Once Bitten (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

by Berenson, Laurien

  I was waiting there when the Miata pulled into the circle out front and parked beside the wide steps.

  The picture I’d seen at Sara’s house didn’t do Josh justice. Like his cousin, he was a stunner. Tall and broad-shouldered, he unfolded his lanky frame from the small convertible, brushed back his shaggy blond hair, and squinted up at Howard Academy’s imposing facade. I had the front door open by the time he reached the top of the steps.

  “Melanie?” he asked hopefully, sticking out a hand. “The description Bertie gave me wasn’t exactly precise.”

  I could imagine why. I have light brown shoulder-length hair and hazel eyes, and stand just above average height at five feet six, none of which are the sort of attributes likely to make me stand out in a crowd.

  “She was right, though,” Josh added. “You do have a great smile.”

  “Thanks.”

  “This must be Faith.” He leaned down and greeted the Poodle with fingers outstretched for her to sniff.

  “Don’t tell me Bertie described my dog, too?”

  “Of course. Isn’t that how everyone does things?”

  I wish.

  Josh was a doll. It was easy to see why Sara had been interested. I wondered what had brought the relationship to an early demise.

  “Come on in.” I led the way to one of the drawing rooms. “I really appreciate your coming over to see me.”

  “No problem. I work on Railroad Avenue. Graphic design. Since you’re in school all day, I figured my schedule might have a little more leeway than yours. Bertie seemed to think it was important that we get together. She said you wanted to ask me some questions about Sara Bentley?”

  “Yes.” I took a seat in a damask-covered arm chair. Josh sat down on a couch opposite. Faith checked out the area thoroughly and chose a place on the rug near my feet that was warmed by sunlight streaming in through the high leaded windows. “I guess you’ve heard . . . ?”

  “About the fire?” Josh nodded. “All I know is what I read in the paper, though.”

  Monday morning’s edition had continued its coverage, though not much information had been added. The fire was now reported to have been of suspicious origin. Positive identification of the body had yet to be made.

  “I don’t know a whole lot more myself. The reason I got involved is because Bertie had hired Sara to plan her wedding.”

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that.” Josh looked uncomfortable. “Sara and I broke up at the end of August. We haven’t been in touch lately.”

  I gazed down at Faith, then let my hand drop, fingers tangling in her long hair. I’ve found that sometimes people open up more easily when they’re not the sole focus of your attention.

  “I guess your relationship didn’t end too well.”

  “You could say that. Then again, I’m sure Sara would have a different version. She was the one who ended things. Dumped me flat.”

  Judging by Josh’s disgruntled expression, he hadn’t had to deal with much rejection from the fairer sex.

  “How come?”

  “I guess she found somebody that suited her needs a little better.”

  “Any idea who?”

  “No. I didn’t think about that at the time, but afterward I realized it was a little odd.”

  “In what way?”

  Josh paused a moment, getting his thoughts in order. “The thing about Sara was that she liked to talk about herself. A lot. She found her life fascinating and she figured other people did, too. I knew who Sara’s boyfriend had been before me. And who the guy was before that. Hell, she not only talked about them, she kept their pictures on her mantelpiece. Like they were some sort of trophies or something.”

  I wondered if Josh knew that his own photo had been added to the collection.

  “So it seemed a little strange that she never did any bragging about this new guy, whoever he was.”

  “Maybe she didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” I ventured.

  “I guess you didn’t know her very well, did you?”

  “No.”

  “When Sara got into one of her moods, hurt feelings were a specialty of hers. When she lashed out, she didn’t care who got in the way. Sara wasn’t a mean person, but she could be thoughtless. I always figured the problems went back to the way she was brought up.”

  “I’ve met Sara’s mother and stepfather,” I said.

  “Then you probably have some idea what I’m talking about. Some people see that big house and all that money and figure she grew up in the lap of luxury, with never a care in the world. Nothing could be further from the truth.

