Murder, She Wrote meets The Odd Couple in award-winning author Laurien Berenson's brand-new mystery series, spun off from her much-loved Melanie Travis Canine series and featuring Melanie's elderly aunts—tough-as-nails Peg and soft-spoken Rose—who'll put their differences aside to stop a killer, if they don't throttle each other first.
Rose Donovan looks for the good in everyone. With her sister-in-law, Peg, that sometimes requires a lot of searching. Even a sixty-something former nun like Rose has her limits, and gruff Peg Turnbull sure knows how to push them. But after forty years of bickering, they're attempting to start over, partnering up to join the local bridge club.
Peg and Rose barely have a chance to celebrate their first win before one of the club's most accomplished players is killed in his home. As the newest members, the sisters-in-law come under scrutiny and decide to start some digging of their own. But as their suspect list narrows, they're unaware that their logic has a dangerous flaw. And they'll have to hope that their teamwork holds steady when they're confronted by a killer who's through with playing games . . .
Release date:
August 30, 2022
Publisher:
Kensington Books
Print pages:
304
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Peg Turnbull was standing in the hot sun on a plot of hard-packed grass, staring at a row of Standard Poodles that was lined up along one side of her show ring. She’d been hired to judge a dozen breeds at the Rowayton Kennel Club Dog Show, and she couldn’t imagine a better way to spend a clear summer day. Judging dogs involved three of her favorite things: telling people what to do; airing her own opinions; and of course, interacting with the dogs themselves.
A tall woman in her early seventies, Peg had a discerning eye and a wicked sense of humor. In this job she needed both. Aware that she’d be on her feet for most of the day, she had dressed that morning with comfort in mind. A cotton shirtwaist dress swirled around her legs. A broad brimmed straw hat shaded her face and neck. Her feet wore rubber-soled sneakers, size ten.
Though her career as a dog show judge had taken her around the world, today’s show was local to her home in Greenwich, Connecticut. Peg had arrived at the showground early. She’d begun her assignment at nine o’clock with a selection of breeds from the Toy Group. Now, two and half hours later, she finally found herself facing her beloved Standard Poodles.
As she gazed at the beautifully coiffed entrants in front of her, Peg knew exactly what she was looking for—a sound, elegant, typey dog displaying the exuberant Poodle temperament. Having devoted her life to the betterment of the Poodle breed, and spent the previous decade judging numerous dog shows, Peg was well aware there were days when those coveted canine attributes could be in short supply. Thankfully, this first glimpse of her Open Dog class had already indicated that this wasn’t going to be one of them.
Peg flexed her fingers happily. She couldn’t wait to get her hands on the Poodles. She was eager to delve through their copious, hair-sprayed coats to assess the muscle and structure that lay beneath. It was time to get to work.
A throat cleared behind her. “Peg?”
Marnie Clark was Peg’s ring steward for the day. While Peg evaluated her entries and picked the winners and losers, it was Marnie’s job to keep things running smoothly. That was no small feat. To the uninitiated, the arrangement of classes, record keeping, and points awarded could appear to rival a Rubik’s Cube in complexity.
Marnie was an officer of the show-sponsoring kennel club. She was bright, vivacious, and two decades younger than Peg. Peg’s Poodles and Marnie’s Tibetan Terriers were both Non-Sporting Group breeds. The two women had known and competed against each other for years.
Reluctantly, Peg turned away from the four appealing Open dogs to see what Marnie wanted. The woman was holding up an unclaimed armband. The fifth Standard Poodle entered in the class had yet to arrive.
Absent? Peg wondered. Or merely late?
Each exhibitor was responsible for being at the ring on schedule. However, busy professional handlers with numerous breeds to show could sometimes find their presence required in more than one ring at the same time. In those cases, it was up to the judge to decide whether or not a concession would be made.
Peg glanced at the armband and lifted a brow.
