Murder at the Puppy Fest Read online

  “It’s not his fault he’s scrawny,” I said. “It looks like it’s been a while since he had a good meal.”

  “We can fix that.” Davey paused, shooting me a quick look out of the corner of his eye to gauge my response. “Can’t we? Please?”

  “You know we have five dogs already.”

  “Yeah, but . . . we have room for one more.”

  I didn’t want to make any hasty promises, but I was thinking the same thing. Until recently, our pack of Standard Poodles had numbered six. My second husband, Sam, had brought three Poodles with him to our union five years earlier. Davey and I had contributed two: Faith and Eve, a mother and daughter pair. Then we’d added Davey’s show dog, Augie. But two months earlier, we’d lost Casey, Sam’s oldest bitch, to a fast-acting cancer. Her passing had left a hole in all our hearts. One that none of us had been in a hurry to fill.

  And now this little dog had found us.

  “Besides,” Davey said, “look at him. He’s not even half as big as a Standard Poodle. He could fit anywhere.”

  I gazed at the two of them and sighed.

  Davey knew I was wavering. How could I not be?

  “He needs us, Mom. He doesn’t have anyone else.”

  The dog wiggled his shoulders and curled his body into a tighter ball. Eyes still shut, he snuggled deeper into Davey’s lap and looked utterly content. It was as if he knew exactly how to seduce me to his side.

  “Let’s see what Sam says, okay?”

  “Sam will love him,” Davey said happily. “Trust me.”

  Sam’s an even softer touch than I am. I suspected Davey was right.

  * * *

  Our house is in a quiet neighborhood whose wide streets and well-kept lawns are shaded by mature trees and neatly trimmed hedges. Colonial in style, like most of those around it, the house is set back from the road for privacy. Fortunately, the setting also allows for a fenced backyard spacious enough to accommodate the antics of five rambunctious Standard Poodles.

  When I pulled into the driveway, Aunt Peg’s minivan was parked in the turnaround next to the garage. My stomach gave a small flip, a response similar to the one you might have when unexpectedly encountering a hornets’ nest.

  Most of the time, I adored Aunt Peg, but she was a woman of many facets. She could be brilliant, devious, discerning, generous, and manipulative. And that was just on her good days. Peg ruled over her small portion of the world with a firm hand. She also had a Machiavellian talent for exploiting other people’s weaknesses—a skill that was bolstered by a firm belief in the value of her own opinions.

  As you might imagine, she and I don’t always see eye to eye.

  I frowned at Davey. “Did you call her after I told you not to?”

  “No way.” He shook his head vehemently. “Maybe she guessed something was up. Aunt Peg is like Severus Snape. She has special powers.”

  As I stopped the car at the back of the driveway, the little dog awoke. He stood up, balancing himself nimbly on Davey’s legs, and took a curious look out the window.

  Quickly, Davey pulled him back. “We can’t let Aunt Peg see Bud. He’s just a mutt. She won’t like him.”

  I’d been reaching for my door handle. Now I stopped and looked back. “Bud?”

  “Yeah.” Davey grinned. “Bud. That’s his new name.”

  “Since when?”

  “About five minutes ago. I came up with it while you were driving. Don’t you think it suits him?”

  It did, though I was loath to admit it. Once you named a dog, he was yours forever. On the other hand, wasn’t that decision already pretty much made?

  Davey gave the dog a gentle squeeze. “Look at you, Bud. You’re a good boy. You like your new name, don’t you?”

  The dog wagged his black-tipped tail in response. In fact, he wagged it so hard that his whole body undulated with the effort. It had probably been a long time since anyone had spoken to him kindly, poor guy.

  “Hey Bud?” I tried out the name myself.

  That canny little dog spun around in Davey’s lap and pricked his ears in my direction. He was prepared to like anything we had to offer.

  “See?” cried Davey. “He knows his name already!”

  More likely, he knew that luck had landed him in a good spot and he was ready to do whatever it took to stay there. But hey, who was I to argue with reasoning like that? I have Standard Poodles. I love a smart dog.

  The side door to the house opened, and Sam stuck his head out. The Poodles had probably announced our arrival as soon as we’d pulled in.

