“Nor am I, based on what you’ve told me.”
“And he’s asked me to look into it.”
“There, you see.” Peg sounded pleased. “That’s a start, Melanie. He trusts you.”
“No he doesn’t,” I argued. She and Sam were the best of friends. My relationship with him was much more complex. I wasn’t at all sure I could make her understand. “I thought he did, but I was wrong. If he did, I would have known who Sheila was long before she showed up last spring.
“I’ve thought about that a lot, why she bothered me so much even though Sam kept saying that she wasn’t important to him anymore. It’s because when she arrived, I found out there were things that Sam had deliberately kept from me. Big things. Important things. And I can’t help but wonder what else I don’t know.”
I knotted my hands in my lap. Thumbs first, then the fingers, twisting and tangling until Faith came over and pushed her cool nose into my hands and I looked up. “And now Sam has closed himself off from me. He’s gone someplace where I can’t touch him. Someplace he doesn’t want me to go.”
“Give him time,” said Peg. “Sheila’s death was a huge shock. Sam has to come to terms with it. And part of the process is finding out what really happened. That’s where you come in.”
“That’s not where I want to come in.”
She eyed me sternly. “Did he give you a choice in the matter?”
“No.”
“There you are then. Resolve this problem first, then you can work on the next.”
Twelve
Aunt Peg went to a drawer, got out a pen and a pad of paper, and began to make a list. There’s nothing she enjoys more than playing investigator by proxy.
“You’ll need to talk to the neighbor who found Sheila,” she said. “Maybe she put the Pugs outside when she got there.”
“She didn’t. The reason Mrs. Benning knew something was wrong was because the dogs were barking all night long, which had never happened before. If the Pugs had been inside the house, she wouldn’t have heard them.”
“Maybe, maybe not. The police found open windows, didn’t they? Trust me, the sound of a barking dog travels beautifully through screens. Have you any idea how far away Mrs. Benning’s house is?”
“No.”
“First question,” Aunt Peg said with satisfaction, making a note. “Who let the dogs out? Second question: were Mrs. Benning and Sheila acquainted? Did they know each other well enough for her to be aware of who might have come and gone at Sheila’s place?”
“I doubt it. Remember, Sheila was only renting that house. Her move to the East Coast was supposed to be temporary. It’s not like she planned ...”
Something, the merest flicker of knowledge in Aunt Peg’s eyes, stopped me. “What?”
Peg developed a sudden fascination with the pad in her hand. I watched as she doodled the outline of a Poodle with an outrageous topknot. Fine, I thought. If she had all day to draw cartoons, I had all day to wait.
“Who told you that Sheila’s sojourn in the East wasn’t going to be permanent?” she asked finally.
“Sam did.” I thought back. “And you did, too, after you first spoke to her. Sheila took a temporary assignment in New York, right? And after she got here, she met up again with both Sam and Brian.”
“She knew Sam was here before she came,” said Peg.
That was no surprise.
“Sheila never made any secret of the fact that she wanted Sam back. That was probably the real reason she came East. I guess she thought three months would be enough time to get him to dump me and go back to her. Sheila never did lack for confidence.”
Aunt Peg sat for a moment, frowning. Her cartoon Poodle acquired bracelets on its legs and a large pompon on its tail. When she spoke again, her tone was seriously annoyed.
“Last March you were very angry with me when you found out I knew Sam had an ex-wife that I’d never told you about.”
“Go on,” I said carefully.
“It probably isn’t my place to tell you this either.”
Uh-oh. I didn’t like the sound of this.
“Tell me what?”
“Sheila wasn’t planning on leaving.”
Whatever I’d expected her to say, that wasn’t it. “What do you mean?”
“That house in North Salem? She had a lease with an option to buy.”
“That can’t be right. Sheila had no reason to buy a house here. She was only planning to stay for three months.”
“She got here in March. It’s nearly July now. You do the math.”
