A Pedigree to Die For Page 4

  “That’s easy. Compile a list of suspects.”

  “I tried that. I’m afraid I didn’t get very far.”

  “Short list?”

  “Very.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  Aunt Peg waffling? Now I knew there had to be something wrong. “What’s the matter?” I joked, trying to lighten things up. “Am I on it?”

  “No . . . but Rose is.”

  “Rose—as in Aunt Rose?” My voice ascended an octave. “Sister Anne Marie?”

  Aunt Peg shoved her hands in her pockets and strode across the room. “I told you you weren’t going to like it.”

  “True, but you didn’t tell me I wasn’t going to believe it. ”

  “How well do you know your Aunt Rose?”

  I held the pause long enough to make my point. “About as well as I know you, give or take the first five years of my life.”

  “You were educated by the nuns, weren’t you?”

  “I only admit that to people who are liable not to hold it against me.”

  “It sounds to me as if you hold it against yourself.”

  “Only on bad days. On good days I tell myself I’m strong enough to overcome it.”

  Aunt Peg walked over and took a seat. “You’re very flip about the subject. I wonder why.”

  “Trust me, twelve years of convent schooling is enough to drive anyone to flippancy.”

  “Considering your attitude, perhaps you won’t be surprised by what I’m about to say.”

  “That depends,” I said carefully.

  Aunt Peg patted the chair beside her. “Come sit down. We’ll talk about Rose.”

  “The chief suspect.”

  Aunt Peg didn’t even crack a smile which was, as I saw it, a bad sign. Obediently, I came and sat.

  “As you may or may not know, Rose was very young when she entered the convent.”

  “Seventeen, right?” Where I’d picked up that information I wasn’t quite sure. It had happened before I was born.

  “Right. That was the way things were done in those days. If you felt you had the calling, you entered the novitiate right out of high school. I didn’t know Rose then, of course. I didn’t even meet Max until several years later. But as I understand it, Rose had led quite a sheltered life up until that point. She was not only the youngest, but also the only daughter in the family. She’d been educated by the nuns as well, so that sort of life was really all she’d ever known.”

  “So far, it sounds more to me as though you’re trying to make a case for Aunt Rose not having been involved.”

  “Maybe I should skip on ahead.”

  I nodded, and she continued.

  “Rose came to see your Uncle Max last month. I’d like to say that she came to see us both, but it wasn’t true. She specifically requested privacy for their meeting, and I was happy to give it to them.” A sly grin slipped out. “I knew Max would tell me everything after she left.

  “Anyway, the reason for the visit was that Rose had some rather incredible news. She’s planning to leave the convent and get married.”

  That landed with a jolt. “She . . . What?”

  “I know, it came as a shock to us, too. Less so for me, I suppose, but Max was rather dumbfounded. It almost seemed as though he had a hard time grasping the idea that such a possibility could even exist. You know Max. He was just so very . . . Catholic.”

  “Just like the rest of the family,” I said, then brightened. This was the juiciest gossip I’d heard in years. “Tell me all about it. Who is Aunt Rose going to marry?”

  “He’s a priest from the local parish.”

  “A priest!”

  Aunt Peg gazed calmly down her nose. “Think about it, Melanie dear. Living in a convent, how many other men would she be likely to meet?”

  “I guess. It’s just that it all seems so . . .”

  “Incredible, I know, that’s exactly the way Max and I felt. Once Max got his bearings back, he even tried to talk her out of it. Big brother to little sister, if you know what I mean. But of course she’s been out from under Max’s wing for years, and I gather his advice didn’t go over very well.”

  “Is that why Rose came then, she wanted to ask Uncle Max’s opinion?”

  “No, actually that wasn’t it at all. She’d already made the decision, and as far as I know, she has every intention of going ahead with it.”

  “So.?”

  “So, you know how it is with nuns and priests and all those rules about worldly goods. Apparently she and the good father haven’t got a sou between them. What Rose wanted from Max was enough money to enable the two of them to get started.”