  “What are you guys doing out there?” he called. “Do you need help with the groceries?”

  Damn, the groceries. I’d forgotten all about them. Thank God I hadn’t bought ice cream.

  Sam didn’t wait for an answer. He shut the door behind him and headed our way. Davey lifted Bud into his arms and exited the other side of the car. I took a moment to watch Sam approach and appreciated the view.

  Now, in mid-summer, my husband’s dark blond hair had lightened to the color of sun-washed wheat. Sam had an easy smile and an athlete’s trim physique. Even better, he moved with the grace and quiet confidence of a man who understood the world and was content with his place in it. Not for the first time, I acknowledged silently that the day we’d met had been the luckiest day in my life.

  “Is everything okay?” Sam asked as he drew near.

  “Sort of.” I pushed open my door and stepped out of the car.

  “Sort of?” A look of concern flashed across his face. “What’s up?”

  “We have an unexpected guest.”

  Even though I’d cautioned Davey that Sam’s approval was needed before any permanent decisions could be made, that didn’t stop my son from giving a whoop of delight as he came skipping around the car. Sam barely had a chance to realize what was happening before Davey danced to a halt in front of him, reached up, and deposited the skinny little dog into his stepfather’s arms.

  “Meet Bud,” Davey said happily. “Isn’t he the greatest?”

  Sam peered downward uncertainly. Mud from Bud’s legs was already streaked across the front of his shirt. “The greatest what?”

  Bud widened his expressive eyes, tipped his muzzle upward, and licked the underside of Sam’s chin. I swear that little dog must have been related to P.T. Barnum because he certainly knew how to reel in a sucker.

  “Dog,” Davey crowed. “Bud’s a dog.”

  “I can see that,” Sam agreed. His fingers reached up to fondle the dog’s ears. “Who does he belong to?”

  “About that—” I began.

  “He belongs to us,” Davey said. “We found him by the side of the road.”

  “Davey saw someone throw him out of a car,” I said. “They just tossed him in the weeds and sped away.”

  “Are you serious?” Sam looked back and forth between us. “That’s terrible.”

  “What’s terrible?” asked Aunt Peg, coming up to stand beside us.

  Intent on gauging Sam’s reaction, I hadn’t even noticed her approach. Aunt Peg was six feet tall and walked like a football linebacker. You’d think she wouldn’t be able to sneak up on people, but there she was.

  Before I could answer, Aunt Peg saw the wide smile on Davey’s face. She followed the direction of his gaze to the spotted dog in Sam’s arms.

  “Terrible?” she said again. Automatically, her hand reached out to pat the dog’s head. “I must say he doesn’t look like much, but I wouldn’t call him terrible.”

  “We weren’t talking about the dog—” I began.

  “His name is Bud,” Davey announced at the same time.

  “Bud? Really?” Aunt Peg was not amused. “What a plain name. Is that the terrible part?”

  “No,” Davey chortled. “It’s a perfectly good name. And he already likes it.”

  Aunt Peg turned her narrowed gaze on the small dog. “From the looks of him, he’d be apt to like anyone who said a kind word to him.”

  �
��Somebody dumped Bud by the side of the road,” Davey told her. “I saw them do it.”

  “My word. That’s criminal! Did you see their license plate? We’ll report them to the police. People like that should be made to answer for their sins.”

  “No,” I admitted. “No license number. We stopped and picked up the dog instead.”

  “Bud,” Davey reminded us. Not that anyone had forgotten. “His name is Bud.”

  “Who’s Bud?” a small voice piped up. Three-year-old Kevin, Sam’s and my son, had come to join the party in the driveway.

  Sam looked at Aunt Peg. “I thought you were watching him for me while I stepped outside.”

  “I am watching him,” she replied. “See? He’s right there.”

  Dogs enjoy Aunt Peg’s undivided attention. Young children are another matter entirely.

  “Really?” I said to Sam. “You left him with Aunt Peg?”

  “I thought I’d only be outside for a minute. How long does it take to carry a bag of groceries into the house? I had no idea someone was going to put a stray dog in my arms and then want to have a conversation about it.”

  There was that.