“Yes, I know.” I shook my head. Life is easier when you’re in denial. “But I thought Sheila stayed on because she took the job at the magazine with Brian. You mean she intended to move here all along?”
“I would say so. Why else would she take an option on a house?”
“Maybe as a fallback if things went well with her job,” I mused aloud. “Or maybe she wasn’t as confident as I thought ...”
Abruptly, I sat up. “Wait a minute.”
Across the table, Aunt Peg seemed to brace herself, ever so slightly, for where my next thought might lead.
“How did you know about this?”
As soon as she sighed, I knew I wasn’t going to like her answer. “Sam mentioned it once, when I asked him when Sheila might be heading home.”
“Sam mentioned it... ?” I repeated the words just for emphasis. “He never mentioned anything like that to me.”
“So I gather,” Peg said dryly as she watched my expression darken.
“Sam told you about it?”
“And you wondered why I never brought up the ex-wife,” she muttered audibly.
“Why would he tell you something like that and not me?”
“If you can’t figure that out, go take a look in the mirror.”
“Why, do I look angry? I am. If Sam’s ex-wife was going to become a permanent part of our lives, I had a right to know.”
“Maybe Sam didn’t want to upset you,” Peg said gently.
“Or maybe he thought it would make his life easier if he told me another lie. Lord knows, I bought the first one long enough.”
“Sam never lied to you about Sheila.”
Trust Aunt Peg to take Sam’s side. My glare had a nasty edge.
“Not directly, maybe. But only because I never asked him flat out if he had an ex-wife. I never thought I had to ask. Sam told me about his life. I told him about mine. When I think of the things I owned up to ...”
I threw up my hands. “A runaway ex-husband with a gushing oil well and a teenage bride ... an aunt who left the convent to marry a former priest ... a brother who thinks taking a job as a bartender constitutes a career move ... not to mention you!”
“Me?” Peg asked innocently. “Sam likes me.”
“No wonder. The two of you have a lot in common. You both think the truth is something to be told only when it suits you.”
It was a low blow, and I knew it. It wasn’t so much that Aunt Peg told lies, as that she had a habit of manipulating the facts to suit her version of the truth. That the strings she pulled behind the scenes often worked to my advantage seemed, at the moment, entirely irrelevant.
She pushed back her chair and stood up. Standing nearly six feet tall, she towered over me. “If you were Davey’s age, I’d tell you that you needed a time-out. Since you’re supposedly old enough to know better, I will remove myself from your presence. You may find me outside with Davey when you come to your senses.”
I watched, still angry, as she closed the back door between us. Faith, who had listened to our rising voices with pricked ears and anxious eyes, whined softly under her breath.
“Come here,” I said, patting my knees. I gathered the front half of the large Poodle up into my lap. Her extended middle pressed against my legs. “Nobody was yelling at you. You’re fine. I’m the one who’s an idiot.”
Faith’s pomponned tail wagged in support of whatever I wanted to say. Her damp nose po
ked at the bottom of my chin. Studies show that people who keep pets have lower blood pressure. It doesn’t surprise me. This wasn’t the first time I’d discovered that having a dog in my lap was a positive mood enhancer.
Why was I yelling at Aunt Peg? I thought. None of this was her fault. She wasn’t even the one I was angry at.
I got up and walked outside. When I opened the door, Faith ran on ahead, bounding down the steps to join the Poodles in the yard.
“Watch!” Davey crowed, lofting a bright yellow tennis ball toward the back of the yard.
My son doesn’t have much of a pitching arm yet; the ball didn’t go far. The Poodles didn’t care. As one, they scrambled after it.
I watched long enough to make sure that Faith wasn’t being jostled by the rush, then turned to Aunt Peg.
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be,” Peg replied. She let that sink in for a moment, then smiled to soften the words. “The Chinese revere their elder relatives. Think about that.”
“We Puritans put them in nursing homes,” I retorted. “You think about that.”
Her smile turned into a grin. “Just try it.”
