Eve was snuggled in Davey’s lap, but Faith had gotten up to greet me at the door. I reached down to stroke the soft skin beneath the Poodle’s chin. She was probably happier than my relatives were to see me. Never let anyone tell you that dogs aren’t a blessing.
I shifted the bags to one hand so I could give Faith a better scratch. “Aunt Peg, I didn’t know you liked football.”
“Let’s just say I’m flexible. When in Rome ...”
Which begged the question of what she was doing in Rome. Or in Cos Cob, as the case may be.
“Let me just put this stuff away,” I said, heading for the kitchen. “I’ll be right back.”
The phone rang as I was pouring the bean dip into a bowl. I picked up and found myself talking to Bertie, calling to check in with Frank before she left a dog show in New Jersey for the two-hour ride home. Most people have weekends off. Not professional handlers. That’s when they do the majority of their work.
“Melanie, good,” she said, when she realized who she had on the line. “I needed to talk to you anyway. Have you found out anything about Sara?”
“Not much.” I gave her a quick run-through of the day’s events. “But I did come up with a couple of odd things. First of all, Titus.”
“What about him?”
“Remember those big bowls of food and water we saw in Sara’s cottage? Apparently they were meant for him. Sara left the dog behind and it looks as though that stuff was supposed to tide him over.”
“That makes no sense. Titus went everywhere with Sara. If she had left of her own accord, she’d have taken him with her. And if she didn’t, when did she have the chance to fill those bowls?”
“The whole thing is pretty strange,” I said. “According to Delilah, someone from her kennel found Titus wandering around the grounds at the beginning of the week.”
“And she still didn’t think that meant something was wrong?” Bertie sounded outraged.
“Apparently not. Delilah said that Sara makes a habit of running when life gets tough.” Leaning against the counter, I fished a chip out of the bag and ran it through the dip. “Which leads me to my next point. Everyone I’ve spoken to has mentioned that Sara goes through a lot of boyfriends. That once she gets a guy, she loses interest pretty quickly. I’m wondering if she might have dumped someone who took things a little too personally.”
“It’s possible,” Bertie mused. “But since we don’t know who she was seeing ...”
“You said she was with your cousin Josh last summer.”
“Right.”
“I was thinking I ought to talk to him. He might know who was next in line, and from there I could trace things up to the present.”
“It’s worth a try,” Bertie agreed. “Let me call Josh and I’ll have him get back to you.”
“Great. Last thing: Debra Silver said that Sara was trying to get a referral for a lawyer. Do you have any idea what that was about?”
“A lawyer?” Bertie sounded surprised. “No. None. Grant’s a lawyer. At least he used to be. I don’t think he practices anymore, but if she’d had a problem, I would think Sara would have talked to him.”
“According to Debra, she was looking for outside help. Not that it looks as though she found any. Do you think Sara might have run away because she felt threatened by someone?”
“I wish I knew. At least if she ran away, it means she’s okay. But if that’s the case, why hasn’t she called anyone? Her note said she’d be in touch.”
“It also said that you weren’t supposed to believe everything you heard about her,” I pointed out.
“So what have we heard?” Bertie sounded frustrated. “Hardly anything we didn’t know already. This whole mess is driving me crazy, Melanie, and time is passing. This wedding’s going to happen in some shape or form whether I’m ready or not. Do you suppose you could do me a favor?”
“Probably.” When it comes to my family, I never commit without first hearing what’s involved.
“Would you possibly have time to stop by a place called Pansy’s Flowers? It’s in Stamford, so it shouldn’t be too far out of your way. Sara told me she thought they’d be the best place for what I wanted. She’d already contacted them about the kinds of bouquets and arrangements we’d need, and they were going to get back to her with prices. Of course, now I’m sure they’re wondering whatever happened to us. Could you pick up a price list and let them know that we’re still interested in their services?”
“Sure.” That didn’t sound too hard. “I can probably do it Monday after school.”
“Thanks. You’re such a help. That makes one less thing to worry about. Is Frank around?”
“Watching football in the other room. I’ll go get him.”
While Frank talked to Bertie, I grabbed a few moments alone with Aunt Peg. Like Bertie, she wanted to know how things were progressing. “There’s something that occurred to me after we spoke yesterday,” she said. “That note that Sara left for Bertie didn’t make a whole lot of sense.”
I nodded and snagged another nacho chip. After a moment, Aunt Peg followed suit.
“Sara said she thought she could count on Bertie, which, under the circumstances, seems backwards. Count on Bertie to do what? Sara was the one who was supposed to be helping Bertie, not the other way around.”
“I know.”