  “Wait a minute. Do you mean to tell me that she presented Uncle Max with a proposal she knew he wasn’t going to like—one that was already more or less a fait accompli —then expected him to underwrite the whole idea?”

  “Well, yes, although Rose didn’t look at it that way. You see, according to what Max told me, she seemed to think that he owed her the money.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said flatly.

  “How old were you when Nana died?”

  Nana was my father’s mother. Spry and energetic, she’d been the much-beloved lynchpin around which our family had revolved. She’d outlived her husband by a half-dozen years, then died during my senior year of college. “Twenty-one, I guess. Why?”

  “Do you know anything about her will?”

  “A little,” I said, hedging. “I know it contained a trust fund for Frank’s and my education.”

  “You know more than that,” Aunt Peg guessed. “But in case you don’t, I’ll tell you. The bulk of the estate went to Max.”

  I did know that, although I hadn’t thought about it in years. There’d been a lot of silent, telling looks passed back and forth between my parents after Nana’s will was read.

  “Your father, who, I believe, was doing rather well as a stockbroker at the time, received a lesser amount. And Rose, who, of course, had no need for money, received almost nothing at all.”

  “And now,” I said slowly, “all these years later, she wants back what she considers to be her share of Nana’s estate.”

  “Exactly.” Aunt Peg nodded.

  “What did Uncle Max say to that?”

  “Well, as you know, I wasn’t there, but I’m sure he wasn’t pleased. The money itself wasn’t necessarily the issue. It’s just that he seemed to think that the whole idea was so rash and ill-considered. He asked to meet the man in question, and Rose became furious. She declared that she was fifty-two years old and she didn’t need anybody’s permission to do anything.”

  “She had a point.”

  “Not really. The thing is, I’m sure he’d have given her the money in the end. But Rose didn’t know that, and when she left that day, she was absolutely livid.”

  “I didn’t think nuns were allowed to show that much emotion,” I commented mildly.

  “Obviously Rose isn’t your common garden-variety nun. She stormed out of here in a real huff, and although I’d missed their earlier conversation, I did hear her parting words. You might say they were delivered at a rather loud pitch. She said ‘You can try, but you’ll never keep me away from the man I love. I want my money, Max, and one way or another, you’re going to give it to me.’ ”

  I pulled in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. Coming hard on the heels of Aunt Peg’s other revelations, it was all a bit much to take. “You really think Aunt Rose is a dognapper?”

  “Why not? Her motive was as strong as anybody’s. I’d imagine the plan was to take the dog and simply keep him stashed somewhere until Max came up with the money she needed.”

  “But if she does have Beau, wouldn’t you think she’d have gotten in touch with you by now?”

  “After the way things turned out? I doubt it. Catholics may preach forgiveness, but that doesn’t mean they expect it or even offer it to themselves. For all we know Rose may be feel
ing stuck in a situation that’s gotten way out of hand.”

  “So you haven’t spoken with her at all?”

  “No, I just said—”

  “What you just said,” I interrupted calmly, “is that Aunt Rose hasn’t contacted you. What you didn’t explain is why you haven’t called her.”

  There was a moment of silence, just long enough to be uncomfortable. I sat back in my chair and waited her out.

  “Rose and I have never gotten along,” Aunt Peg said finally. “It’s old stuff that goes back years. To tell the truth, I think she was jealous when I married Max—thought I was taking over her place in the family or some nonsense like that. Suffice it to say that she and I have never been friends, and as things stand now, I doubt that’s about to change.”

  I had no idea what to say to that, so it was almost a relief when the doorbell rang. Immediately the herd of Poodles came charging out of the den, barking wildly.

  “I wonder who that is,” Aunt Peg said with some annoyance. “I hate people who drop by without warning.”

  I pondered the irony of that remark as I waited in the living room while she went to answer the door. Peering out the side window offered me an excellent view of the proceedings, though unfortunately for my budding career as a snoop, I wasn’t able to hear a thing.

