Hounded to Death (19 page)

From what I'd seen of Florence, she was about as helpless as a boa constrictor. And probably just about as tenacious when it came to getting what she wanted.

In fact, considering how things had worked out, maybe we shouldn't discount the possibility that Florence had hit herself over the head, just to see how much trouble she could cause.

“Wonderful,” I said. “Did I miss anything else?”

“Isn't that enough?”

Bertie dropped the towel she was wearing and kicked it under the bed. Supremely unselfconscious about the fact that she was naked, she opened a dresser drawer and rifled through a stack of wispy, lacy underthings until she found the ones she wanted.

As she gracefully stepped into a thong the size of a rubber band, I looked at the panties I'd pulled out for myself. They were big and made of cotton and had a thick elastic waist. A stretchy band in the front allowed for future expansion.

Just another example of the many ways in which life isn't fair.

“I suppose I'd better talk to Aunt Peg,” I said. “Do you think she's up yet?”

“Oh, she's up all right.” Bertie looked at me meaningfully.

I stared back. Obviously I was missing something. “What?”

“Don't ask me,” said Bertie.

Sheesh. I'd only been awake a matter of minutes and already this day was shaping up to be just as confusing as the previous one.

“I don't get it,” I said. “What are we talking about?”

“Listen for yourself.” Bertie gestured toward the common wall that our room shared with Aunt Peg's. “I have no idea what's going on in there, but I've been hearing strange noises ever since I got up.”

“What kind of noises?”

“Thumping, banging…you don't want to know the rest, believe me.”

I started toward the door that connected our room with hers. “I hope she's all right.”

“Mel, wait!”

My steps slowed. “Now what?”

“Think about it. You don't want to just go barging in there. What if she's not alone?”

Oh.

I spun back around. Sank down on the bed.

Oh.

I felt like an idiot.

“You think Richard is in there with her?”

Now I was whispering. I had no idea why. It wasn't as if either one of them could hear us through the wall.

“Somebody has to be. Peg couldn't make that much noise on her own.”

“But she was mad at Richard last night. They'd had a fight.”

Bertie shrugged. “Maybe they're making up.”

I sat on the rumpled bed and stared at the door. For the moment, all was quiet.

“Look on the bright side,” said Bertie.

“Please tell me there
is
a bright side.”

“If Peg's in her room with Richard, that must mean that he didn't believe that nonsense about her attacking his mother.”

I supposed that was something. Not much, but better than nothing. I was beginning to feel like a shipwreck survivor clinging to a splinter of wood.

I'd been staring so hard at the connecting door that when someone suddenly rapped hard against the other side, it was almost as if I'd conjured the sound. I jumped to my feet and looked at Bertie.

She raised her brows and shrugged. “Open it.”

What if it was Richard? I was wearing my pajamas. And Bertie was still in her underwear.

“Melanie?” Aunt Peg called from the other side. “Bertie? Are you awake in there?”

I smiled in relief. “Coming.”

“Hurry up,” Peg ordered. “I have something in here to show you.”

“I
t better not be Richard,” Bertie muttered.

“Shhh!” I grasped the knob and turned it. “She'll hear you.”

“What will I hear?” asked Aunt Peg.

I pulled the door open and there she was, filling the doorway. She was standing with legs braced apart and arms crossed over her chest. She was also looking very pleased with herself.

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “What do you have to show us?”

Aunt Peg looked past me and frowned. “Bertie, dear, don't you want to put on some clothing?”

“Right away.”

Bertie opened another drawer and yanked out a pair of low-slung jeans and a T-shirt. It took her less than a minute to make herself presentable.

On the subject of clothing, I noted with relief that Aunt Peg herself was fully dressed in an outfit that included both a wool sweater and sturdy walking shoes. Whatever she'd been up to, it didn't look as though Peg had been cavorting with a lover.

“You're staring,” she said. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing,” I said again. It was getting to be a habit.

“She's just surprised you're dressed,” said Bertie. Tucking in her T-shirt, she walked over to stand beside me.

“Why wouldn't I be dressed?” Aunt Peg asked. “It's nearly eight o'clock. The early bird catches the worm, you know. I've already been outside for a walk.”

“Catch any worms?” Bertie said cheekily.

“Better than that, and if you two would stop jabbering for a moment, I'd show you what I've got.”

Aunt Peg stepped away from the doorway, allowing us to see into the room. Lying on her bed, a pillow bunched up between his front paws, was the homeless German Shepherd. He lifted his head and cast a wary glance in our direction, then went back to gnawing on his prize.

