Pumpkin Spice Puppy, page 1
Books by Laurien Berenson
Melanie Travis Mysteries
A PEDIGREE TO DIE FOR
UNDERDOG
DOG EAT DOG
HAIR OF THE DOG
WATCHDOG
HUSH PUPPY
UNLEASHED
ONCE BITTEN
HOT DOG
BEST IN SHOW
JINGLE BELL BARK
RAINING CATS AND DOGS
CHOW DOWN
HOUNDED TO DEATH
DOGGIE DAY CARE MURDER
GONE WITH THE WOOF
DEATH OF A DOG WHISPERER
THE BARK BEFORE CHRISTMAS
LIVE AND LET GROWL
MURDER AT THE PUPPY FEST
WAGGING THROUGH THE SNOW
RUFF JUSTICE
BITE CLUB
HERE COMES SANTA PAWS
GAME OF DOG BONES
HOWLOWEEN MURDER
PUP FICTION
SHOW ME THE BUNNY
KILLER CUPID
PUMPKIN SPICE PUPPY
A Senior Sleuths Mystery
PEG AND ROSE SOLVE A MURDER
PEG AND ROSE STIR UP TROUBLE
PEG AND ROSE PLAY THE PONIES
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
Laurien Berenson
PUMPKIN SPICE PUPPY
A Melanie Travis Canine Mystery
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
PUMPKIN SPICE COOKIES
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
900 Third Avenue
New York, NY 10022
Copyright © 2024 by Laurien Berenson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
KENSINGTON and the KENSINGTON COZIES teapot logo Reg. US Pat. & TM Off.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2024936523
ISBN: 978-1-4967-5062-4
First Kensington Hardcover Edition: September 2024
ISBN: 978-1-4967-5064-8 (ebook)
Chapter One
Nothing gets my family out of bed faster on a Sunday morning than the prospect of spending the day at a dog show. I’d like to think that our lives don’t entirely revolve around dogs, but since we have five of them and there are four of us, it’s a close call.
Four of the five are black Standard Poodles, all retired show dogs, now living their best lives as much-loved companions. The last is Bud, a small spotted dog of unknown origin, found on the side of the road by my older son, Davey. As opposed to the Poodles, who are perfectly behaved, Bud is a wild man who makes his own rules. It’s a good thing that little troublemaker is cute.
Davey is fifteen and a sophomore in high school, so he likes to think he makes his own rules too. In the past year, he’s shot past me in height. Now his body is all lanky limbs and sharp angles. Once he gets moving, however, Davey is surprisingly graceful. That will help today. The reason my family was on our way to a dog show was because Davey was entered to handle a Standard Poodle who belonged to my Aunt Peg.
“We’ve been driving forever,” a voice piped up from the back seat of the SUV. “Why aren’t we there yet?”
Five years old, Kevin was a blond-haired, blue-eyed replica of my husband, Sam. Kev possessed many wonderful qualities, but patience wasn’t one of them. We’d been on the road for an hour, so it wasn’t a surprise that he was tired of sitting still.
“Your timing is excellent,” Sam said as a large building loomed into view. “We’re about to turn into the parking lot.”
It’s hard for me to believe Sam and I have been married for seven years. Sometimes it feels as though we’ve known each other forever. Other times, it seems like the years have passed in the blink of an eye. Sam says the luckiest day of his life was the day he and I met. I think he has that backward. I’m definitely the one who’s been lucky.
The four of us had spent the past six months participating in dog shows that were held outdoors in lovely parks or open, grassy fields. Now it was the first week of November. In Connecticut, that meant there was frost on the ground and a winter chill in the air. Also that the dog show circuit had moved inside until spring.
The good thing about the change in venues was that exhibitors wouldn’t have to worry about poor footing, inclement weather, or fading light. The bad: a dozen show rings and a thousand dogs, plus their crates, grooming tables, blow-dryers, and other assorted supplies would all be crammed together in very close quarters.
Fortunately for us, Aunt Peg would have arrived early and have already dealt with some of those problems. A relative by marriage, Peg was a woman in her seventies with a formidable intellect. Having spent decades producing some of the best Standard Poodles in the country, Aunt Peg was now a distinguished dog show judge. She had a direct gaze, forceful opinions, and a work ethic that would put a longshoreman to shame.
There was nothing Aunt Peg admired more than useful people, and she’d done her best to force me into that mold. Her standards were high, and her expectations higher still. I wasn’t the only person who sometimes struggled to measure up.
During the previous year, Davey had handled Aunt Peg’s homebred bitch, Cedar Crest Coral, to her championship. Now Peg was considering the possibility of a specials career—entering her to compete against other champions for Group and Best in Show wins—for Coral. Aunt Peg hoped Davey would want to continue handling the Poodle.
We were all there to give the idea a trial run.
