Sam entered the exhibition hall of the Royal Plaza Conference Center and found himself in a world he hadn’t known existed. He was early so the ten rings in the body of the hall where the judging would take place were empty. But around the walls owners were busy shampooing, blow-drying, combing and trimming some of the fourteen hundred dogs that had been entered in the show. The dogs stood on tables, their heads held high by short leashes attached to poles, while their owners sculptured them into works of art. Sam recognized a few of the breeds. There were graceful Afghans with streamlined faces and long hair that shimmered in the overhead lighting, sleek Dobermans twisting their heads to see if they were being followed, tiny Pekingese with bulging eyes and red ribbons tied in their forelocks, and an enormous St. Bernard asleep on a quilt with cooling towels placed under her armpits and two fans cooling her face. Dogs, big and small, walked with their owners along the aisles greeting other dogs with passing sniffs. “Hi there. Didn’t I see you last week at the Pioneer Valley Show?”

Annie and Molly were no where to be seen, so Sam headed across the parking lot to the hotel coffee shop. And there she was, standing beside her van, combing and trimming Molly who sat obligingly on a low grooming table. When the dog saw Sam she wagged her tail and kissed his cheek. Annie did, too.

“I looked for you inside,” Sam said, returning her kiss.

“Too crowed in there. It’s easier outside if it’s not raining.” Molly wiggled for joy at Sam’s presence. “Sit still,” Annie said. “I need to brush your teeth.”

“I was on my way to get coffee,” Sam said. “May I get you some?”

“Aren’t you going to tell me the news?”

“Wait til we can sit down. I’ll be right back.”

“When you do,” Annie said, “go inside. I’ll be waiting at Ring Five.”

Sam returned with the coffee and found Annie sitting in a portable chair holding Molly’s leash. The dog was busy talking to another Newfoundland while Annie talked to her owner. Annie introduced him to Sam and they returned to their conversation about the effects of close breeding on the shape of Newfoundlands’ muzzles. The man left and Sam promptly forgot his name.

Annie turned to Sam. “Molly’ll be competing against his bitch.”

“His what?” Sam asked.

“There’re dogs and bitches. You might as well get used to it.”

“Like man and wife.”

“Hmm,” Annie said, “it is kind of sexist.”

They turned their attention to the ring where the St. Bernard was going through her paces. Molly watched with rapt attention as the big dog lumbered around the ring. “She’s the national champion,” Annie said. Sam was impressed.

“Can I tell you the news?” Sam asked.

“Later. The Newfies are going on now.”

Annie and other Newfy owners and handlers went into the ring with their bitches — Sam still had trouble with that word. One by one the bitches circled the ring. The judge examined their teeth, heads, limbs and bodies. When all had been judged, the other owners were waved from the ring and Annie glanced at Sam with a smile. She must have won, Sam surmised. Another group of Newfies were brought into ring and the process was repeated. Finally Molly was brought back into the ring and appeared to have taken a first.

“We won,” Annie called to Sam as she left the ring. The process, however, had been so complicated he wasn’t sure what she’d won. “It means another point toward Molly’s championship.” Molly shared Annie’s excitement, and was ready to accept the congratulations of the other owners especially if they’d rubbed her head.

“All right,” Annie said. “What’s the news?”

Sam told her about his visit to Beverly Arms and the old man named Victor. “It was disturbing, Annie. I could see myself hanging around Beverly Arms, playing golf, smiling at old ladies, working out on the Nautilus, until I looked just like him. When I got home I signed the form to put my house on the market and called you. I want to look at that house again.”

Annie smiled broadly. “I hoped you’d say that. Look, I’m done here except to buy some shampoo and pigs’ ears.”

“Pigs’ ears?” Sam asked skeptically.

“Yeah. They’re dried and smoked. We’re having them for dinner.” She gave him a don’t-you-believe-me nod and Sam groaned. “I’m going to be about fifteen minutes. Why don’t you have a look around?”