  “Besides,” Sam added, “Faith’s inside too. You know she wouldn’t let anything happen to him.”

  Kevin tugged on the hem of my shirt. He looked up at me with beguiling blue eyes that were just like his father’s. With his blond curls and chubby cheeks, he looked like a cherub in a Renaissance painting.

  “Who’s Bud?” he asked again.

  I leaned down and picked him up. From that vantage point, Kevin could see the spotted dog for himself. But when he reached out a questing hand to give Bud a poke, I quickly pulled him back out of range.

  Kev blew out a delighted breath anyway. “Pretty dog!”

  “That child needs higher standards,” Aunt Peg said.

  “He’s only three,” I told her. Obligingly Kevin held up three fingers in support of my claim. “He loves all animals.”

  “Are you calling our new dog ugly?” Davey inquired.

  “Your new dog?” Aunt Peg swung her gaze his way. “When did that happen?”

  I didn’t have an answer for that. Apparently no one else did either.

  It was Kev who broke the ensuing silence. “Can’t live here,” he said firmly. “Not enough hair.”

  “I have a thought,” said Sam. “Why don’t we move this discussion inside?”

  “I have another thought,” Aunt Peg announced. “Before we do something rash, let’s consider the likelihood that the little interloper you’ve brought home is loaded with fleas.”

  Involuntarily, I took a step back. Fleas. Yuck. The mere mention of the pesky insects made my scalp itch. In a home with normal dogs, fleas were an inconvenience. But for Poodles who were destined for the show ring, hair was a precious and ever-protected commodity. And fleas were a disaster in the making.

  “Let’s have a look.” Sam flipped the little dog over in his arms. We all leaned in and peered at his stomach. The evidence that Aunt Peg’s guess was correct was right in front of us.

  “Eww,” I said, pulling away.

  “Eww,” Kevin echoed. “Bud has peas. We don’t like peas.”

  “That settles it,” Aunt Peg announced. “That dog is not going inside the house.”

  “Not yet at any rate.” Sam was unfazed. “Give me half an hour and I can fix this.”

  We’re Poodle people. We’re experts at giving dogs baths.

  While Sam attended to Bud, the rest of us unloaded the car. As soon as we walked in the door, five Standard Poodles came and swarmed around our legs to welcome us home. Deftly, Faith nudged her way through the pack and pressed her nose into my hand.

  Faith is big and black, and absolutely gorgeous. She had come to me as a gift from Aunt Peg and was the first dog I’d ever had the privilege to own. Faith has dark, soulful eyes, an empathetic nature, and a great sense of humor. Her entry into my life had changed everything. Before, I’d had no idea what I was missing. Now I couldn’t imagine living without her.

  Faith sniffed my fingers, then gazed up at me with a puzzled expression on her face. Meanwhile, the other four Standard Poodles—bitches Eve and Raven, and the other two dogs, Tar and Augie—were eagerly exploring the strange-dog scent they’d found on Davey.

  “It’s just Bud,” he told them. “You’ll meet him soon.”

  “Or not,” Aunt Peg muttered under her breath.

  While I put away the food, she got out a handful of peanut butter biscuits from the pantry and passed them around. Davey grabbed a couple of apples from the bowl on the counter, and he and Kevin left to find something more interesting to do than listen to grown-ups talk. Hopefully Davey was on his way to the shower.

  That left just me and Aunt Peg.

  I cut right to the chase. “Why are you here?”

  “I’m surprised you even have to ask.” Aunt Peg pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat down. “Because of Puppy Fest, of course.”

  “What about it?”

  “Why wasn’t I invited?”

  I took a bottle of green tea out of the refrigerator, opened it, and had a long, cold swallow. “You ought to be asking Claire that. It’s her event.”

  “That’s precisely why I’m asking you. Claire is the one who neglected to include me.”

  Claire is the newest member of our extended family. On New Year’s Eve, she’d married my ex-husband, Bob, and moved into his house on the other side of Stamford. My relationship with Bob is still a work in progress, but Claire and I had hit it off immediately. The fact that she was now Davey’s stepmother made it important that we get along, but even without the family connection I would have loved Claire anyway.

