Once Bitten (A Melanie Travis Mystery) (15 page)

Heat plummeted into my belly. I didn’t smile back. Instead, I spun away and bumped into my brother.

Frank, head stuck in the open refrigerator and looking for another beer, was blissfully oblivious. Thank God.

“Hey Mel, watch where you’re going.” His fingers closed over a cold bottle. He straightened, bumped the door shut with his hip and twisted off the cap. “A guy could get hurt around here.”

Abruptly, inexplicably, Bob began to laugh.

I shot him a dirty look. For some reason, it only made him laugh harder.

“What’s going on?” asked Frank, looking at the two of us.

I only wished I knew.

I
t’s a pretty good indication that your life is in turmoil when getting up and going to work in the morning begins to seem like a restful alternative. On Wednesday, it was a pleasure to pull up to Howard Academy and realize that all I had to do that day was educate the youth of America.

Divine intervention, or something along those lines, had relieved me of my other responsibilities. Certainly I couldn’t take any credit myself. But now that Sara had resurfaced—almost—I no longer needed to look for her. And since she appeared to be keeping on top of the plans for Bertie’s wedding, I was off that hook, too. The dead body found in Sara’s cottage had turned out to be not only someone I didn’t know, but someone I’d never even heard of before.

Clearly that was none of my business.

All I had to do was hold that thought, and I’d be free.

My light-headed feeling of liberty lasted until eleven-thirty, when a call was put through to my classroom. As Bertie had found out, the office doesn’t forward phone calls except in case of emergency. So when I realized it was an outside line that was buzzing, my first thought was for Davey. I snatched up the receiver.

“Hi, it’s Debra Silver.”

“Who?”

Quickly, I shifted through the names at Davey’s school. Not his teacher, not the school nurse, not the principal.

“Debra Silver. You know, we spoke last week?”

Sara’s friend. Indoor tennis. Junior Showmanship. My shoulders sagged in relief.

“Right.” I tried not to sound too surprised. I wondered how she’d known to find me at Howard Academy. “How did you get past the office?”

Debra laughed. The sound grated on my ears. “Office help are all alike, no matter where they work. I just threw my weight around and told the secretary it was urgent. And it is. Listen, I have to talk to you.”

“I’m teaching a class,” I said, amazed that such a thing wouldn’t have occurred to her. Considering it was what I did.

Three second-graders were standing at the blackboard, struggling with long division. At the moment, there was more erasing than writing going on.

“How about lunch? I’ll come and get you. We’ll grab something downtown. There’s a new Italian bistro I’ve been dying to try.”

Briefly I considered the offer. Attendance at lunch wasn’t mandatory for Howard Academy teachers unless it was their turn to sit in the family-style dining room with the students. I’d served my stint the week before. Today I could probably manage to slip away for an hour or so. To be honest, it wasn’t as though I hadn’t done it before. And I was definitely curious to know what sort of news Debra Silver would consider urgent.

“Tell me where and I’ll meet you,” I said. Debra hadn’t struck me as the sort of person who worried about other people’s time constraints. I’d feel much better having my own ride back to school.

She named a new restaurant on Lewis Street and told me she’d make a reservation for twelve-thirty.

Parking’s a problem in Greenwich and has been for years. The spot I finally found was four blocks away. I was five minutes late for our appointment, but Debra hadn’t arrived yet. By the time she did show up ten minutes later, I’d already perused the menu and was sipping an iced tea.

“Thanks for meeting me.” She slipped off a soft, butter-colored leather jacket and hung it over the back of her chair. Though Debra was speaking to me, her eyes scanned the room. Who was she hoping to find? I wondered. Kathie Lee Gifford?

Debra slid into her seat. Her imperiously raised hand summoned the waiter. “I’ll have a glass of Pino Grigio.”

The man hurried away to do her bidding. I’ve always envied people who have that ability to make waiters sit up and pay attention. If it’s genetic, I think I must be missing a few of the pertinent chromosomes.

“So,” Debra said casually, “how’ve you been?”

“Fine.” It had only been four days since we’d met. Was she expecting otherwise?

Debra’s wine arrived. She sipped from the glass and nodded her approval. “We’ll need a minute before ordering,” she told the waiter who obediently melted away.

“We can’t take too long,” I told her. “I have to be back at school in an hour.”

“That’s right, you work.”

I decided to overlook her tone, which did not imply good things about salaried labor. “Speaking of which, how did you know where to find me?”

