Unleashed (A Melanie Travis Mystery) (4 page)

As Sheila opened the door, he held out his hand. Part of me was just angry enough to ignore him. The other part won out. I reached out my hand and folded it in his.

I felt like I was holding on for my life.

As it turned out, rounding up the missing dogs was almost anticlimactic. Think about it. How far would five Pugs and a Saint Bernard be likely to run? It’s not like we were chasing Afghans, after all.

As we herded the unrepentant crew back through the gate and shut it securely behind us, Sheila stopped to check the latch. Closed, it held firm.

“This gate shouldn’t have been open. I’m positive I didn’t leave it like that.”

“Maybe neighborhood kids?” Sam suggested.

Brian only shrugged. Now that he knew Boris was fine, the matter had ceased to interest him.

“Look around.” Sheila’s flamboyant hand gesture revealed her annoyance. “I don’t live in a subdivision. This house sits on eight acres of land.”

“Mistakes happen,” I said.

“Not to me.” She turned her back and started up the slope.

Sam looked like he was going to go after her, then thought better of it. Brian grimaced slightly and shook his head. As for me, I’d had enough of the whole bunch of them. I just wanted to go home.

Sam must have been reading my thoughts. Back at the house, he cocked a brow in my direction, and I nodded. Our silent communication system was still intact. We thanked our hostess for a lovely evening and made our escape.

Neither of us said a word until we were back on the road. I opened my window and let the wind ruffle through my hair and cool my cheeks. I wondered if Sam realized I’d overheard part of his conversation with Sheila. I wondered if he cared. And I wondered, even more, about the part I hadn’t heard.

Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. “So?” I said. “What’s Sheila up to this time?”

Sam’s eyes left the road briefly to glance my way. “I guess that means you didn’t buy the innocent act of hers either. I wish she’d told me sooner that Brian was her new partner.”

“Obviously she wanted to spring it on you in person.”

“Right.” Sam frowned. “I’m sure my reaction didn’t disappoint her. While you and Brian were outside, I tried to talk her into giving up the magazine.”

Now we were getting somewhere. “You and he used to be best friends,” I pointed out.

“I was young then,” Sam said shortly. “Now I’d know better.”

“He seemed like a nice enough guy to me. Very enthusiastic about his magazine and its prospects. Didn’t you tell me once that Sheila was a terrific marketer? Maybe between them, they can make this thing take off.”

“It’s not the magazine I’m worried about. People will either want to wallow in that kind of dirt, or they won’t. Sheila’s got a terrific head for business, but emotionally, well ... sometimes she gets carried away. I’m afraid that the only reason she got mixed up with Brian is to get back at me.”

So at least I wasn’t imagining things. On the other hand, Sam had just confirmed my fears. Sheila still had no intention of letting go. And for whatever reason, Sam couldn’t seem to bring himself to make the break either.

I wondered where that left us, and I didn’t like the answers I came up with. I sat and watched the trees slide by outside my window. All at once, my life felt as though it was rushing by in just the same manner, heading irrevocably toward some conclusion over which I had no control.

“Sheila must have realized that would only work if you still had feelings for her,” I said finally.

I heard Sam sigh. I waited, sitting absolutely still, for him to deny what I’d just said. His eyes remained trained on the road. My fingers twined together in my lap.

“We’ve discussed this before.”

He sounded tired. I wanted reassurance, and he sounded like a man who figured he could use a little consoling himself. Too bad Sheila wasn’t here to rub his shoulders for him.

“Before I met you,” Sam said, “Sheila was a very large part of my life. In many ways, she and I grew up together. I’m not in love with Sheila anymore, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about what happens to her. Sometimes Sheila could use someone to look out for her—”

“And you think you should be that person?” I tried hard not to sound as incredulous as I felt “Well, it sure as hell won’t be Endicott.”

Was it jealousy I heard in his tone? Or maybe resentment? It certainly wasn’t detachment.

“What’s with the two of you anyway? From the moment you saw him walk into that hallway, you’ve been prickly as a bear.”

“I just know him too damn well.”

“Meaning what?”

