A Pedigree to Die For

by Laurien Berenson

  “Yes, please,” Davey said firmly.

  At least he’d remembered to say please. I held onto that thought as Davey snatched the lollipop out of Peter’s hand, ripped off the paper, and retreated to the window seat with his prize.

  “You’re a hit,” I told Peter, and his smile was genuine.

  “I like kids. They’re usually pretty direct about how they feel. I like that, so I’m going to try some directness myself.”

  Frank and I shared a glance, wondering what was coming.

  “I love your Aunt Rose,” said Peter. “Now as I’m sure you can see, neither one of us is as young as we used to be. We saw what we wanted, and we’re going to go after it. I hope you approve of that. If you don’t, I hope you keep your objections to yourself. We’re not hurting anybody, and we’re making each other happy.”

  He paused to drape an arm around Rose’s shoulder fondly. “It’s great if you can share in that happiness with us. If not, don’t rain on our parade.”

  Well, that laid it on the line. By the time the sermon was finished, I was having trouble keeping a straight face. Even Aunt Rose was looking a bit nonplused. Maybe she hadn’t known until that moment just how well she’d chosen.

  “Jesus!” Frank said under his breath, then we all were laughing together.

  I stood up, went over, and gave Peter a hug. “Welcome to the family. I can see it’s going to be interesting having you around.”

  “Around,” Aunt Rose clarified, “but hardly underfoot. Peter’s been offered a teaching post at Connecticut College. We’ll be moving to New London before the start of the new fall term.”

  Rose gave her fiancé’s arm a squeeze. She was glowing, she was so proud. And of course that had to ease the financial worries as well.

  “I think this calls for a celebration,” Frank said, rising. “I don’t have any champagne. Will wine do?”

  We decided it would.

  “Beer,” said Davey. “That’s what I like to drink.”

  Peter had the startled look of a man who’s just discovered he doesn’t know children nearly as well as he thought he did. Rose merely lifted a complacent brow.

  “It’s a long story,” I told them.

  “You’ll have grape juice,” Frank said to Davey, and the two of them headed off to the kitchen to negotiate.

  When they were gone, I turned to Aunt Rose. “Would you answer a question for me?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Why do you and Aunt Peg hate each other so much?”

  She was surprised by the question, I could tell. But that didn’t hurt her ability to block and parry. “Hate is a very strong word—”

  “Call it what you will,” I interrupted. “But as someone who’s gotten caught in the cross fire, I think I deserve to know.”

  Rose was wavering. It was Peter who tipped the balance. “I think I’ll go join the men in the kitchen,” he said, dropping a quick kiss on Rose’s cheek. “Take all the time you need.”

  Both of us watched him leave. “He’s a special man,” I said.

  Rose nodded. “I’m very lucky. Blessed, in fact. So maybe it is time to put all this other unpleasantness behind us once and for all. Peg and I first met under what I would not have called the best of circumstances.”

  “Was this when she was engaged to Uncle Max?”

  “Yes,” said Rose, then dropped the bombshell. “And pregnant.”

  Pregnant? I’d never had a cousin, never even heard of one.

  “In those days what they were doing was called living in sin. I’m afraid I was a bit rigid in my thinking then, as the young often are.”

  “But what happened . . .”

  “She lost the baby in childbirth,” Rose said quietly. “And with it her ability to have any other children. I said some things then that I never should have. My only excuse is youth, and perhaps an overabundance of religious zeal. I told her that what had happened was a sign of God’s displeasure. His revenge, if you will, for the immoral way she had conducted herself.”

  No wonder mayhem ensued every time these women were in the same room. If words were daggers, they’d have killed each other long since.

  “Peg thinks you were jealous of her,” I said.

  “Perhaps I was, a little. I do know I didn’t think she was good enough for Max. Of course I’ve grown up since then. I’ve even made some efforts at rapprochement. But Peg is a hard woman.”

  “So are you.”

  Rose gave me a mild look. “Need I say it runs in the family?”

