Doggie Day Care Murder

by Laurien Berenson

  “Still? I’d have thought you’d be done with that by now.”

  I sighed. Then counted to ten. After that, I figured I might pray for patience.

  I never got that far. By the time I reached the number eight Aunt Peg was back.

  “Are you still there?” she chirped.

  “I’m counting.”

  “How does that help?”

  “It keeps me calm,” I said.

  “Calm? What good is that? I thought you said you were trying to solve a murder. What you need is motivation, zip, get-up-and-go.”

  A pep talk, Aunt Peg style. Damn the torpedoes and full speed ahead.

  “That isn’t what I called for advice about.”

  “Oh well then, carry on. I’m all ears.”

  Rather than trying to navigate the Volvo while I laid out the details for Aunt Peg, I pulled off the road into a nearby garden shop. There was an empty parking space in front of a tiered row of shelves that were filled with brightly colored impatiens.

  As the car rolled to a stop, I opened all the windows. Now Kevin could look at the flowers while Aunt Peg and I talked.

  “As you can probably imagine, I’ve been talking to a lot of different people,” I began.

  “Suspects,” Aunt Peg said happily. She likes to get right to the point and there’s nothing she enjoys more than a good puzzle.

  “Well, yes . . . but mostly I’m still just gathering information.”

  “Such as?”

  “For one thing, Steve Pine was apparently quite a womanizer including having had flings with members of the staff and some clients.”

  “Any disastrous breakups?”

  “None that I’ve heard about so far.”

  “You might want to keep digging in that direction. Go on.”

  “Apparently Steve and Candy had a third partner in the business. A money man named Roger Cavanaugh. What’s interesting about that is that Candy never mentioned anything about him to me.”

  “Is this Mr. Cavanaugh happy with their partnership arrangement?”

  “I haven’t spoken to him yet. I’m hoping to do that this evening.”

  Before leaving the day care center earlier, I’d stopped back in the office and gotten Cavanaugh’s home address and phone number from the files. Jason had still been on duty, and luckily it hadn’t occurred to the teenager to question my request. He’d simply looked up the information and handed it over.

  “Another thing Candy never mentioned is that she and Steve had been arguing a lot recently. There were disagreements over money, as well as whose vision the facility should conform to.”

  “A rather intriguing omission,” said Aunt Peg. “I assume she stood to inherit the business from her brother. Does Candy possess a gun?”

  “She says no.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  I paused and thought. “Mostly. I guess so.”

  Not exactly a ringing endorsement but as much as I wanted to offer for the time being. “Speaking of guns, Madison, the receptionist at Pine Ridge, is an enthusiast.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “The first time I was there, she was sitting at her desk flipping through a gun magazine.”

  “Not the kind of employee likely to make the best first impression on incoming clientele.” Aunt Peg sniffed.

  “Agreed. Also there are other employees at Pine Ridge who are unhappy for one reason or another. One is Larry, the guy who does maintenance. He was a lifelong buddy of Steve’s—”

  “Who now finds himself in a subordinate position?”

  “Precisely. Not only that, but his live-in girlfriend was fired by Steve earlier in the year for letting a client’s Shih Tzu bitch get bred by accident, when she had been dropped off at Pine Ridge for grooming.”

  “Ouch,” said Aunt Peg. “Who was the other partner in crime? Not a Shih Tzu, I take it?”

  “Buster, the Beagle mix.”

  “Oh my. That does complicate things.”

  “And here’s another complication. The owner of the Shih Tzu in question had threatened retaliation. She blames Steve and Candy for ruining her lovely pet.”

  “She ought to blame herself for not getting the bitch spayed.” Aunt Peg has little patience with dog owners who don’t live up to their responsibilities. “Anyone else?”

  “Adam Busch, a disgruntled neighbor, and owner of one of the few residential properties remaining in the area. He’s convinced that the Pines are to blame for the downfall of his neighborhood.”

  “That’s quite a list.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “So who’s the guilty party?”

