Game of Dog Bones Page 8

  “Hey!” I jumped up. “That was rude.”

  Tar wagged his pom-ponned tail happily. It was a good thing he meant well, because corrections were mostly lost on him. Instead of acknowledging he’d been wrong, Tar continued to stare at the remainder of my muffin with a goofy grin on his face.

  “No,” I told him sternly.

  “Good luck with that,” Davey said.

  He and Kevin came walking into the kitchen. Both boys were dressed for school. Their faces and hands were clean, and their hair was combed. One could only marvel at the sight.

  Davey snagged an apple from the bowl. “Tar and Bud never listen when it comes to food.”

  Bud had flopped down on a bed in the corner. Now he jumped up again. The spotted mutt had heard his name and the word food, both in the same sentence. Even though he’d just had breakfast, Bud figured it must be time for another meal.

  “No to you too,” I told him.

  Sam just stared at the ceiling. He knew it was a lost cause.

  “I don’t want to go to school,” Kevin announced. “I want to go back to the dog show.”

  “Me too,” I said.

  Today at Westminster, the competition in the sporting, working, and terrier breeds would be held at the piers. Tonight the winners of those groups would be decided at Madison Square Garden. It was all followed by the ultimate prize, Best in Show.

  “You know Westminster streams the judging live,” Sam pointed out. “You can follow it while you’re at school.”

  “I’m supposed to be working while I’m at school,” I said with a sigh.

  “I’m supposed to be working while I’m at home.” Sam worked freelance as a designer of computer software. He ran his business from a home office that was just down the hall. “But I’m pretty sure I can still manage to find time to check in every so often.”

  “I want to check in too,” Kev announced.

  “You can’t,” Davey told him. “You don’t have a phone.”

  My younger son arranged his face in a scowl. “I want a phone.”

  “Now look what you’ve done,” I said to Davey.

  He held up his hands, a protest of innocence. Then he cocked his head toward the front of the house. “Hey, I think I hear my bus coming.” He grabbed his parka off the back of a chair and snatched his backpack up from the floor. “Gotta go.”

  Davey could move quickly when he wanted to. Within seconds he was gone. We all felt a sudden blast of cold air. Then the back door slammed behind him.

  “Have a good day,” I said in the general direction that he’d disappeared.

  “Davey can’t hear you.” Kevin giggled. “He already left.”

  “It’s time for us to go too,” I told him. “Where are your jacket and your rubber boots?”

  Sam was already on his way to the closet in the front hall. I gathered up my stuff and made sure that Faith was ready. She was easy. She was always available to do whatever I wanted.

  It was a good thing Westminster happened only once a year, I decided. The event was exciting, but it was also exhausting. Like Faith, I was glad it was time to get back to my regular routine.

  * * *

  Howard Academy offered an education to children from kindergarten through eighth grade. Its mission was to provide students with a solid academic foundation, then send them on to other distinguished institutions of learning for their high school and college years.

  I was fortunate in that most of the pupils who attended HA were bright, cultured, and highly motivated. Many students had parents who were overachievers themselves. So the bar for acceptable performance had already been set quite high at home before the children even graced our hallowed halls.

  Parents trusted Howard Academy with their children because the school’s standards were high and its curriculum was rigorous. Even the brightest students had to apply themselves to keep up. Which meant that sometimes kids fell behind. Those who did ended up in my classroom. It was my job to figure out what had gone wrong, then deliver whatever kind of scholastic nudge was needed to get the pupils back on track.

  It was early in the semester, so my schedule was pretty light. Currently I had only four students whom I was tutoring regularly. On Tuesday, that allowed me a little free time to watch the dog show.

  I devoted the rest of my school day to making sure that my classroom looked impeccable. Howard Academy’s semi-annual Parents’ Night was going to be held the following evening and Headmaster Russell Hanover expected the occasion to proceed flawlessly. Just as it always did. I had no intention of being the teacher who let him down.

