A Pedigree to Die For (6 page)

Authors: Laurien Berenson

Tags: #Suspense

BOOK: A Pedigree to Die For

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“Aunt Peg isn't trying to make trouble for anyone,” I snapped. As far as I was concerned, that business about God's will was a cheap shot. “All she wants is to get Uncle Max's dog back: safe, unharmed, no questions asked.”

“And she actually had the audacity to suggest that I might know something about it? That's rich. I may be leaving the convent; it doesn't mean I've taken leave of my senses. Stealing goes against the commandments, as I'm sure you well know. It's a mortal sin.”

For the first time in a long time, my years of convent schooling stood me in good stead. “So is coveting thy neighbor's goods,” I said as I climbed into the car. “Think about it.”

Seven

On the way home, Davey and I stopped at McDonald's for Chicken McNuggets, chocolate milkshakes, and a large order of fries, which we shared. He was filled with animation, reliving in detail the highlights of his day. I ate my food in silence and let him hold the stage. One of the first things motherhood had taught me was to conserve energy whenever possible. By now, I was a master at it.

Half an hour later, when the Volvo chugged into the driveway and stalled in the garage with what sounded like a sigh of relief, Davey's internal clock had wound down as well. He was fast asleep in the back seat and never even stirred when I carried him upstairs and put him to bed.

That done, I turned on the coffee maker, then went directly to the telephone. As far as I could see, my visit with Aunt Rose had accomplished little, other than to raise more questions. I could only hope that Aunt Peg was going to have the answers.

“How'd it go? Did Rose tell you anything about the dog?” she asked immediately. Obviously it had never occurred to her that she was the one who had some explaining to do.

“As a matter of fact, she did.”

“She knows where he is then?”

“Noâat least not that she's telling.” The light on the coffee maker began to glow. I poured myself a cup, added a dollop of milk from the refrigerator, then sat down at the table. “Aunt Rose claims she knows nothing at all about Beau's disappearance, although I should mention that she guessed right away that he was the dog who'd been stolen. So apparently she knew enough about Max's affairs to know where he was most vulnerable.”

“That doesn't surprise me one bit. Did you ask her where she was the night of the twenty-eighth?”

“No.” I paused for another sip of coffee. “Somehow I just can't picture Aunt Rose climbing over that fence to get inside the kennel. Besides, as far as I know, nuns aren't allowed to come and go as they pleaseâespecially in the middle of the night.”

“She could have gotten that priest to do it,” Aunt Peg argued. Clearly she was still enamored with her first suspect's chances.

“True, but then she wouldn't need an alibi, would she?”

Aunt Peg knew when she'd been bested. For a long moment she didn't say anything at all. I gave silent thanks that it was a local call and used the time to drink more coffee.

“So you think Rose was telling you the truth?”

“Well, yes . . . I guess so.”

“That's hardly a glowing recommendation.”

“It wasn't meant to be. To tell the truth, I'm not sure what I think. It's hard to judge someone you've known for years, especially when she's a member of your own family. Besides, you know perfectly well that I was brought up to believe that the clergy were the next best thing to God. I may not like the attitude, but it's ingrained pretty deep. I just don't see how Aunt Rose could be involved and nothing she said changed my mind.”

“Well.” Aunt Peg's voice was huffy. “Then I guess I'll just have to be satisfied with that.”

“There was one other thing. . .”

“Yes?”

“Aunt Rose mentioned a man named Sam Driver. She seemed to think you would have told me about him.”

“Oh.” The single syllable spoke volumes.

“Well?”

“Actually, it's a little embarrassing.”

“I'd be embarrassed, too, after an oversight like that. Did he really offer Max a blank check?”

“Well, yes . . . but that's not the embarrassing part.”

“Oh no?” After the awkward position Aunt Peg had put me in that afternoon, a gleeful chuckle would have suited my mood perfectly. I settled for a silent smirk instead. “What else did he do?”

