Death of a Dog Whisperer (9780758284570) Page 6
“Just Beau,” Aunt Peg corrected sternly. She had come down the steps to join us.
“Bobo!” Kevin repeated just as forcefully.
I could see this wasn’t going to end well.
Aunt Peg hunkered down so that she and Kevin were eye to eye. “His name is Beau,” she said again. “Bobo sounds like the name of a clown. It’s much too undignified for a Poodle of Beau’s stature.”
“You’re trying to reason with a two-year-old,” I told her. “That doesn’t work.”
“Nonsense! There’s no reason a child shouldn’t respond to training just as a puppy would.”
Aunt Peg never had children of her own, can you tell?
“Bobo!” Kevin crowed happily. Now that he’d discovered that the name got a reaction from his aunt, it was his new favorite word.
Aunt Peg waggled a finger in his direction. “I said no.”
Wonderful. Two of the most stubborn people I’d ever met were facing off. Left to their own devices, they’d probably be happy to stand there and argue all afternoon. I swooped down and picked Kevin up.
“He’s two, Aunt Peg. He thinks the word no is a challenge.”
“Indeed.” Peg snorted.
She made a swishing motion with her hand. Immediately the Poodles stopped what they were doing and preceded us into the house. Aunt Peg closed the door behind us, then cocked a critical eye at Kevin.
“Maybe you’re not as good a parent as you used to be,” she said. “As I recall, Davey was better behaved at that age.”
“You didn’t know Davey when he was two,” I pointed out.
I could see that Aunt Peg wanted to disagree. But then she thought for a moment, and nodded. When Davey was a toddler, she and I had been virtual strangers. Back then, the Turnbull clan had been hopelessly fractured due to a longstanding rift between my father and his brother, Peg’s husband, Max. Ironically it had been Max’s death that had brought Aunt Peg and me together. We’d worked as a team to find his killer and unexpectedly become friends in the process.
“Tell me all about Nick’s visit,” I said ten minutes later. Peg and I were settled out back on the wraparound porch with iced tea and thick slices of shadow cake. “Did it go well?”
Below us, Kevin had followed the dogs down into the yard. He was holding his piece of cake cupped in his hands. The Poodles were too polite to steal it from him but all five were keeping a hopeful eye on the proceedings. The moment anything slipped through his fingers, it would be snatched up before it could hit the ground.
“It went very well,” Aunt Peg replied. “Despite that silly Dog Whisperer title, Nick is quite serious about what he does. I enjoyed watching him interact with my Poodles, and trust me, that’s not something I say often. Many people think they understand dogs but unfortunately a good number of them are simply flattering themselves.”
I knew better than to inquire into which camp she thought I fell.
“Nick gets it,” said Aunt Peg. That was high praise in her book. “Maybe it’s empathy, or perhaps intuition, but he possesses that rare ability to sense what dogs are thinking and feeling—perhaps even before they know themselves.”
“He really made an impression,” I said.
“You sound surprised.”
I shrugged lightly. “I liked Nick a lot when I met him. And he seems like a nice guy. But I guess I expected you to be a harder sell. Or maybe I’m not convinced that the ability to talk to dogs is as rare a skill as you believe it to be.”
“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. It wasn’t the way that Nick talked to the dogs that impressed me. Any pet owner can do that. But Nick possesses a much more important skill. He knows how to listen.”
“I see.” I stuffed a large bite of cake into my mouth. It tasted a little bit like crow. “So you’ll introduce him to your friends?”
Aunt Peg nodded. “I thought I might throw a small party in a few weeks. Just a little something to put his name out there in the right kinds of places. Not that he appears to need my help.”
“No?” I said. “I thought that was the whole point.”
“Not as far as Nick’s concerned. Apparently his Dog Whisperer business is rolling right along. It was your ex-husband who came up with the idea that Nick needed more clients. Bob’s doing Nick’s accounting now. Did he tell you that?”
