Hounded to Death (11 page)

“Likely or not,” said Detective Wayne, “the man was murdered. So somebody must have had strong feelings about him.”

He had a point.

“I'd like the three of you to run through that sequence of events once more, if you don't mind.”

Superfluous of him to tack on that last part. About us minding, that is. What would happen if I stood up and said, “Thank you, but no, I'd rather go learn about Ibizan Hounds?” I'd probably receive a blank stare and a quick order to resettle my fanny in the seat.

While I'd been busy with my internal dialogue, Aunt Peg and Bertie had begun a recitation of events. By the time I tuned back in, Bertie was already in the hot tub.

“I want you to think about this before answering,” said Detective Wayne. “You went to lift Mr. Evans out of the tub…he was probably quite heavy, correct?”

“Yes,” Bertie replied.

“And slippery?”

“That too.”

“So you might have had a hard time getting a good hold?”

“I did.”

“Where on his body did you grab hold of him?”

“Wherever I could,” Bertie said. She looked unhappy.

“What does that mean?”

“I started with my arms around his lower torso. That's how I found out he wasn't wearing any clothing.”

That wasn't news to Detective Wayne. He pressed on. “And then?”

“I grasped his legs.”

“What part of his legs?”

She thought back. “Probably behind his knees.”

“It was,” I confirmed. “Because that's how you were holding him when you passed him out to me.”

Detective Wayne nodded, as if we'd confirmed something he'd expected.

“Does it matter?” I asked.

“There was a significant amount of bruising around Mr. Evans's ankles. We believe that it occurred while he was still alive, and that that was how he was killed.”

“Somebody beat up his ankles?” Bertie asked incredulously.

I was glad she'd asked that. It saved me the trouble of looking silly by doing the same.

“Not quite.” Wayne permitted himself a small smile. “We believe that Mr. Evans was seated in the hot tub when someone grasped his ankles and yanked them upward suddenly. That would have caused his head to go underwater.”

“Someone who was in the hot tub with him?” asked Aunt Peg.

“Perhaps, but not necessarily. A maneuver like that renders a victim almost powerless. Once a person has been tipped backward under the water, it's almost impossible for them to regain the surface. Using this method, a person can be made to drown in a household bathtub. He can also be overcome by someone much smaller in stature than himself.”

We all thought about that.

“So you're not ruling out the possibility that a woman might have been responsible for Charles's death,” I said.

“Definitely not,” the detective agreed. “We're not ruling out anybody.”

I wondered if we were meant to take that as a warning.

“That's all for now,” said Detective Wayne. “But please keep yourselves available.”

He stood up, then paused and looked at each of us in turn.

“Is there anything else you'd like to tell me? Something you might have remembered since last night? Anything we haven't touched on? Something you think I need to know?”

“You'll want to talk to Alana Bennett,” I said.

“And she is?”

“A participant in the symposium. Someone who knew Charles.”

“She said she saw him outside last night in the hot tub,” Bertie added. “It must have been right before he was killed.”

“She should have come forward,” Wayne said sternly.

“Before, you were calling this an accident,” Aunt Peg pointed out.

The detective spun on his heel and headed for the door.

“Not anymore,” he said.

B
y the time Detective Wayne was finished with us, I'd already missed half the Ibizan Hound lecture. Rather than joining it in the middle, I decided to sit out until the next track of seminars started.

While Aunt Peg went off to meet up with friends and Bertie wandered away in the direction of the health club, I went upstairs to our room. Hopefully I could catch a few peaceful minutes to check in with Sam and Davey and see how they were managing without me.

Once again, I called the home number. This time Sam picked up first.

“So much for sending you on a quiet vacation,” he said.

I plumped up the pillows on the bed, then sat down and stretched out. “How did you hear already?”

“Are you kidding? The dog show grapevine travels faster than jungle drums. Besides, Bertie called and told Frank, and Frank called me.”

I should have figured on that.

“It was Charles Evans,” I said. “Did you know him?”

“Mostly by reputation. Everyone who's been involved in dogs for any length of time knew who he was. Charles was the kind of man who had his finger in a lot of different pies. Judging, lecturing, fundraising—if there was an event or a gala anywhere, you could pretty much figure the Evanses were going to be on hand.”

“I guess that's what brought them here. Charles was the keynote speaker.”

“Margo Deline must have had a fit when she heard what he had to say. I heard he called for an end to dog shows.”

“And a reconciliation with animal rights groups.”