Marnie wasn’t supposed to tell her the missing exhibitor’s name—a nod to impartiality that didn’t fool anyone. The dog show world wasn’t large. As soon as the handler arrived, Peg would recognize him or her, just as she knew the other exhibitors currently in her ring. As long as a judge remembered to evaluate the dogs on their merits and not their connections, that didn’t have to be a problem.
Marnie obviously agreed. “It’s Harvey,” she said under her breath.
The steward nodded toward a big, black Poodle waiting just outside the gate with the handler’s harried-looking assistant. Peg hadn’t seen the young man before. He must be new. He was casting frantic glances toward the Lhasa Apso ring farther down the row of enclosures.
Peg took a quick look herself. Yes, indeed, there was Harvey—standing in the middle of a class of Lhasas that he very clearly wasn’t winning. The handler was glaring at the indecisive judge as if he wanted to throttle her.
Peg felt much the same way. In her opinion, anyone who didn’t want to have to make tough choices shouldn’t apply for a judging license. Peg presided over her ring with the deft precision of a general inspecting troops. People might not agree with every decision she made, but they all respected her ability to get the job done.
Peg turned back to Marnie. “Give the young man the armband. Tell him to bring the dog in the ring and take him to the end of the line. You can switch Harvey in when he gets here.”
“I already tried that,” Marnie told her with a sidelong smirk. “The poor guy looked like he might faint. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was his first dog show.”
“And possibly his last.” Peg felt an unwanted twinge of sympathy. It was no wonder that Harvey’s assistants always looked stressed. The handler had entirely too many clients to do each one justice.
On the other hand, she was well aware that Harvey’s Open dog was a handsome Standard Poodle who compared favorably with the others now in the ring. Unless she was mistaken, the dog only needed to win today’s major to finish his championship. Harvey would be devastated if he missed this chance.
Peg sighed. Time was a valuable commodity for a dog show judge. And now hers was passing. She was done dithering.
“I’ll start the class but take things slow,” she said to Marnie. “Harvey has my permission to enter the ring when he gets here. But for pity’s sake, do try to hurry him along.”
Ten minutes later, Harvey made it to the ring in time, but only just. Peg leveled a beady-eyed glare in the handler’s direction as he took possession of the big Poodle at the end of the line. Her meaning was clear to everyone in the vicinity. She’d granted Harvey leniency this time, but he shouldn’t make a habit of needing it.
After weighing the merits and flaws of her male Standard Poodle entry, Peg was further annoyed when her earlier speculation proved to be true. She ended up awarding Harvey’s dog the title of Winners Dog and the coveted three point major that went with it. With an outcome like that, Harvey would never learn better manners. But darn it, the dog had deserved the win. So what else was she supposed to do?
Peg hated it when her principles found themselves at odds with each other.
It didn’t help that Marnie was laughing behind her hand as she called the Standard Puppy Bitch class into the ring.
“Wait until you get approved to judge,” Peg said as they crossed paths at the judge’s table. “Then I’ll come and make fun of you.”
“As if you’d stoop to stewarding,” Marnie sniffed. Then winked. Stewarding was a difficult and often thankless job and they both knew it.
The Standard Poodle bitch classes passed without incident. Peg took the time to reassure a nervous novice handler whose lively puppy couldn’t keep all four feet on the ground. The woman left the ring delighted with her red second-place ribbon in a class of just two.
In the Open class, Peg purposely paid scant attention to a local handler who’d brought her a black Standard bitch that wasn’t at all her type. The man had shown under Peg on many previous occasions. He would have known that she preferred a more refined Poodle, not to mention one with a correct bite. He would also have been aware, however, that Peg and the Poodle’s owner were friends.
No doubt he was hoping to capitalize on that relationship.
The implication made Peg steam. If the handler had the nerve to think that would sway her decision, he deserved the rebuke she was about to deliver. With a dismissive flick of her hand, Peg sent the pair to cool their heels at the back of the line. Then she awarded the class, and subsequently the purple Winners Bitch ribbon, to a charming apricot bitch she hadn’t previously had the pleasure of judging.
