolutely refuses to have her spayed. So twice a year, Berkley thinks he’s in love.”

  Luckily the Lhasa was nowhere in sight. Berkley slowed briefly, lifted his nose to sniff the air, then kept going.

  “I thought Pine Ridge looked great,” I said. “Much better than I was expecting. It doesn’t have the feel of a boarding kennel at all. And while some of the things they offer seemed a little over the top, I have to admit that the dogs I saw there looked pretty happy.”

  “Good.” Alice nodded. “Then it’s settled. I’ll download the forms from the web site and fill them out.”

  “Not so fast. Aunt Peg seems to think we need to make another visit. You know, so that we’re sure it’s the right place for him?”

  Alice didn’t bother to argue. She knew enough about my aunt to know that where dogs were concerned, her word was pretty much law.

  “I suppose I could find some free time tomorrow,” she said.

  “You can fill out the application while you’re there. Kill two birds with one stone.”

  She glanced down at Berkley dubiously. The Golden looked up at her and grinned, his long pink tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.

  “You don’t suppose they’re going to want to interview him, do you?”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  Well actually, once I stopped and thought about it, I could.

  Davey had gone to an interview for an upscale preschool at a point in his life when his entire vocabulary consisted of about two dozen words. I had watched through a window with the other mothers as the children under consideration engaged in “organized group play” under the supervision of the school’s headmistress. My son had been the only three-year-old boy in the group not wearing a suit and tie.

  After that experience, I supposed I’d believe almost anything.

  “Berkley will do just fine,” I said. “Just look at him. He’s like a big teddy bear. Who wouldn’t fall in love with him?”

  “You’re a dog person. You have to feel that way.”

  “Steve and Candy are dog people too. Don’t worry, he’ll do fine.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said Alice. “But I’m not taking any chances. We’ll leave him home tomorrow. That way, they won’t even meet him until after they’ve already cashed the check for the first month’s board.”

  I would have laughed except for the fact that Alice had gone through the preschool experience too. In fact, she’d done it twice. So maybe she knew what she was talking about. Instead, I reached down and scratched behind the Golden Retriever’s ears.

  “Berrrkleey,” I crooned. “You’re such a good boy. Are you hearing these terrible things she’s saying about you?”

  Berkley lifted his head and added a little swagger to his step. He had no idea what the words meant, he just liked the fact that we were talking about him.

  Dogs really have it easy, you know?

  6

  By the time we’d finished circling the block, Alice and I had made a plan to meet at Pine Ridge the next morning. Then she and Berkley went home and I walked a couple doors down to see if Bob was around. His Ford Explorer was parked in the driveway, so I figured the chances were pretty good.

  Earlier in the spring, Bob had had the house painted. When Davey and I had lived there, the small Cape had been yellow. Now it was gray with white shutters. Bob had found a couple of large clay flowerpots and filled them with peonies. They flanked the front steps and added a nice touch of color.

  But despite the changes, walking up to this house where Davey and I had lived so happily for so long, still felt like coming home. I didn’t bother to ring the doorbell. Bob never bothers to lock his door, so I just opened it up and stuck my head in.

  “Hello?” I called. “Anyone home?”

  This is the point where, at my house, unexpected visitors would be mobbed by a charging herd of Poodles. Until I assured them all was well, the noise would be pretty intense.

  Not here. A cream-colored Siamese cat with brown ears and a brown nose was asleep in a band of sun that fell across the couch in the living room. Bosco lifted his head briefly, glanced in my direction to assure himself that the interruption was nothing to be concerned about, then went back to sleep.

  Okay, that’s the part I don’t get. People always talk about how curious cats are but really, not so much. No self-respecting Poodle would have let an intruder enter the house without a challenge. But as long as the sun was warm and the cushion beneath him was soft, Bosco couldn’t have cared less.

  It looked to me like apathy was more likely to kill that cat than curiosity.

  “I’m in the kitchen,” Bob yelled in reply. “Come on back.”

  I did, and found that the room was in a state of siege. Bob had already ripped out the cabinets and countertops that had been in place since the house was built more than half a century earlier. Now he was stripping the flower-sprigged wallpaper from the walls.

  I’d been rather fond of that wallpaper, I thought, feeling a small pang. I’d put it up myself. But this was no longer my house, and my opinion of what went on here no longer mattered.

  Abruptly, I found myself wondering what was behind Bob’s recent flurry of redecoration. Perhaps there was a new woman in his life. I’d been so wrapped up in my own family, I might have overlooked something like that. Maybe I should do a little fishing around and find out.

  “Want to help?” asked Bob.

  He was standing midway up a stepladder, holding a putty knife in one hand and a long tangle of discarded wallpaper in the other. A streak of wallpaper solvent was smeared across the front of his T-shirt.