“Wow,” I said. “How'd you manage that?”

“With great difficulty.”

Aunt Peg eased back into the room. Bertie and I followed and she slid the door shut behind us.

“Don't make any sudden moves. He's still a bit skittish.”

“He's going to shred that pillow,” said Bertie. “Any minute now, there will be feathers everywhere.”

“I'll survive the loss. Chewing on that pillow is the first thing that's calmed him down since I got him in here. It seems to be acting like some sort of giant pacifier. Earlier he was bouncing off the walls.”

“So that's what Bertie heard.” I began to laugh.

“It's not that funny,” Bertie grumbled, but she was biting back a smile.

“Dare I even ask? I'm beginning to think that letting the two of you share a room was a mistake. It's as though you've developed your own private language that excludes everyone else.”

“Bertie heard some noises coming from your room earlier,” I said. “She thought you were in here with Richard.”

Briefly Aunt Peg looked nonplussed. Then she began to laugh too.

“Oh my, that's rich. You thought that I…that Richard and I…oh my…”

“It was just a guess,” Bertie said in her own defense.

“Not a very good one. Though I suppose I should probably be flattered.” Aunt Peg stopped and caught her breath. “As it happens, however, you were entirely wrong. What you heard was Walter and me—”

“Walter?”

“He needed a name. He wasn't going to begin to feel at home without one.”

“Yes, but…
Walter
?”

“I'll have you know that's a perfectly good German name. It's entirely suitable under the circumstances.”

If she said so.

“Besides, he seems to like it. Look.” Aunt Peg lifted a hand and waved. “Walter, over here!”

The Shepherd raised his head again. His dark eyes darted back and forth.

It was probably the movement, as much as the name, that had drawn his attention. Aunt Peg could have called him Ronald McDonald and gotten the same response.

But she was right, he did need a name. If only so we would stop referring to him as the stray.

“What are you going to do with him?” asked Bertie.

The Shepherd had nosed the pillow into a ball. He opened up a small hole in one end and went to work on enlarging it.

If Walter had been one of her Poodles, Aunt Peg would have immediately put a stop to such antics. But she watched the Shepherd destroy the pillow with a benign eye.

“For the moment, I'm just going to try and be his friend. Give him some security and see if I can restore some of his faith in the human race. And of course get some food into him. If his coat wasn't so thick, you could see his ribs. You can certainly feel them. He looks as though he hasn't had a proper meal in weeks.”

So Aunt Peg had been close enough to Walter to know what his body felt like. That was a good sign. Even with Bertie and me in the room, the Shepherd finally seemed to be relaxing a bit.

I'd seen my aunt use her voice and her calm, supportive manner to soothe anxious dogs before. There was something about the way she handled herself that dogs instinctively responded to. And trusted. It was probably only a matter of time before she and Walter became great friends.

“Speaking of food,” she said, “I called Room Service and asked for a triple order of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. Later this morning, I'll pick up some kibble, but in the meantime Walter is going to have to make do. That's why I knocked on your door. I told Room Service to deliver the food to your room. There's no sense in alerting anyone to the fact that I've smuggled in an unauthorized pet.”

She'd managed to relay that news just in time. As she finished speaking, a knock sounded on the door to the adjoining room.

“Room Service!” a voice called out cheerfully.

Bertie slipped through the common door and went to sign for Walter's breakfast.

While we waited for her to return, I said, “Now that you've got the dog sorted out, what are you planning to do about Florence?”

“Not a blessed thing.” Aunt Peg permitted herself a small smile. “At least for the moment, she's out of my hair. It's probably the first time since our arrival that I've been able to say that.”

“Don't be too sure,” I said. “Florence called Rosalyn last night from the hospital and told her that you were the one who was responsible for what happened to her.”

Aunt Peg snorted. “Have you ever heard anything more absurd?”

“No, but that doesn't mean that some people won't believe her.”

“Anyone that silly deserves to be misled.”

I couldn't believe she wasn't taking the problem more seriously.

“Have you spoken with Richard?”

“Now that you mention it, no.” Aunt Peg looked thoughtful. “I expected him to call and give me an update but he never did.”

“Probably because Florence had told him the same thing she told Rosalyn. You've got to talk to her and make her stop telling lies about you.”

“No,” Aunt Peg said firmly. “What I have to do is tend to this poor animal. At the moment, he's my first responsibility.”