“No,” I said, surprised. “I had no idea. I just thought they were friends.”
Aunt Peg sighed. “Melanie, do try to keep up.”
“I’m working on it.”
That’s the story of my life unfortunately: I always seem to be two steps behind and running to catch up.
“Honey, I’m home!”
Sam stuck his head out of the living room, a bemused expression on his face. “What?”
“Just kidding,” I said with a grin.
I love watching classic TV. There’s nothing like old episodes of Leave It to Beaver or The Andy Griffith Show to make me feel like all is right with the world. But since Sam doesn’t share my fondness for last century sitcoms, my Donna Reed moments often go right over his head.
“Davey, front and center,” said Sam. “Your mom needs help.”
He skirted deftly through the sea of Poodles that was milling around the hallway and took two bags of groceries out of my arms. Judging by the sounds emanating from the room behind him, Kev’s and my arrival home had interrupted a hard-fought video game battle.
I heard a virtual explosion, followed by Davey’s outraged yelp. “Damn it!”
“Excuse me?” I said.
“Sorry,” my older son mumbled, appearing in the doorway.
Since Sam had the groceries, Davey was left with the choice of helping with either the dry cleaning or the library books. I was hoping he’d opt for the former, which needed to be carried upstairs and put away. Instead he bypassed the bundles I was carrying and grabbed his little brother’s hand.
“Come on, Kev,” he invited. “Let’s go play!”
“Not exactly what I had in mind,” I said. Sam and I both stared after the pair, who had disappeared back into the living room. “But it’ll do.”
I threw the dry cleaning in the hall closet, then followed Sam back to the kitchen. Together we put away the groceries. When that was done, Sam retrieved a couple of tennis balls from the toy pile in the corner and opened the back door. The Poodles knew what was coming next. Running as a group, they raced out to the middle of the two-acre yard.
Sam cocked his arm and let fly. He sent the first ball long and wide toward a stand of trees. The second he hefted directly into the middle of what had once—briefly—been my vegetable garden.
“Good thing I didn’t plant anything this year,” I mentioned as the pack split in half and three Poodles went scrambling in that direction.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Sam said mildly. “But I don’t believe you planted anything last year either. Or the year before that.”
“Gardening is a highly overrated skill.”
“Says the woman with the black thumb.”
“Hey, at least I know my limitations.”
Casey was the first to return with a ball. She dropped it into Sam’s hand. He waited for the other Poodles to get back into position, then threw it again. Tar was on his way back with the ball he’d fished out of the trees. Raven and Eve trotted along behind him.
“Beer?” I asked.
Sam nodded without turning around. He was busy lining up his next throw.
I was back in less than a minute and slipped the cold bottle into his hand. Sam was staring off into the distance. Noses lifted and sniffing the air, all six Poodles were now circling the thick trunk of the ancient oak tree that held Davey’s tree house.
“Bad throw?” I inquired.
Sam shook his head. “Squirrels. Two of them. I think they’re up in the tree laughing at all of us.”
I plopped down on a chaise lounge and stretched my legs out in front of me. “I’m sure they’re laughing at Tar,” I said.
“Bob called while you were out,” Sam said. He picked up a deck chair and angled it in my direction, then took a seat as well. “He wanted me to tell you that he’d managed to locate some people named the Morrises . . . ?”
“That’s great,” I said. “It’s about the ring.” I had told Sam about Bob’s unexpected find the day before. “Dan and Emily Morris are the people he and I bought the house from years ago. We’re hoping they might know something about how the ring came to be there.”
Sam nodded. “According to Bob, the family lives in Cos Cob. Right now, they’re away on vacation with their kids. Home again in a couple of weeks, and happy to talk to you then. Bob said he didn’t tell them what it was about, just that it had something to do with their old house.”
“That works.” I paused for a long, cold, drink. “The ring’s been hidden for at least a decade and possibly a whole lot more. A few extra weeks isn’t going to make any difference.”
