Gaits of Heaven

Needleman’s platinum hair was tumbling down her back, her makeup was heavy, and the neckline of her black dress plunged toward her solar plexus. She was perched on one of the couches next to Vee Foote, who had gray-streaked brown hair and wore a rather dowdy gray jersey outfit. The contrast between the flamboyant Dr. Needleman and the conservative Dr. Foote, together with their positions on the silk couch and the intensity with which Dr. Foote was whispering to Dr. Needleman, suggested an old-fashioned tableau in which a female reformer, played by Vee Foote, visits a brothel to try to convince a prostitute, played by Dr. Needleman, to abandon her sinful, lucrative ways in favor of a respectable life of poverty in domestic service. Seated opposite them was the person Caprice had referred to as her mother’s Reiki healer, a small, wiry woman with short black curls who was talking to a tall, brown-haired man in a conservative suit. “You don’t touch them?” I heard him exclaim. “Then how does this procedure supposedly work?”
    Seated in armchairs outside the central area by the fireplace were George McBane and Barbara Leibowitz, with Dolfo at her side. With them was an attractive red-haired woman in a navy business suit. Leaving Caprice with her father, I joined George and Barbara. George looked far better than he had the last time I’d seen him: his color had returned and, with it, his handsome looks. This time, too, he greeted me in his normal, friendly way. Then he introduced the red-haired woman. “Holly, this is Oona Sundquist,” he said.
    “George’s lawyer,” Barbara explained.
    Oona and I shook hands. “Holly Winter,” I said.
    “The police are here,” George said.
    “Where?” I asked.
    “There,” Barbara said.
    I turned to see Kevin Dennehy, who was just entering the room. He wore a light summer suit and looked perfectly at ease. Catching my eye, he nodded and gave me a mysterious little smile before stationing himself against a wall. At a big show, you can expect to find a representative of the American Kennel Club, and I had no difficulty in identifying Kevin as our AKC rep.
    Then a small crowd poured in: Wyeth, Johanna, the clone-worthy Cambridge woman who’d arrived with them, Ted Green on his crutches, and four people I didn’t know. The door to the family room opened, and in stepped Rita, who was followed by Peter York, Quinn Youngman, and Missy Zinn. I looked around in search of Frank Farmer, our show chair, so to speak, or perhaps the judge for the breed about to be shown in this ring, but he was nowhere in sight.
    With an air of authority, Rita stepped in front of the fireplace, introduced herself, and said, “I’ve just had a call from Frank Farmer. I’m sorry to say that Frank called me from the emergency room. He’s there with a broken leg, and he won’t be able to join us.”
    For a second, Rita’s eyes met mine. What I saw in her gaze was accusation. No, worse than accusation. Blame! Irrational, mindless blame! Directed toward me! The cause of Frank’s broken leg, I immediately realized, must be an incident with one of his utterly gorgeous, top-winning, and wild-acting basenjis. At a guess, the dogs had been bouncing around in a frenzy, and instead of ordering them out from underfoot, Frank had tripped and taken a hard fall. I am certainly not responsible for the misdeeds of all naughty dogs in the entire universe. But Rita tends to assume that I am. Hence the gaze of blame.
    “We’ve talked this over,” Rita continued, with a gesture that included Peter, Quinn, and Missy, “and we’ve decided that since everyone is here, we’ll go ahead with the meeting, and we’ll reserve the possibility of getting together a second time once Frank has recovered.”
    A central tenet of canine cosmology: doG works in a mysterious way. Delve into any seeming coincidence, and what you’ll find is woofy purpose. Rita absolutely, positively had not wanted to lead this family meeting. She’d never have done it if Frank had not, purely by dog-driven coincidence, broken his leg. With renewed faith in the comforting orderliness of the universe, I took a seat near Barbara and George in one of Ted’s upholstered armchairs, leaned back, relaxed, and smiled at Rita. I knew she’d do a good job. After all, she was meant to.
     

CHAPTER 45
     
    “To begin,” said Rita. “The purpose of this meeting is to bring together the Brainard-Green family and the family’s support system