Hot Dog

by Laurien Berenson

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” I said, “but Dox has disappeared.”

  Marian’s fingers, slender, long, impossibly white, flew to her throat. “He’s gone? How is that possible?”

  “My house was broken into yesterday—”

  “You lost my puppy?”

  “No,” I corrected. “I didn’t lose him. He was taken from inside my house.” I paused to let that sink in, then added, “It crossed my mind that you might have had something to do with his disappearance.”

  “You must be joking.” Marian stared at me for a long moment. She seemed to be gathering her strength, and when she spoke again her voice had hardened. “Why would you think something like that?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? You’ve made no secret of your desire to get Dox back by whatever means possible. Aunt Peg told me about your scheme to try to trick your ex-husband into giving the puppy away.”

  “You needn’t make it sound as though that’s something shameful,” Marian snapped. “If anyone deserves to be tricked, it’s George. Of course I want the puppy back. But it has to be done through the proper channels. I need his registration papers, with everything signed and aboveboard. Dox’s value to me lies in his potential as a show dog and stud. Without his papers, he’s just another cute Dachshund puppy.”

  And here I’d thought Marian’s major concern had been for Dox’s welfare. Considering the show she’d put on last time we’d met, maybe I needed to reconsider my assessment of her acting skills.

  “So, then, you don’t have any idea where Dox might be?”

  “Certainly not.”

  Marian’s fingers had begun to drum on the arm of the sofa. I wondered what she was thinking.

  “Do you think George might have had something to do with Dox’s disappearance?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past him. Then again, I wouldn’t put anything past my ex-husband.”

  “He called and left a message for me Saturday night,” I said. “He told me he wanted Dox returned. But before I had a chance to get back to him, the puppy was gone.”

  “Serves him right,” Marian muttered. “What did George say when you told him the puppy was missing?”

  “As it happens, I haven’t told him.”

  “May I ask why not?”

  I could have said that I hadn’t had the chance, but that was an evasion, at best. It was bad enough that I was on my way to offer explanations and apologies to Peter and Rose. At the moment, George was just one more complication I didn’t want to deal with. Besides, there was always the possibility that with luck, and perhaps a little judicious sleuthing on my part, Dox might turn up.

  All of which was more than I wanted to explain to Marian. “Because it seems unlikely to me that he’d resort to stealing a puppy he already owns,” I said instead.

  Her back stiffened. “And yet you thought to come and question me.”

  I glanced around the cluttered living room. It was hard not to compare Marian’s small, shabby house with George’s sumptuous condo. If she thought she’d been offended before, wait until she heard this.

  “Your ex-husband is under the impression that you’d like to get back together with him,” I said. “And it has occurred to me that the biggest bone of contention between you is Dox. Removing that source of friction might go a long way toward smoothing the path to reconciliation.”

  “Reconcile with George?” Marian’s brow lifted. “Are you mad? I was lucky to get out when I did. I’m only sorry I didn’t divorce the bum sooner.”

  “That’s not what he said.”

  “You’re a fool if you believe everything that George told you.”

  Abruptly Marian stood. The red Dachshund who’d been lying in her lap jumped nimbly to the ground. When she strode toward the door, I had no choice but to get up and follow.

  “I have only one more thing to say.” Marian’s voice was firm as she held the door open for me to walk through. “If that puppy were a child, and I rescued him, I’d be hailed as a hero. There ought to be laws to protect innocent animals from self-serving schemers like George. Thank goodness there are still people in the world who abhor cruelty and aren’t afraid to step forward and do something about it.”

  I was outside on the step before the full import of her words sank in. Immediately I spun around. “Does that mean—?”

  The door slammed shut in my face.

  Considering the week I’d been having, it figured.

  It was with decidedly mixed emotions that I finally got myself on the road and heading in the direction of Cos Cob. Maybe Aunt Peg wasn’t the only one who’d used my visit to Marian Firth as a delaying tactic. Much as I enjoyed Rose and Peter’s company, I couldn’t help but feel that I was being shanghaied into a situation they were intending to manipulate to their own ends.

