Hot Dog

by Laurien Berenson

  Fair, I thought.

  “Pretty good,” I said aloud. It was what Peter wanted to hear.

  His expression brightened at the news. “Do your best, will you, and I’ll try to stall George Firth in the meantime. I’d love to see this problem resolved. The last thing a charity event needs is bad publicity. And Mr. Firth struck me as the kind of man who could make a lot of noise if he was so inclined.”

  “Ready to go?” Sam joined us in the hallway. He was wearing his jacket and holding mine. “Why don’t I walk you to your car?”

  “Umm . . . sure.”

  As Sam knew perfectly well, the Volvo was no more than twenty feet away at the other end of a well-lit walkway. Chivalry was hardly called for. Which probably meant that he planned to continue our earlier discussion.

  “Perfect.” Aunt Rose was beaming, her pleasure in our couple-dom as transparent as a sheet of glass. “Thank you both so much for coming.”

  Fully conscious of the fact that Rose and Peter were watching us through their front window, I still found myself walking out to the curb in silence. I knew what they were hoping to see, but I had no intention of putting on a performance.

  When we reached the Volvo, Sam took the key out of my hand and fitted it into the lock. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” he said, “but I’d like to see you home.”

  For a surprised moment, I couldn’t quite think how to respond. I glanced toward his BMW, parked up ahead.

  “I’ll follow you in my car. When we get to your house, I can go in first and make sure everything’s all right.”

  “Faith and Eve—” I started to say, then stopped. Yes, the two big Poodles were standing guard. For all the good that had done me before.

  “Will both be glad to see me,” Sam finished. “In fact, they’ll probably be delighted. I’d like to spend the night, Melanie.”

  “No—”

  “In your bed, on the couch. Hell, on the floor, if that’s where you want to put me. I just don’t think you should be alone.”

  Where had this sudden protective streak come from? I wondered. How much had Aunt Peg told him? I gazed up at Sam. His face was half in shadow, half in light, illuminated by the amber street lamp above. “Why?”

  “In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never sent Davey away before. You can tell me he went to Bob’s for spring break, but I don’t have to believe it. Something’s going on, and since I don’t hear you denying it, I’m betting things are even worse than I’ve been told. Bad enough for you to think you need to put your son somewhere out of harm’s way. Whatever’s going on, Melanie, you don’t have to face it alone. Let me help you.”

  Lord, but I was tempted. Sam had no idea how much I simply wanted to melt into the security of his arms. How nice it would be to pass along the burden of my fears and let someone else do the worrying for a change. Mostly I just wanted to stop being afraid of whatever it was that was out there stalking me, disrupting my life, and making me second-guess my every move.

  But even so, I knew this was wrong.

  If I let Sam come home with me, I could pretty much count on the fact that nobody would end up sleeping on the floor, unless perhaps one of the Poodles found the bed too crowded. Going for the quick fix might help my short-term problems, but it wouldn’t give us anything to build on for the future. It also wouldn’t quiet that little voice that wondered if I allowed myself to lean on Sam now, what would I do the next time he decided he was feeling confined and needed to get away?

  “Thank you.” I lifted a hand and cradled the side of his jaw. The skin was unexpectedly smooth. He must have shaved again that evening before coming to dinner.

  His hand came up to cover mine. “For what?”

  “For caring.”

  I felt Sam sigh, rather than heard it. His hand slipped away. “You know I care, Melanie. I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” I said.

  Once upon a time, I’d thought that was enough. I’d believed that love could overcome any obstacle. But unfortunately, experience had taught me differently. Now I knew that no matter how much you believed, love didn’t automatically lead to happily ever after.

  “I appreciate your offer, but I’m sure I’ll be fine. My locks are good, my dogs are big.” I tried out a small smile. “And apparently the only thing worth stealing in my house is already gone.”

  “It’s your call.” Sam stepped back. “We’ll handle this any way you want. If you’d rather be alone, I guess I’ll just have to understand.”