  “Sara spent her whole childhood trying to live up to her mother’s impossibly high expectations and never quite succeeding. Delilah figured that any child who’d been given as much as Sara had should excel at everything she did. And coming in second in anything was never going to be good enough.”

  “Do you suppose that’s why Sara had so many boyfriends?” I mused aloud. “Maybe she felt she had to find the perfect relationship.”

  “I don’t know. Judging by what happened between her and me, I’d be willing to bet that most of those relationships fizzled due to lack of interest. Sara wasn’t really into working to make things come together. She liked having a good-looking guy on her arm to show off, but emotionally she was pretty withdrawn.

  “We were together for two months, which I guess is a long time for Sara, but I never got the impression that I was anything more than a convenience for her, a good buddy that she enjoyed hanging out with when it suited her. There was always a certain reserve to Sara, like she wanted you to know that you were only going to get so far with her, and no further.”

  Josh sounded bitter, and I wasn’t sure I could blame him.

  “Do you mean sexually?” I asked.

  “Hell no,” he sputtered. “Though now that you mention it, she was kind of detached there, too. I mean”—his cheeks grew pink—“it’s not like I’m some great stud or anything, but I don’t usually have many complaints. With Sara, sometimes it was like she was just going through the motions.”

  Josh sat back on the couch and frowned. “Look, I was upset when Sara dumped me. She’s a great girl and when you’re with her, life’s an instant party. There’s always something wild going on.

  “But in a way, when we split up, it was kind of a relief. There were lots of times when I got the impression that Sara wanted more, or maybe needed more, than I could give her. I don’t want to sound like I’m spouting psycho-babble or anything, but Sara had issues, you know what I mean?”

  I was beginning to. “Did Bertie tell you that Sara had disappeared about a week before the fire?”

  “Yeah, she mentioned something about it. Frankly, I don’t know that I’d have been all that concerned. Sara could be pretty unpredictable. . . .”

  Josh stopped speaking. He swallowed heavily and stared at the hands folded in his lap. “I guess Bertie was right to be worried, wasn’t she? Judging by how things turned out, Sara did need help, and nobody was there for her.”

  “There’s no way you could have known that,” I said gently.

  “Maybe not.” Josh’s eyes lifted and found mine. “But that new guy of hers—whoever he was—he should have. Someone should have been looking out for her. Lord knows, she didn’t always have enough sense to look out for herself.”

  Roused by the anger in Josh’s voice, Faith raised her head. I reached down and soothed the Poodle by cupping her muzzle in the palm of my hand and rubbing her lip with my thumb.

  “Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Sara? Anyone she ever talked about having a problem with?”

  “Only her mother. But Delilah had no reason to want to harm Sara now. She’d had her whole life to screw Sara up. Anyone could see that Delilah had already done enough damage.”

  15

  After Josh left, I grabbed a jacket from my classroom and took Faith outside for a walk. The Howard Academy grounds are spacious and inviting. My Poodle
enjoys taking a spin around the playing fields just as much as I do. She bounced joyously at my side as I headed across the teachers’ parking lot and down the hill beyond.

  The chill of November in Connecticut was in the air. A carpet of newly fallen leaves blanketed the ground. I burrowed my hands deep in my pockets and kicked up my feet as I walked. Dry leaves crackled and eddied upward in the breeze.

  Faith raced on ahead to check out a boys’ soccer game, then doubled back to my side. Tail wagging, lips lifted in a grin, she was ready for whatever I wanted to do next. I wrapped her face in my hands, smacked a loud kiss on her nose, then sent her back out to run some more. Gleefully Faith obliged.

  Following at a much slower pace, I considered what Josh had had to say. While he’d been talking about Sara, I couldn’t help but be reminded of what had happened between Sam and me. Though he and I had been together a lot longer than Josh and Sara, both relationships had come to the same abrupt and sorry end. Josh and I had both been dumped.