Sam parked the SUV, then we entered the building and went straight to the crowded grooming room, where the pre-ring preparations would take place. I scanned the cavernous space and saw that Aunt Peg had secured a spot for her crate and grooming table beside the setup belonging to professional handler, Crawford Langley, and his assistant and husband, Terry Denunzio. Coral was standing on the tabletop beside her
“Over here!” Aunt Peg called out, waving a hand above her head. As one of the taller people in the room, she was already hard to miss.
“I see Aunt Peg,” Kevin cried eagerly. He dropped my hand and ran on ahead.
“We all see her,” I muttered. “And I think half the room heard her.”
Sam reached over and gave me a warning poke. He knows that my relationship with Aunt Peg has always been complicated. His, meanwhile, is utterly straightforward. Sam’s a huge fan. His stride lengthened as he went to greet Peg with a smile.
If only it were that easy for me.
“We’re not late,” I said as we approached. Davey had hurried to the other side of the setup. He was already unpacking Peg’s tack box and lining up a row of grooming tools along the edge of Coral’s table.
Aunt Peg’s brow rose. “Did I say you were?”
“No, but you were thinking it.”
A snicker came from next door. Terry, no doubt. I hadn’t even had a chance to say hello and he was already having fun at my expense.
Terry was a few years younger than me and drop dead gorgeous, a fact that was wasted on, well, pretty much everyone, since he only had eyes for Crawford. A longtime couple, they’d tied the knot on Valentine’s Day, and we’d all been there to celebrate with them. Terry’s hairstyle changed as often as his mood. Today his locks were blond and curled softly around his ears. Though he looked as innocent as a Renaissance cherub, I wasn’t fooled for a minute.
I turned and blew an air-kiss in his direction. “Cut that out, mister. Or you won’t be my favorite person in the room anymore.”
“Hey!” said Sam. He was down near the floor, helping Kevin unpack the bag of toys he’d brought with him.
“Hey!” Davey echoed in mock outrage.
“Hey!” Kevin chimed in, not because he understood what was going on, but because he hated to be left out.
My family had a point.
“Okay, fourth favorite,” I said to Terry. “But that’s still pretty good, right?”
He cast a glance Aunt Peg’s way in case she wanted to object. She’d sidled over to stand beside Davey and was pretending to be oblivious. Probably a lucky thing under the circumstances.
“Close enough.” Terry flashed me a cheeky grin. “I’ll take it. Crawford’s over at the MinPin ring, but he’ll be back shortly. He wants to talk to you about offering a prize.”
“Sure,” I replied without thinking. “Wait . . . what?”
That explanation didn’t help.
“Yes, of course. My thingie,” I repeated. “I’ve been worried about that all day.” Davey was trying not to laugh. I hated to think what my teenage son might be imagining. “Terry, what are we talking about?”
“You know.” He fluttered a hand in the air. “Your school thing.”
I stared at him blankly.
“Oh for Pete’s sake,” said Aunt Peg. “The Howard Academy fundraiser. Surely it hasn’t slipped your mind. You’ve been talking about it for a month.”
Oh, that.
During the week, I worked half days as a special needs tutor at a private school in Greenwich, Connecticut. Howard Academy was a select institution, catering to both children of privilege and scholarship students, and providing a stellar education to all. The school’s primary goal was to provide a solid foundation upon which our graduating eighth-graders would base the rest of their academic careers.
That level of excellence couldn’t be maintained on a budget, however. HA had been founded a century earlier in a mansion donated by benefactors Joshua and Honoria Howard. Now the building was showing its age, and growing enrollment over the years had necessitated the addition of two new wings. Not only that, but attracting the best teachers also meant paying a premium for them.
Howard Academy had managed for decades on the proceeds from a generous endowment. Now those halcyon days were waning. The school’s finances were far from dire, but its board believed in planning ahead.
Other school principals might have proposed a bake sale or car wash. Not our esteemed headmaster, Russell Hanover II. As usual, he was thinking bigger.
The result was that his assistant, Harriet Bloom, and I had spent the previous month ironing out the details of his Thanks for Giving fundraiser.
“It’s my day off,” I said. Even to my own ears, my words sounded plaintive and maybe a little whiney. “I shouldn’t have to think about work.”
“Pish.” Aunt Peg snorted. Beside her, Davey had Coral lying on her side on the rubber-matted tabletop. She was overseeing his line-brushing of the Poodle’s dense mane coat. “The fundraiser isn’t supposed to be work. You described it as a treasure hunt.”
“It is.” I brightened at the thought. Harriet and I had come up with the theme together. I thought it was genius. “We’re getting the students involved in raising money for the school by sending them on a quest.”
Terry also had a Standard Poodle out on his grooming table. He was busy layering hairspray through the dog’s copious topknot. Now he paused to waggle his eyebrows. “What kind of quest? Please tell me it involves swords and dragons.”
