Hot Dog (23 page)

“Since you're going out this evening anyway,” Peg continued, “I thought you could stop by and see her on your way over to Rose's.”

Anyone who thinks that a stop in Ridgefield is on the way from Stamford to Cos Cob has never consulted a map of Connecticut. Not that Aunt Peg lets such simple logistics get in her way.

“Should I take that to mean that Marian is expecting me?”

“She will be.” Aunt Peg sounded satisfied. “Just as soon as I call and let her know you're coming.”

Maybe Aunt Peg hadn't been childless, I thought as I hung up the phone. Maybe she'd eaten her young.

It would explain a lot.

O
n the way to Marian Firth's house, the thought crossed my mind that perhaps Aunt Peg, in her own sneaky, underhanded fashion, was actually trying to sabotage my evening with Aunt Rose. I mean, really. Why else would she send me all the way up to Ridgefield when I was supposed to be heading to Cos Cob?

My two aunts have always been competitive with one another. And since Rose and Peter moved back to the area, it's taken a great deal of diplomacy on my part not to get caught in the middle. Or maybe I was just being paranoid. On the other hand, I reflected—and the long drive offered me plenty of time for reflection—given the current state of my life, a little paranoia didn't seem entirely out of line.

As Aunt Peg had promised, Marian was expecting me. She opened the door with an expectant smile. Almost immediately her face fell.

“Oh,” she said. “When Peg told me you were coming to see me I just assumed you'd bring my puppy with you.”

Either Marian Firth was a wonderful actress, I decided, or she had no idea that Dox was missing.

“Sorry,” I said. “I do need to talk to you about him, though.”

“Of course.” She stepped aside. “Please come in.”

The three Dachshunds I'd met on my last visit, two smooths and a wirehair, came tumbling into the hall like a troupe of circus acrobats. At least they looked like the same ones to me. It's taken me several years to reach the point where I can tell several black Poodles apart with total assurance. Sorting out Dachshunds was a skill still in my future.

“Tell me all about my puppy,” Marian said. “I want to hear everything.”

Tough assignment, that. I decided to wait until we were seated opposite one another in the living room before trying to explain.

“Dox was doing very well,” I said. “As you know, I've been keeping him at my house. He and my Poodles were getting along beautifully.”

“Were?” Immediately Marian picked up on my use of the past tense. If anything, the woman looked even more fragile than she had on my last visit. “Has something happened?”

“I'm sorry to have to tell you this,” I said, “but Dox has disappeared.”

Marian's fingers, slender, long, impossibly white, flew to her throat. “He's gone? How is that possible?”

“My house was broken into yesterday—”

“You
lost
my puppy?”

“No,” I corrected. “I didn't lose him. He was taken from inside my house.” I paused to let that sink in, then added, “It crossed my mind that you might have had something to do with his disappearance.”

“You must be joking.” Marian stared at me for a long moment. She seemed to be gathering her strength, and when she spoke again her voice had hardened. “Why would you think something like that?”

“Why wouldn't I? You've made no secret of your desire to get Dox back by whatever means possible. Aunt Peg told me about your scheme to try to trick your ex-husband into giving the puppy away.”

“You needn't make it sound as though that's something shameful,” Marian snapped. “If anyone deserves to be tricked, it's George. Of course I want the puppy back. But it has to be done through the proper channels. I need his registration papers, with everything signed and aboveboard. Dox's value to me lies in his potential as a show dog and stud. Without his papers, he's just another cute Dachshund puppy.”

And here I'd thought Marian's major concern had been for Dox's welfare. Considering the show she'd put on last time we'd met, maybe I needed to reconsider my assessment of her acting skills.

“So, then, you don't have any idea where Dox might be?”

“Certainly not.”

Marian's fingers had begun to drum on the arm of the sofa. I wondered what she was thinking.

“Do you think George might have had something to do with Dox's disappearance?”

“I wouldn't put it past him. Then again, I wouldn't put anything past my ex-husband.”

“He called and left a message for me Saturday night,” I said. “He told me he wanted Dox returned. But before I had a chance to get back to him, the puppy was gone.”

“Serves him right,” Marian muttered. “What did George say when you told him the puppy was missing?”

“As it happens, I haven't told him.”

“May I ask why not?”

I could have said that I hadn't had the chance, but that was an evasion, at best. It was bad enough that I was on my way to offer explanations and apologies to Peter and Rose. At the moment, George was just one more complication I didn't want to deal with. Besides, there was always the possibility that with luck, and perhaps a little judicious sleuthing on my part, Dox might turn up.

All of which was more than I wanted to explain to Marian. “Because it seems unlikely to me that he'd resort to stealing a puppy he already owns,” I said instead.

Her back stiffened. “And yet you thought to come and question me.”

I glanced around the cluttered living room. It was hard not to compare Marian's small, shabby house with George's sumptuous condo. If she thought she'd been offended before, wait until she heard this.

“Your ex-husband is under the impression that you'd like to get back together with him,” I said. “And it has occurred to me that the biggest bone of contention between you is Dox. Removing that source of friction might go a long way toward smoothing the path to reconciliation.”

“Reconcile with George?” Marian's brow lifted. “Are you mad? I was lucky to get out when I did. I'm only sorry I didn't divorce the bum sooner.”

“That's not what he said.”

“You're a fool if you believe everything that George told you.”

Abruptly Marian stood. The red Dachshund who'd been lying in her lap jumped nimbly to the ground. When she strode toward the door, I had no choice but to get up and follow.

“I have only one more thing to say.” Marian's voice was firm as she held the door open for me to walk through. “If that puppy were a child, and I rescued him, I'd be hailed as a hero. There ought to be laws to protect innocent animals from self-serving schemers like George. Thank goodness there are still people in the world who abhor cruelty and aren't afraid to step forward and do something about it.”