Debra shrugged. “I just called around.”

“Around where?”

“You know how small the dog show world is.”

I did. But it was my impression that Debra had left that world behind a while ago. “I didn’t realize you were still showing dogs.”

“I’m not. But I have friends that do. You’re right, we should order. Otherwise, we’ll be here forever.” Debra opened her menu and held it up in front of her face.

I guessed she was hoping I wouldn’t notice the abrupt change of subject. I decided to let it go until after we’d made our selections. Pasta for lunch felt like a luxury to me. I ordered penne primavera and a small caesar salad.

“You’re probably wondering why I called you,” Debra said after the waiter had come and gone. Her fingers toyed with the heavy silverware on her placemat. “This is a little awkward for me.”

“What is?”

“Spilling my guts to a private detective.”

I stared at her for a minute. “First,” I said finally, “I’m not a detective, private or otherwise. I was looking for Sara because I was trying to do a favor for a friend. And second, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s good. You’re discreet.” She took a hefty swallow of wine. “I was hoping we could work this out.”

“Work what out?”

“You see . . .” Debra stopped and looked around the room, as though checking to see if anyone was listening.

The notion struck me as slightly paranoid. Though the tables in the bistro were unconscionably close together, the noise level was high. No one seemed to be paying the slightest bit of attention to us, and I couldn’t imagine why anyone would.

“I have to consider my position.”

I wanted to ask what position that was, but I was afraid it would make me look as dumb as I was beginning to feel. All I’d done since I sat down was ask questions, and none of them ever seemed to get answered.

“My husband is an important lawyer in town. We’re very social. With his job, we have to be. His clients are very important people.”

Wow, I thought. I’m impressed.

The waiter brought our salads. Fortunately that gave Debra something to do with her hands. She’d already managed to shred two rolls on her bread plate.

“What I’m trying to say,” she continued, “is that I probably shouldn’t have spoken so freely to you about Sara Bentley the other day.”

“Oh?”

“I know how easily things can get twisted around and taken out of context, and I would hate for that to happen in this instance. I really feel that everything we spoke about should be confidential.”

I thought back to what Debra had told me when we’d met on Saturday. It wasn’t much. And considering what made news in today’s world, it was hardly inflammatory.

“There’s nothing to worry about. As I recall, all you did was clarify some facts from an old story.”

“Yes.” Debra nodded quickly. “That’s just what I’m trying to tell you. It
was
old news. It all happened a long time ago. Nothing that happened with Sara has any bearing on my life today.”

“Okay.” I placed my salad bowl to one side as our entrees arrived. I still hadn’t figured out what all the fuss was about. “If you say so.”

“Just because Sara and I were friends once . . .” Debra paused to sample a small bite of her lobster ravioli. I eyed the dish covetously, wondering if I should have ordered it myself. “. . . doesn’t mean that I want my name to be associated with hers in any way now. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

Finally, yes. More or less. Though something about what she’d said didn’t seem quite right . . .

“This is yummy,” said Debra. “How’s yours?”

“Very good.” The fleeting thought that I’d almost grabbed slipped away again. Regretfully I let it go. “Excellent, actually. I’m glad you suggested we come here.”

“I’m always on the lookout for new places,” Debra confided. “There are only so many times you want to eat at the club, with all those same dreary faces.”

I wouldn’t know about that, but I was just as happy to take her word for it.

“You haven’t heard from Sara, have you? I mean, since we last spoke?”

“No,” Debra said firmly. “No, I haven’t. Why would I?”

“No particular reason. I was just wondering. I assume you know about the fire that burned down her cottage.”

“I read about it in the paper like everyone else. And the fact that there was a body involved . . . how perfectly awful! I guess everyone thought it was Sara for a while.”

The correct identification had been reported in that morning’s papers. Lower Fairfield County doesn’t see many murders, especially not in towns like New Canaan. After four days, this one had yet to move off the front page of the local papers.

“Did you?” I asked.

“Did I what?”

“Assume it was Sara?”

Debra nibbled around the edges of a piece of ravioli. In ten minutes, she had yet to make a dent in the food on her plate. I guessed that and tennis was how she kept her well-toned figure. The Greenwich Matron Deprivation Diet.

“Actually,” she said, “I tried not to think about it.”

Like hell.

“Must have been hard, considering your past history.”

“Not as hard as you’d think.” A final gulp polished off her wine.