  “No thanks,” I said. “I’m happy to watch.”

  Bob began to shake his hand hard. He was trying to drop the sheet of discarded wallpaper, but it was stuck to his fingers. When the paper finally came free, it fluttered to the floor and became attached to the bottom step of the ladder. I was betting it would get stuck on Bob’s shoe next.

  “What’s up?” he asked as he went back to trying to peel the next strip of paper away from the wall. “I saw you walk by with Alice. Just visiting? Where are the kids?”

  “Home with Sam,” I replied. It seemed amazing that after all the years I had spent as a single mother, my sons now had two men in their lives. “I had some running around to do and this way was easier. Feel free to stop by later, if you want. I know
Davey would love to see you.”

  Several cane-backed chairs from a dinette set had been pushed up against a wall and partially covered by a drop cloth. I pulled one out and gingerly took a seat. When Bob started to pull things apart nothing in his path was safe, but the chair seemed to have escaped unscathed thus far.

  “Maybe I’ll do that. I could use a break after I get done with this. If the weather holds, it might be a nice night for a barbeque. I could bring the burgers . . .”

  “Consider yourself invited,” I said with a laugh. “Come around six or so. That will give you a couple of hours until Kevin goes to bed. And if there’s anyone you’d like to bring with you . . .”

  I let the thought dangle and waited for Bob to fill in the blank.

  “Like who?” he asked innocently. His back was turned so I couldn’t read the expression on his face.

  “I don’t know . . . a girlfriend maybe?”

  Bob’s hands stilled. He stared back over his shoulder at me. “What girlfriend?”

  “Any one you like,” I said with a grin. “What’s her name?”

  He shook his head and went back to work. “I don’t know where you got that idea. There is no name. In fact, there is no her.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Trust me. I’m pretty sure I’d be the first to know.”

  “Too bad. I thought that was why you were redecorating.”

  “Nope, I’m redoing stuff because nobody’s done any serious work to this house in decades.”

  “I would have, but I was a little short on cash,” I said tartly. “There were months when just getting the mortgage paid was a stretch.”

  No use bringing up the fact that over the years his child-support checks had been few and far between. We’d hashed all that out and gotten past it. In fact we’d gotten past a lot of things, which was why we were able to be such good friends now.

  “I’m not criticizing,” said Bob. “Merely stating a fact.”

  A piece of uncooperative wallpaper stuck in place. He pulled out a wide taping knife and began to scrape.

  “That might come off easier with a steamer,” I mentioned.

  “I’m saving that for my next trick. But while we’re on the subject of when this was your house . . . Amber lived here when you did, right?”

  Amber Fine was Bob’s next door neighbor, formerly mine. For most of the time Davey and I had lived in the house, an elderly Italian woman had occupied the home next door. But shortly after Sam and I got married, Edna had gone to join her family in Seattle and Amber had moved in. I’d never had the opportunity to get to know her well.

  “For a little while,” I said. “Really just a couple of months. She moved into the neighborhood right before Davey and I moved out.”

  “Did you ever think that maybe she was just the tiniest bit . . . odd?”

  “Odd?” I repeated sweetly. Truth be told, Amber and I hadn’t exactly hit it off. “You mean aside from the missing husband and the half-dozen cats?”

  “Thank God,” Bob said on an exhale. “I thought maybe it was just me. What’s up with James, anyway?”

  James was Amber’s husband. Or at least that was what Sam and I had been told. Personally, I’d never even seen any evidence that the man actually existed.

  “How should I know? You’re the one who’s been living here a year. I never even met the guy.”

  “Me either,” said Bob.

  “You’re kidding. All this time and James still hasn’t shown up?”

  “Not that I’ve seen. But what do I know, it’s not like I’m keeping tabs on the place. Maybe he comes in late at night and leaves before dawn.”

  “Like a vampire?”

  “Or a confirmed workaholic. Amber says he travels a lot on business.”

  “I seem to remember her telling me that too. Something about importing or maybe exporting?”

  “Not that it’s any of my business,” said Bob. “But it just seems unusual that the guy is never around.”

  “Maybe they’re divorced and she doesn’t want to admit it.”

  “Who wouldn’t admit that? Everyone’s divorced these days, present company included. I was thinking along more sinister lines. Maybe Amber cut him up into little pieces and buried him in the basement.”

  “You’ve been reading Edgar Allan Poe again, haven’t you?”

  “Thomas Harris,” said Bob. “And that guy’s writing is keeping me up nights. But anyway, I was thinking you should ask her.”

  “What? Where her husband is?”

  “Something like that. You know, just have a little chat. Woman to woman. And find out what the heck is going on over there.”

  Right, I thought. That would be the day.

