New Tricks - By David Rosenfelt Page 0,3
few words as he is.
He picks up a clipboard and looks at it for a few moments, then puts it down and says, “Drive up and park to the left of the house. Someone will be out to get you.”
I go along a driveway that slopes upward until I come to the house, an amazingly impressive structure that looks straight out of Gone with the Wind. I consider myself independently wealthy, having inherited over twenty million dollars from my father a few years back. If I were willing to part with all of it, I could probably afford the Timmermans’ garage.
Because civil disobedience is my thing, I park to the right of the house, not the left. I get out of the car and wait, and after about five minutes the front door opens and a young man, probably in his early twenties, comes out. He starts to walk toward his car, then sees me and heads over.
“You’re here for Waggy?” he asks, and when he sees that I look confused, he adds, “The Bernese.”
“Yes,” I say.
“I’m Steven Timmerman,” he says, which means he is Diana Timmerman’s stepson, and one of the two people fighting for custody of the aforementioned “Waggy.” He offers his hand, and I shake it.
“Andy Carpenter.”
He nods. “Please take good care of him, Mr. Carpenter.” He starts to walk back toward his car, but stops and turns. “He loves to chew on things, especially the rawhide bones. And he goes crazy over tennis balls.” He grins slightly at the recollection, then turns and goes to the car.
As soon as he pulls away, the door opens again and a woman comes out of the house. She is dressed fashionably; my arrival definitely didn’t interrupt her in the process of cleaning out the attic or scrubbing the toilet.
“Mr. Carpenter?” she asks.
“Andy. You must be Ms. Timmerman?”
She smiles, apparently with some embarrassment. “No, I’m Martha. Martha Wyndham. I’m Mrs. Timmerman’s executive assistant.”
“Nice to meet you. What do you executively assist her at?”
Another smile. “Being Mrs. Timmerman. You’re here for Waggy?”
“Waggy? Is that what everybody calls him?”
She shakes her head. “Just Steven and me. But it would be best if you didn’t mention that to Ms. Timmerman. Bernese mountain dogs were originally bred to pull wagons. That seemed so funny in this case that Steven and I call him Waggy. You love dogs, I understand?”
“Guilty as charged. I’m a certified dog lunatic.”
“As am I. But you might want to let him stay here while you make your determination. It could be upsetting for him to be thrust into a strange environment.”
“He’ll be fine; my house is dog-friendly. Where is he?” I ask.
“In his room. But Mrs. Timmerman would like to talk to you first.”
That’s not completely appropriate; she is the other one of the litigants pressing for ownership of Waggy, and I really shouldn’t be speaking to her without the opposing party present. On the other hand, appropriateness was never my forte, and I did say hello to Steven, so what the hell.
I let Martha lead me into what they probably refer to as the library, since the walls are covered with packed bookshelves. Most of them are classics, and few look like they have been read in a very long time. This may be a library, but it’s not a reading room.
Five minutes go by, during which Martha and I engage in small talk, mostly about baseball. She’s relatively likable, but I’m starting to get annoyed. “Where is she?” I finally ask.
“I’m sure she’ll be down in a moment.”
“Give her my regards, because I’m not waiting any longer. I’ll take Waggy and be on my way.”
“Mr. Carpenter.”
I look up and see Diana Timmerman, tall and elegant and completely unconcerned that she kept me waiting.
“Good guess.” I turn and ask Martha to bring me Waggy, and Diana nods that it is okay to do so.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Diana lies. “I’m Diana Timmerman.”
At that moment the phone rings, and Diana says to Martha, “I am available for no one today.” Martha goes off to tell the caller just that, and then to get Waggy.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you; it’s been a difficult time. Walter was a wonderful man. And with the authorities searching the house three times, going through his things as if he were the criminal, it’s been hard to get back to anything approaching a normal life.”
I nod understandingly, but all I really want to do is get