“Nope,” said Kevin. He was running a matchbox car around the floor of Coral’s crate. Since he was in kindergarten at Howard Academy, his class was taking part in the treasure hunt. “This one is about pumpkin spice muffins.”
“You’re kidding.” Terry laughed.
“I wish.” Kev sighed.
“I like pumpkin spice muffins,” Sam mentioned.
“As do I,” Aunt Peg agreed. That wasn’t a surprise. She had a ferocious sweet tooth.
“It’s only the tokens that are shaped like muffins,” Davey told his little brother. “Once you collect enough of them, you can turn them in for prizes.”
Kevin looked up at him. “What kinds of prizes?”
I was sure his teacher had already briefed his class on the possibilities, but I was happy to elaborate anyway. “There are lots of great things to choose from. Toys, games, sporting equipment, gift certificates, even a motorized scooter. One parent offered a ski weekend at their chalet in Vermont. And more donations are arriving every day.”
“That’s where Crawford comes in,” Terry said. “He wants to donate a prize too.”
“That’s very generous. I’ll talk to him about it after the judging.” I paused, struck by a sudden thought. “How did Crawford know about the fundraiser?”
“How do you think?” Aunt Peg asked as Davey set his brushes aside and nudged Coral to stand up and shake out her coat. “I told him. I was quite certain his skills would be much in demand.” Peg, a Howard Academy alumna, had already offered several prizes of her own.
“Who’s in demand?” Crawford asked, striding back into the setup with a Miniature Pinscher tucked beneath his arm and a purple-and-gold Best of Breed rosette clutched in his hand. He was a dapper man in his late sixties—astute, dignified, and always impeccably turned out. Crawford had been at the pinnacle of the dog show game for as long as Peg had. Like her, he had no intention of retiring anytime soon.
“You are,” I said.
Crawford chuckled. “Like that’s news.”
He handed the small dog to Terry, who slipped it inside one of the stacked crates that bordered their setup. Having won its breed, the MinPin would compete again later in the Toy Group.
“Aunt Peg’s helping,” Kevin said. Now that the conversation had turned to prizes, he’d forgotten all about his toy cars.
“I always help,” she pointed out.
That was a matter of opinion. One I had no intention of voicing aloud.
Then Sam caught my eye and grinned, and I had to bite back a laugh. Spousal shorthand. After all these years, he knew exactly what I was thinking.
“Maybe you’d like to help me spray up Coral,” Davey invited.
While we’d been talking, he’d put in the bitch’s topknot. The long hair, currently unsprayed, was listing to one side. Given a comb and a can of hairspray, Aunt Peg could take care of that problem in a jiff. Come to think of it, so could Davey. Usually he preferred to do all of Coral’s pre-ring prep himself. I wondered why this time was different.
So I asked.
“Umm . . .” Davey might be a teenager, but I knew he could do better than that. I waited for him to make another attempt.
“Don’t mind me.” Never one to turn down an opportunity, Aunt Peg was already stepping around him to take charge.
“Coral’s a special now,” Davey said.
“Yes, she is.” We all knew that.
“So the stakes are higher, and she needs to look perfect. Plus, I haven’t shown her since last summer—”
“Oh for Pete’s sake,” Aunt Peg interrupted, casting a glare my way. “Don’t browbeat the poor boy. Davey, put on your jacket. Do you have bait in your pocket? No? Then hurry up and remedy that. And comb your hair while you’re at it. Look at Crawford’s dog. He’s ready to head to the ring, which means we need to be too.”
Comb and fingers flying, Aunt Peg finished the job with a flourish. She set the can of hairspray down on the tabletop and kissed Coral on the nose. Then she looked around at Sam, Davey, Kevin, and me. We were all standing there staring at her.
“What?” she demanded.
“Nothing,” I replied.
“That’s what I thought.” Aunt Peg gave the Poodle’s coat one final tweak, then hopped her down from the table. In the setup next door, Crawford was about to leave. We’d be right behind him. Peg unspooled Coral’s narrow show leash and handed it to Davey.
“Smile,” she said to him. “It’s time for both of you to shine.”
Chapter Two
Terry went first to clear a path though the crowded room. Crawford followed with his Standard Poodle. Coral was behind them, with Sam, Aunt Peg, and Davey forming an honor guard around the perfectly coiffed Poodle so no one could reach out and touch her. Kevin and I brought up the rear.
The dog show was part of a “Fall Festival Cluster,” and the hall where the event was held had been decorated to reflect the theme. We walked past a stack of hay bales topped by a row of jack-o’-lanterns. Arrangements of marigolds and chrysanthemums adorned the show rings. When we came to a stuffed scarecrow with button eyes and a floppy straw hat, Kevin abruptly stopped and stared.
“What is that?” he asked.
“You’ve seen a scarecrow before. We watched The Wizard of Oz together.”
Kev leaned in for a closer look. “Is he alive?”
