Hounded to Death (7 page)

The woman I hadn't met yet barked out a laugh. She reached a hand across in front of Bertie.

“Rosalyn Arnold,” she said. “You must be Melanie.”

“Don't tell me my reputation precedes me.”

“I'm afraid so. Bertie's been wondering where you were for the last half hour.”

I sighed. “There seems to be a lot of that going around.”

“Wait a minute,” said Tubby. “Are you the gal they've been talking about? The one who's pregnant?”

The one who's pregnant?
Was that what I had been reduced to now? Had every other aspect of my being been relegated to lesser importance compared to the fact that I was carrying a child?

Resigned, I nodded. “That's me.”

“Well, all right, then,” Tubby said. “Course you don't want something hard to drink. Barkeep, bring this gal some water. Looks to me like she's probably thirsty.”

Oh God. Now every eye in the bar had turned my way. Everyone was checking out the
pregnant
woman who wanted only water to drink.

“What did I miss?” I asked brightly. Anything to change the subject. “What were you guys talking about?”

“Three guesses,” said Derek. “And the first two don't count.”

“Charles's speech?”

“Got it in one,” said Peg.

“T
he man's a jackass,” Tubby pronounced. “Always was, probably always will be. I don't see why anyone ought to stir themselves to give credence to anything he says.”

“I have to admit I was disappointed,” said Marshall. “Charles Evans is such a well known and well respected judge, I expected his speech to be something different, something better than that. But then I thought, here's a man who knows so much more than we do. Even if his ideas seem somewhat radical, perhaps we owe him the courtesy of at least considering his point of view.”

“Baloney,” said Rosalyn. “I considered it and found it wanting. Now I'm done.”

I leaned over to Bertie and asked, “What's her breed?”

Knowing that affiliation was a reliable short cut in the dog show world for finding out more about someone.

“Bedlingtons,” Bertie whispered back.

Adorable, soft looking, pale colored terriers. Lamblike on the outside, scrappy on the inside. Perhaps like Rosalyn herself. At any rate, she didn't seem likely to back down from her opinion.

“I'll say one thing.” Aunt Peg entered the fray. “Just the fact that we're sitting here discussing this means that Charles accomplished what he set out to do. I'm betting that he intended to open a dialogue—”

“He wanted to create controversy,” Derek interjected.

“And he succeeded,” Peg continued smoothly.

“He said that he wanted to abolish dog shows,” said Tubby. “Of all the asinine ideas. I can assure you, he won't succeed there.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Richard commented. He gazed around the table with a smile; it looked like he was hoping to lighten the mood. “Otherwise we'd all be out of luck.”

“True,” said Rosalyn. “And that's exactly what makes him so dangerous. Because when a man of Charles's stature espouses an idea—no matter how outlandish it might be—people will sit up and pay attention.”

“Hear, hear!” said Derek.

I tried to remember what I'd learned about him the day before. It seemed to me that he had Beagles, though I didn't know which size. Nor whether he was an exhibitor or a judge.

“Charles must be getting soft in the head,” said Tubby. “It's a wonder Caroline doesn't try harder to keep him in line.”

“I take it you've never been married,” Aunt Peg said dryly.

“I was married,” Tubby replied. “It didn't last.”

“I can't imagine why not,” Bertie said under her breath.

“Caroline has her hands full with her own career,” said Marshall. “Let's not forget that she's every bit as important in the dog show world as her husband is. The two of them are constantly on the road, traveling from one assignment to the next. I'm sure she doesn't have time to monitor everything he gets up to.”

“Nobody's asking her to baby-sit him,” said Richard. “But it wouldn't have hurt if she'd given Margo a hint ahead of time about what Charles was planning to do. I thought those two women were supposed to be friends.”

“Women friends,” said Derek. “Now, there's an oxymoron for you.”

Tubby looked up from his drink and grinned.

“Excuse me?” I said.

“You know what I'm talking about,” said Derek. “Women don't have any idea how to be friends. All they know how to do is compete with one another.”