  Aunt Peg’s visitor was a man of medium build, with a compact body that ran to thickness through the middle. Not quite as tall as Aunt Peg, he had dark brown hair liberally shot through with gray, and a bushy moustache that was holding its color better. He spoke with great animation, his hands gesturing in the air for emphasis.

  It was clear from Aunt Peg’s reaction that they were at least acquaintances, perhaps even friends, but she didn’t invite him inside and he didn’t seem perturbed by the omission. Their conversation was brief. At its end, the man leaned over and brushed a quick kiss on Aunt Peg’s cheek that left her looking severely taken aback.

  I wondered what that was all about and didn’t have long to wait. As soon as he had gone, Aunt Peg came back into the living room, her arrival preceded by the swarm of Poodles. She still looked somewhat bemused, as if she had no more idea what the unexpected visit was about than I did.

  “Who was that?” I asked as she sat back down.

  “His name is Tony Wasserman. He and his wife Doris are our next door neighbors.”

  Considering the size of Aunt Peg’s property and the fact that no other houses were visible, I’d never given her neighbors any thought. “Where?”

  Aunt Peg waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the kennel. “To the north. Because of the way the land dips, you can’t see their house from here, but it really isn’t that far away. When Tony and Doris first moved in five years ago, we actually became rather good friends.”

  “Then why did you look so surprised to see him?”

  “Did I?” Aunt Peg frowned. “I thought I’d covered it rather well. Unfortunately our relationship has been considerably less cordial in the last year. I’d like to say that it was the Wassermans’ fault, but I suppose Max and I were equally to blame. For some reason Tony got the idea that our dogs were making entirely too much noise. They do bark sometimes, of course, but he and Doris had never seemed to mind before. Anyway, Tony came marching over here one night really quite angry, and told Max to shut the goddamned dogs up.”

  “And did he?”

  “Hardly. You know Max, he didn’t take criticism lightly. For a moment I almost thought the two of them were going to come to blows. They didn’t, of course, and things cooled off. But once he’d gotten started, Tony kept right on complaining.”

  “Is that why he came over today?”

  “Oh no, quite the opposite. He was checking to see if there was anything he and Doris could do for me. Rather nice of him actually, even if he did take me by surprise.”

  “What about Doris?”

  “What about her?”

  “I would think the wife would be more likely to make a call like that—you know, woman to woman?”

  Aunt Peg dismissed the idea with a sniff. “Doris is a twit. I’m sorry about it, but there it is. Always was, and probably always will be. Now then, where were we before Tony arrived?”

  So much for the neighbors. Doris was a twit, end of discussion. I decided it was probably that innocent peck on the cheek that had put Aunt Peg off, and didn’t press it.

  “We were talking about Aunt Rose.” From the direction of the den came the familiar strains of a T.V. theme song. “Father Knows Best” was ending, which meant that any minute now Davey would come tooling back out to see what I’d arranged next for his entertainment. I had to work fast, so I got straight to the point. “I suppose I could go see her.”

  “I suppose you could,” Aunt Peg agreed. “Rose isn’t the only one who can issue an ultimatum. You tell her that whatever else happens, I intend to get that dog back.”

  Six

  The Convent of Divine Mercy was situated on twenty acres of prime land in back Greenwich. The elegant Georgian mansion that housed both the convent itself and the girls’ school that accompanied it had been donated to the order at the turn of the century. Their benefactor was a robber baron who’d found God late in life and been persuaded accordingly to give up his weekend home to atone for the past sins that had accompanied sixty years of high living. In the mid-nineteen eighties, the soaring cost of Greenwich real estate had elevated the value of the holding to truly heavenly heights. Now, their vow of poverty notwithstanding, the thirty sisters in residence lived in genteel splendor on an estate whose worth measured in the millions.

  Since school had just finished for the summer, the convent was entering its yearly three months of rest and renewal. When I’d called, Aunt Rose had insisted her schedule was clear and sounded positively delighted by the prospect of a visit.