  I swallowed heavily, remembering the way I’d put her off earlier. There were enough rifts in the Turnbull family without my adding to them. I moved over and sat next to her on the couch.

  “I’m outspoken,” she said firmly. “It’s the way I am. Peg hasn’t forgiven me after all these years. If you have the same capacity for carrying a grudge, please bear in mind I’m not getting any younger.”

  “All right,” I said, laughing. “I forgive you.”

  “That’s better.” She sat up and looked around. “Now didn’t someone promise me some wine?”

  We talked the rest of the afternoon away, then all went out and took a walk around the beach at Todd’s Point. Frank ordered Chinese food for dinner, and the evening’s entertainment evolved into a wicked game of Charades. Davey was on my team. His enactment of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof was the hit of the evening.

  If only the rest of my life could go as smoothly. The next morning the first thing I did was call Crawford Langley. No one answered, and I didn’t leave a message on the machine. Aunt Peg had told me that this was a big weekend—four prestigious dog shows in a row, culminating in Westchester on Sunday. Everyone who was anyone would be there.

  The Friday show was in Tarrytown. I decided to drop Davey at camp, then drive over and see if I could talk to Crawford in person. It was a good idea in theory, except that as soon as I got to camp, Emily grabbed me to sub.

  After camp we had a birthday present to shop for. Joey Brickman was turning five, and his mother had planned a late afternoon party including a movie with pizza and cake afterward. I tried Crawford again before taking Davey to the party, but he wasn’t back yet.

  I suppose I could have gone home and tried again after dropping Davey off, but to tell the truth, I just didn’t feel like it. Alice Brickman expected me back at seven-thirty. Until then I was on my own, with nothing planned and nowhere I had to be. It was a beautiful late summer evening—much too nice to be indoors. I decided to take a drive.

  Ever since I got my license as a teenager, I’ve loved to get in the car and just go. The experience is part escape, part pacifier. I can make plans, daydream, or simply drift. I never start with a destination in mind. Sometimes I drive in a big circle and don’t go anywhere at all. And sometimes my subconscious takes over and pilots me exactly where it wants to go.

  At least that was the only way I could explain how it was that I happened to find myself in Redding.

  Once I was there, it was pretty obvious what I was going to do next. If I’d had a phone in my car, I might have called and announced myself. But I didn’t; so instead I simply drove up Sam’s driveway, parked my car, walked up to his front door, and made a fool of myself.

  It didn’t start out that way. I knocked and Sam answered the door. The jeans, unfortunately, were gone. Instead he was wearing twill slacks and a chambray shirt the same color as his eyes. I wondered if he’d shown one of his Poodles over in Tarrytown earlier and figured eventually I’d get around to asking. For the moment, I was happy just to stand there and smile.

  “Melanie, hi.” His gaze darted back over his shoulder, then returned. “What a surprise.”

  “I was in the neighborhood,” I said brightly. “I hope this isn’t a bad time?”

  There was just the slightest moment of hesitation before he answered. “No, of course not. Come on in.”

  I’d started to when a woman’s voice came floating out of the kitchen. “Sam, where do you keep the basil?”


  “Bottom drawer in the refrigerator, on the left.”

  I hate it when I blush. I don’t do it often, and when I do, it annoys the hell out of me. Now, in an instant, I could feel the heat coming on.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, fumbling. “Obviously, you’re busy—”

  “No, it’s all right—”

  “Sam, I can’t find the fresh stuff. How about dried?”

  The woman I’d heard came walking out of the kitchen. She was tall and blond with drop-dead legs and the kind of knit jersey dress they sell in the Victoria’s Secret catalogue.

  I had a small dab of finger-paint on the front of my shirt, courtesy of camp, and was wearing shorts from L.L.Bean. Just so you get the picture.

  “Susan Lewis,” said Sam. “Meet Melanie Travis.”

  Susan flashed me a friendly smile and something clicked in my mind. I’d seen her before, though I had no idea where.

