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  “Time out,” I said. Family harmony was a rare and precious commodity among my relatives. However, that didn’t stop me from trying to steer them both back on topic. “What about Doctor Law? What do you mean he disappeared?”

  “Oh, good grief, Melanie. There’s no call for melodrama. The man isn’t dead, at least not as far as I know. He’s simply not here. As he ought to be, as he promised to be, months ago when I first contacted him, and then again last week when I called to confirm.

  “Everything was supposed to be all set. I had absolutely no notion that it wasn’t until this afternoon when I got the message he’d left at the front desk canceling his appearance. As if genetics experts grow on trees and I could replace him at a moment’s notice. Honestly, some people have no consideration at all. Which brings me to my next problem.” My aunt was now glaring into the grooming room.

  “There’s another?” asked Bertie.

  She was new to the family. She hadn’t been around long enough to know that there was always another problem. Let her ask the questions, I thought. I was content to wait. We’d find out soon enough what Aunt Peg was raging about.

  “Damien Bradley!” my aunt snorted.

  There you go.

  “Damien Bradley?” Bertie repeated on cue.

  You see? My participation in the conversation would have been entirely superfluous.

  “He’s here.”

  So he was. I peered around the grooming room and saw the handler tucked away in a back corner.

  “Is that a bad thing?” asked Bertie.

  “It’s not a good thing. We warned the hotel not to give him a room.”

  “His bad behavior got us kicked out of our last place,” I told Bertie, forestalling what was sure to be her next question. “Maybe he’s not staying here,” I said to Peg. “Maybe he’s just visiting.”

  “He shouldn’t be on the premises at all.”

  “Okay, but . . . is there a reason that’s your problem?”

  As if I had to ask. You’d think I’d have learned by now.

  “It’s the club’s problem, which means that every single member should feel a responsibility. If Damien does something idiotic, which we all know he’s perfectly capable of doing, then I’m the one who’ll feel stupid for not preventing it.”

  I wasn’t about to argue with her. I’d learned early on that the best way to defuse such a situation was to offer my full and unwavering support. I stepped aside, leaving the doorway clear. “I suppose you could march inside and tell him he shouldn’t be here. In fact if you really wanted to, you might even be able to pick him up and throw him out.”

  “Me?” my aunt asked innocently. “Cause a scene?”

  Like that had never happened before. Even Bertie looked as if she needed to bite back a smart remark.

  “Or . . .” I had another look inside the room, just to check. “Since Mr. Bradley doesn’t seem to be causing any trouble right at the moment, you could ignore his transgression and accompany Bertie and me to dinner. We can check back here afterward. He’ll probably be gone by the time we’re done.”

  Aunt Peg’s expression brightened. The mention of food tends to have that effect on her.

  “I haven’t eaten all day,” said Bertie, joining in the cause. “I’m starving.”

  “Starving?” Peg’s gaze swung around. “My dear girl, what are you thinking? You’re supposed to be taking care of yourself. Not to mention the baby.”

  It was easy to tell my aunt had never been pregnant. She meant well, but her advice tended to be a little over-zealous. I started walking away. As I’d hoped, the two women fell in step behind me. Peg slid an arm around Bertie’s shoulders and ushered her, with all due haste, toward the hotel restaurant. Before we’d even been seated, she’d already ordered the mother-to-be a tall glass of milk.

  “I don’t like milk,” Bertie grumbled under her breath as Aunt Peg conferred with the waitress about the evening’s specials, probably hoping to find something suitably nutritious for germinating a fetus.

  “Drink it anyway,” I advised. “Damien Bradley will appreciate the sacrifice.”

  “Will he? From what I’ve heard about Damien, I don’t think he appreciates much.”

  “What are you two whispering about over there?” Aunt Peg asked from across the table.

  “Milk,” I said quickly, before Bertie could say Bradley’s name and get Aunt Peg going again.

  “Would you like a glass too?” She turned to place another order with the waitress. Bertie stuck out her tongue. I was tempted to kick her under the table but decided that one of us regressing to her childhood was probably enough.

