Everyone knew Arnold’s story. Rescued from a shelter when just a puppy, he was what we Aussies call a bitser-a bit of this and a bit of that. He was a pepper-and-salt charmer, incredibly photogenic and very smart. And he loved performing. He’d become a household word as the cute psychic dog-also called Arnold-in the paranormal hit comedy series Professor Swann’s Spooks. Even before I’d come to the States, I’d been a fan of the show. Most people in my outback hometown, Wollegudgerie, watched the program on Wednesday nights. Even my mum, who wasn’t what you’d call a fan of television-addled your brains, she always said darkly-always made sure the program was on the screen above the main bar of her pub, the Wombat’s Retreat.
Ahead of me, Paul Berkshire had reached a black lacquered door, and was looking impatiently over his shoulder. ‘‘I haven’t got all day.’’
I suppose in his place I’d resent being regularly checked to ensure that the conditions set out in his aunt’s will were being followed to the letter. Rhea Berkshire had cause to use Kendall & Creeling’s services long before I turned up on the scene. She’d become a fast friend of my father’s, so she’d instructed her lawyers, Frogmartin, Frogmartin & Flye, to include in her will a generous payment to our company to visit Arnold once every two months-or more often if it seemed indicated-to make certain he was being treated in the manner a megarich canine should expect. We were to liaise with his vet, his walker, his dietician, his groomer, and his round-the-clock companion, Lisette, who had been in Rhea’s employ for many years. And Paul Berkshire, of course, as he had inherited his aunt’s business and so was Arnold’s trainer.
I’d heard a new series of Professor Swann’s Spooks was in the works, and was going to ask if that was true-Mum would love to know-when the bloke threw open the door. ‘‘Arnold’s beauty parlor,’’ he said with a bit of a twist to his lip. As he spoke, I noticed these three words were engraved in ornate script on the door’s lacquered surface.
‘‘Gets up your nose, does it?’’ I said.
‘‘What?’’
‘‘Not sure I approve, myself. Not very macho, is it?’’ He looked at me blankly, so I added, ‘‘I reckon a dog like Arnold would prefer something more masculine. How about ‘sprucing room’? What do you think?’’
‘‘I think Arnold can’t read,’’ he said, ‘‘so he doesn’t give a rat’s ass what the room’s called.’’ Opening the door, he said, ‘‘Lisette? This is the Kendall from Kendall and Creeling, here to check we’re not mistreating the dog.’’
He’d said ‘‘the dog’’ with such a flat tone that I looked at him with surprise. Recently I’d read an article in Hollywood Reporter where Berkshire had spoken glowingly of Arnold’s sweet nature and his ability to master new routines.
‘‘Lisette will call me when you’re finished,’’ he said, turning away and stalking off back down the hallway before I could respond.
I stepped into the room, and found myself grinning at Arnold, who cocked his head and waved his stubby little tail. Even more adorable in person than on the screen, he was standing patiently on a table while a young bloke with a pale face and lifeless fair hair groomed him.
‘‘G’day, Lisette,’’ I said to the woman who was smiling at me warmly. ‘‘I’m Kylie.’’ She was much older than I expected, small and wiry, with a cloudburst of white hair.
‘‘Hello, dear. Ariana’s told me all about you.’’ She had the faintest suggestion of an English accent.
‘‘Crikey. All good, I hope.’’
‘‘Mostly,’’ said the young bloke with a bit of a smirk.
Lisette introduced him as Gary Hartnel. ‘‘G’day, Gary,’’ I said. I couldn’t resist adding, ‘‘And g’day to you, too, Arnold.’’ Arnold blurred his little tail.
‘‘Friendly,’’ I remarked.
‘‘Not to everyone,’’ Gary declared. ‘‘Arnold has his likes and dislikes.’’
‘‘Righto,’’ I said, whipping a folder out of my bag. ‘‘I’ve got a checklist here. Let’s go through it and then I’ll get out of your way.’’
Lisette took me to meet the rest of the staff. Arnold came, too, trotting along beside us with a delightfully cheerful demeanor. As we walked down the hall’s thick carpet, I said to her, ‘‘Does he miss Ms. Berkshire, do you think?’’
‘‘Rhea? I’m sure he does. Look at him.’’
When she said her late employer’s name, Arnold’s tail drooped and he gave me such a pitiful look my heart turned over.
‘‘I’m sorry I mentioned it.’’
‘‘That’s okay, dear. Arnold’s very sensitive. We found him snuggled up in bed with Rhea, her being dead and all and him softly whining. He was in mourning. Near brought me to tears.’’
Soon I knew rather more about Arnold’s day-to-day schedule than I’d ever intended to know-his dietician went into such detail about the measurement and preparation of Arnold’s food that my eyes glazed over, and his walker insisted on describing at length the variety of routes Arnold covered every week.
‘‘Is everything satisfactory?’’ Lisette asked when I’d finished going through her duties as Arnold’s companion.
‘‘Too right,’’ I said, giving her the thumbs-up. ‘‘She’s apples.’’
She shook her head. ‘‘You Aussies.’’
Lisette, Arnold, and I headed back to the front of the house. ‘‘All I need to do is to check a few things with Mr. Berkshire.’’
‘‘Paul will be in his office-no, wait, here he is now.’’
I’ve got pin-drop hearing, or I wouldn’t have heard the soft growl Arnold gave. I looked down at him. He was staring fixedly at Paul Berkshire. His body language was a puzzle-I’d heard a growl, but he wasn’t stiff with aggression; he was unnaturally still, waiting. Then he glanced up at me, with the oddest expression on his face.
‘‘You’re done?’’ Berkshire asked me.
‘‘I’ve got a few more areas to cover with you.’’
‘‘Lisette, take Arnold to his gym. He doesn’t need to tag along with us.’’
When I looked back over my shoulder, Arnold hadn’t moved.
The bloke’s office was huge, being more what I’d call a library, with shelves and shelves of impressive-looking books and lots of maroon leather furniture. Paul Berkshire plunked himself behind a massive antique desk and answered my questions about Arnold’s training regimen with cool economy. It seemed there was to be a new series of Professor Swann’s Spooks and Arnold was already learning new routines for the show.
‘‘Nothing too risky?’’ It was one of our duties to make sure Arnold was never involved in hazardous situations.
‘‘Of course not. Arnold has a stunt double who looks exactly like him.’’
‘‘But not as talented?’’
Berkshire gave me a thin smile. ‘‘More talented, in my professional opinion. A pleasure to work with the animal. Dopp is Arnold without the attitude.’’
‘‘Dopp for doppelganger?’’
Berkshire raised his eyebrows. ‘‘My little joke.’’
I raised my eyebrows right back at him. ‘‘I’m surprised you say Arnold has an attitude. I found him a bonzer dog.’’
‘‘He’s temperamental at times. Difficult. Could be he’s getting close to the end of his performing life.’’
‘‘Maybe he’s grieving for your aunt.’’
A fleeting emotion flickered across Berkshire’s face. Just that morning at breakfast I’d been reading in my invaluable reference source, Private Investigation: The Complete Handbook, about microexpressions. These only lasted for a split second, but exposed the true feelings of a person before they could hide them. In this case, I reckoned he’d revealed a pretty disturbing mix-sneering anger, tinged with arrogant triumph.
‘‘If there’s nothing else, I’ll get Gary to escort you to your car,’’ he said, clearly wanting to get rid of me.