Hair of the Dog by Laurien Berenson Page B

change,” in which her downy puppy coat was replaced by the thick, harsh hair of an adult.
    â€œHow much more?” Being a teacher, I like to deal in facts.
    â€œTons,” said Peg.
    â€œTons.”Davey giggled, holding his arms wide. “This many.”
    Tons, right. I looked at all the other Poodles, so neat and elegant in their kennel trims. I thought of Faith’s clipper, fantasizing about running it up the length of her back and eliminating the problem once and for all.
    â€œYou promised me you’d finish that bitch,” said Peg, reading my thoughts correctly.
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œPositive. I caught you at a weak moment.”
    Weak moment, my foot. What she’d done was introduce the puppy to Davey first and ask my permission after. By that time my son had already fallen in love and there was no way I could possibly refuse.
    â€œMaybe I lied.”
    â€œI doubt it.” Aunt Peg dismissed the possibility with great firmness.
    Drat.
    â€œLook what I can do!” Davey raced over to the thick trunk of the massive Japanese elm that stood like a statuesque sentinel in Peg’s front yard.
    He’d recently discovered that he was just tall enough to hoist himself up onto the lowest branch. From there, it was only a short hop to the next. Scrambling like a monkey, my son pulled himself higher than I could reach as the Poodles raced around the base of the tree and egged him on.
    â€œDavey,” I called warningly. It didn’t slow his momentum a bit.
    â€œPerhaps you’d better do something,” said Peg.
    This from the woman who fed my son chocolate for breakfast and let him drive her car. No doubt she was afraid he’d fall and land on one of the Poodles.
    â€œNo,” I said in a loud voice. “Davey can go as high as he wants. He can stay up there all afternoon if he likes. Let’s go inside and have some cookies.”
    We started for the house, obeying what I think of as one of the first tenets of motherhood: mayhem is fun only if there’s an audience around to watch, preferably to gasp in horror. By the time we reached the front door, Davey was right behind us.
    â€œWhat kind of cookies?” he asked.
    â€œMallomars,” Peg told him. “How was camp?”
    Davey’s recitation of the highlights of his day took us through the pouring of milk for him, and the brewing of tea and coffee for Peg and me. By that time, I think both adults involved knew more about the workings of Camp Graceland than either of us had a desire to. Fortunately once Davey got a fistful of Mallomars, he was content to go off and do some exploring in Peg’s big, old-fashioned house. To no one’s surprise, the Poodles trailed hopefully in his wake.
    â€œSo,” said Peg when we were alone. “Have you figured this thing out yet?”
    A mouth filled with cookie prevented me from answering, but it didn’t really make much difference. It wasn’t as though I had any brilliant deductions to impart.
    â€œDog show scuttlebutt has it the police aren’t the only ones who think Alicia did it.”
    I swallowed hastily. “Why?”
    â€œHalf her detractors seem to think she was angry that Barry got her pregnant and still wouldn’t marry her. The other half think she was interested in his money.”
    â€œAccording to Alicia, Barry Turk didn’t have any money, and it certainly doesn’t look as though she stands to inherit much. Not only that, but Alicia claims that she was the one who didn’t want to get married.”
    â€œShe lived with Barry for nearly a year!”
    â€œShe says she was happy the way things were.”
    â€œOf course she’d say that,” Aunt Peg huffed. “What choice did she have?”
    â€œShe had the choice of leaving,” I pointed out.
    â€œWith a baby?”
    â€œAll right, that would have made things tougher. But how about before she got pregnant? She