Sam walked over to the concessions selling products of interest to dog owners: grooming tools, food, stainless steel bowls, tee shirts imprinted with every kind of dog imaginable and small statues of every breed. He stopped in front of a book vendor and gazed at six Irish Wolf Hounds waiting in the aisle to enter one of the rings. They stood tall and sedate like old soldiers, their faces covered with gray beards. Sam remembered the time he and Sarah had seen an Irish Wolf Hound leading the parade at Buckingham Place for the changing of the guard. He turned away with a touch of sadness, and entered the book stand. The books were new and used and arranged by breed or subject. Sam’s eyes roved the table until he saw a Newfoundland on the cover of a book. It was a coffee-table book filled with exquisite pictures of Newfoundlands. He hadn’t seen one like it at Annie’s so he bought it for her as a gift.

He found her waiting at the door, a plastic jug of blue colored shampoo in one hand and a large bag of pigs’ ears in the other. Molly nosed the bag eagerly.

They got to the van, unloaded Annie’s purchases and put Molly in her crate. “I bought you a book,” Sam said.

“Thank you,” she said, surprised and delighted. “Newfies And Their Friends. I’ve seen it before, but it was too expensive.”

Sam followed Annie’s van on the hour and a half drive to her house. They arrived and Molly raced inside to see Maggie. Annie paid a young neighbor who’d been puppy sitting and he left. Sam and Annie sat on the floor, letting the puppies crawl over them.

“They’ve grown a lot in only one week,” Sam said.

“And they’re glad to see you.”

Annie gave the dogs their pigs’ ear treats, then heated a leftover casserole for lunch. Sam called Francis LaBlanc.

“Would it be possible to have another look at the house this afternoon?”

Francis said he’d check with the owner and call him back. Five minutes later he called to say he’d meet them there at three.

At three they arrived at the house and Francis introduced them to the owners, Clyde and Libby. Sam asked several questions about the house: how tight it was in the winter, the usual amounts of snow, heating bills and so forth.

“In the winter,” Clyde said, “you’ll definitely need a snowblower unless you have four wheel drive. And in the summer, if you do the lawn yourself, a good power mower.” He showed Sam his mowing machine that cut a swath forty-two inches wide and had a set of levers and knobs like a diesel truck. “This baby cost two thousand five hundred dollars.”

Sam thought about his twenty-one inch mower and asked, “Any kids around here that mow lawns?”

“One,” Clyde said. “He lives down the road.”

Sam went upstairs for another look. He sat by the window in the room he thought of as his study, and dreamed what it’d be like to own this house. Through the trees on the river below the house, something caught his eye. It moved again and he saw a man whipping a fly rod as he waded slowly upstream. He passed through an opening in the branches and Sam could see he had gray hair and looked to be about his age. I used to fly fish with my dad, Sam recalled. I wonder if I could do it again?

He came downstairs and asked Annie to go with him down to the river. They sat next to the bank where the river swirled around the great rock forming a pool. A kingfisher flew from tree to tree on the opposite bank. It was quiet, except for the sound of the water.

“It couldn’t be more unlike Beverly Arms,” Sam said. “I think that’s what I like most about it. But . .”

“But what?” Annie said gently.

For a moment Sam drifted away with his thoughts, then said, “Before Sarah disappeared I used to wonder what it would be like if she were to die and leave me alone. Sometimes when she was sick and I was getting dinner for us, I marveled at how much fun it was to cook dinner. But I knew I was cooking for her. I remember thinking that it wouldn’t be fun at all if I were cooking just for myself. And when she was traveling, business trips, I thought I did pretty well taking care of myself. But again, I knew it was just marking time until she came home.

“Then, when she didn’t return I had to face the thing I dreaded most, a life without her. She wasn’t just in bed with a cold. She wasn’t going to be coming home at the end of the week. She was gone and I was alone.”

Sam stood and looked back at the stately old house for a moment, then turned back to Annie. “I’d be out here, all alone. If I were doing it for Sarah, I’d buy it in a minute, but it seems so pointless just for me.”

Annie stood and faced him. “I’ve lived alone for so long that I take it for granted. I’ve got the dogs and they’re like family, and one guy that’s a good friend that I see at shows sometimes. But when I’m home, there’s no one to talk to or get dinner for. I understand what you mean. It is lonely. That’s why I like it when you come out. I can put in my four hours at work and come home knowing I’ll find you here.”