“Not a very popular stand to take, considering the audience he was addressing.”

“And now he's dead,” I said.

“Don't tell me,” said Sam. “You think you ought to find out why.”

“No, Alana Bennett thinks I ought to find out why.”

There was a pause while Sam turned away from the phone and spoke to Davey. I heard him promise my son that he could talk next. Then Sam held out the receiver so Faith and her daughter, Eve, could bark hello.

There are families where this might be considered unusual behavior, but it's pretty normal for us.

“What does Alana have to do with anything?” Sam asked when he came back on.

“She says she was a great admirer of Charles and all that he had accomplished.”

“Alana likes to spread her admiration around,” said Sam. “In fact, now that I think about it, she and Charles are two of a kind. How is Caroline holding up?”

“I haven't seen her since, but Margo says she's doing okay.”

“Caroline would. That lady's strong as hickory. Charles had the big name and the big reputation but there are plenty of people who would tell you that she was the power behind the throne. You want to go outside?”

I assumed that sudden change of topic was directed at the Poodles, not me. That the guess had been a good one was confirmed when I heard a chorus of happy barking in the background. A moment passed, I heard a door open and shut, then Sam's attention returned to the conversation.

“What about the judging scandal you mentioned last time we spoke?” he asked. “Anything interesting happening on that front?”

“Now that you mention it, not a thing. With everything else that's been going on, I'd forgotten all about it. It seems like everyone else has too. I haven't heard a word.”

“Hey!” I heard Davey cry in the background. “Isn't it my turn yet?”

“One more minute,” said Sam. “Listen, whatever you decide to do there, I want you to take good care of yourself.”

“Is that for Davey or me?” I asked.

“Both of you,” Sam said with a chuckle. “But especially you. Don't forget that's my number two son you're carrying around.”

“Son? Don't tell me that Davey managed to convince you that I'm having a boy?”

“No, but he hasn't warmed up to the girl idea yet, so we're easing into it. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday we pretend you're having a boy. Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday we talk about the baby as if she's a girl.”

I smiled to myself. Trust Sam to come up with a compromise that worked.

“What about Sundays?” I asked.

“Twins,” said Sam. “Think of it. One of each.”

“Bite your tongue. It's been a while since I did this, but I still remember three a.m. feedings, schlepping a diaper bag everywhere, and spit-up on the shoulder of every dress I owned. I don't even want to think about doing all that times two.”

“Yes, but now you'll have me to handle half the chores—”

“And me!” Davey cried in the background.

Sam laughed. “I think your son wants to speak to you.”

“Of course he does,” I said. “I'm a wonderful mother.”

“And a paragon among wives. Stay out of trouble, okay?”

“I'll try.”

Unspoken was the rest of that sentiment. I always tried. I just didn't always succeed.

“Here's Davey.”

“Orlando,” said my son. “Great name, huh?”

“Orlando Driver?” I couldn't picture it.

“What about Shrek?”

“No.”

“You could at least consider it before saying no.”

“I did consider it. We're not naming your brother”—it was Wednesday after all—“after a green movie monster.”

“Shrek was cool.”

“So was King Kong and we're not going there either.”

“All right.” Davey sighed. “I'll keep thinking.”

“How's everything else? Are you taking good care of Sam while I'm away?”

“Everything's under control here.”

Coming from a nine-year-old, that line sounded rehearsed.

“Is there anything going on that I need to know about?” I asked.

“Nope. But I hope you like blue because we're painting—”

“Painting what?” I asked.

Suddenly Davey was gone and Sam was back.

“Nothing,” he said into the phone. “Just a little redecorating.”

“Where?”

“Nothing for you to worry about.”

“I wouldn't worry if you told me what you were doing.”

“Funny thing about that,” said Sam. “I often feel the same way about you.”

He had me there.

“I'll be careful,” I said.

We'd covered this ground before, but it bore repeating.

“If you want me to come,” said Sam, “just say the word.”

I felt a swift pang of homesickness, a deep-seated longing for my family, my Poodles, my home. He had no idea how tempting the offer was.

This from a woman who'd always thought of herself as fiercely independent. It had to be hormones.

“Mel?”

“Right here,” I said. “I will. Love you.”

“You too.”

Over and out.

 

I never made it to the second track of seminars either. Instead I fell asleep on the bed and woke up after lunch. At this rate, I was going to be the only symposium participant who went home at the end of the week without learning a single new thing.

“Good, you're up,” said Bertie.