  “They have salmon,” Aunt Peg announced, looking meaningfully at Bertie. “And mahimahi. You know what they say about fish. Brain food.”

  As we ate, we discussed the next day’s symposium. These seminars were Aunt Peg’s pet project; she’d been in charge since their inception. Back then, the show itself was only three days long, and Poodle fanciers had had to extend their trips by a day if they wished to attend. That they had come by the hundreds was ample reward for Aunt Peg’s dedication. Now, with this year’s seminar a mere twelve hours away, she was minus her star speaker.

  “I’ve thrown something together,” Aunt Peg said. “Not a perfect solution, but the best I could do on such short notice. We’re expecting a good turnout this year. People were intensely interested in hearing what Doctor Law had to say.”

  “What will you be offering them instead?” I asked curiously.

  “In the morning, a talk on show-ring presentation. Mary Scott has agreed to step in and help out.”

  I whistled softly under my breath. Mary Ludlow Scott was a legend in the dog show world. She’d started out handling as a teenager, rising quickly to the pinnacle of that profession where she’d reigned for many years. For the last several decades, she’d been a highly esteemed judge, one of only a handful approved by the American Kennel Club to judge every recognized breed.

  Though Mary Scott had bred and handled a number of different breeds over the course of her career, Poodles had long been a favorite. Notoriously blunt, infamously sharp of wit, she didn’t suffer fools gladly. Nor did she squander her skills on neophytes. A seminar on Poodle presentation with her at the helm was a rare offering and sure to be a popular choice.

  “It sounds like you landed on your feet,” said Bertie. “Surely no one will be disappointed by that change of schedule.”

  “I should hope not,” Peg agreed. “Mary has long been a supporter of the seminar. It was gracious of her to offer to fill in.”

  “That takes care of the morning,” I said. “What about the afternoon program? What are you planning to substitute for that?”

  Aunt Peg stuck a piece of baked potato in her mouth and mumbled something unintelligible. My aunt has better manners than that. And I could recognize an evasion when I saw one.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what you said.”

  She swallowed and said, “I’ve booked Rosalind Romanescue.”

  “Who?” Bertie and I exchanged a glance. Her faint shrug said she was as much in the dark as I.

  “Rosalind Romanescue,” Aunt Peg repeated tartly. “The much esteemed . . . animal communicator.”

  Bertie’s eyes widened. I stifled a laugh with a hasty sip of milk. Aunt Peg had to be kidding. She’d booked a clairvoyant to follow Mary Ludlow Scott? That was like hiring Abbott and Costello to follow Hank Aaron in the batting order.

  “A psychic?” Bertie blurted. “What a great idea! Can she predict the future? Is she going to tell everyone who’s going to win the show?”

  “The woman is not a fortune-teller.” Aunt Peg’s tone was testy. “She’s an animal communicator. She talks with dogs telepathically and lets their owners know what they’re think-ting.”

  “More biscuits, please,” I said in a small voice. “And no more visits to the vet if you don’t mind.”

  “Make fun if you must,” said Peg, “but I’ve spoken
to Rosalind over the phone—”

  “Funny,” Bertie mused. “You wouldn’t think a psychic would need a telephone.”

  “I needed a telephone,” Aunt Peg snapped. It was clear we were trying her patience. “And she’s very serious about what she does. I’m told she’s very good.”

  “So is David Copperfield,” I pointed out. “But in the end, it’s still all just sleight of hand. And how can anyone know whether she’s good or not? Presumably, the dogs she talks to aren’t the ones passing judgment.”

  “She has a number of satisfied customers,” said Peg. “And besides . . . she was available.”

  Ah, yes, there was that. Under the circumstances, availability counted for a lot.

  “Rosalind Romanescue.” I let the name roll of my tongue. It had a certain ring.

  “She sounds like a gypsy,” Bertie mentioned.

  “I’m sure she’ll do fine,” I said.

  “Of course she’ll be fine,” said Peg. “Whoever decided that every single seminar topic had to be so all-fired serious? I’m sure people will appreciate the opportunity to view something lighter for a change.”

