Live and Let Growl Read online

  Aunt Peg’s upcoming trip to Kentucky had nothing to do with me. Bertie, who was a professional handler, was also making the trip to the Midwest. With four back-to-back dog shows scheduled to take place in Louisville, and several clients whose dogs were looking for majors, she had entered a sizeable string to show. But with spring break starting in just two days—two whole weeks of vacation from my job as a special needs tutor at private Howard Academy—I was looking forward to nothing more strenuous than sleeping late and reading several good books.

  “Speaking of which,” said Aunt Peg, “while we’re on the subject, I have an announcement to make. . . .” She paused and looked around, waiting until she had our full attention.

  “Which subject is that?” asked Sam. “Kentucky?”

  “Judging,” Bertie guessed.

  “Cake,” Frank contributed, speaking with his mouth full.

  “Fish!” cried Kevin.

  “Horses?” I teased.

  “Bingo!” Aunt Peg turned and favored me with a small nod.

  Horses? That was a surprise.

  Clearly I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. The whole table fell silent with nervous anticipation. With Aunt Peg, you never knew which way the dice were going to roll. She might have wonderful news or it could be something truly alarming. I’d long since resigned myself to the fact that life with Aunt Peg meant existing in a semi-perpetual state of suspense.

  “As it turns out, my trip to Kentucky has come along at a rather fortuitous time,” she informed us.

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “I have an asset in central Kentucky that I need to take a closer look at.” Aunt Peg beamed at us all happily. “You are looking at the new owner of a Thoroughbred racehorse.”

  Chapter 2

  For a moment, nobody said a word. Instead we sat around the table in a state of stupefied silence. It wasn’t the first time Aunt Peg had succeeded in leaving us speechless, but it might have been the most unexpected.

  As the rest of us struggled to process that information, Davey turned to his little brother with a wide grin. “It looks like you’re in luck,” he said. “Aunt Peg just got a new pony.”

  “Not a pony,” Aunt Peg corrected firmly. “A racehorse. Albeit a retired one.”

  “Did he win the Kentucky Derby?” Frank asked eagerly.

  “No, she did not. Although I am given to understand that she did win several other races during her career.”

  “A career that’s now over,” I said carefully. “Right?”

  “I should hope so,” Aunt Peg replied. “The dear girl is fourteen. That’s forty-five in human years, in case you’d like to know. I went on the Internet and looked it up.”

  I suspected that was only the first of many things we would have to be researching in the near future.

  Sam finally found his voice. “A racehorse,” he said in a strangled tone. “How interesting. What precisely does a retired racehorse do?”

  “In this case, she becomes a broodmare,” Aunt Peg said with satisfaction. She loves having the upper hand in a conversation. “And she produces little racehorses.”

  “Foals?” Bertie’s eyes softened. My sister-in-law isn’t a sentimental woman, so I was surprised to hear her sigh with what sounded like maternal bliss. “Your racehorse comes with foals?”

  “Only one,” Aunt Peg replied. “And it hasn’t been born yet. She isn’t due until next month. In the meantime, however, I would like to meet my new broodmare. I also need to check out her living arrangements and make plans for her continuing care.”

  “But,” I sputtered, “where did she come from?”

  “Anthony Stone,” Aunt Peg said as if the name was supposed to mean something to us.

  We all stared at her blankly.

  Aunt Peg put down her fork, nudged her cake plate aside, and offered an explanation. “Anthony was a dear friend of my late husband, Max. A fascinating man, positively ingenious. Anthony was always interested in all kinds of unexpected things.”

  “Like racehorses apparently,” said Sam.

  “Precisely. When Max was still alive, he and I used to see Anthony quite often. But unfortunately in the intervening years since Max passed, Anthony and I have all but lost touch. I never received a Christmas card from him this year. I remember thinking that was odd. Even so, it came as a surprise to hear from his solicitor.” Aunt Peg stopped and sighed.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Anthony was such a vibrant man. The sort you think will live forever. But of course, he didn’t. Nobody does, do they?”

  Davey gazed at his great-aunt. “You will,” he said with all the confidence of youth. In his world, a life without Aunt Peg was unthinkable.