“Maybe I should come over and we'll talk about it in person.”

“Now? Tonight?”

“Melanie, dear, it's only eight-thirty. The night is young, as they say.”

“Only for people who don't have four-year-olds.”

Aunt Peg ignored the comment as I'd known she would. She made good time in her souped-up station wagon. Even allowing for the stop she'd obviously made, it was only just after nine when she arrived.

“Doughnuts,” she announced, thrusting the bright pink box into my hand. “I'll require a pot of tea and a napkin, and then you may ask me anything.”

As she stepped into the hall, I realized she wasn't alone. A black Standard Poodle bitch stood at her heel, eying with polite interest the box I now held. This one wasn't in show trim, which meant that she had a short blanket of dense curly hair covering her entire body. But beyond recognizing that, she might have been any one of the Poodles I'd met earlier.

“Simba,” Aunt Peg said, following the direction of my gaze. The Poodle looked up happily at the mention of her name. “Don't worry, she won't be a bother. You don't have any cats, do you?”

I shook my head. As children, Frank and I had always wanted a pet, but my mother's wishes had prevailed. She said that cats were never home and dogs peed in the house. The discussion had ended there. Aside from telling Davey that he couldn't have a dinosaur, I hadn't thought about getting a pet in years.

I reached down a tentative hand. The Poodle sniffed my fingertips, then leaned into an ear scratching. “Doesn't she like cats?”

“Simba likes them fine. I'm the one who worries. This time of year, houses with cats often have fleas. With all the dogs I have in hair, I have to be very careful.”

“Oh.” I wondered if my housekeeping was being insulted and decided it probably was. Since Simba was still watching the box, I lifted the edge of the lid to peer inside. No dog treats as I'd half-suspected, only the promised doughnuts. A full dozen, at least. Judging from the amount of food Aunt Peg seemed to pack into her svelte, size-eight body, people who were just shy of six feet didn't have to worry about their weight. Unfortunately the same couldn't be said for me. The more time we spent together, the tighter my clothes seemed destined to feel.

“Jelly and glazed,” said Aunt Peg. Her hand positioned itself between my shoulder blades and aimed me toward the kitchen. “Let's get on with it, shall we?”

I took her at her word and provided tea and a napkin. Plates would only have to be washed later anyway. “Tell me about Sam Driver,” I said when we'd gotten settled at the table, with Simba lying underneath. “Who is he, and what does he have to do with Beau?”

Aunt Peg flipped open the box and took her time selecting a doughnut. Like Poodles, they all looked alike to me. I reached in and grabbed the first one that came to hand. No doubt something basic about our different approaches to life had been revealed. As an unemployed, divorced, single parent on the trail of a dog I'd never even seen, I didn't dare think about what.

“Quite simply put,” said Peg, “he's a man who's shown an inordinate amount of interest in acquiring the dog.”

“The other night you said you'd been offered twenty thousand dollarsâand Rose said something about a blank check . . . ?”

“That was Sam on both counts. Over the last couple of months, he tried to buy the dog from us several times.”

I took a large bite and chewed slowly. The cake was light and spongy, the jelly cloyingly sweet. I was in heaven. “Why didn't you tell me about him before?”

“Before what? Before I set you after your saintly Aunt Rose, or before she had a chance to mention it first?”

“Both.” I swallowed and immediately went back for more. Talking with my mouth full was getting to be a habit. “You have to admit, it's a bit odd. Most people, faced with two possible suspects, would tend to think the worst of the stranger first.”

“Most people,” Peg stated imperturbably, “don't know Rose.”

It was easy to see that line of questioning wasn't going to get me anywhere. “All right, the method may have been roundabout, but at last we've arrived at the mysterious Mr. Driver. Would you please explain how the man could possibly be a source of embarrassment?”

Aunt Peg sighed. “Perhaps chagrin is a better word. You see, if Sam Driver is the man behind this mess, then I'm afraid I may have only myself to blame.”