  In Aunt Peg’s world, things were always just that simple.

  “If I knew that,” I said, “I’d be talking to Detective Minton instead of you. Which brings me to my question.”

  “There’s a question? You should have started with that.”

  “I did. I told you I needed advice.”

  “So you did. Well, I’m all warmed up now. Shoot.”

  “Does any of this sound convincing enough to you that you think I should march myself down to the police station and have a chat with the guy in charge of the case?”

  Aunt Peg thought about that. I used the time to lean around and check on Kevin. He’d pulled off one of his socks and was entertaining himself by stuffing it into his mouth. It wouldn’t have been my first choice for oral gratification, but he seemed happy.

  “Let’s recap, shall we?” Aunt Peg said after a minute. “Steve and his sister didn’t always agree on the direction the business should be heading. Not all the employees at Pine Ridge are happy campers. Several clients appear to have had their differences with the Pines too. A neighbor, who should be angry at the zoning board, has instead directed his ire toward a more accessible target in his own backyard. That’s the sum total of the information you want to trot down to the police?”

  Put that way, it didn’t sound all that impressive. Aunt Peg’s sarcasm didn’t help either.

  “Umm . . . right.”

  “Do yourself a favor,” she said. “Don’t bother.”

  Well, that put me in my place. As I was sure it had been intended to.

  “Anything else?” Peg asked cheerfully.

  “No.”

  “Then put my new nephew on. I’ve been waiting long enough.”

  I reached around and handed Kevin the phone. He stared at it for a moment, then spit out the sock and aimed the new prize toward his mouth. I rescued it just in time and pressed the receiver to his ear.

  Aunt Peg was talking. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but Kevin gurgled happily in reply.

  After a minute, I took the phone back.

  “Still there?” I asked.

  “Kevin says he wants a Poodle of his very own,” Aunt Peg told me.

  “No, he didn’t. I was sitting right here.”

  “Do you understand everything he says?”

  “No, but—”

  “Trust me,” said Aunt Peg. “He wants a dog.”

  “We already have five.”

  “Then one more will hardly matter, will it?”

  I was so undone by that leap of logic that, for a moment, I couldn’t think of anything at all to say. Which gave Aunt Peg the last word.

  As usual.

  I spent the afternoon puttering around. Really, there’s no other word for it.

  I looked after Kevin and did some work in the garden. I went grocery shopping and stopped to pick up Davey from camp on the way home. While Sam put dinner together on the barbeque, I groomed Faith.

  Sad to say, my Poodles were looking pretty scruffy. Keeping up a Standard Poodle coat is a labor-intensive endeavor, but I’d always taken pride in my dogs’ appearances. As retired show champions, I figured they’d earned the right to be comfortable while still looking neat and well cared for. And that meant regular grooming—clipping, scissoring, and a bath and blow-dry—at least once a month.

  But Kevin’s arrival had
changed all that. Any schedule I’d formerly adhered to had quickly been thrown out the window. My “spare time” now consisted of minutes grabbed here and there. Long enough to sit down with a cup of coffee maybe, but not nearly enough time to do a Poodle coat justice.

  As it was, Faith got her face, her feet, and the base of her tail clipped. I brushed through her coat and did some minor reshaping. The bath would simply have to wait.

  After dinner, I told Sam I was going out for a little while.

  He lifted a brow. “Anywhere in particular?”

  “Faith and I are taking a walk. Can you watch the kids?”

  “Sure. Unless you want company. Then we’ll come along.”

  “Not this time. There’s a guy I have to see.”

  Sam cleared his throat. Tipped his head. Considered the situation. “Should I be worried?”

  “He has an untrained Airedale and a moustache,” I said. “And on top of that he drives a Hummer. What do you think?”

  Sam was convinced that everyone who drove a Hummer had an Arnold complex. So he got my point.

  “Plan to be gone long?” he asked.

  “I guess that depends how talkative Roger Cavanaugh feels. I need to ask him some questions about Pine Ridge. And I found out earlier today that he only lives about a mile from here. It’s a beautiful evening. I figured Faith and I would take a stroll over and see if he’s home.”

