Doggie Day Care Murder

by Laurien Berenson

  So I delivered the baby into the teenager’s arms. He cradled him like a pro.

  “Is Candy around?” I asked.

  “Nope, sorry. She had to go out.”

  “Do you expect her back soon?”

  Jason was rocking now, swaying back and forth from one sneaker-clad foot to another. In another minute, he’d probably be dancing around the office. Kevin looked like he was enjoying himself enormously.

  “I doubt it. She had to take Madison to the emergency room. You know what hospitals are like. They could be gone all day.”

  “The emergency room?” My breath caught. “I hope it wasn’t something serious.”

  “The way Madison was whining and wailing, you’d have thought it was the end of the world,” Jason said with a smirk. “Some lady was checking in a Jack Russell. Her name is Bella, she’s new here.”

  I noted the way he’d remembered the terrier’s name, if not her owner’s. Aunt Peg would like this boy too.

  “I guess Madison reached out to lift the dog over the counter. Any idiot could have told her that was a bad idea, bringing a strange dog right up toward her face like that.”

  Good one, I thought, and added a few more mental points to his score.

  “I wasn’t here, so I don’t know exactly what happened next, but Bella must have gotten upset about something and she nipped Madison on the chin.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad,” I said, relieved.

  “It didn’t look that bad either. I mean, don’t forget we’re talking about a girl who already has a couple of holes punched in her face.” Jason shook his head. “So what’s another scrape or two on top of that? Instead of complaining, she should have just stuck in another earring and gotten over herself.”

  Could be Jason had a point.

  “I take it Madison was more upset about what happened than you are?”

  “Man, that girl screeched like an angry bobcat. I was out back and even I heard her screaming. Everybody came running. The lady, you know, the owner? I thought she was going to start crying. The only one who wasn’t upset was Bella. She was running around the floor, chasing her stubby little tail.”

  I could picture the scene. “Then what happened?”

  “The lady left and one of the girls from the back came and got Bella. Then Candy took Madison away and told me to fill in until they got back. So here I am stuck inside sitting behind a desk when I should be out doing something useful, you know?”

  I knew.

  Jason waggled his index finger in front of Kevin’s hands, encouraging the baby to reach up and catch it. “How’s the web site coming?”

  “What . . . oh . . .” For a moment, I’d forgotten I was supposed to have a cover story. “It’s fine. How’s business around here? Picking up?”

  “I guess so. I mean, it’s not like we’re full or anything. But we seem to be getting supplies delivered every other minute—kibble, canned food, rawhide bones, stuff like that—so I figure if Candy’s doing that much ordering, she must be planning to build the business back up again.”

  “Have you stopped worrying about losing your job?”

  “For the time being, anyway. And that’s good news, right?”

  “Good news,” I agreed. I held out my hands.

  “Ah, come on. Not yet. The kid likes me.”

  He was right, Kevin did. Whether it came to handling dogs or babies, Jason was a natural. And to think, eventually he’d have his MBA and all that talent would go to waste in the business world.

  “If Candy’s not here, there’s no point in my hanging around the office. I think I’ll go out back and take another look around, maybe see if I can pick up a few more ideas.”

  Next item on my agenda was locating Larry, the maintenance man. Thanks to Lila Harrington, his girlfriend had been fired from her grooming job. I wondered how angry Larry had been at Steve Pine when that happened.

  There wasn’t any need to explain that to Jason, however. Instead, I reached over and lifted Kevin out of his arms. Both of them relinquished the contact reluctantly.

  “He doesn’t like everybody,” I said. “You’re good.”

  Jason’s ears grew red. An Adam’s apple bobbed in his skinny neck. “I know.”

  I strapped Kevin back into his seat. Distracted by a set of plastic keys, he picked up the toy and began to shake it vigorously.

  “If Candy returns anytime soon, will you tell her I’m out back and I’d like to speak with her?”