  When Kevin, Faith, and I arrived home at one-thirty, Sam was closeted in his office, working. I grabbed the other dogs, then Kev and I took everyone for a run.

  The Poodles behaved beautifully. Keeping both Kevin and Bud heading in the same direction for more than a few steps at a time, however, was like trying to herd cats. I had a leash on Bud. I probably should have had one on Kevin too. Just kidding. Sort of.

  Sam met us at the door when we finally got back. He took one look at me and offered me a beer from the fridge. I opted for a bottle of green tea instead.

  His laptop was open on the counter. Of course it was showing Westminster. Gordon Setters were being judged. I squinted at the screen for a minute but didn’t see anyone I knew.

  “I just got off the phone with Crawford,” Sam said as he turned on the cold water to refill the dogs’ water bowl. “I called to congratulate him on last night.”

  “Was he happy about how things went?” I hoped the handler was pleased with Topper’s group placement. But he’d told me he was there to win so I wasn’t sure.

  “He was delighted. The Havanese showed well, which was really all he wanted, or expected. And Crawford thought the Non-Sporting Group was particularly strong this year. He’d told Topper’s owner that he was hoping they would make the cut. So that third place ribbon was a thrill. Especially under a judge of Peg’s caliber. The Mini’s owner was so happy that he renewed Crawford’s contract for the entire year. He wants to take Topper back to Westminster next February to see if they can do better.”

  “That’s terrific,” I said. “And well deserved. What about the wedding?”

  Sam turned to look at me. “What about it?”

  “I never got a chance to ask Terry about it yesterday. Is everything proceeding according to plan?”

  He set the bowl on the floor. The Poodles immediately clustered around it. I could hear the sound of multiple tongues lapping at once. Sam would have to fill the bowl again when they were finished.

  “How would I know that?”

  “Because you were on the phone with Crawford,” I said.

  “Here’s a news flash. Men don’t talk about wedding plans. Especially since there are about a million other things that we’d rather discuss. Or basically pretty much anything else.”

  “I get that,” I agreed. “But the wedding’s only a week away.”

  “So?”

  “So, Terry is in charge. And you know he’s like a magpie. Brilliant when he wants to pay attention, but also easily distracted by any shiny object that happens to catch his eye. Am I the only one who thinks that someone ought to check and make sure that he’s on top of things?”

  Sam laughed. “And you seriously think that’s a job for me?”

  Okay, he had a point. Maybe not.

  * * *

  That night after dinner, we all got comfortable in front of the television in the living room to watch the second night of Westminster. Sam and I were on the couch. Kevin had wedged himself in between us.

  The Standard Poodles scattered on the floor around us. Faith was lying across my feet. Bud and Augie were under the coffee table, chewing on either end of a braided rope toy.

  Davey chose a club chair on the side of the room. Since he’d also kept his phone close at hand, I figured he wanted his privacy so he could keep tabs on what his friends were doing while he was here with us.

  The t
hought made me a little sad. Davey wasn’t my little boy anymore. I knew the increasing separation between us was inevitable. And even necessary. But that didn’t make it any easier.

  I curled my arm around Kevin’s shoulder and drew him against my side. Instead of pulling away, Kev snuggled closer. I rested my head on top of his and breathed in deeply. Thank goodness he was in no hurry to grow up.

  An Irish Water Spaniel won the Sporting Group. Kevin was rooting for the Pointer because it had spots. He would have been disappointed by its loss if he’d still been watching. But after his big day on Monday, Kev was already asleep by the time the group ended.

  Sam carried Kevin upstairs and put him to bed. He got back in time to watch the second half of the Working Group, where the Boxer triumphed over its competitors. A Soft-Coated Wheaten was the surprise winner in Terriers. That set the stage for a contentious battle for Best in Show.

  One by one the group winners were announced and brought into the ring. Each dog was treated to enthusiastic applause when it appeared. Already the audience members were cheering for their favorites.

  The BIS judge, like all dog show judges, was supposed to be impervious to spectator opinion. Nevertheless, when the camera briefly flashed her way I saw that she was smiling. She had to be enjoying the exuberant approval with which the crowd was greeting her seven contenders.