After that, Best of Variety was an easy decision. It went to a gorgeous Standard who was currently the top winning Poodle on the East Coast. The apricot bitch was Best of Winners, which meant she shared the three-point major from the dog classes. Her elated owner-handler pumped Peg’s hand energetically when she handed him his ribbon.
“You certainly made someone happy,” Marnie commented as she turned the pages of her catalog to the next breed on the schedule.
“Yes, and my fingers may never recover.” Peg smiled. “He was so excited by the win, I was afraid for a moment that he might burst into tears. Were we ever that young and enthusiastic?”
“Of course we were. It’s just that it was so long ago, we’re too old to remember what it was like.”
Peg turned away and surveyed her table. If Marnie was old, what did that make her? Perhaps it was better not to think about that.
She grabbed a sip of water from her bottle, then flipped her judge’s book to a new page. Miniature Poodles were up next, and they’d drawn a big entry. Dogs and handlers were already beginning to gather outside the ring.
More fun coming right up.
“I wonder what that lady’s story is,” Marnie said. “Even in beautiful weather like this, dog shows hardly ever draw spectators anymore.”
Not like in the good old days, Peg thought. She was arranging her ribbons and had yet to look up. “What lady?”
“Over there.” Marnie gestured discreetly. “She’s sat through four different breeds. There’s a catalog in her lap but she looks like she hasn’t the slightest idea how to read it.”
“Maybe she just loves dogs,” Peg said happily. Welcome to the club. She straightened to have a look, then abruptly went still. “Oh dear.”
Marnie was heading to the in-gate. It was time to start handing out numbered armbands. She glanced back at Peg over her shoulder. “What?”
“That’s my sister-in-law, Rose.”
“Okay. Then that makes sense.”
“Not to me,” Peg muttered.
Marnie returned to her side. “She’s really a relative of yours?”
Peg nodded.
“And you hadn’t noticed she’s been sitting there for an hour?”
“Apparently not.” Why would she waste time perusing the ringside when she had all those lovely dogs in her ring?
“Right.” Marnie didn’t sound convinced.
Now that Marnie and Peg were both looking in her direction, Rose lifted a slender hand in a tentative wave. Her pleasant features were framed by a firm jaw and a cap of short gray hair was brushed back off her forehead. She was perched on the seat of a folding chair with her head up and her back straight. Rose had always had excellent posture.
Marnie smiled and waved back. Peg remained still.
Marnie gave Peg a little push. “Go say hello to her.”
“I think not.”
“Don’t be silly. You have plenty of time.”
Peg drew herself up to her full height. Even in sneakers, she neared six feet. “Not now. I have Minis to judge—”
“You’re running early. I won’t call the puppy dogs into the ring for at least two minutes.”
“Rose can wait. I have a lunch break after Minis. She and I will talk then. Or maybe we won’t.” Peg pulled her gaze away. “Her choice.”
“I see.” Marnie bit her lip. It suddenly sounded as though this had ceased to be any of her business. “Then let me just finish handing out these armbands and we can get started.”
Peg refused to let herself be distracted by her sister-in-law’s presence as the first class of Miniature Poodle dogs filed into the ring. She had a job to do. Numerous exhibitors had honored her with an entry, and each of them deserved her complete attention.
Still, it was hard not to sneak a peek in Rose’s direction every so often. What on earth was she doing here? As far as Peg knew, Rose didn’t like dogs. Nor did she like Peg.
That feeling was mutual.
Animosity had sizzled between the two women since Peg became engaged to her beloved, and now dearly departed husband, Max, more than four decades earlier. In all the intervening years, neither Rose nor Peg had managed to put the things that were said during that rocky time entirely behind them. Max was Rose’s older brother—and a man for whom Peg would have done anything. Yet even he had never succeeded in forging a friendship between the two most important women in his life.
Peg plucked a stunning white youngster from the Puppy class and awarded him the points over the older dogs. She suspected once she’d seen the rest of her Mini entry, he would win Best of Variety too. That would be a bold move on her part. People would take notice. There was bound to be talk.