I rolled over and saw her sitting in a chair by the window.

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you to wake up, what does it look like?”

I yawned and sat up. The clock next to the bed said it was almost two. “You let me sleep through lunch.”

“Who cares?” Bertie said with a shrug. “You don't eat anything anyway.”

Good point.

I stood up and pushed my hair back out of my face. “What'd I miss while I was out? Anything important?”

“Detective Wayne spent the entire morning walking around the inn, asking questions. It's really weird. People seem to be hanging around, hoping that they'll be asked to participate. They're already over being horrified. Now they're all enjoying the excitement.”

Bertie paused and grinned. “Oh yeah, and Alana's pissed at us.”

“How come?”

“Because we sicced the detective on her.”

I contemplated brushing my teeth, then settled for running my tongue over them instead. Sad to say, my standards were definitely dropping.

“Of course we sicced the detective on her. She told us she was the last person to see Charles alive. What did she expect us to do?”

“Be impressed, I suppose. Just like everyone else was. Don't worry, Alana enjoys playing the drama queen. She'll get over it.”

Bertie got up, picked up her jacket, and headed for the door. Since she seemed to expect me to, I followed suit.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Remember that German Shepherd you saw yesterday? Peg's still determined to hunt him down. She planned to go looking for him right after lunch. Except that she wanted you to help and nobody knew where you were. You should have seen the look on Margo's face when Peg asked if she'd seen you. After what happened to Charles, I think she pictured you lying dead in a ditch somewhere. She nearly had a cow.”

“I was sleeping,” I pointed out. “Not missing.”

“That's what I figured,” said Bertie. “But when you didn't answer your cell phone…”

I pulled the darn thing out of my pocket and turned it back on. Yup, I had three missed calls.

Cell phones are supposed to be a great convenience, but I've never grown accustomed to the idea of having to be accessible one hundred percent of the time. Especially not when I was trying to sleep.

I gazed down at the screen. “Should I listen to Aunt Peg's messages?”

“Only if you want to hear a lot of yelling. Me, I'd pass.”

I hit the delete button without regret.

“Once I found you here, I called Peg and told her to relax. She's spent the last hour at a lecture on the diagnosis and management of common genetic disorders….”

Aunt Peg's idea of relaxation and everyone else's are slightly different, can you tell?

“And she's set to meet us out on the porch in a few minutes.”

There was a bowl of fruit on the center table in the lobby. I helped myself to an apple and a banana as we passed by.

Outside, the air was brisk and refreshing. It quickly cleared the last of the sleep-induced fuzziness from my brain. I was peeling the banana and enjoying the view when Aunt Peg appeared.

“You look none the worse for wear,” she said.

“I was
sleeping
.”

“You disappeared.”

“I was in my room.”

“You might have bothered to check in—”

“I would have if I'd known that sleeping was against the law.”

Bertie heaved a sigh and stepped between us. “Stop squabbling. This is going to be the longest pregnancy in history if you two don't figure out how to manage it better.”

“Excuse me?” I said. “Aunt Peg is not going to be managing anything, much less—”

“Quit,” said Bertie.

She looked as though she wanted to shake both of us. Fortunately she contented herself with giving us a lecture instead.

“It's a beautiful day. The sun is shining. The birds are singing. And somewhere around here, a lost dog is looking for a new home. Now, do you want to stand here arguing or do you want to go help him?”

Point taken.

Once Aunt Peg had ascertained that Bertie and I both had cell phones that were turned on and functioning, we split up in order to cover more ground. Aunt Peg took the path through the woods where I'd seen the German Shepherd previously. Bertie headed down the long driveway toward the main road. I was told to search the vicinity of the inn itself, a less-taxing assignment that my two cohorts seem to think was appropriate, considering my status as
the pregnant one
.

Whatever.

Aunt Peg disappeared into the thick band of trees. Bertie walked away whistling. I went out and stood in the parking lot. I turned and faced the cluster of low buildings that comprised the resort and contemplated my next move.

It was the middle of the day. Cars came and went. People hurried by.

In the eyes of a stray dog, the compound would offer little cover and even less in the way of sanctuary. If I were the Shepherd, this was the last place I would want to be right now. Except…

It occurred to me that we'd never made it around to the back of the building the night before. And while I had little hope of finding the dog sniffing around the garbage cans now, there was always the possibility that I might run into some of the kitchen staff who could tell me if they'd ever seen the Shepherd in the vicinity.