“A handler,” Lauren said. “She’s a complete disgrace.”
Lindsey nodded. “She didn’t come up through Junior Showmanship. Like we did.”
They exchanged amused glances. Both women were about thirty years old; Lauren was slightly taller and thinner, while Lindsey was prettier. They wore expensive dark suits and sensible rubber-soled shoes. They looked like athletes. Also the products of private education. I was willing to bet they had played lacrosse.
“What’s Susan’s niece’s name?” I said and realized that I hadn’t offered my own. “I’m Whiskey Mattimoe, by the way.”
“We know,” they said.
“You do?”
“You’re the other Bad Example,” Lindsey said.
“Susan’s niece is Kori Davies,” Lauren said. “You’ll meet her at the breakfast.”
“You won’t be able to miss her,” Lindsey said, and they both tittered.
So it was that I emerged from the ladies’ room at the Midwest Afghan Hound Specialty with the “Two L’s.” Apparently, they had a joint reputation as top handlers. Both had shown “countless” champions at regional and national events, including the Westminster Kennel Club show. This was going to be an extremely busy weekend because they worked for lots of breeders.
Lindsey had been right when she said I wouldn’t be able to miss Kori. It helped that the young woman was standing indignantly by Susan’s side. But the biggest clue to Kori’s identity as Bad Handler was her appearance, outrageous by even my laissez-faire standards: she wore a short-skirted bubble-gum pink suit and matching running shoes. Bubble-gum pink was also the color of the streaks in her spiky black hair. And her dangling earrings, which were large enough to be detected by an orbiting spy satellite.
The combined steam-table smells of eggs, sausage, and bacon almost turned me green again, but I remembered to breathe deeply and think about things other than food. That last part was easy now that I had Kori in my sights.
“Did you find the bathroom all right?”
It was the smiling woman with the perfect haircut who had showed me where to go. Now she was close enough for me to read her nametag: Brenda Spenser from Columbus. I nodded and thanked her.
“You still look pale. Did you get a bad burger from the concession stand yesterday?”
“Yes!” I said. “Did you?”
“No, but my handler did. From now on, stick to hot dogs and nachos.”
She winked conspiratorially. I wasn’t sure how to reply, so I winked back. Then I noticed that everyone not already wearing a nametag was fetching one from a table near the buffet line.
“I need to get myself a nametag,” I said.
“That’s not necessary,” Brenda said, still smiling. “Everybody knows you’re Whiskey Mattimoe.”
“Everybody?”
She nodded sympathetically. “Susan introduced us to your dog last night. Have some dry toast and tea. You’ll feel much better.”
I found some comfort in knowing I wasn’t the only two-legged Bad Example. Oddly, I felt superior to Kori Davies, who was probably there because of nepotism. Or reverse nepotism. Watching the body language between her and Susan-thoroughly chilly-I could only assume that she was the non-blood-relative whom Susan loved to hate.
I had one of those in my ex-stepdaughter. Yes, Kori reminded me of Avery, who for once was far, far away. I must have stared long enough for Susan to pick up my vibe. She waved and started in my direction. The instant she left Kori’s side, I saw the Bad Handler whip out a pack of cigarettes and head for the exit.
“Poor Susan,” Brenda said. “She’s going to be stuck with that girl for the whole school year.”
“Kori’s still in school?” From where we stood, I had estimated her age to be close to Avery’s: twenty-two.
“Community college.” Brenda pronounced the term in the same tone that Ramona had used for designer dogs. “Unless, of course, they can find her a job, which isn’t likely.”
“Liam is her uncle, right? Surely he could find her a job.”
Brenda looked baffled. “Where?”
“How about in his own company?”
“There are no jobs in real estate,” Brenda said. She added, “There are no jobs anywhere when you have a criminal record.”
“Kori did time?”
Brenda nodded, watching Susan stride toward us. “For car theft and vehicular homicide, what Susan calls a ‘joy ride gone wrong.’ Kori has a tendency to sabotage every advantage she has. She’s made a hash of the handler training Susan gave her, which is why she’s here today-“
“Whiskey, welcome to the Midwest Afghan Hound Specialty. I hope you’re feeling much better this morning.”
Susan spoke from at least ten feet away. So as to interrupt Brenda?
“They’re opening the buffet line now,” she continued. “Our guests of honor go first.”
I hoped that didn’t include Abra. But I was quite sure it did include Kori, who had just sneaked out for a smoke.
“Whiskey’s a little off her food this morning,” Brenda told Susan. “She got a bad burger yesterday, just like Matthew did.”
“Oh? What a shame.”
Susan didn’t seem to recall that she was the one who had brought me the bad burger.
“I told Matthew to sleep in,” Brenda said. “He’ll need all his strength.”
“I’m sure of that,” Susan said.
Brenda tossed her beautifully trimmed head and excused herself.
I assumed Matthew was the handler Brenda had mentioned earlier. Why would handlers attend a breeder breakfast? The Two L’s were here, and there may have been others in attendance… besides the Bad Example. I asked Susan how that worked.
“Breeders often invite their handlers to join them at the Saturday breakfast. It’s a courtesy. Except, of course, in Brenda’s case.”
“Oh?”
“Brenda’s handler is her lover. Her much younger lover. He goes where she goes. Brenda keeps him on a short leash.”
Susan gave me a smile almost sweet enough to belie the cattiness in her remark. She nodded toward the buffet line, adding, “Shall we start? Oh, dear. I seem to have lost my handler.”
“You let your niece handle your dogs?” I said. “I thought she was a Bad Example!”
Susan’s face took on a pained expression.
“I let her handle one of my dogs, yes. She’s Liam’s family. You know how that goes.”
“Actually, I do.”
“I know you do,” Susan affirmed. “Jeb has told me about Avery.”
I wondered what else my guy had confided.
“Where are Kori’s parents?” I said. “Why can’t they help her?”
“Brenda didn’t tell you that part of the story?”
I shook my head.
“Surely she told you that Kori was in prison for car theft and vehicular homicide?”
When I hesitated, Susan said, “If Brenda didn’t tell you, someone else would. Kori stole a car in order to impress her parents. She wanted them to think she was doing well when in fact she was living with a drug addict, and neither of them had jobs.”
I blinked but said nothing.
“While driving the stolen car-with her parents in it-Kori ran a red light and T-boned another vehicle. Her parents were killed, and the other driver was injured. Kori wasn’t hurt. At trial the judge took pity on her, pointing out that she had just turned eighteen, and her actions had cost her parents their lives. He assumed that the accident had psychologically scarred her, and she would need a chance to rebuild her life. So he gave her the lightest possible sentence.”