  “You don’t want to call first?”

  “And give him a chance to decline? No thanks.” I grinned. “I like the element of surprise.”

  Sam just shook his head. “You have your phone with you?”

  I patted my pocket.

  “Battery charged?”

  He knew me so well.

  I got out the phone and had a look.

  “Yup, we’re good.”

  Sam looked down at Faith. The Poodle gazed up at him adoringly.

  “You take care,” he said.

  Faith wagged her tail. It was a firmer promise than he would have gotten from me and Sam knew it.

  20

  I’d really like to think that I’m good at what I do, but the truth of the matter is, some days you just get lucky.

  It was, as I’d told Sam, a beautiful evening for a walk. There aren’t any sidewalks in the area of north Stamford where we live, but there’s ample room for strolling. The houses are set back from the road on spacious, tree-lined lots, and the streets see little traffic. It’s the kind of neighborhood where mothers can still send their children out to play on a summer night without worrying that something will happen to them.

  As Faith and I walked along the edge of the road past low stone walls and manicured hedges, we saw a couple kids in a yard eating ice cream and, farther down, two more tossing around a baseball. We also passed numerous loose dogs. A black Lab, a Boxer, and a mutt of indeterminate origin were all out investigating the evening’s sights and sounds.

  Faith knew better than to strain at her leash, but I did hear her whine softly. It had to be hard being the only dog who was required to behave when all the others in the vicinity were running free.

  So I debated. At that point, we’d been walking for ten minutes and not a single car had gone by. Not only that, but Faith was great at obeying voice commands. Even if we weren’t physically attached, I knew she wouldn’t stop listening to me.

  I reached down and unsnapped the leash. Faith looked up at me in surprise.

  “Go on,” I said. “Have some fun. Just watch out for cars and don’t get into any trouble.”

  With a delighted yip, the big Poodle flipped her tail high in the air and took off. Within seconds, she’d joined up with the Lab and the two of them were playing tag—scooting, running, and chasing each other from one large yard to the next.

  I’d paused to pull the paper out of my pocket and check Cavanaugh’s address when a third dog appeared to join the game. A series of short, mid-pitched barks alerted me to the new arrival and I looked up to find that the Airedale, Logan, now had Faith on the fly.

  For a moment I was tempted to call her back to my side. Then she feinted and ducked, spinning a quick circle that brought her up behind the other dog. Now it was her turn to chase and Logan’s to run.

  With her rounded topknot and pom-ponned tail, Faith might have looked dainty, but she was no wuss. In a game of canine give-and-take, she gave as good as she got. She caught up with Logan and gave him a strong nudge with her chest that sent him flying head over heels.

  The Airedale rolled in the grass and came up grinning. He caught his balance and shot back after her. The Lab, now panting heavily, saw his chance to pull out of the game and flopped down under a tree.

  I broke into a jog as Faith and Logan went barreling down the road together. Both dogs were drunk with the sheer delight of freedom and racing to see who was fastest. I knew that Faith would return to my side eventually, but in the meantime, I didn’t want to lose sight of her.

  Two houses up, the front door to a slate gray Georgian Colonial drew open. Roger Cavanaugh appeared in the doorway. He leaned out and looked both ways, up and down the street.

  “Hey, Logan, where are you? Time to come home, boy!”

  Good thing Aunt Peg wasn’t with me. Otherwise, Cavanaugh would have been in for a lecture on the dangers of letting a dog roam unattended. Fortunately, I could overlook such a transgression.

  He stepped outside onto a front walk that was lined with a riotous display of colorful spring flowers. The only way my garden was ever going to look that good was in my dreams.

  Last time I’d seen him, Cavanaugh had been wearing a suit. Now, while he still had on a button-down shirt, he’d opened the collar and rolled back the sleeves. Light wool trousers had been replaced by pleated shorts, and his feet were shoved into a pair of worn deck shoes.

