Hair of the Dog Read Online Free PDF Page B

be shown takes time, lots of it. First the dog must be clipped into the trim that’s appropriate for its age. Puppies are clipped on the face, the feet, and the base of the tail. The rest of the hair on the body is carefully shaped—longer in front, shorter behind—to form a harmonious outline.
    For an adult Poodle, there are two choices, continental or English saddle. Both trims involve leaving a long mane of hair in the front of the body, and removing the majority of the hair on the hindquarter. In the continental, the hair that remains in back is shaped into pom-poms. In English saddle, a short “pack” covers the back and loins, and there are pom-poms on the legs.
    After clipping comes bathing, and with all that hair, a proper bath and blow-dry can easily take three to four hours. Dry and brushed through, the coat is ready to be scissored, which sets the trim into fresh lines. Aunt Peg was right, she would be busy.
    All of which did nothing to explain why she couldn’t pick up Rona Peters’s bitch on Monday. If the Poodle had just come in season, timing wasn’t critical yet. I didn’t even bother to ask the question. Somehow I just knew Aunt Peg would have a good answer. There are times when it’s easier to give in before you’ve argued yourself blue in the face.
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    It’s a pretty trip by car from Stamford to Poughkeepsie. Heading north, you start by driving through the horse country of New York’s Westchester County and end in the farms of lower Duchess County. These days I’m driving a brand new Volvo station wagon, courtesy of my ex-husband. Having spent the last five years nursing my previous car well into old age and beyond, I was sorely tempted to push my foot down on the gas pedal and fly. Unfortunately, the Taconic Parkway is famous for its speed traps. Bearing that in mind, I traveled a sedate fifty-five and enjoyed the scenery.
    With so much open land in the area, you’d have thought Barry Turk would have lived out in the country, but he didn’t. His kennel was in a residential zone, house and outbuildings wedged together tightly on a half acre of land that had been meant to hold lawn and trees. I assumed his right to be there was grandfathered, but still, considering the amount of noise the dogs in his kennel generated, it was hard to understand why the neighbors didn’t complain.
    The last time I’d been at Turk’s kennel, it had looked pretty run-down. The buildings had been in need of paint, and weeds had sprouted along the flagstone walk. Two scraggly bushes by the front door had sported more bare twigs than leaves.
    Now as I pulled in and parked, however, I saw that the painting had been seen to, and a row of colorful impatiens had been planted along the driveway. The kennel runs were still too small for the dogs they housed, but the roof had been fixed. There was a new, hand-carved sign out front, announcing that I had arrived at Winmore Kennel. All in all, the place had an air of respectable, if modest, prosperity. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine that it was Alicia’s presence that had made the difference.
    I got out of my car, then paused. The driveway was short but wide. A maroon Chevy van had been pulled up in front of the kennel building and was parked off to one side. I wondered if that was where it had been the night Barry was shot.
    There were houses and trees in all directions, plenty of cover, lots of places for a gunman to hide. Two large floodlights were positioned just beneath the eaves of the building. Once Barry had turned those on, he would have been standing in a circle of light.
    An easy target.
    Even in the morning sunshine, the thought made me shiver. I turned and walked to the house. Rona’s Poodle was undoubtedly in the kennel, but I wanted to offer my condolences to Alicia first.
    I had to knock twice before the front door was drawn open. Alicia answered it wearing shorts and a ratty T-shirt.