“What the newspapers haven’t reported yet is that Carole Eikenberry, the woman who died in the fire, was a friend of Sara’s. I was wondering if maybe you knew her.”

“No,” Debra blurted. She hadn’t even stopped to think. “I didn’t. I’m sure I didn’t. Sara and I don’t travel in the same circles. There’d be no reason for us to have any of the same friends.”

One repudiation I’d have bought. Two would have been plenty. With three, Debra was pressing her luck.

“Because you haven’t really kept in touch.”

“That’s right. I’m sure I mentioned that on Saturday. Until all this started, it had been years since I’d even thought about Sara. If you’re trying to find out about Carole, you’d have to talk to Sara’s current friends, and that certainly wouldn’t be me.”

So I’d gathered. Repeatedly.

Debra pushed her plate away and caught the waiter’s eye. Immediately he came scurrying over. “Everything was delicious,” she told him. “We’ll have the check now.”

“Perhaps a nice espresso?” he offered.

“No.” Debra was already reaching for her purse. I was glad I’d eaten quickly. “Just the check.”

We split the total down the middle after arguing over the tip. Debra, it turned out, thought twelve percent was more than sufficient. If anyone was going to be cheap, it should have been me. That lunch had cost more than I usually spend on two days’ worth of groceries.

“You won’t forget what I said?” Debra reminded me as we parted at the door. “Confidential, right?”

“Sure,” I agreed. Why not? It wasn’t as if I’d been about to alert the media.

She seemed relieved. Debra’s stride was long and confident, and I watched the back of that pale yellow leather jacket until she became lost in the crowd.

As she slipped from sight, I realized what she’d said that had been bothering me. The other day, Debra had spoken about Sara as if the two of them had never been anything other than competitors turned enemies. Today, she’d characterized them as old friends.

Which one did she want me to believe? I wondered. More important, which one was closer to the truth?

T
hat afternoon I got stuck in traffic on the Merritt Parkway and barely beat Davey’s bus home. The big yellow vehicle came lumbering down the street as Faith and I were getting out of the car. While the Poodle sniffed around the front yard, checking to see if any strange dogs had invaded her territory while she’d been away, I walked over to the sidewalk to wait.

When the bus stopped and the door swished open, two seven-year-old boys emerged. Joey Brickman is Davey’s best friend. His family lives at the other end of the block, and his mother, Alice, and I had become good friends six years earlier over baby play-dates and gymboree.

“Hi, Joey,” I said, grabbing my son’s backpack as he ran past me to greet Faith. “What are you doing here?”

“Mom had to pick Carly up at school and take her to the doctor. She might have strep throat. Mom stopped by my classroom and told me to come home with Davey. She said she’d leave you a message about it.”

Carly was Joey’s younger sister. She’d started kindergarten in September and spent the last two months bringing home every germ and disease that an elementary school could incubate. Alice and I were used to covering for one another. Over the years, we’d made a habit of it.

“Okay.” I took Joey’s backpack, too. “Let’s go inside and get you guys something to eat.”

As expected, when we reached the kitchen the message light on the answering machine was blinking. I hit the “play” button on my way to the cupboard to get out some granola bars and a couple of glasses.

Alice’s voice filled the room. She sounded frazzled, and the message she’d left was just what Joey had said it would be. The machine didn’t click off when she finished speaking, however. Instead, there was a second message.

“Hi, Melanie, this is Maris Kincaid. I know this is short notice, but I’m calling because I was hoping we could get together this afternoon. This whole thing with Sara is really creeping me out. I’m grooming a dog in Stamford not too far from where you live, so I’m just going to stop by and see if you’re there. I hope that’s okay. See you later.”

“Fine by me,” I said to nobody in particular.

It seemed to be my day for drop-in guests. And for listening to people talk about Sara. Apparently I was the only person in the whole world who realized that what Sara was or wasn’t up to was no longer my concern.

The boys finished their snacks and went upstairs to play. Maris showed up a few minutes later.

“Good, you’re here,” she said when I opened the door. “Did you get my message?”

“About fifteen minutes ago. Come on in.”

“I’m sorry to just drop in like this, but I didn’t know who else to talk to.” Maris followed me into the living room. Her gaze settled on Faith. “Nice Poodle. Do you groom her yourself?”

“Yes. With some help from my Aunt Peg. She’s shown Standard Poodles for years.”

“Peg?” Her brow furrowed as she thought. “Peg Turnbull?”