  Frank’s former abode, now Rose and Peter’s home, was located in a spacious Victorian house that had been remodeled in the middle of the last century to form three good-sized apartments. Traffic on the quiet side street was almost nonexistent, and the Long Island Sound was only a ten-minute walk away. The apartment was a find, and Rose and Peter had been delighted to inherit the lease from their nephew.

  By the time I arrived, Sam’s silver BMW was already parked out front. That’s what I got for running late. I’d lost my opportunity to speak with my aunt and uncle in private and warn them of dire consequences if they so much as alluded to Sam’s and my troubled relationship. My only consolation was the knowledge that it probably wouldn’t have done much good anyway.

  “It’s about time you got here!” Peter threw open the front door and drew me inside.

  He gathered me into his arms for a spontaneous embrace and I hugged him back warmly. Peter Donovan is one of my favorite relatives. Of course, he wasn’t born into my family—we had to grab him by marriage—which is probably why he seems so blessedly normal.

  Peter was a former priest who’d left his vocation at the same time Aunt Rose had stopped being Sister Anne Marie. In the three years since they’d made those life-altering decisions, I’d never heard either express a moment’s regret for the cloistered lives they’d left behind. Instead, both my aunt and uncle had devoted themselves to continuing on as their faith dictated, doing good works and trying to make the world a better place for those they came in contact with.

  “I’m not that late, am I?” I handed Peter a bottle of merlot and followed him toward the back of the apartment. “Where are Sam and Rose?”

  “Out on the porch. Rose and I got the idea this would be the perfect opportunity to hold the first barbeque of the year. Last I saw, she and Sam were leaning over the grill. They’re probably still negotiating the charcoal briquette to lighter fluid coefficient.”

  “No, we’ve solved that problem,” Sam announced as Peter and I joined them. Bright orange flames, leaping high into the air out of the open grill behind him, didn’t exactly support his claim. “Now we’re talking about you.”

  “Me?” I said with all the innocence I could muster. “I can’t imagine why.”

  “Of course you can,” Rose said briskly. One holdover from her convent days was a marked distaste for prevarication. “Where’s Davey? Weren’t we expecting him, too?”

  Now that she mentioned it, yes. I’d forgotten all about the fact that he’d been included in the invitation. “We had a change of plan. Sorry, I should have called and told you about it. Davey’s spending the week with Bob.”

  “The whole week?” Sam sounded surprised. He knew I’d never let Davey out of my sight for that long before. “How did that come about?”

  “Oh, you know,” I said lightly. “It’s spring break.” I wondered if I was fooling anyone. They didn’t look convinced.

  Peter caught my eye and winked. “I’m sure he’s having a marvelous time with his new pony. Much better than he’d have here, hanging around with us old fogies.” He slipped an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Rose, Melanie brought us a lovely merlot. Come inside and help me pour
, won’t you?”

  Judging by the disgruntled expression on my aunt’s face, Peter’s intervention had saved me, at least temporarily, from an inquisition. Of course, their departure also left me standing on the porch alone with Sam. My ex-fiancé was looking more than a little disgruntled himself.

  He folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the porch railing. His long, blue jeans-clad legs were thrust straight out in front of him. His feet were encased in a pair of battered topsiders worn, as always, without socks. I found myself mesmerized by the tiny blond hairs that curled over the top of his feet. Or maybe I just didn’t want to meet his gaze.

  “What’s going on, Mel?” Sam asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I get the feeling you’re avoiding me. I’d like to know why. I’m thinking maybe it’s because of Bob.”

  “Bob?” The single shocked word simply slipped out. Sam had to be kidding. He was so far off base it was almost laughable. “What does Bob have to do with anything?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know.” Sam unfolded his arms. He reached up and ran a hand through his already mussed hair. “Look, I’d have to be an idiot not to realize that leaving last year might not have been the best decision I ever made. At the time, I thought—no, let’s say I hoped—you’d understand why I felt it was something I had to do. But obviously my not being here gave your ex-husband the opening he was looking for. By the time I got back, he’d all but moved in—”

  “He had not,” I interrupted hotly.