  The dogs formed a line in size order. The Saluki from the Hound Group was in front. The Pomeranian from the Toy Group brought up the rear. Sam and I stared at the TV screen, studying each dog intently as if there was going to be a quiz later.

  Davey took a more relaxed approach. “I’m rooting for the Old English Sheepdog,” he announced. We’d watched that dog win the Herding Group on Monday night after Aunt Peg was finished.

  “Why?” I asked him.

  Davey shrugged. “I think he looks like a big ball of hair.”

  “But—” I began.

  “That’s as good a reason as any,” Sam interrupted me.

  It was not. I let the comment stand anyway. I was just happy Davey was watching the dog show rather than looking at his phone.

  “I think the judge likes the Pomeranian,” I decided.

  “I think the spectators like the Pom,” Sam said. “And that’s making the cameras spend a lot of time on him. That little dog certainly knows how to play to the crowd.”

  Sam had that right. The toy dog wasn’t currently being judged, but he was hamming it up on the sidelines. First he extended his front legs to take a long, leisurely stretch. Then he bounced up in the air to catch a furry toy his handler tossed to him.

  “That’s because they’re New Yorkers,” said Davey. “They like little dogs because they all live in apartments.”

  The judge took a last look at the seven-dog line up. She accorded each group winner an equal amount of attention, but I was betting she’d already made up her mind. Then she turned and walked over to the table to mark and sign her book. Westminster club officers gathered up armloads of trophies and ribbons for the presentation.

  Reserve Best in Show was announced first. It went to the beautifully balanced Saluki. After that, the judge awarded the enormous purple and gold rosette for Best in Show to the French Bulldog, who’d become a finalist by winning Aunt Peg’s Non-Sporting Group.

  “Peg will be pleased about that,” Sam said. We watched the Frenchie’s handler pump his fist in the air in celebration. The other handlers gathered around to congratulate him. “She’s there, isn’t she?”

  “Of course she’s there. She wouldn’t miss it. Especially since she had to forego watching yesterday’s judging. Aunt Peg stayed over in the city last night and spent all day today at the piers. She had a lot of catching up to do.”

  It was late and we were all tired, but the day had ended on a high note. While Sam let the dogs out, I hustled Davey off to bed. Sam and I followed shortly thereafter.

  At six-thirty the next morning the phone rang. I opened one eye, looked at the clock on the bedside night table, then groaned. I’d still had another half hour of sleep left.

  Sam woke up more quickly than I did. He picked up the phone and held it to his ear.

  “Who’s calling at this hour?” I mumbled.

  He gave me that look. The one that told me I should have known. That answered my question. It was Aunt Peg.

  Sam listened for a minute. His expression turned grave. At the end, he said, “I see. We’ll wait to hear from you.”

  By that time I was sitting up in bed. Faith knew something was wrong. She’d jumped up to join us. I pulled her into my lap. The big Poodle and I were both wide awake now.

  I didn’t even wait until Sam had put down the phone before blurting out, “What happened?”

  “It’s bad news.”

  I’d already guessed that. I loved my husband dearly, but right at that moment, I wanted to shake him.

  “Who?”

  “Victor Durbin,” said Sam. “He’s dead.”

  Chapter 10

  Immediately I had a million questions. Unfortunately Sam didn’t have many answers.

  “When?” I asked. “Where? How?”

  “Sometime last night at Madison Square Garden,” he told me. “As for how, Peg was a little short on details.”

  “She’s getting more, isn’t she?” I pushed back the covers and hopped out of bed. “That’s why we’re waiting to hear from her, right?”

  Sam stared at me. I was already halfway across the bedroom, on my way to grab a quick shower. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a ghoulish fascination with violent crime?”

  I stopped and looked back. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “That was a rhetorical question,” my husband muttered.

  “Oh.” I frowned. “Then no.”

