A Pedigree to Die For

by Laurien Berenson

  “I take it this isn’t a social call?”

  I glanced over at her, surprised. “What makes you say that?”

  “Give me some credit, Melanie. In all the years since you graduated from Divine Mercy, this is the first time you’ve ever been back. I’m assuming there must be a rea- ” son.”

  I looked at the tulips, the path, the sky—anywhere but at Aunt Rose—and tried to tell myself I didn’t feel guilty. It didn’t work. “You’re right, there is a reason. I need to talk to you about something important. It has to do with Uncle Max’s death.”

  “Go on.” Coming from Aunt Peg, it would have been an order. Rose, to her credit, simply sounded interested.

  “Aunt Peg seems to think that someone was in the kennel with Uncle Max the night he died, someone whose presence may have contributed to his death.”

  We’d been strolling amiably, but now Rose stopped mid-stride. Her face was pale with shock. “Are you saying Max was murdered?”

  I watched for a moment until Aunt Rose had her emotions firmly back under control. Like all the Turnbull women of her generation, she was made of stern stuff. “I’m saying that he wasn’t alone when he died, that his heart attack may well have been provoked. Aunt Peg asked me to come and talk to you about it.”

  “Why?”

  “As I understand it, you were very angry the last time you saw Uncle Max.”

  Rose’s features hardened. “Of course I was angry at Max. He was acting like an old fool.”

  “It seems he thought the same of you.”

  Instead of answering, Rose spun around and continued on down the path. The sudden movement took me by surprise, and I jogged several steps to catch up. For a moment, we walked side by side in silence.

  Finally Aunt Rose spoke. “Have you ever been in love?”

  Definitely a loaded question considering my situation in life and the church’s views on divorce. “I guess so,” I said slowly. “At any rate, I thought so once, when I was young.”

  “When I was young, I entered the convent. I thought I knew what love was, too. Not the physical love that most adolescents seem to experience these days, but something on a higher plane—a spiritual love, if you will.”

  Aunt Rose looked over to see if I was following what she’d said. When I nodded, she continued. Her tone was low, almost confiding. It was the voice one used for telling secrets—or making a good confession.

  “Looking back now, I realize that the calling I had for the church was tied up with many things, among them, duty and devotion, and the need to do what was expected of me. Of course at the time, I thought I knew what I was doing. I had no idea that I was simply too young and inexperienced to make such a momentous decision.”

  “Are you sorry?” I asked. Once again, I found myself wondering what it would feel like to devote the majority of your life to a belief, an ideal, only to find out later that you’d come up short. It was something I never wanted to find out firsthand.

  Aunt Rose, however, seemed surprised by the question. “Sorry? No, of course not. I’ve had a very full and rewarding life. It’s just that now, after meeting Peter, I realize that my vocation no longer lies within the convent walls. I’ve been content here all these years. When you don’t know what true happiness is, contentment’s quite a comfortable feeling. But now, for the first time in my life, someone’s taught me how to dream. Deep in my soul, I feel quite sure God wouldn’t ask me to turn and walk away.”

  “I see,” I said, and I did, perhaps even more than she knew. Perhaps I wasn’t the only one who’d been coasting along in neutral. Whatever opposition Aunt Rose might face from the rest of the family, she had my blessing all the way.

  “Mommy, Aunt Rose, look what I have!” Davey dashed around a corner in the path, his feet skidding on the loose gravel. His face was all smiles as he offered his gift. Clutched in a grubby, outstretched hand was a beautiful bouquet of fresh-picked tulips.

  “Oh no, Davey, you didn’t—” I stopped as I saw his face fall. “Honey, they’re beautiful, but you weren’t supposed to pick them. They belong here, in the garden.”

  “I suspect Sister Hibernia will not be pleased,” Aunt Rose said sternly. I looked up just in time to see her slip Davey a wink. Sly as a fox, my four-year-old son winked back.

  “Here.” Loyalties transferred in an instant, he snatched the flowers from beneath my nose and gave them instead to Rose. “They’re for you.”