“My dear boy,” Aunt Peg said. The words sounded like anything but an endearment. “Whatever gave you such a foolish idea?”

“Life.” Derek shrugged. “Experience. Observation. Don't you all agree?”

He looked around the table at the other men present.

Richard lifted his hands and shoulders in a comically broad shrug. “You're on your own with this one, buddy.”

“Okay, time out,” Rosalyn said. “I sure as heck didn't drive all the way to Pennsylvania to rehash the war of the sexes. Entertaining as your company has been, I think I'm done here. It's time for me to go find the people I'm supposed to be meeting for dinner.”

Thankfully, Rosalyn's announcement brought the budding argument to a halt. Everyone checked their watches and thought about their own plans. Drinks were finished, the bar tab settled.

Tubby wandered away and joined another table. Derek and Marshall left together. Richard had a quick word with Aunt Peg, then disappeared too. Having dined the previous evening with my aunt, he would make his mother happy tonight by having dinner with her.

That left Bertie, Peg, and me to figure out what we were going to do next.

“You need a real meal,” Aunt Peg said to me. “I bet you haven't eaten a thing all day.”

“I had soup. And crackers,” I added as an afterthought.

“Barely enough to keep one person functioning,” she said sternly. “Much less two.”

Point taken.

The dining room was nearly full but the maitre d' managed to find a table for three, situated by a window on an enclosed porch.

“Perfect,” Aunt Peg pronounced. She immediately waved over a waitress and placed an order for three tall glasses of milk.

“Three?” I said weakly.

My aunt subscribes to the firm belief that any and all pregnancy related issues can be cured with dairy products. I knew, however, that I'd have trouble keeping even one glass of milk down.

“There's no reason why you should be the only healthy one among us. Bertie and I will join you.”

Bertie sent me a dark look, apparently less than pleased at being roped into my calcium support group. But when the milk arrived, she chugged hers down with good humor and even managed, when Aunt Peg wasn't looking, to help make a dent in mine.

Peg, meanwhile, ordered me a steak. It arrived looking thick, well cooked, and dripping with juices. Normally I make a great carnivore but now all I could see was a large dark blob of fat and sinew.

I let the meat sit on my plate while I picked at my veggies and consoled myself with the knowledge that my body would ask for the foods it needed. Besides, I was up to date on my vitamins.

Over dinner Aunt Peg adopted the role of cruise director and demanded to know how each of us had spent the day. Bertie went first, informing us that she had indeed had a massage. Aside from attending two seminars, she'd also managed to spend some time in the hot tub that afternoon.

“How very eighties,” I said with a laugh.

“No, really, it was great. Hot water below, cold air above, the smell of pine trees in the air, a tall hedge all around for privacy. I recommend it highly.”

“I'll pass,” I said. Water that hot was forbidden for the duration.

Aunt Peg, however, looked interested.

“How does it work?” she wanted to know. “Are you by yourself or in there with others? I assume you must be wearing a bathing suit?”

“I was by myself,” said Bertie. “But people share them all the time. It's a very convivial thing to do.” She stopped and grinned. “And yes on the bathing suit. In this crowd, I wouldn't expect to see anyone skinny dipping.”

“Too bad,” Aunt Peg murmured.

I choked on my milk.

She shifted her gaze my way. “How about you? I trust you spent the first day of the symposium profitably?”

Attempting to divert attention away from my mostly full plate, I started to tell her about the lectures I'd attended. Then stopped, as I realized there
was
something I'd done that my aunt would find interesting. In the furor over Charles's speech, I'd forgotten all about my encounter in the woods.

“I saw a dog,” I said.

“Button?” asked Bertie. “That Chihuahua seems to be everywhere.”

“No, not Button. A German Shepherd, a half wild one.”

“Here? At the resort?”

“In the woods. We met up on the walking path. He looked like a stray.”

“What made you think that?” asked Aunt Peg.

I had her full attention now.

“For one thing, he looked pretty skinny. For another, he wasn't wearing a collar and he wouldn't let me near him. I even tried offering him some food, but he was too afraid of me to come and get it.”