  “Thank you.” My throat tightened. Some independent woman. If I didn’t get out of there soon, I was going to turn into a mound of quivering Jell-O.

  “If you change your mind, call my cell phone. I’ll come right away.”

  “I will,” I said. Even though I didn’t plan on taking him up on it, the offer meant a lot.

  Sam stood by the curb and watched me drive away. I couldn’t see his expression in the half-light, but I didn’t need to. I could tell by the set of his shoulders, by the way he’d jammed his hands into his pockets, that he wasn’t happy.

  Well, since you’re wondering, neither was I. Though we’d only parted moments earlier, I already missed him. I missed the way our thoughts connected so quickly that we could finish each other’s sentences. I missed the way my body drew warmth and strength from his. I missed the feeling of well-being that surrounded me whenever we were together. Worse still was the knowledge that Sam had offered me all of that; and this time I had been the one who’d walked away.

  My house was waiting for me just as I’d left it. An assortment of lights was on to keep the shadows at bay. The two Standard Poodles met me at the front door. I let them out back and went to the pantry for biscuits, performing the simple tasks by rote, and berating myself for not allowing Sam to be there to share them with me.

  His presence was so indelibly imprinted on my thoughts that later, after I’d checked the locks on all the doors and climbed into bed, I still had trouble concentrating on anything else. The book I was reading couldn’t hold my interest. Its prose was unable to nudge other, more stimulating images from my mind.

  I was so caught up in the spell of the fantasies, so sure that Sam must have been thinking of me too, that when the phone beside the bed rang, I wasn’t even surprised. The fact that he would call to check on me again seemed almost inevitable.

  I reached for the receiver eagerly and held it to my ear. “Sam?”

  For a moment, there wasn’t any answer. And then I heard it, the murmur of an indrawn breath, the quiet rasp as the air was exhaled.

  No, not Sam.

  My midnight caller was back.

  25

  Islammed down the phone and felt the jolt all the way up to my elbow. My stomach clenched. Goose bumps rose on my arms. The unnaturally loud thump of my heart filled my ears.

  Almost immediately, the phone began to ring again.

  Wildly I looked around the room. At least I wasn’t groggy, half-awake and sitting in the dark as I’d been the night before. At least I wasn’t trying to make sense of what was happening.

  I tried to find some comfort in that. It didn’t help much.

  The repetitious sound was making my nerves scream. My fingers twitched, wanting to pick up the receiver . . . And do what? I wondered.

  Throw it across the room, probably.

  After the fifth ring, the machine downstairs in the kitchen picked up. Faintly I heard a voice speaking, my own message being relayed to the caller.

  You have reached the Travis residence, I thought angrily. Melanie can’t come to the phone right now. She’s upstairs cowering in her bed.

  Unless he was whispering, no one responded after the beep. Coward, I thought bitterly. I hated the feeling of not being in control. Of not knowing what might happen next.

  I threw back the covers and rolled out of bed. Eve was still stretched out on the duvet, snoring softly. It takes more than a late-night phone call to spoil her beauty sleep.


  Faith, who’d always been more attuned to my moods, was already up. She knew something was wrong, she just didn’t know what. I looked at her and crooned, “Good girl.” She whined anxiously in reply.

  As I debated what to do, the phone began to ring again. The sound was shrill and grating, a clarion call shattering the stillness. The night before I’d been concerned the noise might wake up Davey. Now I just let it ring.

  Talk to the machine, or don’t, I thought. Up to you.

  I’d gone to bed wearing a tee shirt and flannel pajama bottoms. Suddenly that didn’t feel like enough clothing, enough protective armor. I crossed the room to the closet, pulled out a robe, and wrapped it tightly around me.

  Phone calls could come from anywhere. The fact that he was calling me didn’t mean he was close by. Still, I felt myself drawn to the windows.

  Lacy curtains shrouded the panes of glass. They obstructed the view of my bedroom from outside, but didn’t block it entirely. I’d never worried about that before. Now it seemed of paramount importance. Back-lit, my movements were entirely visible.