I nodded.

“No wonder she’s a good one. What’s her name?”

“Faith.” Trying to sound like I wasn’t bragging, I added, “Champion Cedar Crest Leap of Faith.”

Maris sat down on the couch and patted her knee, calling Faith to her. “Since she’s still in hair, does that mean you’re specialing her?”

“No. She just finished week before last. As soon as it’s confirmed, the coat’s coming off.”

She twined her fingers through Faith’s dense coat and rubbed behind the Poodle’s ears. Faith leaned into the caress. If she’d been a cat, she’d have been purring. My dog was perfectly content, but I was ready to move things along.

“You said you wanted to talk to me about Sara,” I prompted. “Have you heard from her?”

“No.” Maris looked up, clearly surprised by the question. “Have you?”

“No, but Bertie Kennedy has. Sara called her yesterday. She wouldn’t give Bertie any details about what she’s been doing for the last week or where she is, but apparently she’s okay. If totally unconcerned about the people who’ve been worried about her.”

Maris shook her head. “That’s Sara all the way, isn’t it? Stir things up and let other people deal with the consequences. Look, I wasn’t entirely honest with you the other day.”

“Oh?”

“It’s not like you started out being honest with me,” she pointed out. “And I didn’t know you from Adam. So I didn’t see any reason why I should start telling Sara’s secrets to you.”

“And now?” I asked.

“Now things have just gotten weirder and weirder. A disappearance is one thing. On some level, I could even see how Sara might have enjoyed the drama of it. But then there was the fire. And the body. Carole Eikenberry’s body. I know perfectly well Sara’s not enjoying that. Nobody would.”

I leaned forward in my seat. “Did you know Carole Eikenberry?”

“Yeah. Not well, but we’d met a few times. She was a friend of Sara’s. A good buddy, I guess you’d say. I know they’d done a lot of things together over the last few months.”

“So she was someone who might have known who Sara’s mystery boyfriend is,” I mused.

I had no idea whether that made a difference or not. It was just another unsolved piece in an increasingly murky puzzle.

“Actually, that kind of has to do with why I’m here. You asked me before if I knew any reason why Sara might have run away and I said no, but the truth is, there was something. Sara didn’t want anyone to know. She made me promise not to tell anyone, so I didn’t.

“Not until now, anyway. And maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with the rest of this stuff. But with everything else that’s going on, I just figured I ought to talk to someone else so I’m not the only one keeping this secret. In case it
is
important. I had your phone number and I found your address in a dog show catalogue, so here I am.”

Maris kept chattering, but I wasn’t learning anything new. I wondered if she was going to get to the point any time soon.

“Now that there’s been a murder,” I said, “the police must be running an investigation. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather talk to them?”

“Positive. It’s bad enough I’m betraying Sara’s confidence to one person. I’m not about to spill the beans to the whole world. Besides, this isn’t about the murder. It’s personal. It’s the kind of news a woman has every right to keep private. Sara’s pregnant.”

Yikes, I thought. That
was
news.

“Are you sure?”

Maris looked annoyed. “All I know is what Sara told me the last time I saw her. She was trying to get me to take over some of her clients and I was telling her no deal. At first she just said she hadn’t been feeling well, but the more she kept talking, the more I began to suspect.

“When I guessed right, she was really irritated. Keeping the pregnancy a secret seemed really important to her. Sara wasn’t even two months along, so she wasn’t showing yet or anything. Last week when you told me she’d disappeared, I thought maybe that was why she hadn’t wanted anyone to know about the baby. Maybe she’d gone away to get rid of it.”

Sara wouldn’t have had to disappear to do that, I thought, but she might have wanted to take some time to recover in private.

“Didn’t she want the baby?” I asked.

“That’s the problem,” said Maris. “Things don’t exactly add up. Because Sara said that she did want the baby. In fact, she was thrilled with the idea. But then I wondered if maybe she’d changed her mind. It’s not like she’s married or anything, and she isn’t the kind of person I could picture wanting to settle down.

“I figured it would be just like Sara to drop out of sight, fix the problem, and then act as if the whole thing had never happened. You know how women get when they’re pregnant, all emotional and unpredictable.”

No, that was society’s perception of how women behaved when they were pregnant. As I remembered my own experience, I’d been remarkably level-headed. Of course, that was an admittedly biased view. Bob might have had a different opinion.

