Once Bitten (A Melanie Travis Mystery) (12 page)

A
unt Peg never did get back to me on Sunday night.

I could have called her, but that probably would have involved admitting that I’d spent the day with my ex-husband. Which was not something I wanted to discuss—or even, particularly, to think about. Especially since I’d enjoyed myself a good deal more than I’d expected to.

We didn’t do anything special. In a way, that added to the day’s charm. Seeing my son and his father together, engaged in such mundane activities as playing board games, making lunch, and throwing a ball for the dogs, tugged at my emotions in ways I never would have predicted. It was impossible not to see the resemblance between them; everything was right there in the set of a shoulder or the quirk of a brow.

And even though I knew perfectly well that we weren’t a real family unit, it was nice, just for a little while, to pretend.

Bob even went so far as to volunteer to drop Eve off at Aunt Peg’s on his way back to Frank’s place on Sunday night. I thought that might prompt a reaction from my elder relative, but instead, the person I found myself talking to was Bertie.

I’d left a message that morning on her answering machine. She called Sunday evening as soon as she got back from the show. Actually, knowing Bertie, she’d probably already unloaded her van, fed and exed her dogs, then checked their water bowls before attending to her own needs. What she hadn’t done yet was see a newspaper.

Briefly, I told her what had happened.

“I don’t believe it,” Bertie said firmly.

I’d expected shock, maybe anger. Not denial.

“Bertie, it’s in today’s newspaper. Sara’s cottage burned down and they found a body in the rubble.”

“How did the fire get started?”

“It doesn’t say. I’m sure the police or an arson squad is investigating.”

“It couldn’t have been an accident.” Bertie thought for a minute, considering the possibilities. “Someone did that to Sara on purpose. But when did she come back? And why didn’t she call anyone?”

“That’s pretty much what I’d like to know. And think about this: since we didn’t know that Sara had come home, you have to wonder whether or not the person who set that fire did.”

“You mean you think she might have been killed by mistake?”

“It’s a possibility.”

Bertie swore, loudly and vehemently. I held the receiver out away from my ear and let her blow off steam.

“Sara was a good person,” she said at the end. “Flawed maybe, not perfect, but still a good person. This whole thing makes me sick. So now what?”

“What do you mean?”

“You will keep asking questions, won’t you?”

“Bertie, it’s not just our problem anymore. The police will be asking questions now—”

“And we’ll never learn any more about what happened than we can read in the newspaper. Sara was worth more than that. She was a friend of mine and she was counting on me. You’ve met her parents. You know what they’re like. Sara needs someone to be on her side. Come on, just give it a couple more days.”

I didn’t respond to her plea right away. Instead, I said, “Speaking of Sara’s parents, Aunt Peg went to New Canaan to pay a condolence call. She’ll probably have the latest news.”

“Good. I knew you wouldn’t be able to just let things drop.” Bertie sounded pleased, as though she figured the matter was settled. She was probably right.

“By the way, I spoke to my cousin Josh. He’d be happy to talk to you about Sara. He’s working in Greenwich, and when I told him you were at Howard Academy, he asked if he could stop by there tomorrow afternoon.”

As tutor rather than teacher, my days tended to vary. It wasn’t unusual for me to have blocks of unscheduled time. On Monday we were in luck.

“Tell him I’m free between one-thirty and two-fifteen. If I don’t hear back from you, I’ll assume it’s a plan.”

“Got it,” said Bertie. “And Melanie?”

“Hmmm?”

“I appreciate the help.”

“You should.” I tried for a light tone, but didn’t quite pull it off.

I wondered if Bertie was thinking the same thing I was. We weren’t looking for a missing person anymore. Now we were hunting a murderer.

Howard Academy is a private school located on a beautiful campus just outside downtown Greenwich. Founded early in the last century by robber baron Joshua Howard, the school’s stated aim was to provide the best possible education for children of privilege. Not unexpectedly, in these politically correct days, headmaster Russell Hanover II tries to downplay that aspect of the institution’s charter. He has opened registration to all applicants, and a generous scholarship program is in place.

What that means for me is that the children I work with at Howard Academy are a varied and delightful group. My official title is Special Needs Tutor; my purpose, to ensure that every student receives as much individual attention as he or she might need to excel. One of the perks of working in the private school sector is that the administration has some flexibility when it comes to making rules. In keeping with the theory that Howard Academy should foster a child-friendly environment, I’d been given permission the previous spring to bring Faith to school with me.

The kids loved having her around, and I loved the fact that the big Poodle no longer had to wait at home all day for my return. Even the staid headmaster had been known to drop by my room occasionally and bring Faith a biscuit. The arrangement was working out beautifully for all of us.

I had Faith with me when I walked out to the school’s front entrance at one-thirty on Monday afternoon. The class bell had just rung and the hallways were full. Even though the kids see Faith every day, she still caused a stir as we made our way through the upper school.

Many of the students who were hurrying by stopped to give her a quick pat or a kind word. Some congratulated me on her new status, which, to my surprise, had been the subject of an announcement at morning assembly the previous week.

“Champion Faith,” said a girl named Jane, one of my former pupils, who was now the undisputed star of the girls’ field hockey team. She leaned down to brush her hands through the Poodle’s hair. “Aren’t you something special?”

“Special enough that all that hair is coming off in a few weeks. Pretty soon she’ll look like a normal dog.”

“I like you just the way you are,” Jane told Faith, who wagged her tail happily. The feeling was mutual.

Faith and I reached the reception area just as a green Mazda Miata was pulling up the driveway. Bertie’s cousin was right on time. Howard Academy’s main building, which houses the administrative offices as well as a number of classrooms, was originally designed to blend in with the other mansions in the neighborhood. Drawing rooms serve as meeting areas, and the front hall is furnished with antiques from Joshua Howard’s own collection.

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.