Once Bitten (A Melanie Travis Mystery) (9 page)

“We’ll talk downstairs. I’ll be down in ten minutes.”

It took me less time than that to throw on a pair of black jeans, a heather gray cotton turtleneck, thick socks, and loafers. I used the extra five minutes to run the blow dryer through my hair and wonder what Bob wanted to talk to me about. Whatever it was, I was pretty sure I didn’t want to hear it.

“Bagels,” Bob said. He was manning the toaster oven when I walked into the kitchen. “I brought breakfast.”

“Thanks.” I looked around and made a quick decision. Davey, still in his pajamas, was seated at the table. The Poodles were watching hopefully as he smeared cream cheese across a toasted half. “Can I take mine to go?”

“Um, sure. I guess.” The toaster pinged. Bob opened the door and slid out two perfectly browned, crunchy halves of an onion bagel. My favorite. Without asking, he began to butter them both. I had to give him one thing, the man had a good memory. “Where are you going?”

“There are some people I need to see today. It’s kind of a favor for Bertie. You know, the wedding and all? I was going to take Davey with me, but since you’re here, I was thinking I could leave him with you and get an early start.”

“If that’s what you want,” Bob said evenly. “But we haven’t seen each other all week. I was hoping we could spend some time together today.”

“We will. Later.” I was only postponing the inevitable, but I was grasping at any straws I could get. “I’ll be back this afternoon.” I looked at Davey. “Is that okay with you? Do you think you can manage both Poodles all by yourself?”

“No problem,” my son said with confidence. “Dad will help, right?”

“Right,” Bob agreed. Outmaneuvered and outflanked, he conceded defeat.

At least that was what I thought.

My ex-husband wrapped my bagel in a paper napkin and brought it to me across the room. He stepped up beside me to hand it over, standing a good deal closer than was necessary. “You look just as good in clothes as you do out of them,” he said under his breath.

I snatched the bagel and backed away. I could feel my face growing warm.

“See you later,” Davey said cheerfully.

Bob just looked at me and smiled.

Drat.

Double drat.

Ignoring this problem wasn’t going to make it go away.

I
’d spoken with Maris Kincaid briefly the evening before, leaving her, I’m slightly ashamed to admit, with the impression that I was looking for someone to groom my Standard Poodles. That deception seemed preferable to the alternative: trying to explain over the phone that I’d broken into a friend’s home, retrieved her messages, and wanted to know why Maris had been making threatening phone calls.

A conversation like that, I’d decided, would go over much better in person.

Maris lived in an area of West Norwalk that appeared to have been developed in the fifties. The houses all had the homogenized look that had been popular in that era: street after street of colonial-style homes placed squarely on wooded one-acre lots. With the specter of world war in the not-too-distant past, Americans had found safety in sameness. Now the look was simply dated.

Whoever had built the development half a century earlier must have been a history buff, for the streets were all named after early patriots. I followed Nathan Hale Road until it ended on Betsy Ross Lane, then took a right and pulled over to the curb.

Except for its fenced yard, Maris’s house looked no different from any of the others. Like the neighboring town of New Canaan, Norwalk has stringent zoning laws. There was nothing to indicate from the curb that Maris was running a business in her basement.

She must have seen me drive up because Maris had her front door open before I’d even reached the steps. Her leg, lifted and braced against the door frame, blocked two sandy colored Wheaten Terriers from making their escape as I opened the storm door.

“Watch your step,” she said. “These guys are fast.”

I slipped inside and pulled the door quickly shut behind me. Maris’s approving nod ratified the tactic. She held out a hand and we introduced ourselves.

“I do most of my grooming downstairs,” she told me, heading toward the back of the house. “I can also make a house call, if you prefer, but the rates are pretty steep for that. Let me take you down and show you around. Please feel free to ask as many questions as you like. Believe me, I know how hard it is to trust your dog’s care to a stranger.”

Phooey, I thought as the two Wheatens bounced around us, vying for possession of a stuffed toy. Phone message notwithstanding, Maris was turning out to be a nice person. I hate it when that happens; especially when I’ve started things off by lying through my teeth.

“I have a confession to make,” I heard myself blurt. “I don’t really need my dogs groomed.”

Abruptly Maris stopped walking. She turned around and crossed her arms over her chest. “Then why are you here?”

“I have to talk to you about Sara Bentley.”

“What about her?”

“She seems to be missing.”

“I should hope so,” Maris snapped. “Otherwise she needs a damn good excuse for yanking me around again.”

I couldn’t think how to answer that, so I didn’t say a thing.

After a moment, Maris frowned. She began to look concerned. “You’re not kidding, are you?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Come on.” She led the way back to the living room, where we both sat down. “Tell me what’s going on. For starters, why did you come to me?”