  “Will do.”

  Jason opened the door and held it wide so I could push the stroller through. As the baby passed by, he leaned down and gave an exaggerated wave.

  Kevin blinked and lifted his own hand. For a moment, I thought he was going to return the wave. Then instead, he flicked his wrist and sent the set of plastic keys flying.

  Jason caught them on the fly and handed them back to me. “What’d you say his name was again?”

  “Kevin.”

  “Nah, that’s too plain for a kid with an arm like that. How about Kev-man? Or the Kev-ster?”

  “Kevin,” I said again. “He likes his name.”

  Jason laughed. “That guy’s easy. He likes everything.”

  Except sleep apparently.

  I found Larry out back.

  It wasn’t hard to do. I’d intended to look for him inside the Dog House or to ask Bailey for a lead, but both proved to be unnecessary. As soon as I pushed Kevin’s stroller around the side of the office building, I saw him.

  The maintenance man was sitting on a bench, beneath an oak tree that supplied shade to a nearby paddock. He was sipping on a can of Bud and staring off into the distance. Perhaps he was pondering how long Candy might be held up at the hospital, as I was pretty sure this wasn’t his normal mode of behavior when the boss was around.

  The stroller’s wheels crunched on the gravel walk as we approached. Larry glanced briefly in our direction, then turned away again, dismissing us. He looked annoyed at the interruption.

  “You must be lost. Clients belong in the front building. That’s the office. You just missed it.”

  “Thanks for the directions, but I know where I am. I was looking for you.”

  “I don’t think so.” He took another swallow of beer.

  “You’re Larry Holmes, right?” I was talking to the back of his head. At this rate, pretty soon there were going to be two of us who were annoyed. “You’re the man who does maintenance here?”

  “You got something you need fixed?” Finally, he shifted his body to face me. “Put it on the list in the office and I’ll get to it. As you can see, I’m on a break here.”

  The paddock closest to Larry’s bench held a pair of Akitas, one white, one black. The big, powerful dogs were scrambling around the enclosure, chasing each other through a set of wooden climbing blocks. Kevin clapped his hands and squealed with delight at the show.

  I wheeled the stroller closer to the fence and parked it in the shade. Then I went back to Larry.

  “Look, lady, I don’t know who you are—”

  “Melanie Travis.” I held out a hand.

  Larry stared it. He didn’t offer his. “That wasn’t a question, okay?”

  “Just trying to be friendly.” I withdrew my hand.

  “I don’t need any more friends.”

  I took a deep breath and tried a different approach. “Candy asked me to speak with you.”

  Larry looked mildly interested. “Yeah? Why?”

  “I’m updating the Pine Ridge web site for her. I’m supposed to talk to everyone, find out what they do, and gather impressions about what should be included.”

  The brief spark of interest faded. “Candy isn’t here.”

  “Yes, I know. Jason—in the office—told me that when I arrived.”

  “That kid.”

  I waited for Larry to elaborate. He didn’t.

  “What about him?”

  “I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing here. He ought to have an internship at Mer
rill Lynch or Ernst & Young. Then we wouldn’t have to listen to how smart he is all day long.”

  “Internships don’t pay,” I pointed out. “I believe he’s working here because he needs the money.”

  “Yeah,” Larry agreed sardonically. “I guess there’s a lot of that going around.”

  “Jason was feeling pretty insecure after Steve Pine died. He was afraid Candy might cut back and he’d lose his job.”

  “Summer help.” Larry shrugged. “What can you expect?”

  This guy was a prize. If a problem didn’t relate directly to him, he didn’t want to know about it. I decided to steer the conversation in a more personal direction.

  “So I guess that means you weren’t concerned?”

  “For my job? Hell no.”

  Larry helped himself to another slug of beer. As he lowered the can, his eyes narrowed.

  “Unless you’ve heard something? Is that what this is about?”

  I shook my head. “I haven’t heard a thing. Well, except . . .”

