Once Bitten (A Melanie Travis Mystery) Read online

  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 e
vade 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.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  “Well . . . not impossible, certainly. It’s just that for the most part, he’s with Sara. Of course, I had him placed in the kennel for safekeeping. Only for some reason, Sara hasn’t been by to pick him up.”

  11

  Some reason indeed, I thought. If my staring had been impolite, the snort I was tempted to offer now would have come across as positively barbaric. Controlling my baser instincts, I asked instead, “Has anything like that ever happened before?”

  “Well, no. Although as I mentioned, Sara can be somewhat . . . unpredictable in her choices. I should think the very fact that she’s gone off and left her dog unattended would be enough to tell you that.”

  “Unless she didn’t have any choice.”

  “Delsy? I’m on my way out.” Grant Waring pushed the door open and stuck his head into the library. Seeing me, he abruptly straightened and entered the room. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you had company.” He strode over and offered his hand. “Hello. We met last weekend, didn’t we?”

  “Yes, at the dog show in Hartford. I’m a friend of Sara’s.”

  “Another dog fancier.” Grant rolled his eyes, but he managed to infuse the gesture with good humor. He turned to his wife. “Enough, darling. I find myself outnumbered already.”

  “Actually, the visit was my idea,” I explained. “I’ve been looking for Sara. No one has seen her since last Sunday.”

  “Really?” Grant didn’t sound any more alarmed by my news than his wife had been. He turned to Delilah for confirmation. “Is that true?”

  “Apparently so. But you know Sara. She’s always flitting off somewhere.”

  “This time she left Titus behind,” I mentioned. “All by himself, in her cottage.”

  Not a dog person, Grant only shrugged at that information. “Sorry to rush off. I’m afraid I have a pressing engagement. Pleasure to see you again.”

  Frowning slightly, I watched him walk out. No wonder Sara was always flitting off. With parents like these, I could see why she wouldn’t want to hang around home much.

  “I should be going, too,” I said. “Thank you for your time.”

  “Not at all.” Delilah rose from her chair to see me out. “You will remember me to your aunt, won’t you? Tell her I expect her to sit beside me at the Belle Haven Kennel Club meeting next month. It’s been too long since Peg and I had a chance to catch up.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that. Aunt Peg tells me you have beautiful Shetland Sheepdogs. How did you do at the shows last weekend?”

  “Oh, we weren’t entered.” Too discreet to take a jab at the judge—usually the only reason a hard-core exhibitor would have for missing a nearby show—Delilah only said, “One can’t go every time, you know. Were you showing?”

  Even a week later, the memory brought a huge grin and a rush of pleasure. “I won a major and finished my first Standard Poodle. Totally owner-handled.”

  “Now that is something.” Delilah smiled with me, understanding and sharing the source of my happiness. “Congratulations. Peg is lucky to have someone like you coming along to follow in her footsteps. I only wish Sara had felt the same way about my hobby.”

  “She has a Sheltie,” I felt obliged to point out. “And she shows in obedience.”

  “It’s not the same, is it? What a comfort it would be for me to know that there was someone to carry on the Scotchglen name. Sadly, Sara has made it very clear that it’s not going to happen.”

  Any sympathy I might have felt for the woman’s plight was tempered by the realization that, for Delilah, the fact that her line of dogs wouldn’t survive her held a deeper emotional significance than did her daughter’s disappearance.

  Dog people. No wonder regular folks thought we were nuts.

  Having run out of excuses, I got in my car and drove home to Stamford. It looked as though Bob was going to get his wish: he and I would finally be spending some time together. I was pretty sure, however, that things weren’t going to turn out the way he was hoping.

  Driving down the parkway, I rehearsed what I was going to say. We’re different people than we were then. You can’t’t turn back the clock. . . .

  That’s right, I thought irritably. Hit him with clichés. See if that helps.

  I thought for a moment and tried again. Just because you’ve lost Jennifer and I’ve lost Sam . . .

  I winced, shoulders shifting beneath my sweater. I was not going there.

  You still look good, too, but . . .

  Ouch! Definitely the wrong tack to take.

  Maybe I should just wing it, I decided. Go with my gut. Run with the ball. Or something like that.

  Then, unexpectedly, Bob saved me the trouble. At least for the time being. When I got home, the house was empty. No humans, no canines.