“I heard the message you left on Sara’s answering machine yesterday. You sounded pretty angry.”

“I was. I still am.” Maris paused, then started again. “I mean, unless there’s actually something wrong. What makes you think Sara is missing, anyway?”

I explained about how Bertie had hired Sara to arrange her wedding, and about the note that had been delivered to Bertie at the show. “Bertie’s been trying to get in touch with her all week, but Sara’s disappeared and nobody’s seen her. She’s not returning her calls, either. Unless you’ve heard something . . . ?”

Maris shook her head. “In fact, I left a couple of messages myself. Sara never called me back. That’s one of the reasons why I was so mad when I left that message yesterday.”

I sat back on the couch. One of the Wheatens came over and rested his head on my knee. After a moment, his front legs, then his shoulders, had insinuated themselves up into my lap. Maris didn’t seem to mind, so I let him keep climbing.

“What are the other reasons?”

“I got a message from Sara last Sunday, too. I was at the show, but she left it here on my answering machine. I figured she didn’t have the nerve to face me in person.”

“What was it about?”

“Business.” Her tone was curt. Maris was back to being annoyed. “Sara left me her whole week’s worth of clients to take care of. Said something about it being too last-minute to cancel on them and she was sure I wouldn’t mind filling in.”

“Let me guess. You did mind.”

“Of course I did. For one thing, my own schedule was already full. For another, she had me baby-sitting a Siamese cat over in Rowayton.” She shuddered slightly. “I’m a dog person. I don’t
do
cats. Adding insult to injury, Sara bills her regular clients monthly. I didn’t see any money for all the extra work I did, and I probably never will.”

I scratched behind the Wheaten’s ears and gave Maris a moment to cool off. “Considering she felt free to call you like that, I guess you and Sara must be pretty good friends.”

“Most of the time. I’m sure you know what Sara’s like. She means well and she’s lots of fun to be around, but the usual rules of friendship don’t really apply. I mean, no matter what’s going on, it’ll never be about your life or your problems. In Sara’s mind, everything is always all about Sara.”

Pretty much the same thing Bertie had said.

“On the other hand, I’ve never known her to just pick up and disappear. Sara thrives in a social context. It doesn’t seem at all like the type of thing she’d do. I hope she’s okay.”

Maris held out her hand and snapped her fingers. Immediately the Wheaten Terrier left my lap and went to her. “What about Titus? Where’s he?”

“As far as we know, she took him with her. He wasn’t at her house. Can you think of any reason why Sara might have chosen to run away?”

“No. If something was really wrong, I imagine she would have talked about it. I know she’s been going through a bit of a rough patch lately . . .”

“Problems?” I prompted when her voice trailed away.

Maris looked up. She seemed almost surprised to discover that she’d spoken aloud.

“It was nothing Sara couldn’t handle,” she said firmly. “Having Delilah for a mother, one thing that girl knows how to do is cope.”

“Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Sara?”

Maris stopped to think before answering. In fact, she thought for so long that I began to wonder if I was about to hear about that recent rough patch. Alas, it didn’t happen.

“Sara isn’t always the easiest person to get along with,” Maris said finally. “But for someone to actually want to do her harm? That seems pretty far-fetched. Unless of course you want to talk about Debra Silver. Not that I think she’s the violent type or anything, but she hates Sara with a passion. Has for years.

“I think it goes back to something that happened when they were showing against each other in junior showmanship. How anyone could hold a grudge for an entire decade, I have no idea, but you know dog people. Whatever happened, Debra has neither forgotten nor forgiven.”

“I heard a story,” I said. “Something about Sara poisoning a competitor’s dog?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Frankly, it’s old news. I don’t know the whole story and I never cared enough to chase the rest of it down. If you’re interested, I’m sure Debra will be happy to fill you in.”

“Thanks.” It sounded like a long shot, but it wasn’t as if I had any better ideas. “Do you know how I can get in touch with her?”

“Look in the Greenwich phone book.” Maris wrinkled her lips in distaste. “Debra married well, and she never lets the rest of us forget it. I’m sure you won’t have any trouble tracking her down.”

“I’ll do that,” I said, rising. “I appreciate your taking the time to talk to me.”

“You’re welcome. Look, when you find Sara, tell her I was worried about her, okay?”

“Sure.”

Maris walked me to the door. Her expression was grim. “Yesterday I was so mad at Sara I could have strangled her. Now all I can think is that I hope she didn’t do something desperate. She wouldn’t just duck out on her friends without leaving word with somebody. If Sara’s disappeared, then something’s very wrong.”

From Maris’s house I wound my way across the back roads through Silvermine to New Canaan. Though Bertie had spoken to Sara’s parents on the phone, I figured it couldn’t hurt to stop by and see them in person. Now that another two days had passed without word from their daughter, maybe they’d be more concerned.