  My early recollections of Aunt Rose are hazy at best. She was a name more than a presence, the one relative who’d always been left out of impromptu family gatherings and summer backyard barbecues. Before she’d been posted back to Greenwich the year after my graduation, her visits had been infrequent, yet terribly exciting when they came. As a child, I’d been fascinated by the thought of someone giving her life to God. Even when I was older and wiser, the impression had remained. Wrapped in the protective mantle of the church, she’d still seemed a woman of principle and power.

  Was she actually capable of engineering the plot that had resulted in Uncle Max’s death? I wondered, as Davey and I drove to the convent at the allotted time. My first impulse, already demonstrated to Aunt Peg, was to deny the idea out of hand. And yet, I couldn’t help but imagine how I’d feel in her place. Twelve years of that sheltered existence had been more than enough to nurture my own rebellion. I could only wonder at the shock and desperation that would have accompanied the realization that, after thirty-five years, what the church had to offer wasn’t enough . . .

  From force of habit, I bypassed the massive grillwork gates that guarded the main entrance and continued on to the back driveway that led directly to the student’s parking lot. From there, we walked around the front of the building, where I clutched Davey’s hand and we ascended the wide steps together. Tall Ionic columns supported an ornate portico that rose majestically above us. Davey leaned back for a better look, his head tilting at an angle only a four-year-old could manage as I pushed the doorbell and the deep tones of the chimes echoed through the halls.

  The door was opened by a smiling young woman in a plain gray dress. A novice, I guessed, one of the new order who didn’t feel that a long black habit was needed as a sign of her vocation. She led us to a small study off the front hall and went in search of Aunt Rose.

  As soon as she had gone, Davey began to explore. He climbed onto the seat of a large mahogany chair, his eyes intent on a gleaming crystal ashtray atop the table beside it. I was in the process of swinging him down to the relative safety of the floor when the door opened and Aunt Rose appeared.

  She looked different, a
nd the change came as something of a shock. Like the young sister who’d admitted us, Aunt Rose was dressed in street clothes. The severe black habit and immaculate white wimple were gone, replaced by a simple navy blue suit and a pair of low-heeled pumps. For the first time in my life, I was seeing her as a woman rather than as an emissary of God.

  Her hair, now revealed, was the same medium shade of brown as my own. Though short, it was fashionably cut. Her face, with its direct gray eyes, slim nose, and stern jaw, was bare of makeup, as it had been for years. Her only jewelry was an inexpensive watch on a plain black strap.

  “You . . .” I began, then stopped, uncertain whether the wisest course was to comment on the change or simply ignore it.

  “Have hair, yes.” Aunt Rose turned toward Davey, who was looking at her shyly, and her features softened into a smile. “I see you’re still the explorer of the family. Think you’re brave enough to come over here and give me a hug?” After a moment’s hesitation, Davey allowed himself to be gathered into her arms.

  “I was going to say you look very nice.”

  “Do I?” The smile turned my way. It was eager and more than a little pleased. “We don’t have mirrors in our rooms, you know. And after so many years in a habit, I’m a little rusty with anything else.”

  She wasn’t the only one who was having trouble adjusting, I realized with a start. In my mind, the trappings of her calling—the flowing habit, crisp headband, raised wimple—were indelibly intertwined with the image I’d carried of Aunt Rose. Today, she seemed a different woman altogether than the one I’d known: smaller, softer, and more approachable. As I digested the change that had taken place, I found myself wondering which had made the bigger difference—renouncing the habit or falling in love?

  Davey stepped back out of Aunt Rose’s grasp and tugged on the side of my denim skirt. “Wanna go outside!” he announced. “There’s nothing to do in here.”

  “We’ll walk in the garden,” Aunt Rose decided. “The tulips are lovely this time of year.”

  A door at the other end of the hall deposited us on a gravel path that meandered in a leisurely fashion through a large, well-tended garden. As Davey ran on ahead, I pondered how to politely broach the reason for my visit. Before we’d gone more than a few feet, the problem was taken out of my hands by Aunt Rose.