“Keep going.” I was happy to let her do all the talking. It made eating easier.

“I've met Sam, of course, but I wouldn't say that I know him well. Apparently he's been breeding and showing Poodles in Michigan for the last five years. He came east in February for the Westminster Dog Show. That's when he saw Beau, and that's when he made his first offer. He's a very polite man, and rather well-spoken. Looks a bit like Mel Gibson, to tell you the truthâ”

I choked on an unexpected laugh. “Aunt Peg, what would you know about Mel Gibson?”

“My dear girl, I may be old but I am not dead.”

It was amazing how neatly both feet could fit into a mouth that was already full. I busied myself with slipping Simba a bite of my doughnut.

“You'll teach her to beg if you do that,” Aunt Peg said, but she didn't sound entirely displeased. “Anyway, after Max turned Sam down at Westminster, we both just assumed that would be the end of it. Then, a few weeks later, the letters began arriving. He told us all about his breeding operation, his plans for the future, and what a good home he could offer Beau. When that didn't work, the phone calls started.”

Aunt Peg frowned. “He seemed to have targeted me, you see. After all, it wasn't hard to see that Max was rather a fanatic where that dog was concerned. I'm sure Sam figured out that if someone was going to listen to him, it had to be me. Toward the end, we spoke rather frequently.”

“When did he offer Max a blank check?”

The frown deepened. “Less than a week before he died. I'd told Sam already that it was no use, but he wouldn't listen . . .”

Interesting, I thought, how chummy they seemed to have been. “And he was still in Michigan at the time?”

“Oh no, I was just getting to that. You see, a few days earlier he'd shown up on our doorstep in person. It seems he'd quit his job out there and moved to Connecticut, bringing his kennel with him.”

I didn't like the sound of that at all.

“I'm afraid there's more,” Aunt Peg admitted. “Max was away at the timeâout of town for a day or two, and I was feeling rather at loose ends. Of course, by then I had spoken to Sam enough so that I felt as though I knew him. Once he'd arrived, I invited him in and we spent quite a pleasant afternoon, drinking tea and talking dogs. I even introduced him to Beau and gave him a tour of the kennel.”

“Aunt Peg, you didn't!”

“Well, of course I did. Why wouldn't I? He seemed genuinely interested.”

“I'll bet.” I could see how it had goneâa tall, blue-eyed hunk of a man pulling out all the stops to make a good impression on Aunt Peg. Not that she was gullible certainly, just that she tended to see virtue, warranted or not, in people who felt the same way about dogs as she did. Her next admission only added to my suspicion that she'd been had.

“The reason I didn't mention Sam right off is that he doesn't seem at all like the type of person who would do something like this. He's really a very nice young man.”

“That's probably just what he was hoping you'd think, Aunt Peg. He wanted you to let down your guard.”

“Believe me,” Aunt Peg said slyly, “with a man like that around, my guard was never up.”

“Shame on you!” I teased. “What would Uncle Max have said?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to pull them back.

To my relief, however, Aunt Peg began to smile. “He'd have said that being married meant you couldn't touch. But looking with appreciation, that's something else entirely.”

“Uncle Max was a nice man, wasn't he?” I said quietly.

“One of the best.” The smile faded, then returned. “I was lucky, you know, damn lucky to have had Max all the years I did. I'm not the type to go all weepy and maudlin about things. I never have been, and I refuse to start now. So don't go getting all embarrassed every time you mention his name. Talking about Max isn't half the tragedy that forgetting him would be.”

“You're right.”

“Now then,” Peg said briskly. “Where were we?”

Equilibrium restored, we forged ahead. “With Mel Gibson's alter ego, I believe.”

“Ah yes, Sam. You'll have to talk to him.”

“I suppose so.”

Aunt Peg looked up from the wedge of lemon she was squeezing into her second cup of tea. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing, really. It's just that asking questions of people I already know is one thing. Strangers are another matter all together.”