As she waited for the first bitches to enter the ring, Peg allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. The white puppy was a star in the making. He would finish his championship handily, and she would be known as the judge who’d discovered him.
Buoyed by the prospect of that success, she allowed her gaze to flicker briefly in Rose’s direction. It aggravated Peg that she felt compelled to gauge her sister-in-law’s reaction. It aggravated her even more than to see that there was none.
Rose had set aside her catalog. Now her hands were folded demurely in her lap. Her expression was bland, her features arranged in a mask of resigned complacency that Peg knew infuriatingly well.
Of course Rose hadn’t noticed anything unusual. She probably couldn’t tell the difference between a Miniature Poodle and a hamster.
That brought Peg back to her earlier thought.
It was never good news when Rose appeared. Peg wondered what the woman wanted now.
Peg finished her Mini Poodle judging by making the handsome white puppy her Best of Variety winner. Since she put the dog up over two finished champions, her selection caused some minor grumbling among the other exhibitors. Not that anyone would dare say anything to her face, of course.
“Don’t worry,” Marnie told her. The show photographer had been called to the ring so they could take pictures of the morning’s winners before the lunch break. They were waiting for the man to appear. “I’ve got your back.”
“Thank you,” Peg replied. “I wasn’t worried, however. Should I be?”
“You didn’t hear what Dan Fogel said as he left the ring.”
Fogel was a busy and successful professional handler with a very high opinion of himself and his dogs. He clearly hadn’t been pleased when Peg moved the white puppy up from the middle of the line and placed it in front of his specials dog.
“And I don’t want to either,” Peg said firmly. “Considering all the breeds he handles, Dan shows under me frequently. If a momentary lapse in judgment caused him to say something unfortunate, I’m better off not knowing about it. I’d hate for it to taint my opinion of him in the future.”
“Your loss. He used some rather colorful language.” Marnie grinned. “For what it’s worth, I’d have done the same thing you did. There wasn’t a better moving dog in the variety ring than that puppy.”
Once the photographer arrived, a dozen pictures were taken in quick succession. Everybody knew the drill. Pose the dog, hold up the ribbon, smile, flash! Done, and on to the next.
“Lunchtime,” Marnie said happily when they were finished. “I can’t wait to get off my feet for a few minutes.”
“You go ahead.” Peg glanced toward the side of the ring. “I’ll catch up.”
Apparently the extra time Peg had spent taking photographs had been the last straw for Rose. Now she was squirming in her seat. Peg didn’t blame her. Those folding chairs weren’t meant for long-term use.
“Sounds good.” Marnie followed the direction of Peg’s gaze. “I’ll save you a place.”
The two women exited the show ring together. Marnie headed toward the hospitality tent. Peg went the other way, striding around the low, slatted barrier that formed the sides of the enclosure. She stopped in front of Rose, who looked up and smiled.
“Good morning, Peg.”
“Afternoon, now,” Peg replied smartly. There was another chair nearby. She dragged it over and sat down. “Imagine my surprise to find you sitting outside my ring. What are you doing here?”
“I was curious. I came to see what you do for a living.”
Peg wasn’t buying that for a moment. But she was willing to play along. “And?”
“It’s rather boring, isn’t it?”
“Not to me.” Peg’s smile had a wolflike quality, more a matter of bared teeth than shared humor.
“Perhaps not. I’m sure you know more about these things than I do.”
Having been immersed in the sport of purebred dogs for the majority of her adult life, Peg knew more about these things than ninety-nine percent of the world’s population. She might have been tempted to point that out except it sounded as though Rose was trying to be agreeable. And that immediately made Peg suspicious.
“If you found the judging boring, why did you stay?” she asked pleasantly.
Rose shifted sideways in her seat. Now she and Peg were face-to-face.
“I think it’s time you and I got to know each other better.”
Peg’s mouth opened. Then closed. She could have sworn she already knew more about Rose than any sane person would ever want to know.
“Why would we want to do that?”