  “I should hope not,” she replied briskly. “I have no intention of overstaying my welcome. But back to Lucky Luna—”

  “Your horse’s name is Lucky Luna?” Frank asked. He was clearly biting back a laugh.

  “Indeed. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Frank. “Since it’s a racehorse I guess I was expecting something majestic like Secretariat or Citation.”

  “I think Lucky Luna is a fine name,” I said.

  “Suck up,” Frank muttered under his breath.

  I reached over and kicked him under the table as hard as I could manage. We all like to think that we outgrow our petty childhood rivalries but, in reality . . . not so much.

  Aunt Peg ignored us both. “Anthony explained in his will that he left Lucky Luna to me because he was certain that my extensive background in dog breeding would ensure I was well equipped to deal with the complexity of managing a Thoroughbred broodmare.”

  “That sounds more like a responsibility than a valuable bequest,” I said.

  “You may very well be right about that,” Aunt Peg told me. “I must admit that I am clueless as to what to expect. Hopefully I will learn everything I need to know next week when I visit the boarding farm in Kentucky where Lucky Luna lives.”

  “I come, too!” cried Kevin.

  “’fraid not,” said Sam. He lifted Kev out of his seat, pulled him over onto his lap, and wrapped his arms around him. “You’re staying home with me.”

  “And me.” I wet a napkin in a water glass and used it to clean Kev’s hands before he could smear them across Sam’s shirt.

  “About that . . .” said Aunt Peg.

  The sudden stillness in the room clued me in that something was up. I stopped what I was doing and looked around. “Yes?”

  “You’re going to Kentucky, too,” Sam told me.

  “No, I’m not,” I said.

  I was quite certain of that. I had plenty to do at home.

  “Yes, you are.” Aunt Peg nodded. She sounded equally sure.

  “It’s a surprise!” cried Davey.

  It certainly was that. I looked around at my family. “What’s going on?”

  “You’ve been working hard since you went back to Howard Academy full-time in January,” said Sam. “I thought you could use a break.”

  “And with HA’s spring break falling at just the right time,” Bertie added, “Sam set it all up.”

  I swung my gaze her way. “You were in on this, too?”

  “Of course.”

  “Everybody knew but me?”

  “That’s how a surprise works,” Davey informed me. My son didn’t add the words, Well, duh, but they were certainly implied. “You’re going to Kentucky with Aunt Peg.”

  “But . . .” I sputtered. “Who’s going to take care of things here?”

  “Not me,” said Davey. “I won’t be here. I’m going camping with Dad.”

  Of course he was. The trip was all arranged. He and Bob were going to be hiking a portion of the Appalachian Trail. Davey had been excited about the expedition for weeks.

  “So it will be just me and the munchkin,” Sam said easily. He bounced his knee up and down and Kevin gurgled with laughter. “Not to mention various assorted Poodles. Surely you t
hink I’m capable of handling that?”

  “Of course, you’re capable. . . .” I said weakly.

  “So then what’s the problem?” asked Aunt Peg.

  “Nothing . . . I guess. It’s just unexpected. Why am I always the last person to know these things?”

  “Really, Melanie.” Aunt Peg sniffed. “If only you would pay more attention, we wouldn’t always have to be bringing you up to speed.”

  The first answer that sprang to mind was not entirely civil. Wisely I kept my mouth shut.

  “Besides,” said Bertie, “you have to come.”

  “Oh?” I arched a brow at my duplicitous sister-in-law. I couldn’t believe she hadn’t told me about the plans that were being made behind my back. “Why is that?”

  “I’m taking a lot of dogs on this trip. I’m going to need your help.”

  The very idea made me laugh. Bertie was a successful and accomplished professional handler with a full roster of happy clients. She was also talented, hardworking, and the most thoroughly competent person I knew. In any given situation—especially one that involved grooming, prepping, or handling show dogs—I was much more likely to need Bertie’s expert assistance than the other way around.