I sat for a minute and thought about things. Maris’s news certainly put a different slant on the situation. But unfortunately it didn’t address the bigger question: if Sara had merely dropped out of sight for a few days to ponder or even act upon her options, how had a dead body turned up in her burned-down house in her absence?

“Did Sara tell you who the baby’s father is?” I asked.

“No, and you better believe I asked. Having a baby is a big decision, not something you just do on the spur of the moment. Even Sara couldn’t be
that
impulsive. But she wouldn’t give me a clue. Just smiled and said there was no need to worry about minor details like that.”

Minor details? I wondered if that meant Sara wasn’t planning to tell the father.

I thought back to the first meeting I’d had with Debra at the tennis courts. She’d said Sara was looking for a lawyer. Could this have been the reason why?

I reached up and rubbed my temples. All this information was beginning to give me a headache. I read plenty of mysteries. I know perfectly well that people are supposed to give you answers. How come everyone I talked to just gave me more questions?

“What do you suppose this has to do with Carole Eikenberry?” I asked.

“I have no idea.” Maris nudged Faith gently aside and stood up. “And to tell you the truth, I’m not sure I want to know. Having Sara for a friend is like being on a roller-coaster ride. You’re either way up or way down. Well, right now I’m thinking about hopping off.”

I knew how she felt; I was about ready to jump ship myself. I stood and walked Maris to the door.

“Would you do me a favor?” she asked as she lifted her jean jacket off the coatrack and pulled it on.

“I’ll try.”

“You said that Bertie had heard from Sara?”

“Right. Yesterday.”

“If she hears from her again, or if you do, would you ask Sara to call me? She still owes me the money for all that work I did for her last week. I want to make sure it doesn’t slip her mind.”

Cold air billowed in when I opened the door. As soon as Maris had gone through, I pushed it shut behind her. I watched through the window as she got in her car and drove away. Somehow I suspected that the small sum of money Sara owed to Maris was the least of her problems.

Alice didn’t bother to knock. She simply let herself in the front door and walked straight back to the kitchen, where she found me with schoolwork spread out over the butcher block table. Faith, gnawing on a new rawhide chip, didn’t get up, though she did thump her tail up and down in greeting.

“Grab a seat,” I said. “And a soda, if you like.”

“Diet?” Alice was already heading toward the refrigerator. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and her lightly freckled skin was makeup free. Jeans, which had been tight a month earlier, were now merely snug.

“No, regular. Sorry. You look like you’ve lost some weight, though.”

“Maybe a pound or two. No time to eat. With both kids finally in school, you’d think I’d have more free time, but somehow it hasn’t worked out that way.”

“That’s what you get for volunteering to be kindergarten room mother. And speaking of which, how’s Carly?”

“Asleep in the car out front. Absolutely out like a light. I can only stay a minute. It is strep. They did a culture to confirm.” Alice popped the top on a can of Coke, guzzled down a long swallow, and sank into a chair on the opposite side of the table. “I’ll sit over here so I don’t contaminate you. I’m probably covered with germs.”

“Like I’m not.” Teachers run that risk every day. “Listen, I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Say you were pregnant . . .”

Alice snorted. “Bite your tongue!”

“Okay.” I grinned and started over. “
When
you were pregnant . . .”

“Better.”

“Do you think you were overly emotional or impetuous? Did you behave irrationally?”

“Eating patterns aside?” Alice cocked a brow.

“Sure.”

“No, I think I was a model of madonna-like stability.”

“For real?”

“For real.” Alice slouched back in her chair. “Why? Did you go nuts or something?”

“No, not that I remember.”

“Shoot up a post office? Sign up for the New York Marathon? Buy a satellite dish and stick it in the back yard? Wear Spandex to the ballet?”

“No,” I said, enjoying the mental images. “None of the above.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I’ve been looking for a woman—a friend of a friend—who seemed to have disappeared. While she was gone, her house burned down and someone was killed. Another friend just told me that the woman was pregnant, and implied she hadn’t been thinking clearly. I just wanted to get your take on the subject.”

“Anyone who’s involved in a fire and a murder probably isn’t thinking clearly. But it’s a stretch to blame either one on pregnancy. Otherwise you’d see a lot more dead husbands running around.”

Alice stopped, frowning as she thought about what she’d said. “You know what I mean.”

I did, and I agreed.

“Pregnant or not, whatever your friend has gotten herself mixed up in, I bet she went into it with her eyes wide open.”

That was what I was afraid of.