Underdog Page 5

  “What have you been up to while I was gone?” Sam asked.

  He knew I’d been taking Faith to handling class, but having recently moved to the East Coast, he didn’t know Rick and Jenny Maguire personally. Still, he was shocked when I told him what had happened.

  “How did she die?”

  “Arsenic poisoning, apparently.” I plucked a bright gold leaf off a tree beside the path and twirled it between my fingers. “Aunt Peg and I went to the wake last night and Crawford Langley told us that much. He said it must have been an accident.”

  Both of us stopped as there was a sudden crashing in the underbrush. With two graceful bounds, a doe leapt across the path and disappeared into the trees on the other side. I grabbed for my puppy and missed. Immediately both Poodles took off in pursuit. Luckily Charm was too old to give much of a chase and when she circled back, Faith came with her.

  Having recaptured the dogs, we decided it was time for lunch. I was just as glad the subject had been changed. The summer before Sam had done a great job of comforting me after I’d stumbled across a dead body. I didn’t want him to think of me as some sort of damsel who was perennially in distress.

  Sam had packed ham-and-cheese sandwiches and tucked a pair of beers into a small thermal pouch. The dogs begged shamelessly and probably ended up with more than their share as we talked about Sam’s trip, Aunt Peg’s new puppies, and the judges for the upcoming winter shows. The scenery was breathtaking, the company delightful, and the afternoon passed a whole lot faster than I wanted it to.

  Frank usually dropped Davey off around five. When we got back down the hill to Sam’s house, I knew I would have to hurry if I was going to make it. His arm was around my waist, his fingers skimming lightly just above my waistband.

  “Want to come in?” he asked.

  “Yes . . .” I smiled an apology. “And no. I have to get back. My brother will be bringing Davey home.”

  Sam was great with kids, and he and Davey were friends. I knew he wouldn’t press; Sam understood that I had responsibilities. But that didn’t make it any easier to leave. I tried for a compromise. “Five minutes . . . ?”

  “Doesn’t begin to cover what I had in mind.” Sam chuckled softly. His arm fell away, and my skin felt cool where it had been. “Go get Davey.”

  Not on that note, thank you very much. Bracing my hands on his shoulders, I reached up and kissed Sam on the lips, hard. For a moment he let me lead, then his arms came up, one high, one low, both pulling me close along the warm, hard length of his body.

  By the time I came up for air, my resolve was completely gone.

  Sam didn’t look much better; but fortunately for my child, he seemed to have kept some wits about him. “Davey?” he said.

  I nodded dumbly.

  I got in the Volvo and drove down the hill and turned back into a pumpkin. Or a mother, as the case may be. Sometimes it all feels the same.

  On Tuesday after school, Davey had a play date. He was going to Joey Brickman’s house and I didn’t have to pick him up until dinner time. My last class ended at two-thirty. I drove home and let Faith out in the yard where we played ball for a few minutes. Handling class had been canceled again for that week, and I still needed to return the book Jenny had lent me. Reading it had been a mixed experience. I’d learned a lot, but I’d also been reminded of her on nearly every page.

  I hopped the Poodle puppy into the car and headed north. Faith sat upright on the front seat beside me, staring out through the windows and woofing gently when she saw something she liked. Children on bicycles were a special favorite. She’d jump up, tail wagging, alternately pressing her nose against the window and nudging it against my arm to get my attention. I finally realized she thought they were all Davey, being left behind by the side of the road.

  Thanks to Faith’s antics, the drive went quickly. I’d never been to the Maguires’ kennel before, but I knew that it was located just off Route 7, on the Ridgefield-Danbury border. As I drew near, the large green sign was hard to miss. Shamrock Kennels, it said. Dogs Boarded and Professionally Shown.