I was outside on the step before the full import of her words sank in. Immediately I spun around. “Does that mean—?”

The door slammed shut in my face.

Considering the week I'd been having, it figured.

 

 

It was with decidedly mixed emotions that I finally got myself on the road and heading in the direction of Cos Cob. Maybe Aunt Peg wasn't the only one who'd used my visit to Marian Firth as a delaying tactic. Much as I enjoyed Rose and Peter's company, I couldn't help but feel that I was being shanghaied into a situation they were intending to manipulate to their own ends.

Frank's former abode, now Rose and Peter's home, was located in a spacious Victorian house that had been remodeled in the middle of the last century to form three good-sized apartments. Traffic on the quiet side street was almost nonexistent, and the Long Island Sound was only a ten-minute walk away. The apartment was a find, and Rose and Peter had been delighted to inherit the lease from their nephew.

By the time I arrived, Sam's silver BMW was already parked out front. That's what I got for running late. I'd lost my opportunity to speak with my aunt and uncle in private and warn them of dire consequences if they so much as alluded to Sam's and my troubled relationship. My only consolation was the knowledge that it probably wouldn't have done much good anyway.

“It's about time you got here!” Peter threw open the front door and drew me inside.

He gathered me into his arms for a spontaneous embrace and I hugged him back warmly. Peter Donovan is one of my favorite relatives. Of course, he wasn't born into my family—we had to grab him by marriage—which is probably why he seems so blessedly normal.

Peter was a former priest who'd left his vocation at the same time Aunt Rose had stopped being Sister Anne Marie. In the three years since they'd made those life-altering decisions, I'd never heard either express a moment's regret for the cloistered lives they'd left behind. Instead, both my aunt and uncle had devoted themselves to continuing on as their faith dictated, doing good works and trying to make the world a better place for those they came in contact with.

“I'm not that late, am I?” I handed Peter a bottle of merlot and followed him toward the back of the apartment. “Where are Sam and Rose?”

“Out on the porch. Rose and I got the idea this would be the perfect opportunity to hold the first barbeque of the year. Last I saw, she and Sam were leaning over the grill. They're probably still negotiating the charcoal briquette to lighter fluid coefficient.”

“No, we've solved that problem,” Sam announced as Peter and I joined them. Bright orange flames, leaping high into the air out of the open grill behind him, didn't exactly support his claim. “Now we're talking about you.”

“Me?” I said with all the innocence I could muster. “I can't imagine why.”

“Of course you can,” Rose said briskly. One holdover from her convent days was a marked distaste for prevarication. “Where's Davey? Weren't we expecting him, too?”

Now that she mentioned it, yes. I'd forgotten all about the fact that he'd been included in the invitation. “We had a change of plan. Sorry, I should have called and told you about it. Davey's spending the week with Bob.”

“The whole week?” Sam sounded surprised. He knew I'd never let Davey out of my sight for that long before. “How did that come about?”

“Oh, you know,” I said lightly. “It's spring break.” I wondered if I was fooling anyone. They didn't look convinced.

Peter caught my eye and winked. “I'm sure he's having a marvelous time with his new pony. Much better than he'd have here, hanging around with us old fogies.” He slipped an arm around his wife's shoulders. “Rose, Melanie brought us a lovely merlot. Come inside and help me pour, won't you?”

Judging by the disgruntled expression on my aunt's face, Peter's intervention had saved me, at least temporarily, from an inquisition. Of course, their departure also left me standing on the porch alone with Sam. My ex-fiancé was looking more than a little disgruntled himself.

He folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the porch railing. His long, blue jeans-clad legs were thrust straight out in front of him. His feet were encased in a pair of battered topsiders worn, as always, without socks. I found myself mesmerized by the tiny blond hairs that curled over the top of his feet. Or maybe I just didn't want to meet his gaze.

“What's going on, Mel?” Sam asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I get the feeling you're avoiding me. I'd like to know why. I'm thinking maybe it's because of Bob.”

“Bob?” The single shocked word simply slipped out. Sam had to be kidding. He was so far off base it was almost laughable. “What does Bob have to do with anything?”

“That's what I'd like to know.” Sam unfolded his arms. He reached up and ran a hand through his already mussed hair. “Look, I'd have to be an idiot not to realize that leaving last year might not have been the best decision I ever made. At the time, I thought—no, let's say I hoped—you'd understand why I felt it was something I had to do. But obviously my not being here gave your ex-husband the opening he was looking for. By the time I got back, he'd all but moved in—”

“He had not,” I interrupted hotly.

Maybe I'd briefly entertained the notion of reconnecting with my ex. Emphasis on
briefly
. Bob had arrived in Connecticut at a time when I was feeling particularly adrift. Particularly vulnerable. He'd capitalized on my fragile state, and I hadn't moved as quickly as I might have to stop him. But in the end, I'd said no, firmly and unequivocally. And Bob had never been led to believe, for even a moment, that he might be returning to live with Davey and me.

“All right, maybe I don't mean that literally,” Sam said. “But figuratively, it's true. The guy moved in on a relationship I thought was pretty solid. One that should have been able to withstand a small separation.”

“A
small
separation?” I echoed incredulously. “Is that what you call it? To me it felt as though a chasm had opened up and swallowed me whole. You turned your back on me and walked out of my life.”

Sam looked as though he wanted to say something. I didn't give him a chance to speak. “I hate to admit it, but if you'd given me the opportunity to beg you to stay, I probably would have done it. But you didn't even do that, because my opinion didn't matter to you. You just left. And all I did—all I
could
do—was stand there and watch you go.”