Sam nodded. “I feel the same way when I’m driving out here.”

“I’m not pushing you, but I’d like it if you moved here. Maybe not this house but one close by. We’d only be twenty minutes apart, not three and half hours.” She laughed, “Or maybe I am pushing you.”

“I don’t mind.” But his smile didn’t last long. The worry lines returned to his brow. “It’s a lot of house, Annie, maybe more than I could keep up.”

“I’d help you,” Annie said. “You help me with dog sitting when I have to be away for a day, and I’ll help you around here. And when we’re done, we’ll go skinny-dipping.”

Sam smiled, “Or ice skating.”

Back at Annie’s, they sat on the sofa turning pages of the book Sam had bought her. The author-photographer had lived for a while with two Newfoundland breeders, one in Saskatchewan and the other in Maine. It was as much a study of the people who owned and trained the dogs, as it was of the dogs themselves. The vastness of Saskatchewan was the backdrop for pictures taken at Pinnacle Kennel. There was one of a teen age girl named Julia wrapped up in a huge Newfy. Another showed a dozen or more Newfs running across the prairie with Madeline Singer, Pinnacle’s owner. Still another pictured young Newfies covered in mud and dripping water, rising out of a marshy pond like long haired sea monsters. Every third page or so the author talked with Madeline about her life as a breeder.

The rocky coast of Maine was the contrasting setting for the second half of the book. “It’s Pemaquid Point,” Sam said, recognizing the landscape. “Our family used to vacation there when the kids were small.” Superimposed on a dramatic photo of a Newfoundland leaping from a helicopter into choppy ocean waves was the name Ocean Rescue Dogs. “Unbelievable!” Sam said as he gazed at the picture. On the next page a Newfoundland was being lowered from a helicopter in a sling suspended from the helicopter. “I had no idea Newfoundlands could do this.”

“Rescuing people is in their genes. Back in the days of sailing ships, they’d swim into waves too rough to launch a boat.”

The author interviewed the owner of the rescue school, a man named Dave Cowan. He explained the big dogs were still used in Italy, Norway and Nova Scotia for ocean rescue. The opposite page showed Cowan sitting in his helicopter with a large Newfoundland named Condor beside him. The last picture in the book was of a small sail boat with Condor standing in the bow, as if searching for people in distress.

“Sam, I love the book, especially that dog jumping from the helicopter.”

“Ever heard of the author?”

Annie turned to the title page. “Susan Lang,” she read aloud. “No, I don’t think so.” On the next page she noticed the dedication.

To Sam, forever

“Another one of your admirers?” Annie asked with a laugh.

Sam didn’t answer. He’d seen the words before, To Sam, forever. They’d been on birthday and anniversary cards from Sarah. He felt himself beginning to slip into the old obsession, into the hope that ended in pain. Fighting it, he forced himself to accept the dedication as a coincidence, and uttered a weak laugh. “That’s how Sarah used to sign her cards to me.”

Annie, apparently sensing his turmoil, put her hand over his. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It seems like every time she fades away, something like this happens to bring her back.”

He felt her tense up as his frustration was telegraphed from his hand to hers. Abruptly she sat up. “It’s this damnable not knowing that keeps getting in the way.” Sam was sure she meant, in their way. Annie leaned forward dropping her head into her hands. “I never should’ve said that. I’m sorry.”

He put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m glad you said it. I feel the same way. The house isn’t the only reason I want to move out here. I want to be near you.” Without looking at him, she nodded her head slowly. “But I realize the doubts I have about buying the house are tied up with Sarah. Is she alive or dead? Until I know that for sure, oddball things like this book are going to keep coming up.” He pulled her to him and kissed her cheek.

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I want to love her, Sam. I want those happy memories of the times she visited here. But if she’s alive out there somewhere hiding from us, I can’t love her.” She straightened up. “She’s got no goddammed right to interfere in our life.” Annie began to cry. “It’s this book,” she said slapping it as it lay on Sam’s lap. “The pictures are so much like Sarah would take.”