I called ahead from the car to make sure they were home. Delilah Waring sounded surprised, and not entirely pleased, to hear from yet another friend of Sara’s; but I kept dropping Aunt Peg’s name into the conversation until she agreed to see me for a few minutes. I told her I was on my way.

Ten minutes later, I was parked out front. A housekeeper showed me to the library, where I was offered refreshment and told that Mrs. Waring would be with me shortly.

Another ten minutes passed before Delilah came gliding into the room. I’d expected to hear her coming; assumed that her entrance would be preceded by the sound of Shelties barking, playing, accompanying their mistress in her daily routine. But to my surprise, Delilah was alone. Maybe she was one of those people who didn’t like the thought of dogs shedding all over her expensive furniture.

Like a meticulously groomed Sheltie being paraded before the ringside, Delilah Waring presented herself beautifully. Judging by Sara’s age, I knew the woman had to be at least fifty; she looked easily a decade younger. Though Delilah was tiny in stature, her presence seemed to fill the entire room. Or maybe she just sucked the air out of it. I could see how Sara might have had a hard time competing with a mother like this.

“How nice of you to come.” Delilah’s tone was formal. Though we both knew differently, her words implied that my visit had been her idea. She didn’t offer to shake hands, but instead waved her slender fingers toward an austere-looking couch. “Please sit down. Polly will bring us tea in a moment.”

I’d barely found a spot to perch before Delilah began to speak. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand why you’re here. Something about Sara? I try not to get too involved in my daughter’s escapades. Whatever it is, I think you’d do better to speak to Sara directly.”

Even though I knew it wasn’t polite to stare, I couldn’t seem to help myself. Bertie had told me she’d talked to Sara’s parents. She must have mentioned her concerns. How was it possible that Sara’s mother didn’t know her daughter had disappeared?

“Mrs. Waring—”

She laughed lightly—a skill that seemed eminently suited to hosting garden parties on the back terrace. “Please, dear, call me Delilah. Everybody does.”

“Delilah.” I found myself leaning forward in my seat, trying to impart a sense of urgency to my words. “I can’t speak with Sara. She’s missing and nobody knows where she is. She hasn’t been seen or heard from since last weekend.”

“Don’t be silly.” Delilah’s smile never faltered. “Sara isn’t missing. Oh, good, here’s Polly now.”

I waited impatiently while the housekeeper set a large tray bearing a silver tea set on the coffee table between us and Delilah poured the tea into two delicate china cups. I don’t drink tea if I can help it, but Delilah hadn’t asked for my opinion, and I didn’t offer it. She handed me a cup and I set it down on the end table beside me.

“Delilah,” I said, trying to draw her attention back to the matter at hand. “Do you know where Sara is?”

She raised her head, blinked slowly several times, took a sip of tea, and finally said, “No.”

“Doesn’t that worry you?”

“Not particularly. My daughter’s a grown woman. She makes her own decisions and leads her own life. I try not to interfere.”

Not bloody likely, I thought. No doubt the tea was having an effect on my choice of profanity.

“I believe you spoke to Bertie Kennedy a couple of days ago?”

Delilah inclined her head. I took the gesture for agreement.

“Bertie hired Sara to plan her wedding, which is coming up shortly. They were supposed to be in constant contact over the arrangements. Sara had already started to put together some plans when she unexpectedly dropped out of sight.”

“Dropped out of sight?” Delilah set down her cup and laughed again. The sound was really beginning to get on my nerves. “Oh please, let’s not be dramatic.”

“I’m not—”

“It’s obvious you don’t know my daughter very well. Let me tell you something about Sara. She is a delightful girl with many good qualities, but perseverance isn’t one of them.

“She starts well, always has. But she lacks the stamina to go the distance. Believe me when I say we’ve been through this before. Look around you. This is where Sara grew up. She had advantages that many girls would have killed for. But did she use them to make something of herself? I’m afraid not.”

“But still—”

“Let me be blunt,” Delilah said. I wondered what she thought she’d been up until that point. “Sara’s a quitter. That job she took from Bertie was probably the impetus that made her run away. This isn’t the first time she’s ducked out to evade responsibility, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

Though I doubted it would pierce Delilah’s ironclad armor, I gave things one last shot. “As I’m sure you know, Sara has a large circle of friends. None of them have heard from her all week. Her cottage is empty. Titus is gone. . . .”

Something, the merest flicker in Delilah’s eyes, made me pause. “Is Titus gone?”

For the first time since my arrival, Delilah looked briefly flustered. “Now that you mention it, that is a little odd. Titus is here. Out in the kennel. One of the kennel maids found him wandering around the grounds at the beginning of the week.”