  If anyone was watching.

  The ringing stopped. I heard the machine downstairs click on again. Again, there was no reply.

  I thought of suggestions I’d heard on how to deal with harassing calls. Unlisting your phone number was always first. Not a late-night fix, certainly, and a huge inconvenience, too. Another idea: get a whistle and blow it into the phone.

  Like that was going to happen. Someone was calling me, and he knew where I lived. Did I really want to make him mad?

  He’d already visited my house once.

  At least once, I amended.

  Maybe I should have spent more time with the locksmith. Bars on the windows were sounding pretty good right about then. So was a moat and a barricaded drawbridge.

  The phone began to ring. Again.

  I stalked across the room and snatched up the receiver. “Look, you pervert,” I yelled. A gasp of indrawn breath greeted my words. I guessed he hadn’t been expecting a response. “Whoever you are, cut it out!”

  I jammed the phone down, then stared at it, simmering with annoyance. Cut it out? That was intimidating. I bet I had him on the run now. The guy was probably thinking about upping his insurance.

  For a long, blessed minute there was only silence. Like maybe my angry words had worked.

  Then again, maybe not. The phone began to ring again.

  Turning deliberately away from it, I went back to the front window. Padding quietly, I skulked around the edges of the frame like an intruder in my own home. Two fingers lifted the edge of the curtain aside. Cautiously I peered out into the darkness.

  A street lamp in front of the house cast a muted glow over the front yard. All was quiet and still. No cars drove down the road. Lights were off at most of the houses I could see. Everything looked just as I’d have expected.

  The spot across the street where Jill Prescott had parked repeatedly during the last week was empty. Where’s a reporter when you need one? I wondered. Nerves were making me giddy.

  The phone stopped ringing. The machine came on. The pattern was becoming annoyingly familiar. I wondered how long it would take him to tire of the game.

  My gaze slid farther down the street. Two houses away, in the hollow of darkness between two street lamps, a car was parked along the curb. Several trees blocked my view. It looked like some kind of SUV, but I couldn’t be sure.

  And even if it was, I thought, so what? Every other soccer mom in Fairfield County drove an SUV. Nor was it unheard of for my neighbors to have overnight visitors. A car parked on the street was nothing remarkable.

  Unless you happened to be wandering around your bedroom in bare feet and a bathrobe, peering out of the window, looking for suspects, and beginning to feel seriously deranged. I let the curtain fall.

  And yet again, the phone began to ring.

  I considered calling the police, but I doubted they’d send someone over. If my break-in hadn’t impressed them much, this surely wouldn’t, either. I also thought about calling Sam. Miles away, home in Redding by now, there was nothing he could do. Aunt Peg would probably tell me to go back to sleep. Bob might be alarmed and that would alarm Davey, something I wanted to avoid at all costs.

  In the end, I did the same thing I’d done the night before and simply took my phone off the hook. Maybe not the best idea, but one that finally led to silence. Then I turned off my light and went to sleep.

  Well, not really, but that was the plan.

  Instead I stayed up most of the night, listening for unexpected noises. The crackle of branches, a creak from the house settling, the squeal of a neighbor’s cat; it’s amazing how much goes on in the middle of the night. And every innocuous sound shot me straight up in bed. Eyes wide, heart pounding, I clenched the covers between whitened fingers and waited, straining to hear evidence that I wasn’t alone.

  It never came.

  Dawn eventually saved me. That and three cups of strong black coffee. By seven-thirty, I was on the phone. Davey’s an early riser. I knew he wouldn’t mind.

  “Hey sport, how are things going?”

  “Great. Last night we went to the movies and I got to stay up extra late. Dad’s going to make chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. After that, we’re going over to the farm to ride Willow. We might even spend the whole day there. Or maybe we’ll go back to the Bean Counter. Dad hasn’t decided.”

