Hounded To Death. Laurien Berenson

said Alana, sliding down off her stool. “There’s only one thing to do.”

      “What’s that?”

      I figured she was going to advise us to warn Aunt Peg about this unexpected development. But Alana surprised me. She grabbed my arm and headed determinedly into the crowd.

      “Let’s go introduce you to Florence.”

      “Bertie!” Swept along like a tug in the wake of a much larger barge, I cast a beseeching glance back over my shoulder.

      “Coming.” She slapped her glass down on the bar and followed. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

      Florence Donner was speaking with several people, but the impetus of our approach, which had already caused the crowd to part before us, now made her companions draw back as well. Alana smoothly inserted herself into the space they’d vacated, so accustomed to that sort of deference she didn’t even notice it.

      “Florence,” she said.

      “Alana.” The older woman tipped her head slightly to one side. “Imagine seeing you here.”

      Had the temperature in the room cooled suddenly, or was it just us?

      Then I noticed that the little fawn-colored Chihuahua, whose domed head had been sticking up through the opening at the top of Florence’s commodious purse, had abruptly tucked himself back inside. Apparently I wasn’t the only one present who was skilled in reading the nuances of human behavior.

      Ignoring Florence’s less than welcoming demeanor, Alana reached back and hauled Bertie and me forward. “I’d like you to meet Melanie Travis and Bertie Kennedy. They’re friends of mine.”

      “Really? How very fortunate for them.”

      I held out my hand and after a brief hesitation, Florence Donner followed suit. Her slender fingers felt dry and fragile in my grasp. I didn’t dare actually shake her hand for fear I might break something.

      “You.” Florence’s sharp gray eyes focusing on Bertie. “I’ve seen you before.”

      “You have a good memory,” Bertie said. “I showed to you last year at Harrisburg.”

      “Of course I have a good memory. I remember every dog I’ve ever judged. And most of the people too. Did you win under me?”

      “Yes, with the Pomeranian. No, with the Pug.”

      Florence clapped her hands in delight. “So the jury’s still out on how you feel about me, isn’t it?”

      Bertie grinned. She was enjoying herself too.

      “The Pug could have done better on the day. The Pom?” She shrugged. “Not so much.”

      “So you say. But did you have your hands on the other dogs in the ring?”

      “No, but—”

      “But nothing! That’s the beauty of being the judge. You’re the only one who has all the information. And the only one whose opinion counts.”

      Florence nodded briskly. The debate had been settled to her satisfaction and she would brook no further argument. Aunt Peg was going to have her hands full with this one.

      The two women were either going to end up the best of friends, or else they were going to kill one another. And I suspected I was going to have a ringside seat for much of the action.

      “Nice to meet you both,” said Florence. “Now it’s time for me to collect my son from whatever mischief he’s gotten himself up to. He and I will be dining together this evening.”

      In an unconscious gesture, her hand lifted to pat the side of the copious purse. The bag undulated in reply.

      I couldn’t imagine having a dog small enough to fit in a pouch under my arm. Nor would my Poodles enjoy tucking themselves away in a dark cubbyhole.

      “That’s Richard over there, isn’t it?” Alana said innocently. She waved a hand in Aunt Peg’s direction.

      “So it is. That woman he’s talking to looks familiar. Do I know her?”

      “That’s Peg Turnbull from Connecticut,” said one of Florence’s earlier companions. He stepped back in to rejoin the group. “You know, Cedar Crest Standard Poodles?”

      “Is she indeed?” Florence’s lips drew together in a thin line. “I believe that’s the woman Richard has been corresponding with. On the way here, he announced that he was looking forward to making her acquaintance. He admitted that they’d met on the Internet, of all things. Can you believe that?”

      Her friends responded with general muttering and shaking of heads.

      “It’s a nasty business if you ask me. In my day, people knew how to conduct themselves. If you wanted to meet new people, you found someone to make a proper introduction. But now computers bring all sorts of unwanted business right into people’s homes. It’s not the way things ought to be done.”

      Opinion delivered, Florence left us. Shoulders back, head held high, she sailed across the crowded room.

      There was no time to get to Peg first and warn her. Indeed there was no time to do anything but follow along in the hope that I might somehow be able to mitigate the approaching disaster.

      As we crossed the room, I waved frantically in Peg’s direction. I knew she saw me out of the corner of her eye. I watched her glance quickly at Richard, then make the decision to ignore my rude behavior.

      Sometimes Peg has only herself to blame.

      “Richard? Darling?” Florence’s voice was smooth as honey. “I find myself growing hungry. Perhaps you’d be good enough to escort me to dinner?”

      “Mother! There you are. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

      As Richard turned to greet the older woman, I saw Peg process what he’d said. Her eyes widened; her face blanched. Then she had the nerve to glare at me like this calamity was all my fault.

      But when Richard turned back to her, Aunt Peg quickly wiped her features clean. She gazed at Florence and forced a smile. Never had I seen my aunt put her acting skills to better use.

      “Your mother’s here at the symposium with you?” Aunt Peg sounded as though a large lump of clay had lodged in her throat. “What an unexpected surprise.”

      “I knew you’d be pleased.” When neither woman made the first move, Richard reached out, took their hands, and joined them in the middle. “I have no doubt that the two of you are going to get along beautifully.”

      “Beautifully,” Florence echoed. She moved a proprietary step closer to her son, like a mother lion staking out her territory and daring the foolhardy interloper to challenge her supremacy. “But that’s for later. Now I’d like to be taken in to dinner.”

      “So you shall,” Richard said smoothly. “I’m afraid I’ve made other plans but Marshall and Derek would be delighted to have you join their party.”

      “Other plans?”

      “Yes, Mother. Peg and I are going to enjoy a quiet dinner alone.”

      “But—”

      Richard circled an arm around his mother’s shoulders and deftly swung her away. He beckoned to Derek and Marshall and they fell into line.

      “Would you excuse us for a minute?”

      “Of course,” Peg murmured.

      Our eyes were riveted on the foursome as Richard and his friends surrounded his mother and maneuvered her away. Unfortunately for the sake of our curiosity he chose to take their argument out of the room.

      Peg frowned into the vacuum created by their absence.

      “Am I mistaken,” she asked, “or did that woman have a dog inside her