  “Except what?”

  Larry turned the rest of the way around in his seat and straightened. I had his attention now. He even seemed to have forgotten that he hadn’t wanted to talk.

  “It’s just that I heard a story about a girl who got fired over something that didn’t seem very important. A groomer, maybe? I think her name was Shannon. So I guess that makes me wonder how secure anyone’s job is.”

  “Yeah, Shannon.” Larry frowned. “She got a raw deal all right.”

  “You knew her?”

  “Sure, I knew her. Still do. She and I are livin’ together.”

  “Oh,” I said, with what I hoped was a convincing show of surprise. “Then you must know all about what happened.”

  “Yup. I was here at the time. It was all a big fat fuss over nothing. Some snooty lady’s hussy fur ball came in for grooming and got herself bred instead. The bitch should have been spayed and she wasn’t. I don’t see how that made it Shannon’s fault.”

  “It does sound like she wasn’t to blame,” I said sympathetically.

  I wasn’t the best actress, but Larry wouldn’t notice. He wanted me to take his side.

  “It sounds like Steve’s reaction was way out of line,” I said. “How come he got so mad?”

  “That was Steve’s way. Everybody thought he was Mr. Sweetness-and-Light because that’s what he wanted people to think. But that was only as long as everything was going according to plan—his plan. Believe me, that guy had a temper on him. And when something came up that he didn’t like, he wasn’t afraid to use it.”

  Looking at Larry, who’d polished off his beer and was now easily crushing the can with his big hand, I wondered if the same could be said about him.

  “I guess you’ve probably known Steve for a while.”

  “You could say that. He and I grew up together. We met in middle school.”

  “And all these years later you ended up working together? What a coincidence.”

  “Not really. We’d stayed in touch over the years. Steve went away to some fancy college in New York, but we still saw each other whenever he was here. I started at UConn but found out pretty quickly that higher learning wasn’t going to be my thing. I wanted to be out in the workforce earning money, you know what I mean?”

  “Sure.” Right then, I’d have agreed to anything that would keep Larry talking.

  “When Steve got the idea to open this place, I was the first guy to come on board.”

  “What about Candy?”

  “She was family, that was different. Steve had to let her be a part of things. But he brought me in because he knew I could be a big help with what he was trying to accomplish here.”

  Larry’s version of events didn’t jibe with what I’d heard from other people. That didn’t particularly surprise me. It did, however, make me want to hear more.

  “It must have been hard the way things turned out,” I said. “You and Steve being old friends, and then you ended up working for him.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Larry said quickly. Then he stopped and reconsidered. “Well, maybe it was a little. Steve was the hometown boy who went away and made good. I was the hometown boy who just . . . stayed home. But when we had a chance to partner up on this deal—”

  I stopped and stared. “You and the Pines are partners? I didn’t realize that.”

  Larry looked uncomfortable. “Things didn’t exactly work out. We talked about going in together, but this land and all the improvements? That stuff doesn’t come cheap. Steve was looking for another investor, but . . .”

  “You didn’t have the money,” I guessed.

  “You got it. I told Steve I’d provide my share in sweat equity, you know what that is?”

  I nodded.

  “But that wasn’t good enough for Mr. Bigshot. He wanted some classy businessman with a big wallet. Some guy who could be convinced to hand over the dough and keep his opinions to himself.”

  “And did he find that guy?”

  “This place is here, isn’t it? It’s not like Steve and Candy had the start-up money to do this on their own.”

  So Pine Ridge has a silent partner, I thought. Yet another pertinent fact Candy had neglected to mention.

  “Who’d they bring in?” I asked. “Does the investor ever stop by to see how things are going?”

  “Sure. He comes by just about every day. Twice even. Once to drop off his dog and once to pick it up. His name is Roger Cavanaugh. Look down there at the last pen. See the big red-and-black dog? That’s his.”