  I pulled in the gravel driveway and parked in a shady spot in the small lot out front. To the left was Rick and Jenny’s house. It was a raised ranch, roomy and comfortable looking, covered with light gray aluminum siding. Cream-colored shutters matched the door, and low, well-tended holly bushes lined the flagstone walk. The kennel building was on the other side of the driveway, and sported the same color scheme as the house. Its roof line extended outward in the back and although I assumed I was looking at covered runs, stockade fencing shielded the dogs from my view.

  Clearly a lot of thought and effort had gone into the layout. The yard was well kept up, the gravel in the driveway neatly raked. Every effort had been made to make an excellent first impression on potential clients.

  I cracked the windows all the way around for Faith and left her sitting on the front seat with a rawhide bone. The house looked quiet, so I headed over to the kennel. The first door I came to opened into a small office. Rick was sitting behind a wide metal desk, his chair tipped back at a precarious angle as he talked on the phone. Seeing me, he smiled and held up a finger to indicate he’d be off in a minute.

  I closed the door behind me, walked a few steps into the room and had a look around while I waited. Like nearly all the kennels I’d been to, the walls were covered with pictures, the majority of them “win photos” from all the top dog shows. Dozens of framed shots attested to the success Jenny and Rick had been having with their clients’ dogs.

  There were a number of pictures of a buff colored Cocker Spaniel that I figured must have been Charlie, but there were also Setters, Springers, even a pair of Pointers. Some of the dogs were with Jenny; some, with Rick. All were majestically displayed.

  “Melanie, hi.” Rick hung up the phone and stood. “I hope you didn’t come all this way to find out about class. It’s canceled again this week, I’m afraid.”

  “No, I knew that. Aunt Peg told me. Actually, I came to return this.” I held out his book. “Jenny lent it to me when she came to my house for dinner.”

  “Oh?” Rick took the book and put it down on his desk. “I didn’t even notice it was gone.”

  Why would he? I thought. He’d had plenty of other things to worry about. “I wanted to tell you again how sorry I am. She was really a nice person.”

  “She was great,” Rick said softly. He glanced over at a photograph that was prominently displayed opposite the door: Jenny and Charlie winning Best in Show at Bucks County, dog and handler both aglow with pride at their achievement. Briefly I wondered how he could bear to be surrounded by so many reminders of happier times. As if reading my thoughts, he shifted his gaze away. “Jenny was everything to me. She was my whole life. I’ll never find anyone like her again.”

  I wished there was something comforting I could say; something that wouldn’t sound trite or shallow. But the truth was, I agreed with him. Jenny would be a hard person to replace.

  “Crawford said you found out what happened . . . ?” I let the question dangle. He didn’t have to answer it if he didn’t want to, but I was hoping he would.

  “Arsenic poisoning.” Rick sank back down in his chair. “That’s what the autopsy said.”

  “Do you know how?”

  “God, no. I wish I did.” He raised his face and I saw that his expression was anguished. “The police have asked me about this a dozen times and none of it makes any sense. They wanted to know if we had any arsenic here. Of course we do, we’re a kennel for Pete’s sakes. Where there’s this much kibble, there are rats. We keep the dog food in big metal bins, but they still hang around. You’ve got to control them somehow and it’s not like we were going to get cats. . . .”

  “You think Jenny was poisoned with rat poison?”

  “What else can I think? That’s the only place we had arsenic. She handled it, I handled it. She must have slipped up somehow.”

  A pretty big slip-up, I thought. It couldn
’t be easy, or pleasant for that matter, to ingest enough rat poison to kill a human being. I couldn’t imagine it happening by accident.

  “What do the police say?”

  “They keep asking questions, but so far they haven’t come up with any answers. Did Jenny have any enemies? Had she been depressed about anything lately? Things like that.”

  “And had she been?”

  “Hell no,” Rick snapped, with the vehemence of someone who’s answered the same query one time too many. “Jenny was fine, the same as ever. Things were going good for us, real good.”

  “What about what happened to Ziggy?”

  “Sure that upset her. A thing like that would upset anybody. But Jenny’d been in this business a long time. She grew up in it. You know when you get dogs that you’re going to outlive them. It’s a fact of life and you either figure out how to deal with it or you don’t last very long.”