  “That’s right,” Frank agreed. He slid his hand over his wife’s and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “I’ve been trying to convince Bertie to cut down on how much she’s been doing and she’s finally starting to listen to me. After this trip, she’ll be sticking closer to home until . . .”

  “Until?” The word slipped out before I had a chance to stop and think. Because all it took was one glance at Bertie’s happy glow and Frank’s proud expression to know what he was going to say.

  “I’m going to have a baby sister!” Maggie shrieked.

  “Or maybe a little brother,” Bertie amended quickly. “We don’t know yet.”

  Before she’d even finished speaking, I was already up out of my seat and running around the table to gather her into my arms for a hug. I knew that Bertie and Frank had been trying for more than a year. Now I felt like shrieking myself. “When?”

  “Not ’til late September. It’s still six months away.”

  “Even so,” Frank interjected, “Bertie needs to be taking care of herself.”

  “Frank worries too much,” said Bertie. “He would wrap me up in bubble wrap for the next half year if he could.”

  “I don’t blame him.” Sam set Kevin down, went to the sideboard, got out a bottle of port, and poured glasses all around.

  “As I recall, Frank tried that during your first pregnancy,” I mentioned.

  “Yup.” Bertie laughed. “It didn’t work then, and it’s not going to work now.”

  “And it shouldn’t,” said Aunt Peg. “Coddling isn’t good for anyone.”

  As if Aunt Peg would know. She’d never coddled anyone in her life.

  “Under the circumstances, I’d be delighted to help out,” I said to Bertie.

  “I figured you would,” she replied. “We’ll have a great time.”

  “I’ve brought you a book about horses,” Aunt Peg said to me. “We’ve got three days before we leave. I expect you’ll be up to speed on the subject by then.”

  Lucky Luna, I thought. The excitement of Bertie’s announcement had driven all thought of Aunt Peg’s new broodmare right out of my head.

  “Why me?” I asked. I might have sounded a little plaintive.

  “Who else?” Peg wanted to know. “I’ll be busy judging. Bertie has her dogs to show. You’re the one who’s on vacation.”

  True, I thought, brightening. And the Bluegrass state was home to horse racing, Southern charm, and the best bourbon whiskey anywhere. Not only that but while late March still felt like winter in Connecticut, in Kentucky it would be spring.

  Bertie was right. This trip was going to be great.

  * * *

  My first view of Kentucky wasn’t at all what I’d been expecting.

  That might have had something to do with the fact that I’d just woken up. Still a bit groggy, I opened my eyes and gazed out the side window of Aunt Peg’s minivan at a monochrome world of tall, gray buildings and eight-lane highways, all of it backed by a dusk-darkening sky.

  Aunt Peg and I had left her house in Greenwich before dawn that morning, setting out on our cross-country jaunt with Faith bedded down comfortably on the backseat. Aunt Peg and I shared the driving and the navigating between us. Faith served as perfect companion, arbiter of disputes, and occasional music critic.

  We had made the 750 mile trip from western Connecticut to central Kentucky in eleven hours. If you think that sounds fast, you’ve obviously never been in a car when Aunt Peg is driving. During the final leg of the trip, I had alternated between bracing myself against the dashboard and closing my eyes. Which was probably how I had fallen asleep.

  Now I sat up straight, shook myself awake, and had another look around. It was still disappointing. We appeared to be on a beltway that circled downtown Louisville.

  “Where are the horses?” I asked. “Where’s the Bluegrass? This just looks like a city.”

  “It is a city,” Aunt Peg replied. She glanced up at an approaching highway sign and abruptly switched lanes. Somewhere behind us, I heard a horn honk. “Louisville is the largest city in Kentucky. Three quarters of a million people live here.”

  I frowned. “I was expecting something different. More . . . rural. More scenic.”

  “You missed that part. You’ve been asleep since Cincinnati.”

  “Even so,” I argued, “I thought there’d be horses. What about Churchill Downs? And the Kentucky Derby?”

  “The Derby is only one day a year. And Churchill Downs isn’t open for racing at the moment. Honestly, didn’t you read that book I gave you?”