  Sam got out of bed too. The other Poodles in the room were beginning to stir. Bud slept on Kevin’s bed and Augie was in with Davey, but I was sure we’d be hearing from both of them shortly.

  “I don’t know where you think you’re hurrying off to,” Sam said. “It’s Wednesday. Before you can do anything else, you have to go to school this morning.”

  My job at Howard Academy. For a moment, I’d forgotten all about it.

  “I know that,” I said.

  “Right.” Sam wasn’t convinced. “I’m going to start the coffee and let the dogs out. I’ll see you downstairs.” He paused in the doorway, the Poodle pack eddying around his legs. “Don’t bother calling Peg back as soon as I leave.”

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  “Yes, you were.”

  Okay, I was.

  “She doesn’t know any more than I already told you.”

  “Maybe you didn’t ask the right questions,” I said. “In fact, I didn’t hear you ask any questions at all.”

  “That’s because Peg had already told me everything she knew.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Aunt Peg is sneaky that way.”

  Sam might have rolled his eyes. I couldn’t really tell because he was already turning away to take the dogs downstairs. All right, so I wouldn’t call Aunt Peg back. Yet.

  I had a half day of school to get through first. Dammit.

  * * *

  At one o’clock, Faith and I were on our way to Aunt Peg’s house. Actually, it might have been closer to twelve forty-five. Thankfully we didn’t run into Mr. Hanover as we were making our getaway.

  Nothing that happened at Howard Academy escaped our esteemed headmaster’s notice. Sometimes I wondered how he did that. But mostly—especially when I was the one skirting around the edge of the rules—I tried not to think about it.

  Sam had volunteered to pick up Kev at preschool, so Faith and I didn’t have to make any stops on the way to Aunt Peg’s home in back country Greenwich. A straight shot up North Street got us there in record time.

  I hadn’t bothered to call ahead. I knew Aunt Peg would be waiting for me. Actually I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d interrupted my morning tutoring sessions with one of her su
rprise visits to Howard Academy. To tell the truth, I was kind of disappointed that hadn’t happened.

  Aunt Peg lived in a converted farmhouse on five acres of land that had once been the hub of a working farm. She and her late husband, Max, had purchased the property decades earlier. They’d founded their Cedar Crest Kennel shortly thereafter. Together, they had bred some of the best black Standard Poodles in the country there.

  Now Max was gone. More recently, the kennel building that had housed so many illustrious dogs had been lost too. It had burned to the ground eighteen months earlier. Aunt Peg lived in the house with her five remaining Standard Poodles, whose bloodlines were intertwined with those of Sam’s and my dogs.

  Twelve-year-old Beau was the elder statesman of the group. Next in line was Faith’s litter sister, Hope. Zeke, who’d been bred by me, was Eve’s brother. Willow was Tar’s sister. Coral, the newest member of the group, had just turned a year old in the fall. The previous summer Davey had been showing her in the puppy classes for Aunt Peg. Now Coral was taking time off to grow into her adult continental trim.

  Faith loved to ride shotgun but I’d banished her to the backseat of the Volvo for her own safety. That didn’t stop her from having opinions about my driving. As soon as I turned onto Aunt Peg’s quiet lane, Faith jumped to her feet. She began to whine softly. Her tail flagged from side to side. She knew where we were going and she couldn’t wait to get there.

  “Give me a minute,” I told her. “We’re almost there.”

  I’d just hopped Faith out of the car when Aunt Peg’s front door opened. Her gang of Standard Poodles came streaming down the steps like a canine landslide. Zeke and Coral led the charge.

  Faith’s tail snapped up over her back. She danced over to meet the oncoming horde. Noses were quickly touched. Then the polite greetings turned into a raucous game of tag in the home’s front yard.

  Aunt Peg observed the proceedings from her doorway. Her arms were crossed over her chest. “I don’t have cake,” she announced.

  No cake? It was almost inconceivable. Aunt Peg always had cake. Or at least something similarly sweet. It was one of the best reasons for coming to visit. Not that I would ever tell her that, of course.