  Angie had thought Jenny was unhappy. Rick didn’t. Angie was her sister; Rick, her husband. Which one of them had known her better? And what had Angie meant when she’d said, I never thought she’d go that far?

  “So you don’t think Jenny could have poisoned herself?”

  Rick started to reply, then stopped. His shoulders rose and fell in a weary shrug. “I don’t know what to think anymore. My wife is dead. That should be the worst of it, but it’s only the beginning. Half the clients are sympathetic, but the other half are in an uproar. The business is going crazy. Jenny fired our only kennel help ten days ago and I haven’t had a chance to replace her yet. I had the Petersons to deal with over the weekend, and the police are stopping by every other minute to ask questions. My whole life’s shot to hell anyway. What does it matter what I think?”

  The door in the far wall pushed open and Angie stuck her head in. She was holding a fluffy white Bichon Frise under one arm. “Rick? Sylvie Dumas called earlier and said she wants to pick Buttons up at five. I think you ought to call her back and try to change her mind, but I gave him a bath anyway so he’s ready to go if she comes.”

  “Got it, Angel,” said Rick. “Thanks.”

  Angie withdrew and the door shut quietly behind her.

  “See what I mean?” Rick muttered. “Dog people are cold, don’t ever let anyone tell you they’re not. Jenny hasn’t even been buried a week and there’s another client wanting to come and get her dog. Thank God for Angie. With Jackie gone, I don’t know how I’d be managing right now without her.”

  “Jackie was the kennel girl?”

  Rick nodded.

  “I think I spoke with her last week.”

  “Yeah, she was probably in picking up her things. Jenny was really furious at her. Told her to leave and never come back. I don’t think she’d have dared to show her face except. . .”

  He didn’t finish, but we both knew what he meant. Except that by then, Jenny was gone. He didn’t want to talk about it and neither did I. Instead, I went back to something he’d mentioned earlier. “I’ve seen you at the shows, Rick. You’re a good handler. Why can’t you show Buttons?”

  “He hates men, always has. In time I’m sure I could bring him around, but when Jenny was here to show him, there was no need. Now he only needs three singles to finish and Sylvie figures another woman handler will get the job done faster. That’s the name of the game in the dog show world. Win now and win big.” He slumped back and covered his face with his hands. “God, I sound cynical, don’t I?”

  “You sound like a man who’s just gone through the worst week of his life.”

  “You can say that again.” He rubbed his eyes roughly and left them red and puffy. “Well, I guess I’d better call Sylvie and see what I can do.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks. Listen, about class. . .”

  I stopped on my way to the door.

  “We’ll probably be able to get it going again next week. Angie can take Jenny’s place. She’s pretty good. She’s just about saved my life around here the last few days.”

  “Don’t rush back to class on my account. And I’m sure everyone else feels the same way. Come back when you’re ready. We’ll be waiting for you.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

  I kept my eyes down on the way out. I couldn’t bear to look at the pictures either.

  Six

  Davey has been best friends with Joey Brickman since the two of them were less than a year old. At that age the two biggest factors in determining a child’s friends are proximity and how well the two mothers get along. The Brick-mans live right down the street from us in Flower Estates; and from that first shared cup of coffee, Alice and I had known we were on the same wavelength.

  Aside from Joey, Alice has a daughter, Carly, who’s sixteen months old. Her husband works long hours as a lawyer in town and he wasn’t home yet when I arrived to pick up Davey. I would have rung the doorbell, but the front door was standing ajar. I opened the storm door and let myself in.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “In here,” Alice called from the back of the house. Joey and Davey were in the living room, totally engrossed in a game of Nintendo. They didn’t even turn around as I walked by.

  In the kitchen, Alice had Carly in a high chair and was spoonfeeding her dinner. Mother and daughter shared strawberry-blond hair, pale, freckled skin, and pleasingly plump bodies. Alice was still struggling with the last ten pounds from her pregnancy the year before.

