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the chandelier, and the diamond on her left hand must have been blinding at close range. Her age could have been anywhere between forty and fifty, although I guessed she was closer to the latter, with good grooming and skillful attention to detail holding the years at bay.
    Beside me, Aunt Peg was busy cleaning her plate. She chose clothing with an eye toward utility, not style. I doubted if she’d noticed Barbara Rubicov’s outfit, or if it would have made an impression on her if she had. The records of the Rubicovs’ dogs, however, were another matter.
    â€œI’ve heard mention of an Irish Setter,” she was saying. “And they did a fair amount of winning with a Dalmatian last year. Spot, his call name is. Have you ever heard anything so ludicrous? Crawford Langley handles it for them.”
    â€œCrawford? I thought he was a Poodle handler.”
    â€œHe is, primarily. But the coat care with Poodles is a lot of work. By comparison, Dalmatians are a breeze. And since the handlers get paid almost the same no matter what kind of dog they take in the ring, you can see why he might be just as happy to branch out.”
    Aunt Peg used her fork to push the last piece of steak around her plate, sopping up the remaining drops of juice. The acquisitive glance she cast at my uneaten sirloin wasn’t even subtle.
    â€œThat’s going home in a doggie bag,” I said firmly.
    Aunt Peg’s look was filled with injured innocence. “Did I say a word?”
    â€œNo, but you thought it. If you’re looking for leftovers, you might try Cy’s wife. She doesn’t seem to have touched her food.”
    â€œBarbara never does. She thinks eating at a steak house is beneath her. And as for dining with the rest of us ...” Peg chuckled gleefully. “I think she’d sooner break bread with Pygmies. At least there might be some charity value in that.”
    â€œThen why does she come to the meetings?”
    â€œFor Cy. It makes him happy. And it makes him think she’s a good sport, even if everybody else knows that she’s anything but.”
    Two seats down, Lydia Applebaum finished eating and rose to her feet. Immediately Joanne, on my left, picked up her spoon and began tapping it against her glass. Lydia sent her an annoyed look as the room quieted.
    â€œWhile they’re clearing and serving coffee, I’d like to go ahead and call the meeting to order,” the club president said. “We have plenty of business on the agenda and we don’t want to be here all night.”
    â€œHere! Here!” cried Paul Heins.
    â€œIn lieu of roll call, we’ve passed around a sign-up sheet. Everybody, please be sure to sign in. As the minutes from the last meeting were published in this month’s newsletter, perhaps someone would like to make a motion to dispense with reading them?”
    I gathered this was a procedure they’d followed many times. Lydia looked around the room expectantly as several hands shot up. The motion was made, seconded, and carried.
    I surreptitiously checked my watch. It was already past eight o’clock and the meeting was just beginning. I wondered if there was any way I could slip out and call Alice Brickman and tell her I was going to be a little late picking Davey up. And on a school night, no less.
    The waitress plopped a slice of half melted ice cream cake roll down on the table in front of me. “Regular or decaf?” she inquired brightly.
    â€œRegular.”
    I added a dollop of half and half and took a cautious first sip. The coffee was hot and strong, just the way I like it.
    â€œWe’ll move on to the president’s report then,” said Lydia. “And I’m afraid I have to start off with some bad news. It appears that the dinner checks collected at last month’s meeting are missing.”
    There was a moment of shocked silence, then everyone was speaking at once.
    â€œMissing?” cried