A Pedigree to Die For

by Laurien Berenson

  That shut her up. We’d been covering each other’s backs for years. Now Alice needed some time to sit and unwind, and I was happy to do the same. After the evening I’d had, almost anything would have seemed like an improvement.

  We drank two cups each before deciding we were fortified enough to tackle the mess that awaited us. Alice scrubbed the microwave while I put the family room back together. I only had to shake the VCR twice to know that it was beyond my help. I unplugged it and recommended a trip to the repair shop. Joey and Davey both fell asleep in front of the TV.

  By the time I got Davey home and snuggled into his own bed, it was almost ten. Of course, thanks to those two cups of coffee, I couldn’t fall asleep myself. I put on my pajamas and climbed into bed, but the book I’d left on my nightstand didn’t hold my interest. Instead I found myself thinking about Crawford Langley and Tony Wasserman. Then I added Randall Tarnower to the mix. And Jack Berglund, who liked to show his Poodles in Canada . . .

  I thought about them all for a good long time and finally the pieces began to fall into place. It was like a crossword puzzle; one right answer made the next one come that much more easily. And when I remembered the phone conversation I’d had with Janet Reavis, I knew I was headed in the right direction.

  She’d told me she’d gone to visit a breeder, but hadn’t been able to see any puppies because two stud dogs had gotten into a fight. She wanted to find someone closer so she wouldn’t have to drive all the way to Litchfield again.

  Jack Berglund lived in Litchfield.

  When I’d visited him, he’d told me he only had one stud dog—Ranger, the Poodle I’d come to see. A Poodle he was very high on. A Poodle he’d just acquired and couldn’t wait to breed. So where had the second dog come from?

  I reached for the phone and dialed Aunt Peg.

  It rang three times before she picked up, and then she didn’t sound too happy about it. “Do you know what time it is?” she demanded.

  “No.”

  “Well then I’ll tell you. And bear in mind that I’m reading from the clock beside my bed. It is after midnight.”

  “Aunt Peg, listen. I’m sorry I woke you up, but there’s something we need to talk about. I think I might know where Beau is.”

  “Where?” Aunt Peg was instantly awake.

  I told her about my visit to Langley’s place, the conversation I’d had with Janet and the connections I’d been making since. This was good stuff; the first real lead we’d had. I thought she’d be thrilled, but when I finished speaking there was only silence.

  “Aunt Peg, are you awake?”

  “Unfortunately. Melanie dear, am I getting this straight? You got me up in the middle of the night to tell me that you think Jack Berglund might have had a dog fight and by the bye, he’s the type of person who could conceivably have Canadian change in his pocket?”

  Put that way, my ideas didn’t sound nearly so impressive.

  “Yes, I guess so.”

  “That’s what I thought. I’m going back to sleep, and I suggest you do the same.” The telephone clicked down with finality.

  All in all, it was just not my day.

  Twenty-six

  Aunt Peg showed up on my doorstep at eight o’clock the next morning, carrying half a dozen cinnamon buns as a peace offering. Davey, who loves surprises, launched himself into her arms and asked if she wanted to see his new pet frog. They trooped upstairs together while I put the cinnamon buns on a plate. Upon their return, Davey helped himself to two, one for his mouth and one for his pocket, then went outside to play.

  “That child needs a proper pet,” Aunt Peg said.

  “Like a puppy?”

  “Precisely.”

  No surprises there. “Aunt Peg, why are you here?”

  “We have to talk. Last night I was asleep when you called, and the whole point you were trying to make went right by me.” She eyed the buns for the moment, then made her selection. “But you know how it is when you start thinking about a problem just before you fall asleep? Your mind works on it the whole night. When I woke up this morning, I realized that not only has Jack Berglund seen and admired Beau, but he also might have a motive for wanting to acquire him.”

  Even though I’d just finished a bowl of bran cereal and skim milk, watching her tuck into that cinnamon bun made my stomach grumble. I gave in and went and got another plate.