  Instead, there was a note on the kitchen counter. Bob had taken Davey, Eve, and Faith and gone to Frank’s place where the “men” (my quotes, not Bob’s) were planning to eat pizza, watch a football game, and teach Davey to belch. All right, I’m editorializing here, but you get the idea.

  Which meant that I had some more free time. First I fixed a sandwich, turkey on rye, and reveled in the unaccustomed luxury of eating an uninterrupted meal. Then I got back to work.

  As Maris had predicted, Debra Silver was indeed listed in the Greenwich phone book. Not only that, but the fact that she had no idea who I was didn’t seem to matter. Once I mentioned Sara Bentley’s name, our conversation was off and running.

  “Let me get this straight,” she said. “You’re a friend of Sara’s?”

  “No, not exactly.”

  “Good, then we have something in common.” Debra’s speech was fast and forceful. She shot out words like bullets. “Do you play tennis?”

  Since I was having trouble keeping up anyway, the non sequitur didn’t bother me as much as it might have. “No, not in years.”

  “Do you know where Shippan Point is?”

  “Down by the water in Stamford?”

  “Right. I’ve got a round-robin at the indoor tennis place there at three. Women’s league. Why don’t you meet me there? I’ll be rotating in and out all afternoon. You can tell me all the awful things you know about Sara and I’ll do the same.”

  “Deal,” I said.

  As I hung up the phone, I decided it was curious that, having spoken so far to Sara’s friends and family, I had yet to find a single person who was genuinely, without reservation, on Sara’s side. For a variety of reasons, the woman simply didn’t engender unqualified support. It would be interesting to hear what someone who called herself Sara’s enemy would have to say about her.

  Shippan Point is a navigator’s nightmare. I got lost twice on the way to the tennis facility; and the round-robin had already started when I arrived. I walked up the carpeted steps, passed the sign-in desk, and stopped in the viewing area overlooking the tennis courts. There were eight courts, all surfaced in Har-Tru. The competition looked pretty cutthroat.

  After a minute, I turned my attention to the lounge area. Comfy couches and chairs had been grouped in front of the large windows. The courts were full, and an additional half dozen women were sitting out. Most were sipping bottled water and watching the play. As I approached, one stood up and came to meet me.

  “Are you Melanie?” she asked. “I’ve been watching for you.”

  D
ebra’s face was flushed and her bangs curled in damp ringlets across her forehead. She wore sweatbands around each wrist, and a flexible brace supported her elbow. Her tennis dress was short and tight. Not that Debra didn’t have the figure for it, just that the effort seemed wasted in a women’s league match.

  “I just came off,” she said. “It’ll be at least twenty minutes until it’s my turn again. Let’s go sit down and you can tell me what this is about.”

  We found a pair of chairs on the other side of the lounge. We could still see the tennis courts, but the other women wouldn’t overhear what we were saying. Debra unscrewed the top of her water bottle, tilted back her head, and took a long, deep drink. Her throat, damp with sweat, pulsed with the effort of swallowing.

  “We play hard,” she said, sinking down into her chair with a sigh. “But don’t worry, I’ll catch my breath in a minute.”

  While she did, I told her why I had come. Debra was briefly surprised, then utterly delighted, by the news that Sara Bentley was missing.

  “Well, what do you know? Someone finally managed to drive the bitch away. More power to them, whoever they are.”

  “I guess you wouldn’t have any ideas?”

  “Me? What makes you ask that?”

  “I was told that you and she didn’t get along. That there was a problem with a dog when you were both showing in Junior Showmanship.”

  “Oh for Pete’s sake.” Debra sniffed. “That was such a long time ago. I don’t know how people still have the nerve to bring it up.” Despite her words, she didn’t look displeased by the thought that people might have been talking about her.

  “Would you mind telling me the story?”

  “Of course not. Do you show dogs?”

  I nodded.

  “Then you know what junior handling is.”

  “More or less.”

  “Briefly, it’s a competition where the handler’s ability is judged, rather than the dog they’re showing. The classes are open to juniors under the age of eighteen, and they can be pretty competitive.” Debra stopped and corrected herself. “Make that very competitive. Winning at the big shows really matters, and of course, everyone is trying like crazy to qualify for the all-important Junior Showmanship class at Westminster.”