  “Thank you, Davey.” Aunt Rose accepted the bouquet with suitable dignity. “I’m sure even Sister Hibernia would agree they’ll make a lovely decoration for the chapel. Is that all right with you?”

  Davey gave his assent and we went back inside. It wasn’t until Aunt Rose had arranged the tulips in a tall vase, then set the bouquet at the feet of a statue of the Blessed Virgin that I realized how deftly she’d managed to avoid the topic of Uncle Max’s demise. No sooner had I brought the subject up than I’d been very neatly sidetracked into a discussion of chances taken and chances lost. The only thing I’d learned was that, by Rose’s own admission, Uncle Max had tried to come between her and her dreams. I couldn’t help but wonder how far she’d have been willing to go to stop him.

  “How do you feel about dogs, Aunt Rose?” I asked as the three of us walked outside to the car.

  Rose smiled faintly. “I can’t say as I ever give them much thought one way or another. Why?”

  “One of Max’s Poodles was stolen on the night that he died. Whoever was in the kennel with Max took the dog with him with he left.”

  “You’re quite sure, then, that there was someone else there?”

  I nodded. “There has to have been. According to Aunt Peg, a very valuable dog is missing—”

  “Beau?”

  I stopped and stared. “What do you know about Beau?”

  “Only what Max told me,” Rose said with a shrug. “He was always going on about that dog, never cared a whit whether anyone was interested or not. And to turn down a blank check for him, well . . . ! I never heard of such idiocy in my life.”

  “Blank check?” I repeated, my thoughts spinning away in several directions at once. “Aunt Rose, what are you talking about?”

  Rose gave me a serene look, the one I’m convinced all nuns spend the first year of their novitiate perfecting. “You mean Peg didn’t mention Sam Driver?” she asked, satisfaction coating the smooth tones. “Isn’t that just like her, telling you just what she wanted you to know and no ” more.

  “Is there more?” I tried not to sound too eager, even as I cursed inwardly at Aunt Peg and her judicious omissions.

  Aunt Rose took her time about answering, waiting until I’d settled Davey into the passenger’s seat and closed the door. “There’s always more,” she said then. “You may find that your poking around is the quickest way to turn up things that are much better left buried where they are.”

  I was being warned, that much was clear. But about what?

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Perhaps that is God’s will.” Aunt Rose walked me around the car to the driver’s side.

  “Perhaps that’s a lot of bullshit.”

  Aunt Rose’s brow lifted ever so faintly, and all at once I felt like a fifteen-year-old who’d been brought before Mother Superior for a reprimand. “I don’t know why Peg sent you over here today, and to tell the truth I don’t really much care. I suspect she’s just trying to make trouble for me; she’s done it often enough in the past—”

  “Aunt Peg isn’t trying to make trouble for anyone,” I snapped. As far as I was concerned, that business about God’s will was a cheap shot. “All she wants is to get Uncle Max’s dog back: safe, unharmed, no questions asked.”

  “And she actually had the audacity to suggest that I might know something about it? That’s rich. I may be leaving the convent; it doesn’t mean I’ve taken leave of my senses. Stealing goes against the commandments, as I’m sure you well know. It’s a mortal sin.”

  For the first time in
a long time, my years of convent schooling stood me in good stead. “So is coveting thy neighbor’s goods,” I said as I climbed into the car. “Think about it.”

  Seven

  On the way home, Davey and I stopped at McDonald’s for Chicken McNuggets, chocolate milkshakes, and a large order of fries, which we shared. He was filled with animation, reliving in detail the highlights of his day. I ate my food in silence and let him hold the stage. One of the first things motherhood had taught me was to conserve energy whenever possible. By now, I was a master at it.

  Half an hour later, when the Volvo chugged into the driveway and stalled in the garage with what sounded like a sigh of relief, Davey’s internal clock had wound down as well. He was fast asleep in the back seat and never even stirred when I carried him upstairs and put him to bed.