“Because despite our differences, we’re family.”
Family. Huh. As if that was a good excuse.
Peg’s eyes narrowed. “What are you up to?”
“What do you mean?” Rose’s reply was all innocence.
Abruptly, Peg was reminded that her sister-in-law had found a vocation early in life. She’d entered the convent straight out of high school and spent most of the intervening years as Sister Anne Marie of the Order of Divine Mercy. Rose had perfected that serenely guileless look during her time in the convent. She still used it to great effect on occasion.
Peg wasn’t fooled. Having been called both a heathen and a sinner by Rose in the past, she disdainfully thought of the expression as Rose’s nun face.
“As entertaining as it is to spar with you,” she said, “I’m sure you can see that I’m quite busy today. If you have something to say to me, please do so. If not, it’s time for my lunch.”
The other woman sighed heavily. That was Peg’s cue to stand up. Somewhere on the showgrounds there was a rubbery prewrapped sandwich calling her name. And a trip to the porta-potty wouldn’t go amiss either.
“Wait,” Rose said. “Give me a minute.”
“I’ve already given you three.”
“Sit back down. Please?”
It was the novelty of hearing the word please that did it. Peg thought that might be the first time she’d ever heard Rose voice such an appeal. She swished the skirt of her shirtwaist dress to one side and sat.
“Go on,” she said.
“I want to join a bridge club. And I want you to join with me as my partner.”
“You’re joking.”
“No.” Rose frowned. “Why would I joke about something like that?”
“Because it’s funny?”
It was funny, wasn’t it? Any moment now, the two of them would dissolve into laughter. Not that they’d ever done so before. Belatedly it occurred to Peg that it didn’t appear to be happening this time either.
Instead, Rose was simply sitting there, staring at her. Her calm manner was almost unnerving.
“A bridge club,” Peg repeated. Apparently it wasn’t a joke. “I would think you’d be too busy for a frivolous pastime like that.”
“Of course I’m busy. But I can’t spend all my time doing good works.” Rose managed to deliver that statement with a straight face. “Besides, bridge isn’t a frivolous game. You should know that. You used to play.”
Yes, she had. But how did Rose know that?
“You mentioned it once.” Rose answered the unspoken question. “You were talking about living in a dorm when you were in college. You said every night after dinner, you and your friends would go down to the living room for demitasse and bridge.”
Peg was slightly stunned. “That was fifty years ago.”
“Even so. You talked about it.”
Peg shook her head. She barely remembered playing bridge, much less having a conversation about it later. And with Rose of all people. How had that come about? She had no idea.
“I never went to college,” Rose said in a small voice.
“No. You left home to become a nun instead.”
“I had a vocation.”
Even Peg wasn’t mean enough to point out that Rose’s vocation had apparently vanished like a puff of smoke when—after more than three decades in the convent—she had met a priest and fallen in love. Peter and Rose had recently celebrated their tenth wedding anniversary, however. So there was that.
“I realize now that there are many things I missed out on in my youth,” Rose said.
“That was your choice,” Peg pointed out.
“I didn’t know that then. I was young enough and naive enough to think that God had made the choice for me. Now that I’m older, I realize that there are many paths to eternal salvation.”
“And one of them includes playing bridge?” Peg regretted the words as soon as they’d left her mouth. In all the years she and Rose had known each other, they’d never had a conversation quite like this. All at once, Peg didn’t want to be the one responsible for shutting it down. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
“No, I get it. You’re skeptical. I probably deserve that.”
“Yes, you do.”
“That goes both ways.”
Peg snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re waiting for an apology.”
“Of course not.” A small smile played around the corners of Rose’s mouth. “I know better than that. But I didn’t come here today to fight with you.”
After a pause, Peg shrugged. “It wasn’t on my calendar either.”
The two women shared a look of mild accord. It wasn’t quite rapprochement, but perhaps a small step in that direction.
“I gather you’re missing lunch on my account,” Rose said. “I passed a food concession on my way in. Maybe I could buy you a salad?”
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