  “The book was about broodmares and reproduction,” I said. “It told me every single thing that could possibly go wrong when mares deliver foals and scared the bejeezus out of me. But it didn’t educate me in the slightest about horse racing. If the horses aren’t here, where are they?”

  “Mostly at Keeneland, I’d expect. They’re getting ready to start their spring meet in a few weeks.”

  “Where’s Keeneland?”

  Aunt Peg lifted a hand and jerked a thumb back over her shoulder. “East.”

  Well, that narrowed things down.

  Maybe it would be easier if I just went back to sleep, I thought. Maybe I could arrange to sleep for two weeks and then wake up once again in a world where things made sense.

  Behind me, Faith whined under her breath. I threaded an arm between the two front seats and reached back a reassuring hand. The Poodle licked my extended fingers gently, then settled with her head nestled between her paws. I heard her sigh softly.

  Faith was getting older now. I could see the first signs of graying on her dark muzzle and she’d lost the abundant energy of her youth. Once Faith would have been the first Poodle to chase a ball or dive into a pond. But these days she was more content by my side.

  This trip’s duration had seemed like entirely too long a time for us to be apart. Faith had agreed; she’d been excited when I’d told her that she was coming with me. I hoped the excursion wouldn’t turn out to be too hard on her.

  “The Kentuckiana Dog Show Cluster takes place at the Kentucky Expo Center here in Louisville,” Aunt Peg said. “Starting the day after tomorrow.”

  “I know that.” I withdrew my hand from the backseat and folded it primly in my lap. By my calculations—aided by a glance at the GPS—we were less than ten minutes from our hotel, which was right next to the Expo Center.

  “Most of the horse racing and breeding activities in Kentucky are centered around the Lexington area, which is sixty miles east of us. That’s where the famous farms like Claiborne, Spendthrift, and WinStar are. It’s also where Keeneland is located.”

  “And Lucky Luna?”

  “She’s there as well. In a little town called Midway. Anthony had her boarded year-round at a farm call
ed Six Oaks. I gather an arrangement like that is not unusual where racehorses are concerned. Much of the Thoroughbred industry is supported by the money that comes from absentee owners.”

  “It’s odd to think of owning a horse and never seeing it.” I couldn’t imagine not wanting to see my dogs.

  “These horses aren’t pets,” Aunt Peg informed me. “Many of them are worth a great deal of money. Even those Thoroughbred owners for whom horse racing is a hobby, still have to treat it as a business. Their horses are investments. With the sums that are involved, they have to be.”

  Clearly Aunt Peg had been studying up on the subject.

  “Tell me about Lucky Luna’s farm,” I said.

  “Most of what I’ve learned so far I’ve gotten from their Web site. They appear to be a full-service Thoroughbred farm with facilities that cover more than a thousand acres of land. They board broodmares and raise foals. They consign horses to the various sales. They have half a dozen stallions standing at stud, and they even have their own training track for getting youngsters started.”

  “It sounds like quite a place.”

  “It should be.” Aunt Peg slanted me a look. “I’ve seen Anthony’s bills for Lucky Luna’s care. Which I might add, are shortly to become my responsibility. For what he’s been paying to keep that mare in hay and oats, a top specials dog could enjoy a lengthy career at the very highest levels.”

  “Ouch,” I said. We were talking about real money now.

  “Ouch, indeed,” Aunt Peg muttered. “Clearly this isn’t a business one wants to approach with blinkers on. Nor to be involved in without knowing all the facts first. Before we left home, I did as much research as I could on my own. But now it’s time to call upon the experts and see what they have to say.”

  Excellent plan, I thought. Except for one thing.

  “Do we know any experts?” I asked.

  Aunt Peg nodded with satisfaction. “Eleanora Gates Wanamaker.”

  That got my attention in a hurry. I was quite familiar with Ellie Wanamaker’s name. Over the years, I’d read about her Gatewood Kennels in numerous Poodle books and magazines. I had pored over the pedigrees of her twentieth century champions and top producers in Poodles in America. Like Aunt Peg, Ellie had had a career in Standard Poodles that spanned decades. Unlike Aunt Peg, she had disappeared from the show scene long before I first became involved.