  The big red-and-black dog was Logan, the Airedale who’d nearly bowled me over on my second visit to Pine Ridge. I remembered his owner too. He’d driven a Hummer and looked like a man with money. Score one for first impressions.

  I wondered if Steve had been annoyed at the way things turned out. Whether he’d resented the fact that the guy he’d brought in merely to shore up his finances was now around all the time—and maybe looking over his shoulder and second-guessing his decisions.

  In his stroller by the fence, Kevin was beginning to get restless. It was time for me to move on. I threw out one last question.

  “Are you sorry Steve Pine is dead?”

  Larry scowled. “What kind of thing is that to ask?”

  “Considering how he treated you and your girlfriend, it seems pretty fair.”

  “Fair? Give me a break. I’ll tell you the same thing I told the police. Steve and I were pals, buddies. Sure we had our differences at times, but we would have been friends to the end. And that’s the way it was.”

  It was a nice little speech. Pat, convincing even.

  And yet somehow I didn’t believe a word of it.

  19

  Larry’s mention of the police got me thinking. I wondered what Detective Minton and his cohorts were up to.

  Along with the rest of Stamford’s residents, I’d read about the aftermath of the murder in the local newspaper. I’d devoured articles written about the early stages of the investigation when the police had been filled with confidence that they would bring Steve’s murderer to justice within the week.

  But since then, nothing.

  Both the media and the authorities were being curiously silent. I couldn’t even find so much as a single update on how the investigation was progressing.

  I wondered whether Detective Minton was following the same trails I was. If he wasn’t, it would make sense for us to pool our information.

  I considered picking up the phone and calling him, but I hesitated. There was a good reason for that. The authorities and I have what might politely be called a checkered history.

  The problem—as I’ve learned from past experience—is that the police aren’t happy when other, nonauthorized people do their job for them. They’re especially annoyed when those people occasionally beat them to the punch.

  But here’s the thing. People—suspects, witnesses, interested bystanders—talk to me. People who wouldn’t dream of openin
g up to the authorities seem to find me much less threatening.

  Maybe it’s because I look like somebody’s mother. (Check.) Or maybe they think I look too dumb to put all the pieces together. (Go figure.) Or maybe they think that the things they say to me won’t get them into trouble. (Sometimes, but not always.)

  I’m not exactly sure why what I do works, but it does.

  Try explaining that to a police detective, however. In the past, my conversations with the authorities have tended to include phrases like “obstruction of justice” and “interfering with police business.” Which is why now I mostly try to keep a low profile.

  Still, it would be nice to know what they were doing to solve Steve’s murder—if only so that we didn’t have to cover all the same ground twice. Now that I have a new baby, I’m into all the timesaving measures I can find. Which left me conflicted about what to do.

  So I did what I always do in times of confusion—I called Aunt Peg.

  “Good morning!” she sang cheerfully into the phone.

  “You’re in a good mood.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? The sun is shining, the birds are singing . . .”

  Good Lord, I was talking to Pollyanna.

  “I need your advice,” I said.

  I figured that would put a halt to the flow of sugar-coated imagery, and it did.

  “Of course you do, dear. That’s what I’m here for. Where are you?”

  “I’m in the car,” I said. “I just left Pine Ridge and we’re heading home.”

  “We who? Is Kevin with you?”

  “He’s in the backseat.”

  “Put him on.”

  As you might imagine, that was a problem. Bear in mind, I’ve been known to put Poodles on the phone, so the fact that Kevin didn’t talk wasn’t the issue. Simultaneously accomplishing that maneuver and keeping my eyes on the road, however, was.

  “I’m driving,” I said, just in case she’d missed that fact earlier.

  “My, my, you are in a snit today, aren’t you? No wonder you need my advice.”

  “I am not in a snit.” Though the longer this conversation continued, the closer to snittiness I was beginning to feel. “I’m trying to figure out who killed Steve Pine.”