Free Gone With the Woof by Laurien Berenson Page A

it, most of the other ardent exhibitors always seemed to be similarly clued in.
    â€œThe Peke,” said Terry. “Anyone who doesn’t know that hasn’t been paying attention.”
    See what I mean?
    â€œIs he a good one?”
    â€œOh, honey.” Terry laughed. “You really have had your head under a rock.”
    â€œLing was number one all systems last year. He’ll retire next month, after Westminster.” Crawford nodded in the direction of the rings. “Go take a look for yourself. Peg’ll be judging him in half an hour or so.”
    I couldn’t tell whether Crawford was hoping to educate me or just get rid of me. Nevertheless, it seemed like a good time to move on. I found Sam and the boys sitting ringside, watching Aunt Peg judge.
    Pomeranians were in the ring. To the inexpert eye—that would be mine—the animated balls of fur looked more like plush toys than real dogs. Kevin must have agreed, because he was bouncing up and down on Sam’s lap, both hands outstretched in the direction of the ring. Luckily, his desire exceeded his grasp.
    Davey was watching Aunt Peg’s judging technique intently. There was an empty seat between them, and I slipped into it.
    â€œDid you find out everything you needed?” asked Sam.
    â€œAnd more,” I replied ruefully.
    Sam pulled his gaze away from the ring and stared at me for a long moment.
    â€œWhat?” I asked him.
    â€œI know I was originally in favor of your working with March, but I had a whole different project in mind. There’s no reason to continue if you don’t really want to. Just call him on Monday and tell him you’re bowing out.”
    Now we had Davey’s attention, too. He leaned around me and inserted himself into the conversation. “You mean, like, quit in the middle of an assignment? ”
    â€œNow look what you’ve done,” I said to Sam.
    Parenthood. It’s a veritable minefield of good intentions.
    Â 
    As I’d arranged with March at the end of the previous week, on Monday morning I headed back to Westport. I hadn’t yet decided what I was going to do when I got there: did I want to follow Aunt Peg’s advice or Sam’s? At the moment my only plan was to show up as promised and wing it. Believe it or not, that’s a strategy that has worked well for me in the past.
    The weather was crisp and dry; the temperature was in the thirties. Though it had been overcast all weekend, now that it was time to go back to work, the sun was shining brightly. The glare off the drifts that lined either side of March’s narrow country road was almost blinding.
    It hadn’t snowed in several days, and the road itself was mostly dry. But mindful of the winding turns and the ice that still lingered in shaded areas, I wasn’t going very fast. Even so, when I rounded the last curve before March’s driveway and came unexpectedly upon a brace of police cruisers parked by the side of the road, I had to slam on my brakes.
    Immediately, I felt like an idiot. I’ve been driving in snow since I was sixteen. I ought to know better.
    The Volvo skidded only briefly. Thanks to gifted Swedish engineering, I quickly regained control. Pumping now instead, I slowed down beside the first police car.
    There were three officers at the scene. Two were unspooling a long skein of yellow tape. It looped around two trees and ran along a low stone wall that bordered the road. Cones marked off another restricted area on the road itself. The entire right-hand lane was blocked off.
    The third officer lifted his hand to wave me past. Instead, I stopped beside him and rolled down my window. March’s driveway was still a hundred yards away, but now that I was stopped, I noticed a narrow break in the stone wall and a small lane that meandered back onto the estate. Charlotte had mentioned that Andrew lived on the property and had his own entrance. I wondered if that was