“You have to wonder why the ring was never found before,” said Sam. “Surely whoever lost it must have looked for it.”
“I’ll let you know as soon as we find out the answers,” I said lazily. “It’ll be fun having a little project for the summer to keep me busy.”
Sam smiled. “Because two kids, six dogs, and Aunt Peg isn’t enough?”
“Not to mention you.” I reached over, grasped his hand, and pulled him onto the chaise beside me.
Faith lifted her head and grumbled an objection under her breath as the chaise creaked and groaned beneath the three of us. Then she sighed and slipped off the other side. I scooted over to make room for Sam. He settled in beside me and I rested my head on his shoulder.
It was the perfect summer afternoon. The sun was high and warm in the sky. Davey and Kevin were keeping each other entertained. The Poodles had flopped down happily in the grass beneath the oak tree. At least for the moment, everything was just as it should be. Too bad, I thought, that I couldn’t figure out a way to capture that peace and hold on to it.
And yet for the next few weeks it almost seemed as though I had. Sam cut back on his work schedule and we took the kids on outings to the beach and the Natural History Museum. Aunt Peg, occupied making new connections for Nick, barely had any time for me. Even Bob’s renovations proceeded smoothly.
Life was good. This, I thought, must be how normal people live. It was definitely something I could get used to it. I was smiling in happy anticipation of another long, lazy, summer day when I answered the phone two weeks later.
And heard the news that Nick Walden was dead.
Chapter 7
“Dead?” I gasped. “How? When?”
“He was shot,” Aunt Peg told me. “It happened last night. In his home.”
My knees gave out. Thankfully there was a chair nearby. I sank down into it.
“Was there an intruder?” I asked.
“The police aren’t sure what took place. But they’re calling it a homicide.”
A lump rose in my throat. I swallowed heavily. This was all too much to process.
“How did you find out?”
“It’s on the morning news,” said Aunt Peg. “A murder in Riverside is a big deal. Every local station had the story. How could you have missed it?”
“I was feeding the boys breakfast,” I told her. “They’re not allowed to watch TV while they eat.”
“Well, someone ought to be keeping tabs,” Peg said huffily.
“I just can’t believe it.” I realized I was shaking my head, as if denying the news would make it go away. “That’s awful.”
“What’s awful?” asked Sam. He had Kevin with him.
I looked up and he saw the expression on my face. Unfortunately Sam and I have been here before. He knew what to do. “I’ll bet Sesame Street is on now, isn’t it?” he said to Kevin.
The toddler’s face lit up. “Cookie Monster!” he said with a toothy grin.
Sam deposited him in front of the TV in the living room and quickly returned. By that time I’d found that Aunt Peg didn’t have any more information than she’d already given me and ended the call. I was telling Sam the bad news when the phone rang again.
This time it was Bob.
“We’ve already heard,” I said before he had a chance to speak. “Do you know what happened?”
“Just that Nick was shot late yesterday evening. I can’t believe it. Who would do such a thing? Nick was a great guy. We . . . I . . . just had dinner with him a couple days ago.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know the two of you were good friends.”
Bob blew out a shaky sigh. “God, this is hard.”
“I know,” I said softly.
He didn’t speak for a long time. I didn’t push. I just waited until he was ready to continue.
“Listen, Mel,” he said finally. “I need a favor. Can we talk? Is it all right if I come over?”
“Of course. Anything you want. But Davey’s going to be spending the day at Joey Brickman’s house. So I’ll be dropping him off right down the road from you in just a few minutes. Do you want me to stop by?”
“No, I’m not home right now. I’m . . . somewhere else.”
How very odd, I thought. The definition of not home would certainly seem to indicate that Bob was somewhere else. Was his current location a secret? Was there something he didn’t want me to know?