“It’s a long story,” Sam said as he put on his blinker and turned in my driveway. “It’s an
old
story. Nothing I want to go into tonight. Suffice it to say that Brian Endicott is about the last person I would choose to go into business with. Sheila needs to be very careful. I only hope she realizes that.”

“You told her.”

“I tried. She didn’t listen. She said it was too late. The partnership’s already been formed. The magazine’s about to be launched.”

“Maybe it will be a huge success,” I said as I got out of the car. Personally, I was hoping for a thriving business that would give Sheila better things to think about than my fiancé. “Listening to Brian earlier, I got the impression that pretty much everything he touches turns to gold.”

“He’s had his share of luck. Some might even say more than his share.” Sam walked around the car and wrapped his hands around my waist. “Can we stop talking about this now?”

I would have answered, but his mouth covered mine. After a moment, he lifted his head, and said, “One last thing?”

“Mmm?”

“The next time Sheila invites us over, figure out a way to say no, okay?”

His fingers found the ticklish spot just below my ribs. I yelped, twisted away, and ran for the steps.

We’d left some lights on in the house, and I could see Faith, watching us through the living-room window. Her nose was pressed against the glass, and her tail was wagging like mad. There’s something about the sight of a happy dog that always makes me smile.

I felt my heart lifting as I set my worries aside. For the moment, Sam and I were back in sync. It was only a minor victory, but for now it was enough.

On Saturday, there was a dog show. Like that was news.

There’s a dog show every Saturday, and every Sunday, too. That’s the beauty of living in the Northeast. There are so many show-giving kennel clubs in a relatively concentrated area that dog fanciers can exhibit every week of the year, if they choose.

Faith, of course, wasn’t entered. Aside from the fact that her puppies were due soon, she was also missing some much-needed hair on the back of her neck. According to the breed standard, adult Poodles must be shown in either one of two elaborate trims. Both mandate that the dog possess a substantial amount of hair on the front half of the body.

Consequently, once the decision has been made to exhibit a Poodle, incredible care must be taken to protect that hair at all costs. Faith had an excellent, correctly textured, coat—thick, and harsh, and very black—but an accident in the spring had created a hole just where it would be the most obvious. She’d been sitting out of the show ring for three months already. As long as the puppies didn’t cost her too much more hair, I’d probably have her ready to show again by fall.

Resisting the tendency to “cluster” together with the other clubs holding shows that weekend, the Durham Valley Kennel Club event was to be held at a beautiful, outdoor location. Such venues are becoming increasingly rare in Connecticut, and Davey and I planned to make a day of it. My son was in high spirits after having spent a week learning how to dribble with his feet and bounce a ball off his head.

As I worked in the kitchen, packing a cooler with sandwiches and drinks, he demonstrated his new skills for me in the backyard. “Watch!” Davey crowed, as he kicked the ball around the trunk of a big old oak tree with Faith trotting in pursuit. Seeing he had my attention, he turned and fired a shot toward the fence.

The soccer ball hit the post and ricocheted back. Nimbly, Faith jumped out of the way. “Score!” yelled Davey, arms upraised. “The mighty dog defender cannot stop the march to victory by our hero, Captain David!”

Captain David? I wondered if this was his way of telling me that he felt he was outgrowing his diminutive nickname. Davey would be seven in September, when he started second grade. He’d shot up two inches in the last year and was beginning to have an opinion about the clothes I picked out for him to wear to school. Though it seemed like hardly any time at all had passed since I’d held him in my arms, I was reminded daily that my son no longer thought of himself as a little boy.

“Come on in and bring Faith with you,” I called. “We’re just about ready to go.”

I’d already loaded Faith’s crate in the back of the station wagon, and I carried the cooler out to join it. In theory, unentered dogs aren’t supposed to be brought onto the grounds of a show, but considering Faith’s delicate condition, I wanted to keep an eye on her. Sam would be showing his puppy, Tar, so I knew he’d have a spot staked out beneath the grooming tent where I could set up Faith’s crate. That way, she could enjoy the day with us, while remaining cool and not unduly stressed.

The drive took just about an hour. By dog show standards, that meant the show was just around the corner. Aunt Peg thinks nothing of packing up her van and traveling all up and down the East Coast. I’ve tried to set a more sensible schedule for Faith’s show career, but already she’s picked up points in Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Rhode Island, and Massachusetts.