  Bob used to be an accountant and he’s very precise. He showed up that evening at six on the dot, bearing not only hamburgers, but also a dozen ears of corn and a bucket of cole slaw.

  “The cookout was my idea,” he said. “The least I could do is bring the ingredients.”

  Most visitors to our house these days go directly to Kevin. A new baby is a source of fascination, a magnet for parents and wannabe parents alike. A bundle of joy that’s somebody else’s responsibility. What’s not to like?

  People ooh and aah over Kevin. They tickle his tiny feet and ask if they can hold him. They comment on how much his eyes or his nose looks like ours. They remark on how much he’s grown.

  But Bob’s arrival was different. He walked in the front door, handed the bags he was carrying to Sam, and yelled up the stairs to Davey to see if he wanted to have a catch.

  Davey had heard the doorbell ring and was already on his way down. He skidded around the newel post at the top of the staircase and came flying down the steps. At the speed he was moving, it was a wonder he didn’t kill himself. Ah, the joys of being nine.

  “Sure thing!” he cried.

  His baseball and catcher’s mitt were in the mudroom off the kitchen. Davey went dashing in that direction, then abruptly stopped.

  “You probably want to hold Kevin first,” he said.

  “Who?” asked Bob.

  “Kevin. You know . . . the baby.”

  Bob waggled his eyebrows comically. “You guys have a baby around here?”

  Davey giggled. “He’s my little brother.”

  “I’ll bet he’s not as much fun as you.”

  “That’s not what most people think.”

  “Lucky for you, I’m not most people.”

  Bob’s arms reached out to grab his son and pull him close. His fingers tickled Davey’s sides. Davey squealed in delight and struggled to get away. When he realized Bob’s hold was too strong, he gave up trying to escape and began to tickle his father back.

  Bob dodged one way, then the other. He looked up and winked at me over Davey’s head. “Truce!” he cried. “You’re killing me here.”

  It was a good thing he called a halt to the tickle fight. Bob didn’t realize it, but the Poodles, who’d been milling around the hallway, were about to enter the fray. I was betting they were going to take Davey’s side.

  “All right, let’s get serious. Are you going to throw a ball with me or not? Don’t tell me I have to play catch with the baby.”

  “You can’t play catch with him.” Davey was laughing and trying to catch his breath. “He’s too little.”

  “That settles it then,” said Bob. “He’s not nearly as much fun as you are. Now go get your stuff while I see if Sam wants to join us.”

  “What about me?” I said as Davey went scampering toward the back of the house. “Don’t I get an invitation?”

  “Men play ball,” Bob pronounced in a deep, manly voice. “Women cook.”

  “Easy to see why you’re not married,” said Sam. He was still holding the groceries. “You guys go ahead and play. I’ve got a grill to fire up.”

  The rest of the evening proceeded at a leisurely pace. Davey and Bob played ball while Sam and I cooked. It stayed light past eight o’clock and we ate outside on the
deck.

  I balanced Kevin on my lap, holding him with one hand and eating with the other. The Poodles, who knew a good opportunity when they saw it, gathered around my chair and waited for handouts to fall their way. Fortunately, my rules about feeding dogs from the table aren’t nearly as strict as Aunt Peg’s.

  Kevin stayed up past his usual bedtime, falling asleep in my arms at nine. Bob stayed long enough to help with the cleanup. Before he left, I saw him slip Davey a baseball card for his growing collection. Davey ran upstairs to add it to the others.

  It was the kind of evening where everything seems to go just right. It was comfortable, peaceful, and perfectly ordinary. The way my life had been proceeding for a while now. You don’t get much luckier than that.

  As we were coming from two different directions, Alice and I had agreed to meet at Pine Ridge. The facility opened at seven-thirty for early arrivals. I’d been up since before six with Kevin. Getting there in time to meet Alice at eight-thirty was no problem at all.

  The previous day the office had been empty when I’d arrived in early afternoon. Mornings were a totally different story. Rush hour was in full swing.

  “Goodness,” Alice said as we joined the back of the line waiting to check in. “You didn’t mention this place was such a madhouse.”

  A Springer Spaniel, an Airedale, and a Bichon Frise held the spots in front of us. All three of their owners, two men and a woman, were dressed for success. One of the men was tapping his toe while he waited. His dog, the Airedale, pounced repeatedly on the tip of the highly polished loafer as it rose and fell.

  “Yesterday, it wasn’t. I guess I wasn’t here during a peak time. But this is good to know, especially if this is about the time when you plan to be dropping Berkley off. We should be sure to ask Steve how long a wait to expect on an average day.”

  This time we’d called and made an appointment. Alice had spoken with the co-owner the previous afternoon, and he was expecting us. Indeed, as our wait to check in with Madison stretched from five minutes to ten, I was surprised that Steve didn’t come looking for us.