  Maybe I’d briefly entertained the notion of reconnecting with my ex. Emphasis on briefly. Bob had arrived in Connecticut at a time when I was feeling particularly adrift. Particularly vulnerable. He’d capitalized on my fragile state, and I hadn’t moved as quickly as I might have to stop him. But in the end, I’d said no, firmly and unequivocally. And Bob had never been led to believe, for even a moment, that he might be returning to live with Davey and me.

  “All right, maybe I don’t mean that literally,” Sam said. “But figuratively, it’s true. The guy moved in on a relationship I thought was pretty solid. One that should have been able to withstand a small separation.”

  “A small separation?” I echoed incredulously. “Is that what you call it? To me it felt as though a chasm had opened up and swallowed me whole. You turned your back on me and walked out of my life.”

  Sam looked as though he wanted to say something. I didn’t give him a chance to speak. “I hate to admit it, but if you’d given me the opportunity to beg you to stay, I probably would have done it. But you didn’t even do that, because my opinion didn’t matter to you. You just left. And all I did—all I could do—was stand there and watch you go.”

  24

  Sam didn’t answer right away. I felt the full weight of my accusing words, hanging in the air between us. Where were Peter and Rose with that wine anyway? Lord knew I could use a swig of alcohol right about then. Not to mention an interruption.

  As if, I thought irritably. My aunt and uncle were probably inside the house, listening to every word we said through the screen door. I couldn’t count on either one of them for a timely intervention.

  “I realize you’re angry,” Sam said quietly. “Maybe I didn’t realize how angry. But I’m back now. That should count for something.”

  I stared past him, out into the small yard with its detached one-car garage. In the next yard, pastel sheets hung on a clothesline, wafting gently in the evening breeze. “It means a lot. But it doesn’t change the course of my life. You had the power to do that once, and you gave it up. I’m glad you’re back, Sam. I hope we can rebuild what we had, but unlike you I can’t just erase what happened and slide back to where we were.”

  Sam frowned. Now his hands were braced on the railing. His fingers flexed open and shut. I guessed I wasn’t the only one wishing for that drink.

  “I understand what you’re saying. There’s an element of trust that has to be re-earned. But I can’t do it all on my own, Mel. You’ve got to give me a chance.”

  I stared at him. “How have I not given you a chance?”

  “Yesterday, for example. When your house was broken into, I had to find out about it from Peg. Why didn’t you call me yourself? Why didn’t you let me be the one who was there for you?”

  “I didn’t think of it,” I said honestly.

  Sam winced as if the truth hurt. Any pity I might have felt was tempered by the fact that I was hurting, too. Once, Sam would have been the first call I’d made, and we both knew it.

  “You didn’t think of it?” His tone hardened. “You didn’t think of it? If that’s the best answer you can come up with, then something is seriously wrong—”

  “Sam, be a dear and get the door for me, would you?” Aunt Rose sang out. Her voice was filled with fake cheer. It was also unnaturally loud. She appeared on the other side of the screen door, both hands clasping a tray filled with cheese and crackers, wine and glasses.

  Sam threw me a glance to let me know that our discussion wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot, I thought in agreement as he crossed the porch and drew the door open.

  Rose smiled at the two of us gaily. “Peter’s just spooning some marinade over the steaks. He’ll be out to join us in a minute. In the meantime, Melanie, why don’t you pour?”

  Aunt Rose, ever the organizer, was at her best when it came to whipping people into action. Having gone to school at Divine Mercy myself, I knew for a fact that the convent ran like clockwork. The sisters had little patience with slackers and Rose was no exception.

  The wine bottle was already open. It was an easy task to half-fill the four goblets. While I was doing that, Aunt Rose placed slices of cheese on several crackers. When Sam looked as though he was about to speak, she hurriedly handed him one. In fact, she all but jammed it into his mouth.

