Read Doggie Day Care Murder Online
Authors: Laurien Berenson
Doggie Day Care Murder (13 page)
The van's back doors were open, but I didn't see anyone in the vicinity. I wondered if the warehouse had sent the same delivery man as last time and whether he was inside talking to Madison.
Taking my time, I opened my car and got out my apple. It was warm but I bit into it anyway. Then I leaned against the car and waited.
It didn't take long. I was nibbling around the core when Mr. Muscles appeared. This time, however, it wasn't Madison who was chatting with him, but Candy.
Reaching the van, he slammed the doors shut, then held out his clipboard for her signature. She bent over, started to write, and then stopped.
“Turn around,” she said playfully. “I need to lean on something.”
The man obliged. His back was strong and broad. Candy braced the clipboard against it and slowly signed. I could have written a paragraph in the time it took her to finish.
“Thank you, Cole,” Candy said when she was done. “See you in a couple days.”
He took the clipboard, tossed it onto the front seat, then climbed into the van after it. “You take care of yourself now. I don't want to hear that you're working too hard, okay?”
“I'll try.”
Candy watched the delivery van pull away down the driveway, then went back inside. She never even noticed I was standing there.
Sheesh. And I thought my hormones were going crazy. I had nothing on this place.
13
B
y lunchtime, I had given myself a pretty thorough tour of the Pine Ridge facilities. I'm a skeptic by nature, but even so, I had to admit that my first impression still held. There was a lot to like about the establishment that Steve and Candy had built together.
y lunchtime, I had given myself a pretty thorough tour of the Pine Ridge facilities. I'm a skeptic by nature, but even so, I had to admit that my first impression still held. There was a lot to like about the establishment that Steve and Candy had built together.
At the top of the list was the fact that all the dogs I saw seemed genuinely happy to be at Pine Ridge and under the care of their staff. Tails wagged, eyes were bright and engaged. Puppies raced around the outdoor paddocks and danced on their hind legs. Staff members threw balls, climbed through tunnels, and played tug-of-war with the older dogs.
It was like Disneyland for dogs. Who wouldn't approve of that?
I was sitting outside early that afternoon when a member of the junior staff exited the Dog House carrying a grizzled, black and tan Dachshund in his arms. I watched as the tall, skinny teenager carried the dog into a nearby paddock and laid him down gently in the grass.
The Wirehaired Dachshund lifted his head and looked around but didn't rise. Instead, he sniffed the air a few times, then flopped over on his side in the sun. Almost immediately he began to snore. I could hear the small dog's labored breathing from some distance away.
When the boy who'd brought the dog outside walked over into the shade and leaned against the chain-link fence, I got up and strolled over to join him.
“Is he all right?” I asked, nodding toward the sleeping hound.
A Collie and a Weimaraner had begun to chase each other noisily around an adjacent paddock. The Dachshund was oblivious. Even that much commotion didn't wake him up.
“Sure,” said the teen. “That's just Nathan. He's old.”
The name rang a bell. That first day when I'd been talking to Steve, he'd mentioned an eighteen-year-old Dachshund who was like a member of the family. This had to be him.
“Poor guy doesn't move around much anymore. Tell you the truth, I'm not sure he even knows where he is most of the time.” The kid grinned. “But he likes to nap in the sun, so we bring him out here every day for an hour or so. It makes him happy, so why not?”
“Nice,” I said. “I'm Melanie.”
“Yeah, I know.” His head bobbed in a nod. “Word gets around. Jason.”
“Pleased to meet you, Jason. Have you worked here long?”
“Just since school let out.”
“Summer job?”
“Yup, I'm saving money for college. It was either this or McDonald's, and I'm not the fast food type.”
Jason was all limbs and angular features. His khaki pants rode low on narrow hips. An overlong belt, its tail looped up and still hanging, seemed to be all that was holding them in place. I thought about the careful way he'd handled the elderly Dachshund.
“You look like you enjoy working with dogs.”
“Sure, who wouldn't? Besides, it beats cooking fries all day. I just hope . . .” He stopped. His voice trailed away.
“Hope what?”
“You know. LIFO.”
I thought I was pretty good at keeping up with teenage slang, but that had me stumped.
“Life-oh?”
Jason shrugged. It was an attempt at looking carefree that he couldn't quite pull off.
“Last in, first out. I'm the new guy. When I started, I thought I was set for the summer. Now I'm not so sure.”
“I guess that means things have changed since Steve died?”
“Not yet, but they're gonna.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I'm planning to major in business. Then get my MBA. But it doesn't take a corporate genius to see that business is down around here. I bet a third of our regulars have gone missing this week. And all Candy can figure out to do is update the web site? Man.”
Jason shot me an accusing glance. “No offense, but I think she's got better things to devote her energy to right now.”
“Like what?”
Jason held up a hand and ticked off his ideas on his fingers.
“How about making some reassuring calls to the no-show clients, for one? Get them back on board first. Then think about taking out ads in some of the local papers to increase visibility. Or how about fliers to hand out at obedience clubs or stick on vets' bulletin boards?”
“All good ideas,” I said. “Have you tried mentioning them to Candy?”
“Heck no. I just do the grunt work around here. Half the time I have a pooper scooper in my hands. I'm just the guy who's supposed to shut up and be invisible in the background.”
Jason's tone hovered somewhere between resentful and resigned. Typical teen.
“Don't worry,” I said. “You'll get where you're going, just not quite yet. Right now you're too smart for your age. Until you get more experience, chances are no one's going to take you as seriously as you think they should. But give it some time and that'll change.”
“That's what Ms. Moynihan said.”
“Who's she?”
“My AP English teacher. She's always telling me to slow down and try to appreciate what I have now, instead of trying to grow up right away.”