  “Nice to meet you,” she said. “Don’t mind me. I’ll be in the kitchen, making do.”

  Before Susan had even left the room, I was already backing toward the door. At some point Sam must have closed it behind me because now I ran right into it. I reached around and fumbled for the knob.

  “Look, I’m really sorry. I never should have stopped by like this. It was a stupid idea—”

  “It wasn’t a stupid idea.” Sam followed me out onto the step. “And you don’t have to leave.”

  I stared at him as if he were crazy. “Of course I do.”

  “First, tell me why you came.”

  What was I supposed to say to that? Because I was hoping we might spend some time together? Hardly.

  “Your water’s boiling,” Susan called from the kitchen. “Do you want the pasta in?”

  It’s too bad I was one of the involved parties. Otherwise I might have found the expression on Sam’s face to be almost comical.

  “Look,” I said firmly, “I didn’t mean to intrude and I’m out of your hair, right now.”

  If I’d gone down those steps any faster, I’d have fallen on my face. Then it would have had a reason for being so red.

  “I’ll call you,” said Sam.

  Yeah, right.

  Twenty-five

  I could have headed home, but then I would have had plenty of time to dwell on what had just happened. Distraction seemed like a better idea. I drove west instead and made my second unannounced visit of the evening at Bedford Farm, Crawford Langley, Prop.

  Langley seemed just as surprised to see me as Sam had been. But at least he was alone. He opened the door in stocking feet, carrying a glass filled with two fingers of scotch, neat. The nightly news was playing in the background.

  Before I could introduce myself, he cocked his head slightly to one side and said, “Travis.” Then a moment’s thought produced a first name. “Melanie. You’re the lady with the bitch.”

  “Yes. How nice of you to remember.”

  He frowned slightly, peering around behind me. “Don’t tell me she’s in season now.”

  “Oh no, nothing like that. Actually I’ve been trying to reach you on the phone. I was hoping we could talk.”

  “I guess.” He stepped aside so I could come in. “But I’ve just gotten back from a show, and I have another tomorrow, so it can’t take long.”

  Langley switched off the television set, then paused next to a bar cabinet holding a selection of tumblers and bottles. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Coke?”

  While he was pouring, I got straight to the point. “The last time we met, I wasn’t entirely honest with you.”

  “Oh?” He handed me the glass and we both sat.

  “I am looking for a stud dog, but I had a particular dog in mind. My aunt is Margaret Turnbull. I’ve been trying to track down the whereabouts of her dog, Beau.”

  For the second time, I’d succeeded in surprising him. “And you suspected I’d taken him?”

  “At the time, I thought there might be a possibility. Of course as soon as I saw your dog, I knew I was wrong.”

  “About that dog. I have others as I’m sure you know. Is that why you’re here?”

  “No.” There didn’t seem to be any way to say this nicely, so I didn’t even bother to try. “I’m here because I want to know what your relationship is with Tony Wass- ” erman.”

  “I don’t see that that’s any of your business.”

  “You’re right,” I admitted. “It isn’t. But I’ve spent the last two months trying to find a dog that doesn’t seem to be anywhere, and one of the few things I have managed to discover is that Peg’s next-door neighbor, who claims to have neither seen nor heard anything the night Beau was stolen, is very probably hiding something. If you know what that something is, I want you to tell me.”

  Crawford stared down at the tumbler in his hand, shifting it from side to side so the amber liquid swirled in the light. “I’ve always admired the Cedar Crest Poodles,” he said finally. “Your aunt is a fine woman.”

  “Then you’ll help me?”

  “I couldn’t help you even if I wanted to. I’d heard that one of Peg’s dogs was missing, but I have no idea where he is.” He stood up and walked over to the bar. “I’m afraid you’ve come here for nothing.”

  No, I’d gone to Sam’s house for nothing. Perhaps if that experience hadn’t been so fresh in my mind, I would have backed down. But that would have meant that my entire evening had been a waste of time; and I was just irritated enough by the way things were turning out not to let that happen. I had a hunch about what the two of them were hiding, and I played it.