Then I frowned and reined in my wandering thoughts. My ex had just been hit with news that had to have come as a huge shock. Under the circumstances, it was understandable that he might not be expressing himself clearly.
“Give me half an hour,” I said. “Sam and I will both be here.”
Alice Brickman, Joey’s mom, has been a stalwart presence in my life since we’d met in a neighborhood play group when our boys were less than a year old. We’d quickly discovered how much we had in common and our sons’ compatibility sealed the bond. Davey and Joey had become great friends, and Alice and I did too.
Over the years, she and I had supported each other through chicken pox, snow days, and endless numbers of school projects. We’ve also covered each other’s backs. Alice knew I’d be there for her if she ever needed anything, and I knew she’d do the same for me. So now I didn’t hesitate to strap Kevin into the car when I went to drop Davey off.
I made the drive to Flower Estates on autopilot, my thoughts consumed by the morning’s terrible news. I hadn’t yet had the chance to get to know Nick Walden well, but everything I did know about him made this tragedy seem all the more incomprehensible. Nick had been young, and talented, and eminently likeable. How could anyone have possibly wanted him dead?
Alice answered the door wearing a flowered sundress and flip-flops. Her strawberry blond hair was twisted into a careless knot on the top of her head, and her pale, freckled skin showed the beginnings of a summer tan. Before we even had a chance to say hello, the Brickmans’ Golden Retriever, Berkley, shot through the open doorway. He flew past me down the steps and went careening into Davey. Spinning around, the dog jumped up to plop his big, hairy, paws on my son’s shoulders.
“Berkley, get down!” Alice cried. “As if he ever listens,” she muttered under her breath before treating me to a wide smile. “Great to see you. Do you have time to come in and visit?”
“Unfortunately no.”
Behind me, Davey was giggling. Big dogs, even ones whose manners needed work, didn’t bother him in the slightest. He pushed Berkley down, then ran into the house in search of Joey. The Golden galloped happily along behind, nearly knocking me off the step.
“Hello, Mrs. Brickman,” I called after him. “How nice to see you. Thank you for having me.”
The reminder to watch his own manners didn’t even slow Davey down. He was already gone.
“Oh please.” Alice laughed. “There’s no need to stand on ceremony around here. Considering how much time he and Joey spend together, that child might as well be my second son.”
True, that.
“So tell me what’s wrong,” said Alice. That’s how well she knows me. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Actually yes,” I admitted. “Do you think you could watch Kevin for an hour or two?”
“Sure.” Alice nodded. “Carly has a friend coming over too, so I’ve already got four. I’ll hardly even notice one more.”
Carly was Alice’s daughter. At nine, she was graceful as a willow and loved nothing more than dance. Except maybe kittens, and the color pink. I adored my rough-and-tumble sons, but sometimes I envied Alice her very girly daughter.
“Trust me, you’ll notice this one,” I told her. “He’s two and into everything.”
“Like I haven’t been there,” Alice scoffed. “At least he’s still at an age where I can pick him up if I see trouble coming.”
She accompanied me down the steps to the driveway. Kevin was still in his car seat. Before I could open the Volvo’s door, Alice put out a hand to stop me.
“I’m happy to watch Kev, you know that. But it wasn’t what I meant when I asked if I could help. Is everything all right?”
I shook my head. “A friend of Bob’s was killed last night. He wants to come over and talk about it.”
“Nick Walden.” Alice’s face fell. “I heard about it on the news. What an awful thing. He seemed like a great guy.”
“You knew him?” I asked, surprised.
“I just met him once actually. I was walking Berkley—which is to say that Berkley was walking me. You know how that goes.”
I did. Berkley was supposed to be the kids’ dog but, not unexpectedly, Alice was the one who’d ended up taking care of him. And since no one in the family had the time to devote to consistent training, the young, rambunctious Golden Retriever tended to do things his own way. His walks with Alice often appeared to be less like a team effort than a wild ride that both participants hoped to survive.