At the gate to the fairground, I paid our admission and bought a catalogue. Usually when we’re at a show, I’m rushing to get Faith ready for the ring. Having an entire day to devote to merely enjoying the spectacle seemed like an incredible luxury.

Two long rows of rings, each half-covered by a huge, green-and-white-striped tent filled most of a large field. Sometimes there’s a separate tent for the handlers and exhibitors to groom under; other times, extra space for grooming has been left beside the rings. Today’s club had chosen the second option. I looked up the number of the Poodle ring in the catalogue and drove slowly across the grass to the back of the tent.

As I’d hoped, Sam had saved me some room. Not only that, but Aunt Peg was already there, too. Though Sam owns and shows Tar, Aunt Peg is the puppy’s breeder. She had high hopes that today’s judge would award Tar the last two points he needed to finish his championship.

“Good morning,” Aunt Peg sang out cheerfully as I pulled into the unloading spot, and Davey and Faith tumbled out of the car. She had a pastry in one hand and a catalogue in the other. “How’s my darling girl?”

The question was directed at Faith, not me. Don’t worry, I’m used to that.

Nearly six feet tall, Aunt Peg had to bend way down to check out the expectant bitch’s condition. She had to put down her pastry, too. For my aunt, whose sweet tooth is legendary, that constitutes a hardship.

She ran a knowledgeable hand over Faith’s midsection and nodded approvingly. “You’ve got her in good weight. How’s she feeling?”

“Wonderful. Exuberant.” I unloaded Faith’s crate and dragged it over beside Tar’s portable grooming table. Sam leaned around and gave me a kiss as I pushed it into position. “She played soccer with Davey this morning.”

“Gently, I hope.” Peg’s tone was stern.

She takes this breeding business seriously. Before I’d even been allowed to consider letting Faith have a litter, I’d had to have her genetic testing done—hips x-rayed so she could be certified clear of hip dysplasia by OFA; a punch skin biopsy to rule out sebaceous adenitis; eyes examined by a canine opthamologist for progressive retinal atrophy. In three decades of breeding, Aunt Peg had managed to steer her Cedar Crest Standard Poodles free of two other maladies that can affect Standard Poodles—seizures and bloat. Since there are no tests to predict an inherited tendency toward either one of those conditions, we were both keeping our fingers crossed.

“Of course, gently.” I patted the top of Faith’s crate. She jumped up and placed her front paws on the rubber-matted surface. Carefully, I hoisted her heavier than usual hindquarter up into place. The Poodle turned once in a tight circle and lay down.

“Gently,” Davey echoed solemnly. “She’s going to have babies.” His small hand reached up to pat his dog’s thigh. Then he turned to his great-aunt. “Got any more doughnuts?”

“Plenty. I brought some chocolate-covered ones, just for you.”

“There’s fruit in the cooler,” I offered, wasting my breath. “And Cheerios ...” Davey was already digging through the supplies beneath the table. “When the sugar high hits, he’s all yours,” I said to Peg.

“Pish. Little boys are meant to have lots of energy.” Aunt Peg grasped Davey’s hand, pulled him to his feet, and led him in an impromptu jig around Sam’s grooming table. “We’ll dance in the aisles together, won’t we, Davey?”

Aunt Peg’s next birthday would be her sixty-first. In defiance of the passing years, she seemed to be growing younger with each one. Davey giggled his reply, kicked up his feet, and stuffed the first bite of pastry into his mouth.

“I’m pretending I’m not with them,” I said to Sam. Here by the ring, tables and crates were stacked in cozy proximity. Ours wasn’t the only attention the dancing duo had managed to attract. “Are you sure you really want to marry into this family?”

“Positive.” Sam grinned, seemingly unfazed by the potential for embarrassment offered by his relatives-to-be. “Go park your car. I’ll try to keep them in line until you get back.”

The parking lot was at the other end of the field. Predictably, most of the spaces were already full. Finally, in the last row I found some openings. As I parked and got out, another car came flying down the row and pulled in beside me. A black Boxster.

I glanced inside the car. Brian didn’t have Boris with him. Instead the passenger seat was filled with a large box.