“I wouldn’t dare. Nevertheless, I shouldn’t have taken things out on you. Sheila’s the one I’m angry at.”
“And Sam.”
“And Sam,” I echoed softly.
“He was probably trying to protect your feelings—”
“Or his own.” I reached down, plucked a dandelion out of the grass, and twirled it between my fingers. “It scares me, you know. Sam and I are engaged to be married. And suddenly I’ve found out that I don’t know him nearly as well as I thought I did.”
“Talk to him,” said Peg. “Make him talk to you. It’s long past time the two of you got everything out in the open.”
“That’s just it.” My fingers felt wet. I glanced down and realized I’d crushed the small yellow flower in my hand. “I thought we were talking. I thought I knew everything. Obviously, I was wrong. So now I have to wonder—what else was going on that Sam didn’t see fit to tell me about?”
“Ask him. Call him when you get home. Demand some answers. That’s what I would do.”
Of course it was. That was Aunt Peg’s way. She never took grief from anyone. If I were half as strong as she was, I wouldn’t be in this predicament.
And I wouldn’t be worrying about what else Sam might have to confess to.
After that, Peg all but pushed Davey, Faith, and me out the door. You’ve heard my advice, her expression said. Now go home and make good use of it.
To my credit, I tried.
I didn’t succeed.
When we got home, I found that Sam had left a message on the answering machine. I played it through twice; the first time hopefully, the second, in frustration. Reach out and touch someone, my foot.
That’s the whole problem with modern technology. It gives us too many options. If Sam hadn’t been able to leave a message, surely he’d have kept trying until he reached me. Until we’d been able to talk. Now, I’d lost my chance.
“I’m sorry I missed you,” he said on the tape. “I’ve spoken to Sheila’s family. As I’m sure you can understand, they’re really upset about what happened. Her parents have invited me to come out and stay with them for a few days.”
There was a long pause before Sam’s voice, slower now, started again. “They want me to tell them about how Sheila was doing these last few months. None of the family has seen her since she came East. They want to know that she was happy. They ...”
He stopped again, cleared his throat. “They want more comfort than I’m going to be able to give. They want me to help them make sense of something utterly senseless. All I can do is try. They’re going to be holding the funeral at the end of the week, so I’ll probably stay in Illinois until then.
“I’m sorry we won’t get a chance to say good-bye in person, but I’ve booked a flight to O’Hare this evening. I’m on my way out the door now. I’ve boarded the older dogs, and I’m taking Tar with me.
“I’m not exactly sure where I’ll be staying so I can’t give you a number, but I’ll call in a day or two, okay? Give my love to Davey and tell Faith to hang on to those puppies until I get back, so we can whelp them together. I love you, Melanie. Bye.”
I love you, Melanie. Bye.
Cruel juxtaposition, that.
Had he gone to Illinois to see Sheila’s family, I wondered, or to try and heal himself? And why did I have the feeling that the more I tried to help, the harder he was pushing me away?
I’d wanted to offer solace. Sam wanted me to ask questions. It didn’t take a genius to see that we were on two different wavelengths. And now he was gone.
So I’d give Sam what he asked for. I had almost a week until I’d see him again. Maybe by then, I’d have some answers.
Melanie Travis, intrepid girl sleuth.
I can do that.
Thirteen
First things first, however. Monday was my morning to drive the car pool to soccer camp. Wouldn’t you just know it?
Davey had packed his gym bag the night before. At almost seven I was trying to let him take a little more responsibility for his own things. I could only hope it actually held cleats, shin guards, extra T-shirt, and a dry bathing suit and towel. Otherwise, he’d be bringing home another note.
The camp had drop-off at nine, pickup at four; with seven hours of freedom in between. Was it any wonder that every mother seemed to be smiling on her way out the driveway?
