Hounded To Death. Laurien Berenson

      There could have been a rabid Bullmastiff tucked beneath Florence’s arm and that still wouldn’t have been the most bothersome thing about the woman’s presence at the symposium.

      “What’s a Chihuahua?” A woman I hadn’t yet met came over and stood beside Peg.

      My aunt is tall but this woman nearly matched her in stature. She had sharp features, which were arranged, at the moment, in a ferocious scowl. With her chestnut hair scraped back off her face in a tight ponytail, and her dark eyes scanning the room even as she paused beside us, she looked like a Doberman on the prowl.

      “Margo! I’ve been wondering where you were.” Aunt Peg greeted her friend with a quick hug. “Quite a turnout you’ve come up with. Well done. This is my niece, Melanie.”

      So this was Margo Deline, the woman whose organizational skills Aunt Peg admired, the one who’d lured a diverse group of people to the Pennsylvania mountains to focus on learning more about dogs.

      “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said.

      “We’ll just see about that.”

      She grasped my hand and pumped it firmly.

      “Now, Margo,” Aunt Peg reproved. “We just got here. Don’t try to scare Melanie off already.”

      “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m accustomed to my aunt’s company. It takes more than a determined woman to scare me.”

      “I see she has your number,” Margo said to Peg. Then she turned to me and stared hard. “Now, what’s this I hear about a Chihuahua?”

      I felt like a second grader being called before the principal. And being asked to tattle on someone else.

      I’m a teacher; I’m used to being on the other side of the equation. So I didn’t even hesitate before spilling my guts.

      “One of the judges has a dog in her purse,” I said.

      Margo sighed. “Let me guess. Florence Donner?”

      “How’d you know?”

      “She takes that silly little animal with her everywhere. Once she even carried him into the ring when she was judging. Left him sitting on the judge’s table while she went about her job. Her steward just about had a fit.

      “Don’t get me wrong, I love dogs as much as the next person, perhaps more. But Button has been so thoroughly spoiled by that woman that he hardly even qualifies as canine.”

      “Margo has sporting dogs,” Peg interjected.

      It sounded like a non sequitur but she knew I’d follow her train of thought. Margo liked dogs that were big and sturdy and useful. Dogs that would leap into icy waters to retrieve game by day and drape their heavy bodies over their owners’ feet to warm them at night.

      “I have nothing against little dogs,” Margo said firmly. “Just little dogs who are where they’re not supposed to be. Every single piece of literature we sent out about the symposium stated in bold letters ‘No Pets Allowed.’ But of course Florence would be the one to assume that she’s above the rules.”

      “I just met Florence earlier,” I said. “She seemed like an interesting woman.”

      “That’s one way to put it.” Margo reached over and patted my arm. “And aren’t you a dear to be so tactful? I guess I’d have to say that Florence is like that dog of hers, more than a little spoiled. In her whole life, very few people have bothered to tell her no, and she certainly doesn’t see why anyone should start now.”

      That didn’t bode well for Peg’s and Richard’s budding relationship, did it?

      I glanced at my aunt. Her brow was furrowed; she was deep in thought. She looked like the Before picture in a Botox commercial.

      “What will you do about it?” I asked. With luck, Florence might be asked to take her contraband pet and leave the symposium.

      That optimistic thought didn’t last long.

      “There’s not much I can do, is there? Both Florence and Button are already in residence. As long as she keeps him mostly out of sight, I imagine I’ll just have to pretend I don’t notice anything out of the ordinary.”

      Margo turned back to Peg. “Listen, that isn’t why I wanted to talk to you. Florence Donner is small potatoes compared to the other potential problems we’ve got brewing. Two things. First, what have you heard about Charles Evans and the speech he’s planning to give tomorrow?”

      “Nothing.” Aunt Peg perked up. There’s nothing she enjoys more than the prospect of mayhem. “What’s going on?”

      “I’m not sure. Nobody has said anything to me directly, but there are several unsavory rumors floating around. I’ve heard that his keynote address is going to be highly controversial. It’s scheduled to take place in the largest lecture hall and the room is going to be packed. I hope he isn’t planning anything outrageous.”

      “Charles, outrageous?” Peg looked dubious. “That would be most unlike him.”

      Even though I didn’t know the man, I had to agree. He certainly looked like a straight arrow. I remembered Aunt Peg had said that Charles would be talking about the future of dog shows. The topic sounded innocuous enough.

      “That’s what I thought,” Margo said. “And it’s not like anyone actually expects him to prognosticate from the podium. Charles chose the topic and I thought it seemed like something harmless and entertaining that he could have some fun with. But now I don’t know…I’ve heard just enough innuendo to make me start to worry.”

      “There’s an easy solution to that, you know.” Peg nodded across the room to where Charles and Caroline were standing in a group of fellow judges. “Why don’t you march over there, pull him aside, and ask him to tell you what he’s going to say? You’d be well within your rights as director of the symposium to demand a heads-up.”

      “You don’t think I haven’t already tried? Charles can be slippery as a fish when he wants to be. He’s very aware of his position in the dog show world and not above using it to his advantage. I’d barely even gotten the question out before he totally dismissed me. He said he wouldn’t dream of spoiling the effect his speech was going to have by talking about it ahead of time.”

      That didn’t sound good.

      Aunt Peg frowned. “What about Caroline? What does she have to say?”

      “I’ve known Caroline for a hundred years,” said Margo. “She and I started out doing obedience together back in the Dark Ages. I wouldn’t say we’re best friends, but if she thought I needed a warning, I’d like to think I could count on her to pass one along.”

      “And?”

      “And nothing. Caroline says that Charles keeps certain things private, even from her. She has no idea what he’s planning.”

      We all stood there and considered that.

      “We’ve been no help with your first problem,” Peg said after a minute. “You mentioned two. What’s the other?”

      Margo looked resigned. “More unsubstantiated rumor, I’m afraid. Apparently one of our esteemed judges has gotten himself caught with his hand in the cookie jar.”

      “Taking bribes in exchange for wins?” Aunt Peg elucidated just in case I hadn’t caught on.

      She needn’t have worried. A story like that wasn’t a new one. For as long as I’d been showing dogs, I’d heard similar rumors. An infraction of that sort was enough to end, or at least severely curtail, a career. But as long as the talk remained just that, nothing ever came of it.

      “Just so. I’ve heard that a disgruntled exhibitor is about to turn him in.”

      “Who’s the judge?” I asked, beating Aunt