  That done, I turned on the coffee maker, then went directly to the telephone. As far as I could see, my visit with Aunt Rose had accomplished little, other than to raise more questions. I could only hope that Aunt Peg was going to have the answers.

  “How’d it go? Did Rose tell you anything about the dog?” she asked immediately. Obviously it had never occurred to her that she was the one who had some explaining to do.

  “As a matter of fact, she did.”

  “She knows where he is then?”

  “No—at least not that she’s telling.” The light on the coffee maker began to glow. I poured myself a cup, added a dollop of milk from the refrigerator, then sat down at the table. “Aunt Rose claims she knows nothing at all about Beau’s disappearance, although I should mention that she guessed right away that he was the dog who’d been stolen. So apparently she knew enough about Max’s affairs to know where he was most vulnerable.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me one bit. Did you ask her where she was the night of the twenty-eighth?”

  “No.” I paused for another sip of coffee. “Somehow I just can’t picture Aunt Rose climbing over that fence to get inside the kennel. Besides, as far as I know, nuns aren’t allowed to come and go as they please—especially in the middle of the night.”

  “She could have gotten that priest to do it,” Aunt Peg argued. Clearly she was still enamored with her first suspect’s chances.

  “True, but then she wouldn’t need an alibi, would she?”

  Aunt Peg knew when she’d been bested. For a long moment she didn’t say anything at all. I gave silent thanks that it was a local call and used the time to drink more coffee.

  “So you think Rose was telling you the truth?”

  “Well, yes . . . I guess so.”

  “That’s hardly a glowing recommendation.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be. To tell the truth, I’m not sure what I think. It’s hard to judge someone you’ve known for years, especially when she’s a member of your own family. Besides, you know perfectly well that I was brought up to believe that the clergy were the next best thing to God. I may not like the attitude, but it’s ingrained pretty deep. I just don’t see how Aunt Rose could be involved and nothing she said changed my mind.”

  “Well.” Aunt Peg’s voice was huffy. “Then I guess I’ll just have to be satisfied with that.”

  “There was one other thing. . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Aunt Rose mentioned a man named Sam Driver. She seemed to think you would have told me about him.”

  “Oh.” The single syllable spoke volumes.

  “Well?”

  “Actually, it’s a little embarrassing.”

  “I’d be embarrassed, too, after an oversight like that. Did he really offer Max a blank check?”

  “Well, yes . . . but that’s not the embarrassing part.”

  “Oh no?” After the awkward position Aunt Peg had put me in that afternoon, a gleeful chuckle would have suited my mood perfectly. I settled for a silent smirk instead. “What else did he do?”

  “Maybe I should come over and we’ll talk about it in person.”

  “Now? Tonight?”

  “Melanie, dear, it’s only eight-thirty. The night is young, as they say.”

  “Only for people who don’t have four-year-olds.”

  Aunt Peg ignored the comment as I’d known she would. She made good time in her souped-up station wagon. Even allowing for the stop she’d obviously made, it was only just after nine when she arrived.

  “Doughnuts,” she announced, thrusting the bright pink box into my hand. “I’ll require a pot of tea and a napkin, and then you may ask me anything.”

  As she stepped into the hall, I realized she wasn’t alone. A black Standard Poodle bitch stood at her heel, eying with polite interest the box I now held. This one wasn’t in show trim, which meant that she had a short blanket of dense curly hair covering her entire body. But beyond recognizing that, she might have been any one of the Poodles I’d met earlier.

  “Simba,” Aunt Peg said, following the direction of my gaze. The Poodle looked up happily at the mention of her name. “Don’t worry, she won’t be a bother. You don’t have any cats, do you?”

  I shook my head. As children, Frank and I had always wanted a pet, but my mother’s wishes had prevailed. She said that cats were never home and dogs peed in the house. The discussion had ended there. Aside from telling Davey that he couldn’t have a dinosaur, I hadn’t thought about getting a pet in years.

  I reached down a tentative hand. The Poodle sniffed my fingertips, then leaned into an ear scratching. “Doesn’t she like cats?”