  “Too bad she can’t predict the future.” Bertie pushed her uneaten salmon around her plate. “I can think of a few questions I wouldn’t mind asking.”

  “Boy or girl?”

  “No, not that. Frank and I want to be surprised. Actually I was wondering about peace in the Middle East.”

  “Speaking of surprises,” said Peg, “I wonder what Damien Bradley is up to downstairs.”

  And here I’d thought we’d managed to distract her. Stomach full, Aunt Peg was once again in full problem-solving mode.

  “There were plenty of other PCA members in the grooming room,” I pointed out.

  “Not to mention several strong men in case he needed to be handled.” Bertie looked at me and winked. “Maybe Dale Atherton will take him in hand.”

  “If he’s lucky,” I said under my breath.

  Aunt Peg glared at us across the table. “I may be getting older but my sense of hearing hasn’t entirely vanished. Why is it I keep getting the impression that you two would rather be holding a private conversation?”

  “Sorry. We were talking about Dale Atherton. Bertie pointed him out to me earlier.”

  “I gather women have been pointing at Dale his whole life,” Aunt Peg replied. “Not to mention, throwing themselves in his path. You two wouldn’t be the first. Nor, most likely, the last.”

  “Aunt Peg!” I protested, even as I felt my cheeks begin to grow warm. “Nobody was thinking of throwing anything at him. Bertie and I were just admiring—”

  “—from afar,” Bertie clarified.

  “I met one of his clients earlier while I was selling raffle tickets, so naturally I was curious . . .”

  “Naturally,” Peg agreed. “Which client?”

  “Nina Gold. From California?”

  “Minis.” Aunt Peg was a walking encyclopedia of Poodle lore. “GoldenDune kennel. Christian Gold’s wife.”

  “That’s the one. Blond, beautifully dressed. She looked like a woman who loves to shop. I sold her two dozen tickets.”

  “On the first day?” Aunt Peg was impressed. The waitress cleared our plates, offered coffee and dessert, which we all declined, and went to get our bill.

  “I think Nina was bored,” I said. “She was an easy touch.”

  “Bored?” The very idea made my aunt quiver with indignation. “At PCA?”

  “I know it may be hard for you to believe,” said Bertie, “but there are people in the world whose lives don’t revolve around dogs and dog shows.”

  “Fair enough,” I agreed. “But then why is she here? Especially all the way from California?”

  “I imagine she came with Christian,” Aunt Peg said. “The GoldenDune kennel is his bailiwick. There are at least ten or twelve generations of champion GoldenDune Minis behind the ones he has in the ring now. It’s a very solid breeding program. Christian’s worked hard on it for years.”

  “Nina didn’t look like the type of woman who worked too hard on anything,” I said. “And unless she’s had some great plastic surgery, she certainly isn’t old enough to have been around the dog world for years.”

  Aunt Peg stopped and thought. “No, she’s a good deal newer to the scene than Christian is. I’d say they’ve been married five years, give or take. Christian’s a bit older. Not so much that people would snicker, but there’s definitely an age difference.

  “He’s one of those men who concentrated on his career when he was younger, never had time to find himself a wife or have a family. His dedication to his dogs seemed to take up what little spare time he had. I heard that he made himself an enormous dot-com fortune in the nineties. He and Nina were married soon after that.”

  Aunt Peg seldom mentioned people’s finances. Since she had a bit of a fortune herself, I knew we were talking about real money. “If that’s the case, I ought to hit her up for even more tickets.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure Christian will buy his share.” Aunt Peg waved away Bertie’s and my objections as she picked up the check and signed it to her room. “I dare say we’ve left Mr. Bradley to his own devices quite long enough. Who would like to walk back down to the grooming room with me and see if he’s still around?”

  “I’ll go,” I volunteered. “But first I want stop in my room and pick up Eve. While we’re downstairs, she can have her evening run.”