  Even now, months later, the memory still had the power to make me wince.

  Looking back, I still wasn’t entirely sure where I’d gone wrong. I’d known Sam for months before I allowed myself to consider the possibility of anything serious happening between us. And once we started seeing each other, I tried to take things slow. I’d worried about Davey’s feelings, and hoped desperately that I was doing the right thing.

  But somewhere along the way, I’d lost control of the process. I’d fallen in love and found my focus narrowing from a whole world of possibilities to the thought of a life that included only one man: Sam. Once I got used to the idea, it made perfect sense.

  It made me perfectly happy.

  Right up until the day Sam left.

  In the last four months, I’d run through a lengthy gamut of emotions. By turns I’d been shocked, wounded, vulnerable, aching. Oh, yes, and seriously pissed. It had taken me a while to work my way around to that stage, but once it arrived, it felt pretty good. Better than the alternatives, anyway.

  And speaking of alternatives, I thought, feeling distinctly grumpy, what was I supposed to do with Bob? I must have been crazy to kiss him. Crazier still to tell him I’d think about what he’d said.

  What was there to think about? Bob said he’d changed, and maybe he had. He still hadn’t grown up enough to figure out how to make his marriage to Jennifer work, however. Or how to be more than a long-distance father to his son. The last thing I needed was the turmoil of another uncertain relationship.

  Why was it, I wondered, that the only men who seemed to find me were the ones who hadn’t found themselves yet?

  Faith barked sharply, racing toward me across an empty hockey field. She was staring at the upper school building. I glanced at my watch and swore softly. The change-of-class bell had probably just rung. In another minute I’d be late.

  “Thanks, sweetie,” I said, swooping down to give the Poodle a brief hug. We ran back up the hill, Faith leading the way.

  Men. Who needs them when you can have dogs?

  After school, I drove home with trepidation. Turning onto my road, I’d half decided that if Bob’s car was sitting out front, I was going to keep on driving. I didn’t think of it as taking the coward’s way out, but rather as a necessary ploy for conserving energy. Some days just keeping up seems to take all I have.

  Luckily for me, I didn’t have to make the choice. My driveway was empty. I pulled in, unpacked the car, let Faith out back, and had shortbread cookies and a glass of milk ready when Davey’s school bus came lumbering down the road fifteen minutes later.

  “How was school?” I asked my son, helping him off with backpack and jacket.

  “Good.” He’s reached the age of monosyllabic answers.

  “Did you have fun?”

  “Mo-om!” His voice rose and fell, its tone conveying the idiocy of the question. “It’s school.”

  Right. As if I’d forgotten. Presumably due to the memory loss that comes with advancing age.

  “Eat your snack,” I said. “When you’re done, we have to run downtown to a store called Pansy’s Flowers.”

  Davey scooped up a handful of cookies. “Why?”

  His new favorite question.

  “I need to run an errand for Bertie. She wants me to check on the floral arrangements for the wedding.”

  My son’s brow furrowed as he chewed. “Dad’s coming to the wedding,” he said finally.

  I’d been standing at the sink, watching Faith through the window. I turned around slowly.

  “You’re right, he is. Frank asked him to. That’s why he’s here.” Words seemed to sputter out of me in fits and starts.

  “He came to see us, too.”

  “Of course he did.” I moved across the room and sank to my knees beside his chair. “Your father loves being with you. You know that.”

  “Not just me. Dad came to see you, too.”

  “Well . . .”

  “He did.” Davey’s voice was firm, half daring me not to believe him. “I heard him tell Uncle Frank.”

  Oh, Lord, I thought. He’s only seven, and none of this is his fault. Why does he have to be in the middle?

  “Are you and Daddy going to get married again?”

  My stomach muscles clenched. Wildly I searched for answers, wanting, needing to say just the right thing. I reached across the table and folded my son’s small hand into mine.

  “Your father and I both love you very much. You know that, right?”