  “That’s the part I don’t understand. Jack’s obviously got money. And more importantly, he has a top winning line of Poodles himself. Why steal from yours?”

  Aunt Peg took her time breaking off a piece of roll and buttering it. “Did he tell you he’s no longer with Crawford Langley?”

  “Both of them did. I gathered there was no love lost either way. Is that important?”

  “I think so. And if you don’t mind waiting while I make some phone calls, I’d like to check it out.”

  I went outside and found Davey in the backyard. We kicked around his soccer ball for almost half an hour before Aunt Peg came to the door and called me back in. She was holding a pad of paper on which she’d taken some notes. From the look on her face, I’d say their content pleased her quite a bit.

  “I’ve been talking to Anna Barnes,” she said. “I was going to call Crawford directly, but of course he’s off at the shows. Anna did just as well. She may not be much of one for gossip, but she knows everything. Crawford’s handled her Poodles for years, and once I explained what we were after she was happy to help out.”

  We both found seats at the table. Two sticky buns remained on the plate in the middle. I figured we’d split them before long.

  “One thing I didn’t need Anna to tell me,” Peg began. “It’s common knowledge that the Shalimar line has been going downhill for quite some time. Too much inbreeding I would suspect, or perhaps just not enough thought going into the choices he’s made.

  “At any rate, Crawford Langley had been handling Jack’s Poodles for almost twenty years, up until last summer. According to Anna, his account had always been a bit behind. Sloppy bookkeeping, he blamed it on.”

  I nodded, picturing the all-but-useless filing system.

  “But things had been getting worse and worse, and a year ago they came to a head. The account was way overdue, and when Crawford demanded to be paid, Jack said he wanted to dispute some items on the bill. He claimed that the charges were entirely too high, and Crawford blew his top. You know how he is, he takes himself very seriously.

  “The next thing Anna knew, Jack’s dogs were gone. Everyone just assumed that he’d move them to another handler, but he didn’t. Instead he took them home, and he’s been showing them himself ever since. And doing a godawful job of it, if you ask me.”

  “Are you trying to say you think he didn’t have the money to go to another handler?”

  “I’m considering the possibility.”

  Even though Jack Berglund had been my idea in the first place, I still found myself shaking my head. “It doesn’t make sense. There’s got to be money there. The house alone must be worth a fortune.”

  “It could be mortgaged,” Aunt Peg pointed out. “And maybe more than once. I’ve heard that Jack’s money came from family wealth, and not anything he was smart enough to earn on his own. Oh, he made a stab at working for a while. I told you, he and your father were at the same firm at one point.”

  “Yes, you did.” I frowned, remembering. “You also said there’d been some sort of a problem. Something about junk bonds?”

  “I never knew the details, but I did know that Michael and Jack went in together on some sort of scheme. Jack promised your father it would go through the roof, but instead the opposite happened. I believe a good deal of Nana’s money was lost on just that one deal.”

  A deal that had precipitated my father’s decline. Jack Berglund had succeeded in taking advantage of my family once. Had he now returned to try it again?

  “By taking Beau,” Aunt Peg continued, “Jack could kill two birds with one stone. Fir
st, the dog’s stud fees generate a healthy income. And second, and perhaps just as important for a man who enjoys winning the way he does, on the strength of Beau’s producing ability his line’s reputation is restored.”

  “I have to go back to Shalimar,” I decided.

  Aunt Peg nodded. “You need to see the dog there. Either that or we’ve got to come up with some solid proof that he is there.”

  “What if I call and ask to see Ranger again?”

  “You’ve done that already. We need something else.”

  “How about puppies? Didn’t you tell me that the value of a stud dog is determined by what he produces? Suppose I ask Jack if his dog has sired any litters yet, and if he has, can I see them?”

  “Perfect,” Aunt Peg agreed. “Go call.”

  I did and found Jack Berglund at home. He told me that Ranger had sired one litter so far, which was now three weeks old. I set up an appointment to see them at the first mutually convenient time, which was Thursday afternoon.