  I’d imagined him as a man without a family. Otherwise, why would he leave his dog at day care? The spotless yard and the single car sitting in the driveway near the garage seemed to support my assumption. As did the fact that he was the one in charge of retrieving the recalcitrant Airedale.

  Cavanaugh spotted Logan and Faith as they shot across his neighbor’s lawn. He fitted his fingers to his lips and gave a loud whistle. The Airedale didn’t even lift an ear in response. Either he didn’t think the hail was intended for him or else he didn’t care.

  I increased my pace and was now running to catch up. With luck, pounds were melting away with every step.

  Cavanaugh saw me coming and walked out to the road to meet me. When I slowed to a walk ten feet away, I had a stitch in my side. Yet another reminder that my pre-pregnancy body was nothing more than a fond memory.

  The dynamic duo zigged and zagged across the street and began to lope figure-eights around a pair of tree trunks. Long pink tongues lolled from both their mouths. In another minute or two, they’d have succeeded in wearing each other out.

  “Is that your Poodle?” Cavanaugh asked.

  “Yes. If I call her, she’ll come. Will your dog follow?”

  “Who knows?” He shrugged. “Maybe. He’s a terrier. They have minds of their own.”

  Especially when their owners haven’t bothered to train them, I thought snidely.

  I checked both ways for cars. The road was still empty.

  “Faith, come!” I called.

  The Poodle’s head came up. She skidded to a stop. After casting a regretful look in Logan’s direction, she turned away and began to trot toward me.

  Having lost his running partner, the Airedale slowed his pace, then stopped too. He looked around, confused. Clearly, he was wondering what had brought his game to such a precipitous end.

  “Call him,” I prompted.

  Cavanaugh just stood there.

  “Go on,” I said. “Then when he comes you can tell him what a good dog he is.”

  “If he was a good dog,” he grumbled, “he would have come five minutes ago.”

  But he whistled again anyway, and after a moment’s hesitation, the Aire
dale scrambled to catch up with Faith. The two dogs crossed back to our side of the road. When Faith approached, I gave her an enthusiastic pat and snapped the leash back onto her collar.

  She wriggled with delight and pressed up against my side. Since Kevin was born, Faith and I haven’t spent nearly as much time together as we used to. I missed our walks and I was sure she did too.

  Cavanaugh, meanwhile, threaded his fingers through Logan’s sturdy leather collar. He hauled the Airedale to his side and pushed him into a sitting position. Then he looked up and stared at me thoughtfully.

  “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  “Pine Ridge,” I said. “We met there—briefly—a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Right.” He nodded. The crease in his brow eased. “That’s it. I knew you looked familiar. I don’t know whether it’s a curse or a blessing, but I never forget a face.”

  “Count yourself lucky. I have an aunt who’s not great with faces, but who never forgets a dog.”

  Cavanaugh laughed out loud. “That’s pretty funny. There’s something that would be a curse. Never forgets a dog, indeed.”

  He chuckled by himself for a full thirty seconds. I hadn’t realized I was that witty. Logan, meanwhile, took advantage of his owner’s distraction to stand up and wander away.

  “Sorry,” he said when he’d finally stopped, “but I don’t remember your name.”

  “Melanie Travis.”

  I would have introduced Faith, too, but he didn’t seem like the type to appreciate the gesture and I was afraid it might set off his laughter again.

  “Pleased to meet you. I’m Roger Cavanaugh. Some coincidence. I guess you must live around here?”

  “Not too far,” I replied. “Although our meeting tonight isn’t exactly a coincidence. I walked this way on purpose. I was hoping I might be able to ask you a few questions.”

  Cavanaugh went from jovial to wary in the blink of an eye. “Could be, I guess. It depends what they’re about.”

  “Pine Ridge Canine Care Center. And Steve and Candy Pine, and why Steve might have gotten himself killed.”

  Before I’d finished speaking, Cavanaugh was already shaking his head. “Just because I leave my dog there a couple times a week, I don’t know what makes you think I’d know anything about that.”