“Maybe she meant that as kind of a nudge. Maybe Delilah is right and Sara did run away. For whatever reason, she couldn’t take Titus with her, but she was hoping Bertie would go to her house and find him.”
“Why?”
Aunt Peg aimed a withering look in my direction. “Am I supposed to know everything?”
“Why not? It would certainly make my life easier.”
She slid another chip through the bean dip. “All I’m trying to do is broaden your thinking.”
“Aunt Peg, I don’t need any more questions.”
“Maybe you do. Maybe you’re not asking the right questions, have you ever thought of that?”
Always.
But that was going to have to be tomorrow’s problem. Now I was tired of tracking down answers that only seemed to lead to more puzzles. It was Saturday night, and I was declaring myself off-duty. I popped the top on a can of beer, picked up the chips and dip, and went out to the living room to join my family.
The next morning I was planning to sleep late. I was determined to sleep late. Come on, it was Sunday. My last chance for a whole week.
The telephone woke me up just before seven.
I heard the ringing in my sleep. For an addled moment, it seemed to be part of my dream. Then the dream vanished and I thought I’d set my alarm by mistake. By the third ring, after swatting the dock to no avail, I had one eye open and Eve was dancing on the bed.
I groaned, rolled over, and picked up the receiver.
“Hi, Mel, it’s me.”
Bob? What could he possibly want at this hour? He’d been up just as late as I had the night before; our family gathering lasting through an impromptu dinner, followed by a killer game of team scrabble that had my ex and my aunt at each other’s throats. Not that this was anything new.
Davey had been asleep on the couch by the time I’d loaded the two Poodles in the Volvo for the trip home. Bob had picked up his son and carried him outside, laying him gently on the back seat and tucking his jacket snugly around the small sleeping form.
When I’d thanked him for his help, Bob had offered to accompany me home. If I wanted.
It wasn’t hard to see that he’d been disappointed when I shook my head. Now, a scant eight hours later, here he was again. If he said something suggestive about my being in bed, I was going to hang up on him.
“You there, Mel?” Bob asked. “Are you awake?”
“Not really.” I hiked myself up on one elbow and debated how many seconds I could afford to waste before Eve lost control of her small puppy bladder on my comforter.
“You haven’t seen today’s paper?”
; “Until the phone rang, Bob, today hadn’t even started for me yet. Damn! Wait! Wait! Hold on!”
Dashing from side to side across the bed, Eve had that frantic look puppies get when they sense that a mistake is about to become inevitable. I threw back the covers, scooped her up, ran downstairs, and put her out the back door. Looking vastly relieved, the Poodle squatted at the bottom of the steps.
I hurried over to the counter and picked up the phone. “Still there?”
“I’m here.” Bob didn’t sound happy. “What the hell happened? Is everything okay? Do you need me to come over?”
“Everything’s fine,” I assured him. Awakened by our hasty descent, Faith came trotting into the kitchen. I opened the door again and she joined Eve in the backyard. “Eve needed to go outside. She’s still a baby and her housebreaking isn’t perfect yet.”
“Thank God.” Bob exhaled. “I thought something was really wrong.”
Waiting for the Poodles to finish outside, I pulled out a kitchen chair and sat. “Why would you think that?”
“There’s a story on the front page of today’s newspaper. You know that woman you and Bertie have been looking for? She seems to have turned up dead.”
Shock bounced me up off the chair. Carrying the phone, I ran out to the front hall. “Bob, what are you talking about? What newspaper are you looking at? How did you know about Sara?”
Cradling the receiver between cheek and shoulder, I fumbled with the lock on the front door.
“It’s called ...” Pages flipped. “The Greenwich Time. Frank gets it delivered. It was outside the door this morning.”
As if I cared where he’d gotten the paper from. Details! I wanted details.
The dead bolt slid free. I yanked open the door and ran outside. Frigid November air knifed right through my flannel pajamas. Bare feet freezing, I hopped from one to the other on the concrete step and scanned the yard. My paper boy has an erratic arm. Some mornings we’re lucky he doesn’t break a window.
The Sunday newspaper, rolled up in its plastic sack, was out by the sidewalk. I didn’t get the same paper as Frank, but if there was a story, the Advocate would have it, too. Still carrying the phone, I skipped down the steps and ran across the dry winter grass. Good thing it hadn’t snowed recently.
“Bertie’s been talking about Sara all week,” Bob was saying. “Frank filled me in on the details. Anyway, it looks like there was a house fire last night. Do you want me to read you the story?”