  I guessed that meant my son hadn’t had time to miss me yet.

  “It sounds like you’re having fun.” I tried not to sound wistful, but I was too tired to put much effort into it. Besides, Davey knows me pretty well.

  “I am,” he said gamely. “What about you?”

  “I was thinking I might come over to the pony farm and watch you ride. Would you like that?”

  “Sure,” said Davey. “Pam says I’m going to work on my posting trot today. That’s almost as fast as a gallop.”

  “I’ll bring the camera,” I promised, and we made plans to meet in late morning.

  Since I was already feeling pretty low, I decided to totally demoralize myself and start the day at the Department of Motor Vehicles. It wasn’t until I’d worked my way to the front of the two-hour line that it dawned on me that I’d be having my driver’s license picture taken looking just like what I was: someone who’d been up most of the night.

  I opened my purse, pulled out a mirror and applied some concealer to the bags under my eyes. Now I had pouches with highlighter on them. The photographer caught me mid-grimace, which seemed altogether fitting. I took the offending card and tucked it into my new wallet. At least I was once again legal to drive.

  As I approached the pony farm, my spirits began to rise. It was a gorgeous spring day. Tulips and wild daffodils lined the road, leaves on the trees were just beginning to bud, and the air smelled wonderful.

  I’d stopped at home and picked up the Poodles. Both Faith and Eve were bouncing around on the back seat. They didn’t care where we were going, just as long as they weren’t going to be left behind.

  As I had on my last visit, I pulled up next to the barn and parked beside Bob’s Trans Am. Lowering the windows a bit for air, I left the Poodles where they were and went inside to see how Pam felt about strange dogs on her property.

  Willow was standing cross-tied in the center aisle of the barn. Davey was beside her. He’d leaned over and picked up one of her front feet, which he was trying to clean. I heard Pam and Bob’s voices coming from the direction of the tack room.

  “That looks like hard work,” I said when Davey had finished his task and placed the hoof carefully back on the ground.

  He spun around, grinning with pride in his accomplishment. “It is. Pam showed me how to do it. I make sure Willow doesn’t have any rocks caught in her hooves so she won’t get hurt when I ride.”

  “Good plan. Aren’t those hooves heavy?”

  “Not as heavy as you might think,” Pam answered for him, coming out of t
he tack room. She had a small saddle draped over one arm and was holding a bridle in her other hand. “Actually, the pony bears most of the weight, and I don’t let Davey do the back feet unless I’m out here with him. I’m glad you were able to make time in your busy schedule to come and watch him ride. Davey’s really happy with the progress he’s made.”

  Huh? I stared after her as Pam walked past me and went to help Davey tack up. What busy schedule was that? I always had time for Davey and he knew it. The fact that my son was currently staying with Bob had nothing to with how busy I was.

  “Don’t mind Pam,” Bob said under his breath. He’d followed her out of the tack room. Now he came my way. “I think she got out of the wrong side of bed this morning.”

  “No problem,” I muttered. I still had to ask about my dogs. It was too warm to leave them in the car indefinitely.

  I walked over to where Davey was now encouraging the palomino pony to open her mouth and take the bit. Her teeth looked awfully large in relation to my son’s small hands, but Willow didn’t seem to notice. She dropped her head and opened her mouth without any fuss. As Davey was buckling up the straps, I asked permission to go get the Poodles.

  Pam frowned fleetingly. For a moment, she looked unexpectedly perturbed. “They’re not going to fight with my dogs, are they?”

  “Of course not.”

  “They won’t chase anything, or bark at the ponies?”

  “They wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “I guess it’s all right then.” She sent an assessing look in my direction. “Speaking of dogs, you must be really worried about that Dachshund puppy you lost.”

  How did Pam know about Dox? I wondered. I didn’t recall mentioning him when we’d spoken the day before.

  “I am. How did you find out about that?”

  “Bob told me.” Pam walked around Willow’s side and lowered the saddle onto the mare’s back. “He talks to me about everything.”