She opened the door between the two rooms and helped Bertie maneuver a rolling cart through. “Trust me, the rest of that nonsense will sort itself out in time.”

She had truth and the power of her convictions on her side. Even so, I wasn't nearly as complacent as my aunt. I'd seen good things turn bad before. Hopefully it wasn't about to happen again.

 

Bertie and I left Peg and Walter to their breakfast and retreated to our own room.

“You know you're still in your pajamas,” Bertie pointed out.

As if I'd had time to do something about that, but chosen not to.

“What's your point?”

She strode across the room and yanked the curtains open wide. Sunlight came flooding in.

“My point is, if you would get dressed we could go somewhere.”

“Do you have any particular place in mind?”

“The spa.”

“Not that again.” I rolled my eyes. “Do you have another appointment with Gunther?”

“No, but—”

“By the way, I spoke with Sam last night.”

“Don't change the subject,” Bertie said, then stopped. “Oh, wait. I get it. You're not.”

“He and I talked about Alana.”

“Big surprise.” Bertie marched over and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Did he remember her as fondly as she does him?”

“Not exactly. But that got me thinking. There's something that's been nagging at me. Remember yesterday when we talked to Alana at breakfast?”

“Sure.” Bertie chuckled. “She asked you if you'd ever heard of multitasking.”

I ignored that. “She also said that she was outside the other night and saw Charles in the hot tub. Probably not long before he was murdered.”

“Right. So?”

“Do you remember what Alana said she did after that?”

Bertie squinched up her face and thought back. After a minute, she shook her head.

“No, does it matter?”

“I don't know. Maybe. Alana said she went back to her room and watched TV. You know her better than I do, does that sound likely to you?”

“Now that you mention it, no.” Bertie yanked open a dresser drawer and started tossing clothes at me. “Get dressed, already. Then we'll go find out what Alana has to say.”

As it turned out, the path to Alana led us to the health club anyway.

We found her in the meditation garden, an indoor alcove fashioned to look like a peaceful forest glade. Alana was sitting cross-legged on the floor. Her hands rested on her knees, palms turned upward. Her eyes were closed. She was breathing rhythmically in and out.

She looked like she was channeling her inner swami.

At the edge of the room, Bertie and I kicked off our shoes. We padded across the floor in our stocking feet.

“Go away,” Alana said as we drew near.

She hadn't shifted position, nor opened her eyes.

“How did you know we were here?” asked Bertie.

“I can feel your negative energy. It's wafting over me like a wave.”

“And disrupting your inner harmony, no doubt.”

I dropped to the floor beside her and crossed my own legs. I was absurdly pleased to see that I could still accomplish the feat.

“Now's not a good time,” said Alana. “I'm meditating.”

As if we couldn't have guessed.

“This will only take a minute,” Bertie told her.

Bertie was still standing, apparently undecided whether to stay or go. Her social graces must have been better than mine. I was already hunkered down for the duration.

I reached down, grabbed my foot, and flipped it up on top of my knee. To my delight, it went. And I didn't even tip over backward.

“About Tuesday night,” I said.

Alana sighed loudly. She still hadn't opened her eyes. I wondered how she could do that. I hate talking to people when I can't see them.

“Why should I tell you anything?” she asked. “Last time I talked to you, you sent the police after me.”

“That wasn't our fault. You should have gone to Detective Wayne yourself.”

I patted the floor beside me. Bertie finally sat.

Effortlessly, she pretzeled her legs into position. Meanwhile I was still wrestling with my second foot.

Bertie flipped over her hands and closed her eyes too. It was amazing how serene she looked.

How come I was the only one with a shortage of inner peace?

“I don't know anything,” said Alana. “I already told you that.”

“You also told us that after you saw Charles in the hot tub you went back to your room and watched TV.”

Alana gave up trying to block me out. She opened her eyes. Her shoulders slumped.

“So?”

“What was on that night?”

“As if I would remember something like that.”

“It was only thirty-six hours ago. What'd you see?”

“Some reality show, with lots of people running around acting stupid. There.” She glared. “Are you satisfied?”

Not by a long shot, I thought.

“Speaking of acting stupid,” said Alana, “I heard your aunt beat up Richard's mother. That must have been something to see.”

“It might have been,” I allowed, “if it had happened.”

“Florence is in the hospital. If Peg didn't get her, who did?”

“That's something else we'd like to know,” Bertie said.

Alana turned and gazed at her friend. “Seriously?”