“What kind of food?”

“A granola bar.”

Aunt Peg frowned at my response.

As often happened where my aunt was concerned, once again I'd been found wanting. But
come on
, I thought. Did she actually think I should have been out in the woods toting around a pocketful of premium kibble?

Then I paused and reconsidered. This was my aunt I was talking to. Knowing her, she probably did.

“Maybe he doesn't like granola bars,” Bertie offered.

“Or maybe he wasn't as hungry as you thought,” said Peg.

“No, he was hungry all right. When I threw it to him he grabbed it right up and then ran away.”

“Toward the resort or in the other direction?”

“Away, back into the woods.”

“I wonder if there are any houses on that side of the mountain. Just because we can't see them from here doesn't mean there might not be people living just down the slope.”

“Even so,” I said, shaking my head, “he definitely didn't look like someone's pet. He was very wary, and once he realized I was there, he never took his eyes off me. Not even for an instant. I think he was afraid I might try to leap out and try to grab him or something.”

“Maybe he's been abused,” said Bertie. “That would explain his attitude.”

“I wonder if he's been abandoned,” Aunt Peg mused. “Unfortunately people seem to find ways to do plenty of stupid things when it comes to the animals they supposedly care for. Perhaps with winter coming, his owners didn't want an extra mouth to feed.”

“Nobody would be that callous,” I said.

“Yes, they would,” Bertie immediately contradicted me. “People dump dogs for all sorts of idiotic reasons. Then they rationalize to themselves that they're doing the right thing. They imagine that someone else will find their cast-off and give him a good home.”

“And instead, of course, the reverse is true.” Aunt Peg took up the cause of educating me when Bertie paused for breath. “If they're lucky, abandoned dogs will find themselves picked up and taken to the pound, where if they're cute they might manage to be adopted. The unlucky ones are hit by cars, or killed by coyotes, or else they simply starve to death.”

The little food I'd eaten turned over in my stomach. I thought of the dog I'd seen earlier with his rough, un-brushed coat and wounded eyes. He needed more in the way of human intervention than just one measly granola bar.

I already had five big dogs at home, I told myself firmly. The shepherd's welfare wasn't my responsibility.

“Shall we?” said Aunt Peg. She was already signaling for the check.

Bertie pushed back her chair. “I'll go up to the room and get our coats.”

“Shall we what?” I asked.

It appeared to be true. Pregnancy
had
dulled my brain.

“Go find ourselves a stray dog, of course,” Peg said briskly. “What else?”

 

Just like that the decision was taken out of my hands.

As soon as I'd opened my mouth, I should have realized exactly what would happen next. Present Aunt Peg with a cause and a dog, and you'd have to wrestle her to the ground to regain control of either.

Especially now, when her own family of Poodles remained at home in Connecticut and she was feeling dog-deprived, Aunt Peg couldn't wait to lead the way outside in search of the indigent German Shepherd. She took over like a woman on a mission.

It had grown dark while we were eating dinner, but the area around the inn and its various outbuildings was well lit. Aunt Peg marched down the front steps, stopped and looked around, then headed toward the buffer of tall pine trees that surrounded the parking lot.

“He went in this direction?” she asked, but didn't wait for confirmation.

As it happened, she was heading the wrong way.

“If you were a homeless dog, out alone at night,” Aunt Peg said, thinking aloud, “where would you be?”

“If I was a stray but I used to be somebody's pet,” said Bertie, “I might be looking for company. Or maybe a warm place to sleep.”

“I don't think so,” I spoke up. “I bet he's still hungry. If I were that dog, I'd be out behind the kitchen looking for something to eat in the garbage cans.”

“Good thought.” Aunt Peg abruptly changed course. Then she stopped for a moment and studied the main building thoughtfully, working out a blueprint in her mind. “Judging by the position of the dining room, I imagine it's safe to assume that the kitchen would be around the back.”

“Follow me,” said Bertie. “There's a path that leads between the buildings. It runs alongside this hedge….”