  When I hung up, Aunt Peg was counting something off on her fingers. “Beau has been gone just long enough to have sired that litter. Oh, how I’d love to come and see them for myself.”

  “Could they be the proof we need?” I asked. “Are there any identifying characteristics I could look for in the puppies?”

  “If they were older, we might have a chance. But at three weeks they’re just too young for that sort of evaluation.” Aunt Peg popped the last piece of bun into her mouth. “Something we might do, though, is call Sam. I’d feel a whole lot better about this if he went up there with you.”

  The thought had crossed my mind, too, but I’d rejected it for all the obvious reasons. None of which I had any intention of telling Aunt Peg.

  “I’d feel better, too,” I said honestly. “But how would we explain what he was doing there? Jack would be bound to be suspicious, and then there’s no way I’d get anywhere near Beau.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Aunt Peg said unhappily. She hated having her plans fiddled with. “At least there’s one bit of good news.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It didn’t seem important until now, but I remember distinctly that the morning Randall Tarnower died, Jack Berglund was up on the Saratoga circuit showing his bitch.”

  “You saw him there?”

  “Saw him? I lost to him. I’d hardly be likely to forget that.”

  Well, that was heartening. I wasn’t confronting a murder, only a con man and a thief. What a relief.

  Thursday was a dismal, gray day. Rain, punctuated by the occasional grumble of thunder kept the Graceland campers inside all morning. I’d booked Joanie’s services early in the week, but her mom called at noon to tell me that my baby-sitter had the flu.

  I picked Davey up at one. After four hours of confinement, he was delighted by the prospect of heading off on an adventure. The ninety-minute car ride delighted him less; and it wasn’t long before he decided that a song was in order. He was on his twenty-third chorus of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” when we arrived.

  Despite the dreary backdrop of steady rain, the great stone house looked just as imposing as ever. Jack Berglund greeted us warmly at the door, looking only slightly askance when he saw Davey in his yellow slicker, standing beside me. To his credit, he recovered quickly. He asked how the ride had been and offered something warm to drink.

  Last visit I’d been content to linger in Jack’s company. This time I wanted to do what I’d come for and be gone. The manners that had seemed so charming before, I now found cloying. Jack didn’t frighten me, but he did make me angry. The less time Davey and I spent in his presence, the better.

  Of course knowing how I felt was all the more reason to watch what I did and said. If I was going to learn anything about Beau’s whereabouts, Jack had to be convinced that my motives were pure. Politely I declined his offer of refreshments. He donned his own slicker, and we headed out the back door and across the rain-drenched lawn.

  “Hey!” cried Davey, looking at our host with new respect. “You have you own swimming pool!” He slipped out of my grasp like a wet snake and ran on ahead.

  “Don’t go too close,” I called after him. The tiles around the pool looked slick and slippery. Davey stopped just short of the edge. He leaned over and peered down into the deep, clear water.

  “Back you go,” said Jack, grasping him firmly by the shoulder. “We wouldn’t want you to fall in.”

  “I can swim,” Davey told him proudly.

  “Of course you can,” I said. “But we’re here to look at Poodles.” He’d been carefully coached that he wasn’t to mention Aunt Peg or her dogs, and now I held my breath, praying that he’d remember. But Davey only shrugged, and we continued on to the kennel.

  Just inside the door, Jack paused. “Would it be all right with you if Davey waited out here? He could look at the pictures on the wall or go through and visit the older dogs, but I’d really rather he didn’t come into the nursery.”

  “Of course.” I understood his hesitation. Baby puppies were fragile. Aunt Peg hadn’t let him play with hers either. Besides, from my point of view, the less time he and Jack spent together, the less chance there’d be for any slip-ups. I looked at my son pointedly. “You’ll be happy here, won’t you, Davey?”

  “Sure.” A pile of brightly colored leashes caught his eye, and he wandered over to investigate.

  Jack went on ahead into the nursery to remove the dam so that she wouldn’t be upset by having a stranger in with her puppies. A moment later when he told me to enter, I caught only a glimpse of a chocolate brown hindquarter disappearing through a small door to the covered pen outside. He locked the door behind her, then motioned me over to a large, low-sided box in the corner of the room.