  Bertie begged off due to fatigue, and promised she’d see us at the symposium the following morning. Aunt Peg headed to her room to fetch Hope. Ten minutes later, we met downstairs outside the grooming room. The two Poodles scooted around the carpeted hallway, greeting each other with joyous leaps and playful bows.

  By now, the room was nearly empty. Later in the week, the preparations and primping would continue until all hours of the night. But this early, with only the obedience trial on tap for the next day, most exhibitors had already packed up and left. The Boone sisters were gone, as were the handlers we’d seen earlier, including Damien Bradley.

  “That’s good news, right?” I said, staggering back slightly as the two big black Poodles bounced off my legs in their play.

  “Let’s hope so.” Aunt Peg didn’t sound convinced.

  We headed out the door on the other side of the hall. Even though it was June, the evening air still held a chill. Following Aunt Peg outside, I was glad I’d thought to pick up a sweater in my room.

  By night, the field that had been designated as our exercise area was a sea of darkness and shadow. The hotel had outdoor lights but their beams were meant to light the walkways that ran beside the building. Aunt Peg and I weren’t the only ones outside with our dogs, but the ranks of those looking to exercise their Poodles had thinned considerably. For most exhibitors, the day’s work was finished. The hotel bar was probably doing a booming business.

  I’d been planning to let Eve loose to have another run before going to bed but abruptly I realized how easy it would be to lose sight of the black puppy in the shadows. The L-shaped hotel bordered two sides of the field. The third was edged by a stand of trees and the last ran along the parking lot. It wasn’t the best situation.

  Aunt Peg, whose older Poodle had had more training than Eve, didn’t even hesitate. She unsnapped Hope’s leash and let her go. After a moment, I followed suit. Immediately, the two Poodles dashed away.

  “I hope that wasn’t a mistake,” I said, staring into the night. Eve and Hope were running flat out. Neither Poodle was accustomed to spending most of the day crated; now they worked off their excess energy by galloping side by side, dodging and feinting, each trying to bowl the other over with a playful shove.

  “My Poodle comes when she’s called.” Aunt Peg slanted me a challenging look.

  “So does mine,” I muttered. “Usually.”

  Peg handed me Hope’s leash to hold. “Since we’re just standing here, I think I’ll hunt up a poop-scoop and go patrol the field. With
this much of it in darkness, I imagine people think they can get away with anything. Keep an eye on those two, will you?”

  “Right.”

  Of course that task was easier said than done. My job was helped by the fact that the pair was staying together, but hindered by the speed with which they traversed the vast grassy area. Finally their mad dash slowed, then stopped. I watched both Poodles sniff the ground, then squat to pee.

  I was about to call them back in when I saw Hope’s head snap up. Her ears pricked, her attention caught by something I couldn’t see. Suddenly she whipped around and took off toward the end of the building that bordered the parking lot. Eve was only a step or two behind.

  “Hope, come!” I called out firmly. “Eve! Over here.”

  Neither Poodle paid any attention to me. As they began to run, Aunt Peg materialized out of the shadows, poop scoop in hand.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Something—”

  I never got a chance to finish. A chill slithered up my spine as a piercing scream shattered the night.

  6

  Aunt Peg dropped the scoop and ran in the direction the scream had come from. She’s a good person to have around in an emergency. Whatever was wrong, she’d know what to do or how to call for help.

  That left me free to chase after the two Poodles. Fortunately Eve and Hope had run toward the building. They were much easier to see in the lights. The second time I called, Hope responded to her name. When she circled back toward me, the puppy came with her. I grabbed both big Poodles and snapped the leashes onto their collars.

  Aunt Peg had ended up in the corner where the two wings of the hotel building met. Several other people were standing in the shadows with her. As I headed their way, doors to several of the guest rooms along the inner corridor began to open. People stuck their heads out and looked around curiously.

  “What’s going on?” Dale Atherton asked as I passed by. Standing in his doorway, he looked charmingly rumpled, his hair tousled, feet bare, shirt untucked. Briefly I wondered if he’d been asleep.

  “I don’t know yet. Someone screamed.”