  “You and Tony are . . . involved, aren’t you?”

  Langley turned slowly to face me. “What a quaint way of putting it.”

  “All right then.” If he wanted me to spell it out, I supposed I could manage. “Having an affair.”

  Crawford sipped at his drink. A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “It was much more than that.”

  “Was?”

  “Was . . . is. Who knows? I’ve never been one for static relationships.”

  I thought back furiously. “Doris said she and Tony had never been to a dog show.”

  “Quite right, I’m sure.”

  “Then how did you meet?”

  “At Max and Peg’s, of course. Isn’t it ironic? They had a party several summers ago, and fate stepped in. Tony took one look at me and fell like a ton of bricks.”

  “What about Doris?”

  “Ah yes.” Crawford sighed. “There was that little complication. At first it didn’t seem to matter. Tony was . . . motivated, shall we say, and he proved very adept at juggling.”

  “And now?”

  “Now it’s gotten to the point where Doris barely lets him out of her sight. I can’t imagine why he puts up with it, but I certainly don’t have to. I’ve told Tony it’s over. Several times, in fact. But then he pleads for another chance and, well . . .” His voice trailed away as he readdressed his scotch.

  I thought about what he’d said. It answered everything except what I needed to know. “What does this have to do with Aunt Peg’s dogs?”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Nothing. The only reason Tony is so angry about those Poodles is because when he’s sitting at home with dull, stolid Doris, their barking reminds him of me.” Langley smiled. “It’s not hard to imagine where he’d rather be.”

  He stood, and I figured my time was up. On the way to the door, I tried one last question. “I heard that you do some showing in Canada. Were you up there this year?”

  “No. I used to go because one of my clients enjoyed it. Now that his account is gone, I don’t bother.”

  “Which client was that?”

  “A man named Jack Berglund.” He drew the door open, and I found myself being inched out. “You may have run into him at the shows.”

  “I have. Do you know if he went up north this year?”

  “You’d have to ask him,” Langley said shortly. “I do
n’t keep up with anything Berglund does anymore.”

  I started to thank him, but the door closed in my face. Obviously it was not my night for graceful exits.

  Back in the car, I drove like crazy and managed to get to Stamford just as the birthday party was ending. Alice Brickman was standing at the front door, greeting the returning parents with palpable relief. She had green icing in her hair and a pizza stain on the front of her shorts. Her front hall was mostly intact, but the family room looked as though Sherman’s army had marched through recently.

  “How’d it go?” I asked when the rest of the group had gone.

  “It’s over,” Alice said with a survivor’s grin. “That’s all that matters.”

  “Do you know you have icing in your hair?”

  She stopped at the hall mirror, poking at the sticky clump with a shrug. “That’s the least of my problems. I also have an exploded juice box in the microwave and Legos in my VCR. None of which I plan to worry about in the immediate future. After running around nonstop for the last three hours, I think I’ve earned a cigarette and a cup of coffee.”

  Joey and Davey were in the family room with a pile of new toys which was big enough to keep them occupied for at least a while. Alice and I went into the kitchen. She lit up and I started the coffee maker.

  We’d met at a neighborhood play group when our sons were less than a year old and formed an immediate bond. Alice’s husband, Joe, was a lawyer in town who worked long hours and left the child raising to her. Joey’s fourteen-month-old sister, Carly, was upstairs asleep. Not unexpectedly, Joe was nowhere in sight. The thought of twelve four- and five-year-olds taking over his home had been enough to keep him in the office until after everything was finished.

  “I should be cleaning up,” Alice said as I poured the coffee and served us each a cup. Good intentions notwithstanding, she made no move to rise.

  “Later.” I sank down beside her. “I’ll help. It’ll only take half the time.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Of course not,” I agreed. “Just like you didn’t have to drive to White Plains to pick me up the last time my car died.”