  Inside, ten tiny black puppies, with eyes just open, were scrambling over a furry sheepskin rug. Their source of warmth had just been removed, and it took them a moment to find another—the heating pad that lined one end of the box. Finally they all did, and piled in a heap.

  “They’re adorable,” I said softly, sinking down beside the box. “Can I hold one?”

  Jack reached in to disentangle one puppy from the heap. “Just be careful to support both ends.”

  I cradled the baby against my shirt, and it made a low, throaty rumbling sound before snuggling into the crook of my arm contentedly.

  Jack joined me on the linoleum floor, and together we leaned over the box. He scratched an ear here and tickled a tummy there, and pretty soon they were all up and moving around. Given the perfect opportunity to study the litter, I found out nothing except that Aunt Peg had been right. They were little and they were black. At that age, I couldn’t even have sworn they were Poodles.

  “It’s a very pretty litter,” Jack said, beaming like a proud father. “I’m sure Ranger will do just as well by your bitch.”

  “Speaking of Ranger, where is he? Doesn’t he ever get to come in and have a look at his kids?”

  Jack shook his head firmly. “In the first place, he wouldn’t realize they were his. And then there’s always the chance he might try to hurt them. Don’t worry, he’s perfectly happy back in his pen.”

  I laid my sleeping puppy back in with the others. “Ranger might not know what he’s done, but I think he should be very proud. Can we stop and give him a pat?”

  “Certainly.”

  We left the nursery and found Ranger in the same pen where he’d been before—the last one on the end. He leapt up to welcome us happily, and his excitement infected the rest of the kennel. Inquiring heads popped up on both sides of the aisle. I scanned the group quickly and felt a stab of disappointment. Ranger was the only young male dog in the room.

  Stalling for time, I leaned down to say hello to the stud dog. Just because Beau wasn’t in the kennel didn’t mean he wasn’t at Shalimar. Jack didn’t have any Poodles running loose in his house, but I supposed Beau could have been crated. And what about the garage? Perhaps now would be a good time to take Jac
k up on his offer of a warm drink. Once inside the house, I could plead the need to take Davey to the bathroom, maybe even convince him that now would be an excellent time for a game of hide-and-seek. All right, so I was planning to use my son shamelessly. What other choice did I have?

  Then Davey, in his own inimitable way, took the whole thing out of my hands. Jack and I heard the thin, high-pitched scream at the same time. It was followed by a loud splash.

  “Mommy!” Davey wailed as only he could. “Mommy, help!”

  Twenty-seven

  Davey, of course, had gone head over heels into the pool. What else would a four-year-old boy do for entertainment on a rainy afternoon? I was across the room and out the door in two steps. But despite my haste, I fully expected to see him paddling around happily. Davey makes his share of outrageous claims, but he does know how to swim.

  Unfortunately, I saw as I sprinted across the lawn, that knowledge wasn’t doing him any good. His arms had become entangled in the slicker’s wide sleeves, and now the cumbersome coat was filling with water, dragging him down. The water rolled around him as he thrashed in vain, trying to free himself. He wasn’t panicking yet, but it wouldn’t be long.

  I hit the water with a clean, flat racing dive which shot me straight across the surface and into my son’s arms. Judging by the look on his face, he was very glad to see me. He opened his mouth to speak, took in water, and began to cough.

  “Hang on,” I said, grasping him under the armpits. Not satisfied with that hold, Davey wrapped his short arms tightly around my neck and nearly took us both under. I kicked hard to keep us on the surface and hugged him to me. It wasn’t the best life-saving technique, but it was good enough to get the job done. With Davey clinging like a leech, I gave two good kicks to bring us within range of the pool’s concrete lip.

  Jack was pacing back and forth on the tiles, and I hoisted Davey up into his arms. “Are you okay?” he cried.

  “He’s fine.” I gasped, still lying half in and half out of the water as bursts of unused adrenaline shot through my body.