“No.” I reached down, grabbed the paper, and raced back inside. I could only hope it was early enough on a Sunday morning that none of my neighbors had been watching. There are days when it seems like the show going on at my house is better than cable. “In a minute, I’ll have it here. House fire? What house fire? Where was Sara?”
“New Canaan, it says. Some big estate.”
Shivering, I shut the front door behind me and ran back to the kitchen, where the Poodles were now waiting outside that door. The Three Stooges probably deal with crisis better.
“You mean that whole huge house burned down?”
“No, not the big place. A guest cottage.”
I yanked open the back door. The two dogs raced up the stairs, happily anticipating their peanut butter biscuits. What choice did I have but to go to the pantry? On top of that, my feet were still freezing. At this rate, I’d never get the paper opened.
“The cottage burned down?”
“Almost a complete loss. According to the article, it wasn’t wired to any sort of smoke detection system, and nobody noticed the flames right away. By the time the fire department arrived, the place was already engulfed. The roof caved in as the first fire trucks were arriving. They never even had a chance to go inside. All they could do at that point was put the fire out.”
“But Sara?” Now my teeth were chattering. Delayed reaction, probably. “What does it say about Sara?”
I heard the sound of more pages being turned, as I pulled a couple of large dog biscuits out of the box.
“Here it is.” Bob skimmed through the details. “Charred remains discovered by a closet in the bedroom ... no immediate identification possible ... medical examiner believes it to be the body of a young woman.
“But listen to this. Here’s how it ends.
Resident of the cottage, Sara Bentley, could not be reached for comment. According to her parents, on whose estate the house is located, Ms. Bentley’s whereabouts are unknown.”
“Damn,” I said, sinking down into a chair.
All at once, I was simply too heavy, too filled with the weight of the bad news, to stand. Despite Bertie’s fears, I’d held onto the hope that Sara would turn up. Now it looked as though I’d been wrong.
“Mel, are you there?”
“I’m here,” I sighed.
“Don’t go anywhere. I’m coming over.”
It was surely a sign of how deflated I felt that I didn’t even have the energy to argue. Instead, I called Aunt Peg. She’s an early riser. I wondered if she’d gotten around to opening up her paper yet.
While the phone rang, I slid the plastic sleeve off my copy of the Stamford Advocate and spread the newspaper out on the kitchen table. There isn’t a lot of crime in lower Fairfield County. Like the Greenwich paper, the Advocate had carried the New Canaan fire as front-page news.
I was scanning the article when Aunt Peg picked up on the fifth ring. It didn’t contain any more facts than Frank had already given me.
“Melanie!” Aunt Peg sounded out of breath. “What’s the matter?”
Despite the fact that I had other things to worry about, I was still piqued. “How did you know it was me?”
“Nobody calls at seven A.M. unless there’s a problem.” Her inference was clear: obviously nobody had as many problems as I did.
“I guess you haven’t looked at today’s paper yet.”
“It’s still out by the mailbox. Shall I go get it?”
“No, I can read you what’s in front of me. Sara Bentley’s cottage burned to the ground last night and the body of a young woman was found inside.”
“Sara?” Peg gasped.
“It says that the body was badly burned and the police haven’t been able to make an identification yet. They’re seeking dental records from the owner of the cottage.”
“Poor Delilah,” Peg said softly. “I’ll have to call her and see if there’s anything I can do. Have you spoken to Bertie?”
“No, she’s showing this weekend. I’m sure she left hours ago. I’ll talk to her tonight. I wonder ...” I stared down at the paper, drumming my fingers on the page.
“What?”
“Where had Sara been for the last week and why did she suddenly decide to come back? And why on the night that the cottage burned down?”
“Maybe she had something to do with the fire,” said Peg, voicing my thoughts aloud. “Does it say what started it?”
“No.” I read the official wording. “Cause of the blaze has yet to be determined. That could mean anything.”
“Including that the fire marshall knows what happened but they just haven’t released their findings yet.” Aunt Peg paused. “Here’s a gruesome thought.”
“What?”
“What if Sara didn’t return to her cottage last night? What if she’s been dead since she disappeared and the murderer brought her body back?”
“Oh, Lord.” It was definitely too early in the morning for me to deal with possibilities like that.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LAURIEN BERENSON is an Agatha and Macavity nominee, and a four time winner of the Maxwell Award for Fiction, given by the Dog Writers Association of America for excellence in fiction. She lives in Georgia with her husband, her son, and six poodles. She can be reached at http//:members.aol.com/LTBerenson
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
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New York, NY 10022
Copyright @ 2000 by Laurien Berenso
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ISBN: 978-1-57566680-8
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
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Unleashed (A Melanie Travis Mystery) Page 25