“Good advice,” I said.
“Maybe.” He didn't look convinced. “Maybe not. Look what happened to Steve.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was a real stop-and-smell-the-roses kind of guy. And look where he is now. Dead. And probably without accomplishing half of what he set out to do.”
“Nobody plans to die young,” I said. “Or to be murdered.”
“He should have paid more attention to business,” Jason said stubbornly.
“What makes you think he didn't? Until just recently, it looked as though this place was thriving.”
“That's what you're supposed to think, isn't it? Customers want to see perfection, and that's what Steve was selling. No matter how much it cost to create the illusion.”
I wondered whether Jason knew what he was talking about or if he was just showing off. He was clearly over qualified for his current job; but at the same time he was still immature enough to want to make sure that everyone around him knew it.
“Maybe it isn't an illusion,” I said.
Jason shrugged. As if convincing me wasn't his problem, even though he was the one who'd raised the subject.
“Steve and Candy used to fight about money,” he said. “I heard them when I was around, cleaning up. They never paid any attention to me.”
There it was again, that thin thread of bitterness that underlaid his tone. Jason thought of himself as a person of consequence and no one was paying enough attention to him.
Until me.
Until now.
No wonder he'd spoken so freely. I was probably the first person at Pine Ridge to give him the notice he craved. Still, Jason was definitely a bright kid. And people who paid attention to what went on around them often learned useful things.
“What about money made them fight?” I asked.
“Splits, partners, who got what.” Jason levered himself up and away from the fence. “It's always the same thing, isn't it? There's never enough to go around.”
He walked out into the sun and scooped up the sleeping Dachshund. Cradled in Jason's arms, Nathan continued to snore. Boy and dog went back inside.
I'd seen enough for one day, I decided. And besides, I wanted to go home.
That was a first, I realized abruptly. Usually the adrenalin high attached to following a trail of clues or puzzling out a sequence of events had been enough to keep me engaged for hours. Once on track, I hated to be distracted from what I was doing. But not now.
For years, sleuthing had filled in the gaps in my life. It had also added an edge to what was otherwise a pretty mundane existence. But now it didn't seem as critically important as it once had. Now I got high on other things. Like being with my family.
Wow, I thought. Maybe this was what maturity felt like. If so, it wasn't half bad.
Out in front of the office building, Alice's Honda Accord was parked in the lot. There are a million silver Hondas in the world, but Alice's was instantly recognizable by the soccer ball decal affixed to the back window and the bumper sticker that read, MY BALLERINA CAN BEAT UP YOUR HONOR STUDENT.
One thing you have to love about Alice: nobody ever accused her of being politically correct.
As I was standing there, the office door opened and Berkley came barreling out. He was attached to Alice by one of those expando-leashes and the gadget unspooled quickly as he galloped on ahead. Fortunately, he made a pit stop at a bush bordering the parking lot; otherwise, she might never have caught up.
“High heels are hell,” Alice said by way of a greeting. “Don't ever let anyone tell you differently.”
She gritted her teeth, in either annoyance or pain. It was hard to tell which. “Especially not some cute, young, tight-bunned Italian shoe salesman who's never had to spend all day standing on his toes in his life.”
“Ay caramba!”
I said. “Serves you right.”
I said. “Serves you right.”
Just for the record, I was wearing sneakers.
“Stuff that,” Alice replied. She loaded Berkley into the car. “And besides, isn't that Spanish?”
“Close enough.”
“Only if you're not Italian. Like these shoes.”
She reached down, peeled them off, and tossed them in the car with Berkley. The Golden eyed the delicate leather pumps with interest, especially the one that bounced off his shoulder before landing beside him on the seat.
“Don't you dare,” said Alice.
Berkley pretended not to be listening.
I noted that and leaned in closer to keep an eye on him. Alice was busy shedding her blazer and unbuttoning the top button of her silk blouse. Her cheeks were flushed and there was a sheen of sweat across her brow.
“First days can be tough,” I said.
“Just getting dressed is tough enough,” Alice grumbled. “Who wears a suit in the summer anyway?”
“Lawyers?”
Her look indicated that the question had been rhetorical. I reached in through the open car window and rescued one of the shoes. Berkley was licking the sole lovingly. Another minute and he'd have the whole heel in his mouth.
“At least it looks like Berkley had a good day,” I said. “I know you were worried about him not fitting in.”
“Not fitting in?” Alice snorted out a laugh. “I was worried about him tearing the place apart.”
As one, we glanced at the building. It was, not surprisingly, still standing.
“But they did a great job with him. From the moment I dropped him off this morning, you could see they weren't going to let him get away with behaving like an idiot. Right away, he began to pay attention. They probably handled him better than I do,” Alice admitted.
“You're too much of a softie,” I said. “Berkley doesn't think of you as the boss, so he doesn't respect you.”
Alice thought for a minute. “Funny thing about that. I had the same problem at work this morning.”
“Want to talk about it?” I asked.
Another rhetorical question. Alice looked like she was dying to sit down, kick off her shoes, and spill the beans. Though actually, now that I thought about it, the shoes were already off. A sharing of confidences could hardly be far behind.
“A stop at the Bean Counter would make my day,” said Alice. “Race you there.”
I hopped in my car and followed her out. My racing genes were in remission at the moment, but I'd be happy to come in second.
The Bean Counter was a coffee bar in North Stamford that served great gourmet sandwiches and pastries, and offered live music on weekends. It was also a joint venture co-owned by my younger brother, Frank, and my ex-husband, Bob. After a somewhat shaky beginning, the business had really taken off. Originally conceived as a local hangout, it was now a popular gathering spot for everyone from dating teens, to young parents, to retirees.
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