Sam opened the book and turned to the publisher’s page hoping to find a date prior to Sarah’s disappearance. “No help,” he sighed. “It was published a year ago. It takes several months for a publisher to get a book out after they get the manuscript, so she could have taken the pictures and written the book the summer she disappeared. If Sarah did die two years ago, the book could have been published posthumously.”

“Or she could still be alive. Shit!” Agitated, Annie jumped to her feet. “I need to walk.”

With Molly and Maggie on leashes they walked silently up Annie’s lane toward the highway. They got there and headed back. The hot, humid air did nothing to clear Sam’s jumbled thoughts. Finally Annie broke the silence. “If it is Sarah, . .”

But Sam interrupted. “Annie, let’s not do it that way. Speculation will drive us nuts. We need to sit down and figure out what we know for sure. What was she doing before she disappeared and where was she going on those trips she took. If she took these pictures she must have been in Saskatchewan and Maine. Think back Annie. Did she say anything during those last visits here about a book?”

“No. I would have remembered that.” She thought for moment, then said, “I do remember, though, how much she didn’t want to go back to work after her last visit. I asked her about it, and she said something like, ‘You wouldn’t want to know’.”

“When, exactly was the last time she was here? You said you had dates in your files that could tell us when she helped you with the whelping.”

When they reached the house, Annie got out her records. “It was March 13th, two years ago,” Annie said. “But that wasn’t the time I was talking about. That was June because it was warm enough to sit on the porch. Remember, she’d set up the camera for me to take that picture of her and Maggie.”

“And she was wearing the robe I’d given her on Mother’s Day.”

“The pictures in this book are summer. Did her company say anything about business trips to Saskatchewan or Maine?”

“I tried not to call her office. I didn’t want Sarah to think I was checking up on her. But after a month, I phoned her secretary.” Sam squinted as he stared into the past. “Come to think of it, it was a strange call. Vera Ashby, that’s her secretary, said she didn’t know where Sarah was. I got angry and said Sarah must have left a phone number where she could be reached. She said no. I hung up thinking that was a lousy way to run a company.”

“Did you ever call back?”

“No. By then I was so distraught I wasn’t thinking clearly. The kids were after me to report her missing, but I fought it. I was sure she’d come back.”

“Sam,” Annie said, “You need to call that secretary back. It could solve the problem of whether or not Susan Lang is Sarah Langley. If her secretary can confirm that Sarah was on assignment that summer in L.A. or Miami or someplace then she couldn’t have written that book.”

He hesitated. “Vera was a funny person. One minute she’d be so nice to me in an oily sort of way. And the next, she’d treat me like an interruption. I don’t see how Sarah stood her.”

“Well, that was two years ago. Maybe she’s changed. It’s only 4:30. Maybe she’s still at the office. Can you talk to her without blowing up?”

“I can try.” Sam had forgotten the phone number but got it from information. He dialed it and asked the switch board operator for Vera Ashby. The instant she said hello he recognized her slippery, mellow tone.

“Hello Vera, this is Sam Langley. It’s been a long time. I wasn’t sure you’d still be with the company.”

“Sam. What a surprise. Yes, I’m here. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Sam rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Just thought you might have changed to another company.” Gritting his teeth he said, “It’s good to hear your voice again.”

“And yours too. Sam, I’m so sorry about Sarah. We heard that she died. Everyone here was so distressed.”

“Yes. Well it’s been hard, but time heals all.” He winced at his own words, then went on. “Vera, I was wondering if you could help me with something? I’ve still got some unanswered questions about Sarah’s disappearance. When was the last time you saw her?”

Her voice became cautious. “I seem to remember you called me about that two years ago and I said I didn’t know where she was.”

“I think I was asking if you had a phone number where she could be reached?”

“Yes, and I said I didn’t know where she was.”

Sam caught himself at the edge of blowing up again and said, “That’s right, I remember now. I guess what I really wanted to know was where the company had sent her.”

“That’s simple. Nowhere. She’d resigned about a month before you called.”

“Resigned?”

“Yes. That’s why I said I didn’t know where she was.”

Chapter Sixteen