  “There now,” she said, surveying us both with satisfaction. “That’s much better, isn’t it?”

  Détente, Aunt Rose style. And pity the poor fool who didn’t leap to follow her lead.

  “Everything fine out here?” asked Peter, coming to join us.

  “Just dandy,” Sam agreed. Unless he wanted to be silenced with another wedge of cheddar, what choice did he have?

  “That’s what I thought.” Peter poked at the coals with a long-handled fork. Gray on top, they glowed red underneath. “These look just about ready. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  While the steaks cooked and were subsequently served, we discussed Dox’s disappearance. Peter wanted to know whether I’d spoken to George Firth. Rose asked if I had any leads. Sam was concerned for the little Dachshund’s welfare.

  “Bottom line,” I said, “I have to think that whoever has Dox is probably taking good care of him, because they certainly went to enough trouble to get him. Breaking into my house in broad daylight was a pretty bold move. It was just the thief’s good luck that nobody saw anything, especially as Jill Prescott arrived on the scene only a short time later.”

  “That reporter from the dog show?” Sam looked up. “Don’t tell me she’s still hanging around.”

  I nodded unhappily. “I saw her earlier today.”

  Both Rose and Peter needed to be filled in. I helped myself to some more Caesar salad and obliged them. By the time I was finished, Peter was chuckling to himself.

  “That woman must have a wonderful imagination,” he said, patting his mouth with his napkin. “Imagine thinking you actually go around falling over dead bodies.”

  Rose, Sam, and I shared a look. Belatedly, Peter caught on that we weren’t laughing with him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “It’s just . . . I do seem to have become entangled in more than my share of mysteries.”

  “Oh, that.” Peter dismissed the issue with a wave of his hand.

  Oh, that? Like me, Rose and Sam seemed stunned into silence. After a long moment, during which none of us said a word, Peter felt compelled to explain.

  “I’ve met Peg,
haven’t I? That woman’s a force of nature all on her own. Let’s just say that a taste for the unusual seems to run in your family. Not to mention a propensity for trouble.”

  Peter’s brown eyes were twinkling. Sam was beginning to look amused as well. Suddenly I couldn’t help but wonder whether he was thinking about our broken engagement and coming to the conclusion that he’d had a narrow escape.

  “Even so,” Peter continued, “I have to believe your reporter must be an optimist. Look at the law of averages. How often can things like that crop up?”

  Considering how pleased Peter seemed with his conclusions, I decided not to mention my missing wallet, the hang-up phone calls, or the specter who’d been wandering through my house in the dead of night. Optimist indeed. The way my life was going, Jill’s investigative instincts might turn out to be right on the money. And the next body someone tripped over could well be mine.

  “Who wants dessert?” Aunt Rose asked. It seemed to be her evening for smoothing over awkward moments. “I’ve got cheesecake!”

  Taking our cue, we all pitched in and helped to clear the table. Thankfully, when we were settled in our seats once more with coffee and dessert, the conversation turned to less personal topics.

  An hour later, as I was preparing to leave, Peter pulled me aside. “We’re putting together the program for the auction and I’ll be sending it to the printer later in the week. What should I do about the Dachshund puppy?” he asked. “Is he in or out?”

  Good question. And tough to answer on a number of levels. Before I could decide what to say, Peter went on without me. It was clear he’d given the issue quite a bit of thought.

  “Rose tells me you and Peg think it’s a terrible idea to offer a live animal as one of the prizes. Until she brought it up, I probably hadn’t given the issue enough thought. George Firth offered a donation and I was happy to accept it. To tell the truth, I was more concerned about caring for the puppy in the meantime than I was about what would happen to it afterward.

  “Of course, I can see now that I was wrong not to have thought things through. And the fact that the puppy is missing simply complicates matters. If I withdraw him from the charity event, I should, by rights, return him to Mr. Firth. Of course, that’s not possible at the moment, either. What are the chances you’re going to be able to find him?”