  “I read about the event yesterday in the Greenwich Time,” Aunt Peg said. “Apparently it’s going to be broadcast on local TV. I even have a passing acquaintance with its sponsor. So imagine my surprise when I discovered that Puppy Fest was being organized by a member of my own family.”

  So help me, there was a small, mean part of me that was happy there was one thing in the world that Aunt Peg didn’t know.

  She glared at me across the table as I sat down opposite her. “Would you please explain why Claire didn’t ask for my help?”

  “I’d imagine she thought you’d be too busy to get involved. Plus, you know . . .”

  Aunt Peg lifted a brow. She was going to make me say it.

  “Your thing is purebred dogs.”

  Puppy Fest was a charitable event sponsored by Puppy Posse Foundation, a local dog rescue whose mission was to provide aid for at-risk dogs in Fairfield and Westchester Counties. Modeled after television’s famous Puppy Bowl, the event featured two teams of adorable, adoptable puppies in a faux competition. The puppies would chase toys and create cute canine mayhem on a stage constructed to look like a pint-sized football field.

  Puppy Fest was sponsored by wealthy philanthropist Leo Brody, founder and chief benefactor of Puppy Posse. The event was scheduled to take place the following day at his waterfront mansion in Belle Haven. Claire, who worked as an event coordinator, had been hired by Mr. Brody to set up and manage the whole affair.

  “My thing indeed,” Aunt Peg snapped. “Just because I happen to be involved in the dog show world doesn’t mean I don’t have an interest in the welfare of all dogs.”

  Well, sure. But when it came to the canines she chose to live with, Aunt Peg was a bit of a snob. If I hadn’t realized that previously, her reaction to Bud’s appearance certainly would have tipped me off.

  “Most of the puppies at Puppy Fest will be mutts and mixed breeds,” I told her. “The purpose of the event is to raise money for Puppy Posse and to raise awareness about the plight of abandoned dogs.” Then I paused, struck by a sudden thought. “Wait a minute. You know Leo Brody?”

  “Of course,” Aunt Peg replied, as if being acquainted with a man whose face I’d seen on magazine covers was nothing unusual. “He’s made his home in Greenwich for many year
s. We’ve crossed paths on a number of occasions. Not only that, but one of his daughters shows dogs. Libby Rothko? She has Dalmatians.”

  I shook my head. Suddenly I felt as though the conversation had taken a detour into fantasy land. “Puppy Fest isn’t a social occasion,” I said. “It’s going to be a lot of work for everyone involved.”

  She didn’t look convinced. “What’s your job?”

  “Claire asked me to be a puppy wrangler.” She hadn’t had to twist my arm. Who in their right mind would turn down a job like that?

  “I see. I hoped I’d be needed, but apparently I’m not. That being the case, I trust you will convey my disappointment to Claire.” Aunt Peg pushed back her chair and stood. “One more thing. It wouldn’t be the worst idea to turn that little dog over to Leo’s foundation. I’m certain they’ll do right by him.”

  “Do right by who?” asked Sam, coming in through the door.

  The Poodles jumped up to greet him. I did the same. Okay, maybe the one I really wanted to see again was Bud. But to my surprise, Sam’s arms were empty.

  “Where’s Bud?” The name rolled off my tongue easily—as if it belonged there. As if the spotted dog with the floppy ear was already on his way to becoming a member of the family.

  “For now, I set up an ex-pen for him in the garage. He’ll be happy there. He’s got a bed, a chew toy, and a bowl of cold water. I think it’s better if we keep him away from the Poodles until we’ve had a chance to get him thoroughly checked out by the vet.”

  Of course. I should have thought of that myself.

  “The boys and I will take him to the animal hospital tomorrow while you’re at Puppy Fest.”

  “Aunt Peg seems to think that we might want to drop him off at Puppy Posse,” I said.

  “That’s one idea.” Sam’s gaze scanned my face, and I realized that he was looking for reassurance that we were in agreement. In the short time they’d been together, Bud must have charmed Sam too. “But it wouldn’t be my first choice.”

  “Mine either,” I said.

  Aunt Peg shook her head. “If you two truly intend to have that dog take up residence here, you should leave him to be neutered when you take him to the vet tomorrow.”