From there, I took the Merritt Parkway and headed south to White Plains. According to the masthead in my inaugural issue of Woof!, that was where the editorial offices were located. Sam wanted me to check things out, and the magazine seemed like a good place to start. I could only hope that Brian, whose Miss Marple crack still rankled, didn’t object too strongly.
Woof!’s address turned out to be a boxy brick building on the edge of downtown. There were metered spaces on the street out front and a small parking lot in back. Since the lot was mostly full at nine-fifteen, I assumed it was intended for employees. That didn’t stop me from snagging the last spot.
Inside, I found myself in a narrow, fluorescent-lit hallway. A roster near the elevator listed the building’s occupants. Woof!’s office space was on the second floor. When I pushed the button, the door opened immediately. I stepped inside and rode up to another hallway, this one with two doors leading off from it.
The magazine took up the back of the building, a CPA’s office occupied the front. Woof!’s door was standing open. There was no reception area and I entered directly into a large, well-lit room.
Two metal desks with matching credenzas had been stationed on either side wall, the furniture arranged to delineate separate work spaces. A copier and a fax machine took up more room, and a framed enlargement of Woof!’s first cover filled the wall above them. As offices went, it was pretty generic.
My gaze skimmed over those details, then came to rest on a fresh-scrubbed child with rosy cheeks and curly blond hair who sat behind a third desk, just inside the door. Carrie, presumably. She looked barely old enough to be in high school, much less part of the workforce.
I’d started to introduce myself when a shout from the other end of the room stopped me.
“Melanie, hey!” Tim Golonka came hurrying toward the door. “What are you doing here?”
Good question. I decided to wing it.
“The first issue of Woof! looked so good, I wanted to drop by and offer my congratulations.”
“Oh. You probably want Brian then. I hope you haven’t come too far because he isn’t here. He left on a promotional trip this morning. Won’t be back until the end of the week.” He shrugged apologetically. “Not the best timing, under the circumstances.”
“I wanted to talk to you about that, too.”
“Really?” Tim perked up. He waved toward one of the desks. “Come on over to my office.”
I lifted a brow.
“Al
l right, my space. For now. I’m planning on working my way up.”
“He wants my job,” said Aubrey, emerging through a doorway in the back of the room. She hadn’t seem relaxed at the dog show; today she looked positively stiff. Frown lines furrowed her forehead. “Hi, Melanie. Sorry about my big mouth the other day. Obviously, I was upset, and I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“Forget about it. We were all pretty upset.”
“Thanks. And you ...” Aubrey pointed at Tim. “Try to take a deep breath, would you? Haven’t you ever heard of paying your dues?”
“Sure. A phrase coined to appease slow learners and losers. Not my problem. Besides, the way I see it we all move up.”
“All?” I asked, following him to his desk.
“Sure. Aubrey can have Sheila’s job.”
“Tim—!”
He ignored her warning tone. “It’s not like you weren’t number two until she got here. You know you want it.”
For a moment, the room was utterly silent, as if we were all holding our breaths for the blowup that would follow. Then, surprisingly, Aubrey laughed. “I hope you aren’t planning to say that to the police.”
“Only if they ask, boss.” Tim smirked at Aubrey and waved me to a chair. “Just one big happy family, that’s us.”
“Except me,” Carrie piped up from the other end of the room. “I’m not related to any of you.”
“What did we tell you?” Tim asked in an undertone. “She thinks we’re crazy.”
“All dog show people are crazy,” said Aubrey. “It goes with the territory. That’s why Woof! is going to be such a smash. If everyone was normal, who would we write about?”
“Are you going to write about Sheila’s murder?” I asked curiously.
“That’s up to Brian,” said Tim. “So far, he hasn’t said yes or no. Come to think of it, he hasn’t said much of anything.”
“He will when he gets back,” Aubrey said confidently. “Think how devastating it must be, having this all dumped on him just when the magazine’s at its most critical stage. By the end of his trip, I’m sure we’ll be back to business as usual.”
Unleashed (A Melanie Travis Mystery) Page 10
