I would have loved to stand and stare at Susan and boy-toy 'til one of them came up for air. What could be sweeter than letting her know that I knew she was a Bad Example, too?
That revelation wasn’t completely comforting, however. I had already suspected Susan of philandering, possibly with my own formerly philandering ex-husband, who was once again my lover. Proof that she had no romantic boundaries only gave me more reason to worry about her and Jeb.
Now I wondered if Susan’s invitation to this event was intended simply to humiliate me. Embarrassment, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. If she hoped to shame me in Jeb’s eyes, she’d have to do better-or worse-than Worst in Show. He’d already seen me at the bottom of my game.
If shaming me in front of the Afghan hound crowd was her goal, what was the point? I didn’t expect to do business with Brenda, Ramona, the Two L’s, or anyone else in this hall. In fact, I planned to never see any of them again.
If Susan’s goal was to make sure that I and, by extension, my company appeared to her husband as losers, then Odette was in a position to prevent that. Or at least reverse the impression. No doubt my star agent was selling Big Houses on the Prairie even as Susan sucked face.
Maybe Susan disliked me and her husband enough to want to punish us both. I shook myself like a wet dog. Why worry? Jeb wouldn’t care how pathetic I looked; he (mostly) loved me for the mess I was. Liam didn’t fancy Afghans, so he wouldn’t be here to witness my Walk of Shame.
I hurried from the exhibit hall, determined to quickly quiz Kori about Sandy Slater. Several handlers loitered near the door, most of them savoring the smokes they weren’t allowed to have inside. Kori was not among them. Figuring that even if every handler didn’t know every other handler, everybody knew Kori, I was about to ask if anyone had seen her. Then I saw her. Or rather, I saw a flash of bubble-gum pink and the tail end of her big blue dog disappear around the corner of the building. So I followed.
I expected to find Kori lighting up either a cigarette or a joint. I did not expect to find Kori imitating her aunt. Yet that was the scene I stumbled into: Kori kissing a tall gorgeous man. Once again, I knew both the players. But I’d had no inkling these two were acquainted, let alone familiar enough to taste each other’s tongues.
Finally I had proof that MacArthur was on site. He was also on Kori-pressing her to him with as much zeal as she was using to grab onto him. These two appeared to be even hotter for each other than Susan and the handler. Less inhibited, at any rate. I didn’t know why I was so stunned to find them in a clinch. Kori reminded me of my stepdaughter, and I already knew MacArthur liked her; she was tattooed on his arm for the whole world to see. He may have been the cleaner at work, but on his own time he liked the messy life.
While I stared at the lovers, the big Afghan hound looked discreetly away. He had better manners than I did, but then he was the one with the pedigree. He issued a low growl, no doubt as a reprimand for my gaping; Kori and MacArthur sprang apart like fighters called to their corners.
“Hey, Whiskey!”
MacArthur was faster than Kori at finding another use for his tongue.
“Hey,” I said. Why was I the only person blushing?
“Silverado doesn’t like you,” Kori said, indicating the hound, who was still growling.
“Neither does my dog. That’s why I’m here. At the show, I mean. Not here, here. I’m here, here by complete accident. Really. I never wanted to see that.”
I always babble when embarrassed. And it only embarrasses me more.
Kori said, “I thought you were trying to catch me smoking a joint. So you could rat me out to Susan. Again.”
“I never meant to rat you out! I don’t even like Susan!”
“Really?” Kori was wary, but I thought she might be warming to me.
“Really! You’ll never guess what I just caught her doing.”
“Making out with Matt Koniger? Yeah. I saw them when I went out the door. So did everybody else.”
Susan Davies had seemed so… Junior League. And yet she must have known that people would see her kissing the handler.
So that was Matt Koniger-Kori’s favorite handler-mentor and Brenda Spenser’s young stud, the one Susan had made the catty remark about just before breakfast. My, my.
“Whiskey, may I speak with you privately?” MacArthur’s brogue broke through my reverie.
“Uh, sure. In a minute. First, I’d like to ask Kori a couple questions.”
“I’m due in the ring.” She tapped her bright pink watch.
“This will only take a few seconds,” I said. “And it’s not about you. Or him.” I nodded toward MacArthur. “It’s about Sandy Slater.”
“What about her?”
“Any connection to Mitchell Slater?”
“What do you think?” Kori shot me a look that said I was a moron.
“Well, it’s kind of a common name,” I said defensively. “And you did tell me his ex-wife was in London.”
“His latest ex-wife, yeah.”
“There’s more than one?”
Kori held up several fingers.
“Four ex-wives?” I asked.
“Amazing! You can count.”
I probably deserved that. “Was Sandy the first?”
“Numero Uno. And the only one who never went away. No matter how hard Mitchell tried to push her. You already know she kept his name.”
“They’ve been divorced a long time?”
“Long enough for Sandy to have had a kid as old as Matt!”
“That would be more than twenty years,” I guessed.
“Try twenty-six. Matt’s a little older than he looks.”
“Is her kid around here?”
Kori snort-laughed and shook her head. Not in a way that meant “no,” but in a way that meant I was a dumb-dumb.
“Matt’s her kid! I thought you got that!” she said. “Matt’s father, legally, was a guy named Koniger. He died when Matt was a baby. He wasn’t into dogs, so none of the Afghan fanciers ever knew him. But judging from the way Matt turned out, Mr. Koniger donated his name only. No sperm.”
When I didn’t take the bait, Kori added, “Doesn’t Matt remind you of somebody? Somebody you just met?”
As brief as my time with Mitchell Slater had been, I could see the resemblance: same eyes, same jaw line, same mouth.
Interesting. Neither Matt Koniger nor his mother was grieving today.