  “Simba likes them fine. I’m the one who worries. This time of year, houses with cats often have fleas. With all the dogs I have in hair, I have to be very careful.”

  “Oh.” I wondered if my housekeeping was being insulted and decided it probably was. Since Simba was still watching the box, I lifted the edge of the lid to peer inside. No dog treats as I’d half-suspected, only the promised doughnuts. A full dozen, at least. Judging from the amount of food Aunt Peg seemed to pack into her svelte, size-eight body, people who were just shy of six feet didn’t have to worry about their weight. Unfortunately the same couldn’t be said for me. The more time we spent together, the tighter my clothes seemed destined to feel.

  “Jelly and glazed,” said Aunt Peg. Her hand positioned itself between my shoulder blades and aimed me toward the kitchen. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

  I took her at her word and provided tea and a napkin. Plates would only have to be washed later anyway. “Tell me about Sam Driver,” I said when we’d gotten settled at the table, with Simba lying underneath. “Who is he, and what does he have to do with Beau?”

  Aunt Peg flipped open the box and took her time selecting a doughnut. Like Poodles, they all looked alike to me. I reached in and grabbed the first one that came to hand. No doubt something basic about our different approaches to life had been revealed. As an unemployed, divorced, single parent on the trail of a dog I’d never even seen, I didn’t dare think about what.

  “Quite simply put,” said Peg, “he’s a man who’s shown an inordinate amount of interest in acquiring the dog.”

  “The other night you said you’d been offered twenty thousand dollars—and Rose said something about a blank check . . . ?”

  “That was Sam on both counts. Over the last couple of months, he tried to buy the dog from us several times.”

  I took a large bite and chewed slowly. The cake was light and spongy, the jelly cloyingly sweet. I was in heaven. “Why didn’t you tell me about him before?”

  “Before what? Before I set you after your saintly Aunt Rose, or before she had a chance to mention it first?”

  “Both.” I swallowed and immediately went back for more. Talking with my mouth full was getting to be a habit. “You have to admit, it’s a bit odd. Most people, faced with two possible suspects, would tend to think the worst of the stranger first.”

  “Most people,” Peg stated imperturbably, “don’t know Rose.”

  It was easy to see that line of questioning wasn’t going to get me anywhere. “A
ll right, the method may have been roundabout, but at last we’ve arrived at the mysterious Mr. Driver. Would you please explain how the man could possibly be a source of embarrassment?”

  Aunt Peg sighed. “Perhaps chagrin is a better word. You see, if Sam Driver is the man behind this mess, then I’m afraid I may have only myself to blame.”

  “Keep going.” I was happy to let her do all the talking. It made eating easier.

  “I’ve met Sam, of course, but I wouldn’t say that I know him well. Apparently he’s been breeding and showing Poodles in Michigan for the last five years. He came east in February for the Westminster Dog Show. That’s when he saw Beau, and that’s when he made his first offer. He’s a very polite man, and rather well-spoken. Looks a bit like Mel Gibson, to tell you the truth—”

  I choked on an unexpected laugh. “Aunt Peg, what would you know about Mel Gibson?”

  “My dear girl, I may be old but I am not dead.”

  It was amazing how neatly both feet could fit into a mouth that was already full. I busied myself with slipping Simba a bite of my doughnut.

  “You’ll teach her to beg if you do that,” Aunt Peg said, but she didn’t sound entirely displeased. “Anyway, after Max turned Sam down at Westminster, we both just assumed that would be the end of it. Then, a few weeks later, the letters began arriving. He told us all about his breeding operation, his plans for the future, and what a good home he could offer Beau. When that didn’t work, the phone calls started.”

  Aunt Peg frowned. “He seemed to have targeted me, you see. After all, it wasn’t hard to see that Max was rather a fanatic where that dog was concerned. I’m sure Sam figured out that if someone was going to listen to him, it had to be me. Toward the end, we spoke rather frequently.”

  “When did he offer Max a blank check?”

  The frown deepened. “Less than a week before he died. I’d told Sam already that it was no use, but he wouldn’t listen . . .”