  “Yes.” Davey was frowning. “But what about Sam?”

  “Sam loves you, too,” I said, squeezing his hand.

  “When is he coming back?”

  For a minute I didn’t move at all. There was only one way I could answer that question. The best thing I could do for my son was to tell him the truth.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Me either,” Davey said matter-of-factly. He reached for another cookie. “I miss Sam.”

  “I do, too, honey.”

  “Will Daddy leave when Sam comes back?”

  And I’d thought the “why” questions were hard.

  “I don’t know that either,” I admitted. “Maybe before. I think he’ll leave after the wedding.”

  “Maybe Sam will come to the wedding.” Davey’s tone was carefully neutral, but his eyes were bright with hope.

  “I don’t think so. He’s been gone a while now. He doesn’t even know that Bertie and Frank are engaged.”

  “Yes, he does. Aunt Peg told him.”

  I sighed and reached for a shortbread cookie. Aunt Peg and Sam had long been pals. I should have guessed that they’d remain in touch. And that she wouldn’t see fit to mention that fact to me.

  “Does Aunt Peg talk to Sam a lot?”

  “Only sometimes. When he calls to check up on us. Sometimes Aunt Peg tells me he said to say hi. But I’m not supposed to tell you.”

  Undeterred by his lapse, Davey lifted his glass and finished off the last of his milk. Then he slid down off his chair. “I’m full. Are we going to go now?”

  “Sure.” I reached out and ruffled his hair. Davey scowled and pulled away, as I’d known he would. Sometimes there’s nothing you can do but marvel at the resilience of youth.

  And the sneakiness of aging aunts.

  Pansy’s Flowers was a twenty minute drive away, tucked on a small side street off the Post Road in southwest Stamford. I’d been expecting a flower shop. Instead, Davey and I found ourselves at a full-fledged nursery. A high chain-link fence surrounded an acre of land—a generous allotment in that pricey commercial zone. It looked as though Pansy’s Flowers was flourishing.

  I drove between rows of bundled bushes and trees and pulled into a parking space in front of a glass-and-cedar building with an enormous greenhouse attached along the back. Wind chimes, nudged by the door, jingled as Davey and I entered. Inside the store, the air was redolent with the heady aroma of damp earth and healthy plants.

  A profusion of greenery filled t
he big room. Leaves reached out to brush our faces as we walked. The sound of water trickling in a dozen fountains provided the perfect backdrop.

  “Wow.” Eyes wide, Davey sucked in a breath. “It’s like a jungle in here.” His hand slithered out of mine. “Can I go look around?”

  I glanced in both directions. Breakable items seemed to be at a minimum. “Okay. But don’t touch anything.”

  I’d barely finished speaking before he vanished, melting into the thick foliage. Verdant hanging fronds slipped silently back into place, leaving no trace of where he’d gone. I hoped I wouldn’t have too much trouble finding him again.

  A counter ran along the store’s back wall. By the time I reached it, a heavy-set woman with gray-streaked hair and a confident stride had emerged through a door behind it. She wiped her fingers on her flower-sprigged apron and offered me a friendly smile.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I’d like to speak with the person who’s in charge of arranging flowers for weddings.”

  “That would be me.”

  “Are you Pansy?”

  Her smile widened. “Patricia. That’s what most people call me now. Pansy was a childhood nickname, just like all this”—she waved a hand to indicate the lush surroundings—“was a childhood dream. When the time came that I could open up the business, the two just seemed to go together.”

  Made sense to me.

  “If possible, I’d like to check on the status of some plans you may have discussed. . . .”

  As I was speaking, Patricia reached under the counter, pulled out a box of files, and hefted it up onto the shelf. “Bride’s name?”

  “Alberta Kennedy.”

  She began to flip through the copious records.

  “The woman you would have spoken to was Sara Bentley. I know she called for information and maybe got some prices, but I don’t think she’d gotten around to placing an order. You may not have a record—”