  “I closed your front door.”

  “Thanks. The boys must have left it open. They’ve been outside most of the afternoon, but once it starts to get dark . . .” She reached for a napkin as pureed banana oozed out of Carly’s mouth and down her chin.

  “I know. You give up and let them turn on the TV. How come nobody told us ahead of time that motherhood involved so much guilt about all the things you think your children should be doing, but either you can’t find the time or else they’re totally disinterested?”

  “Like chess lessons?”

  “Roddy Wade,” Alice and I said in unison and grinned.

  “If that child’s a prodigy,” I said, “I’m Cindy Crawford.”

  “You know his mother has him up to three lessons a week now?”

  “It’s crazy. It’s this area, the whole fast-track, make-it-big, New York metropolitan mentality. The older teachers say that twenty years ago in an average incoming kindergarten class, one or two of the kids would be reading already. Now most are. Either their parents have taught them, or Big Bird has, or the newest wrinkle in all of this—they’ve been tutored in reading readiness programs. Some of these four- and five-year-olds are even doing math.”

  “And to think,” said Alice, “I feel like I’m doing well when Joey brushes his teeth after I’ve only reminded him twice.”

  “Hey Mom, we want something to eat!” Joey came tearing into the kitchen with Davey close behind him.

  “Dinner’s coming soon,” said Alice. “I don’t want you to spoil your appetite.”

  Davey slid to a halt beside me. “What are you doing here?”

  “Nice to see you, too.” I reached down to give him a hug.

  He glanced at Joey and pulled away. “Is it time to go already?”

  “Yup. Faith’s outside in the car. Where are your shoes?” Winter or summer, it made no difference to Davey. His goal in life was to be barefoot. I’d tried everything from zip-up boots to slip-on sneakers, but nothing stayed on his feet for long.

  “I think they’re in the living room. I beat Joey at Nintendo.”

  “Did not!”

  “Did too!”

  I ignored the squabble and pointed at his feet. “Go look, okay?”

  Davey and Joey left the room the same way they’d arrived—at a dead run. Carly watched them go, then reached out, grabbed a handful of her mother’s hair and gave it a good yank.

  “Ow!” Alice disentangled the strands from her daughter’s chubby fingers. “You left that puppy in the car? Is that a good idea? She’s probably eaten your s
teering wheel by now.”

  “She’s fine,” I said, hoping it was true. “But I probably shouldn’t leave her too long, or she’ll start to bark.” I picked up Davey’s backpack from the kitchen table. His jacket was slung over a chair. When he reappeared— sneakers on, but untied—I dropped it over his shoulders.

  “What do you say?” I asked him.

  “What’s for dinner?”

  “Not to me. To Mrs. Brickman.”

  “Thanks for having me,” Davey mumbled.

  “You’re very welcome,” said Alice, eons more gracious than her guest.

  Joey walked us to the door. If I hadn’t pulled it closed behind us, he probably would have left it open again. In the car, Faith was bouncing up and down with excitement at our reappearance. As soon as Davey got in, she jumped over the back of the seat and landed on his lap. He was giggling as the two of them rolled down on the floor.

  “Did you have fun this afternoon?” I asked when he’d stuck his head up for air.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Joey cheated at Nintendo.”

  “Really? I thought you said you beat him.”

  Davey was silent for a moment, considering the ramifications of trying to have it both ways. I could read his thought processes as clearly as my own. He was wondering which he was more in the mood for—sympathy or gloating. Finally he opted out all together.

  “I’m hungry,” he said as we turned in the driveway and coasted to a stop in front of the garage.

  “You’re always hungry.”

  The look he gave me was one of pure exasperation. No doubt about it, kindergarten had matured this kid. I reached out and ruffled his hair.

  “Don’t grow up too fast, okay?”

  “Aw, Mom.” Davey opened the car door and unfastened his seatbelt. Faith was sitting on his lap. He lifted the flap of her ear and whispered, “Last one to the house is a rotten egg!”