Hot Dog (24 page)

S
am didn't answer right away. I felt the full weight of my accusing words, hanging in the air between us. Where were Peter and Rose with that wine anyway? Lord knew I could use a swig of alcohol right about then. Not to mention an interruption.

As if, I thought irritably. My aunt and uncle were probably inside the house, listening to every word we said through the screen door. I couldn't count on either one of them for a timely intervention.

“I realize you're angry,” Sam said quietly. “Maybe I didn't realize how angry. But I'm back now. That should count for something.”

I stared past him, out into the small yard with its detached one-car garage. In the next yard, pastel sheets hung on a clothesline, wafting gently in the evening breeze. “It means a lot. But it doesn't change the course of my life. You had the power to do that once, and you gave it up. I'm glad you're back, Sam. I hope we can rebuild what we had, but unlike you I can't just erase what happened and slide back to where we were.”

Sam frowned. Now his hands were braced on the railing. His fingers flexed open and shut. I guessed I wasn't the only one wishing for that drink.

“I understand what you're saying. There's an element of trust that has to be re-earned. But I can't do it all on my own, Mel. You've got to give me a chance.”

I stared at him. “How have I not given you a chance?”

“Yesterday, for example. When your house was broken into, I had to find out about it from Peg. Why didn't you call me yourself? Why didn't you let me be the one who was there for you?”

“I didn't think of it,” I said honestly.

Sam winced as if the truth hurt. Any pity I might have felt was tempered by the fact that I was hurting, too. Once, Sam would have been the first call I'd made, and we both knew it.

“You didn't think of it?” His tone hardened.
“You didn't think of it?
If that's the best answer you can come up with, then something is seriously wrong—”

“Sam, be a dear and get the door for me, would you?” Aunt Rose sang out. Her voice was filled with fake cheer. It was also unnaturally loud. She appeared on the other side of the screen door, both hands clasping a tray filled with cheese and crackers, wine and glasses.

Sam threw me a glance to let me know that our discussion wasn't finished. Not by a long shot, I thought in agreement as he crossed the porch and drew the door open.

Rose smiled at the two of us gaily. “Peter's just spooning some marinade over the steaks. He'll be out to join us in a minute. In the meantime, Melanie, why don't you pour?”

Aunt Rose, ever the organizer, was at her best when it came to whipping people into action. Having gone to school at Divine Mercy myself, I knew for a fact that the convent ran like clockwork. The sisters had little patience with slackers and Rose was no exception.

The wine bottle was already open. It was an easy task to half-fill the four goblets. While I was doing that, Aunt Rose placed slices of cheese on several crackers. When Sam looked as though he was about to speak, she hurriedly handed him one. In fact, she all but jammed it into his mouth.

“There now,” she said, surveying us both with satisfaction. “That's much better, isn't it?”

Détente, Aunt Rose style. And pity the poor fool who didn't leap to follow her lead.

“Everything fine out here?” asked Peter, coming to join us.

“Just dandy,” Sam agreed. Unless he wanted to be silenced with another wedge of cheddar, what choice did he have?

“That's what I thought.” Peter poked at the coals with a long-handled fork. Gray on top, they glowed red underneath. “These look just about ready. Let's get this show on the road.”

While the steaks cooked and were subsequently served, we discussed Dox's disappearance. Peter wanted to know whether I'd spoken to George Firth. Rose asked if I had any leads. Sam was concerned for the little Dachshund's welfare.

“Bottom line,” I said, “I have to think that whoever has Dox is probably taking good care of him, because they certainly went to enough trouble to get him. Breaking into my house in broad daylight was a pretty bold move. It was just the thief's good luck that nobody saw anything, especially as Jill Prescott arrived on the scene only a short time later.”

“That reporter from the dog show?” Sam looked up. “Don't tell me she's still hanging around.”

I nodded unhappily. “I saw her earlier today.”

Both Rose and Peter needed to be filled in. I helped myself to some more Caesar salad and obliged them. By the time I was finished, Peter was chuckling to himself.

“That woman must have a wonderful imagination,” he said, patting his mouth with his napkin. “Imagine thinking you actually go around falling over dead bodies.”

Rose, Sam, and I shared a look. Belatedly, Peter caught on that we weren't laughing with him.

“What?” he asked.

“It's just . . . I do seem to have become entangled in more than my share of mysteries.”

“Oh, that.” Peter dismissed the issue with a wave of his hand.

Oh, that?
Like me, Rose and Sam seemed stunned into silence. After a long moment, during which none of us said a word, Peter felt compelled to explain.

“I've met Peg, haven't I? That woman's a force of nature all on her own. Let's just say that a taste for the unusual seems to run in your family. Not to mention a propensity for trouble.”

Peter's brown eyes were twinkling. Sam was beginning to look amused as well. Suddenly I couldn't help but wonder whether he was thinking about our broken engagement and coming to the conclusion that he'd had a narrow escape.

“Even so,” Peter continued, “I have to believe your reporter must be an optimist. Look at the law of averages. How often can things like that crop up?”

Considering how pleased Peter seemed with his conclusions, I decided not to mention my missing wallet, the hang-up phone calls, or the specter who'd been wandering through my house in the dead of night. Optimist indeed. The way my life was going, Jill's investigative instincts might turn out to be right on the money. And the next body someone tripped over could well be mine.

“Who wants dessert?” Aunt Rose asked. It seemed to be her evening for smoothing over awkward moments. “I've got cheesecake!”

Taking our cue, we all pitched in and helped to clear the table. Thankfully, when we were settled in our seats once more with coffee and dessert, the conversation turned to less personal topics.

An hour later, as I was preparing to leave, Peter pulled me aside. “We're putting together the program for the auction and I'll be sending it to the printer later in the week. What should I do about the Dachshund puppy?” he asked. “Is he in or out?”

Good question. And tough to answer on a number of levels. Before I could decide what to say, Peter went on without me. It was clear he'd given the issue quite a bit of thought.

“Rose tells me you and Peg think it's a terrible idea to offer a live animal as one of the prizes. Until she brought it up, I probably hadn't given the issue enough thought. George Firth offered a donation and I was happy to accept it. To tell the truth, I was more concerned about caring for the puppy in the meantime than I was about what would happen to it afterward.

“Of course, I can see now that I was wrong not to have thought things through. And the fact that the puppy is missing simply complicates matters. If I withdraw him from the charity event, I should, by rights, return him to Mr. Firth. Of course, that's not possible at the moment, either. What are the chances you're going to be able to find him?”

Fair, I thought.

“Pretty good,” I said aloud. It was what Peter wanted to hear.

His expression brightened at the news. “Do your best, will you, and I'll try to stall George Firth in the meantime. I'd love to see this problem resolved. The last thing a charity event needs is bad publicity. And Mr. Firth struck me as the kind of man who could make a lot of noise if he was so inclined.”

“Ready to go?” Sam joined us in the hallway. He was wearing his jacket and holding mine. “Why don't I walk you to your car?”

“Umm . . . sure.”

As Sam knew perfectly well, the Volvo was no more than twenty feet away at the other end of a well-lit walkway. Chivalry was hardly called for. Which probably meant that he planned to continue our earlier discussion.

“Perfect.” Aunt Rose was beaming, her pleasure in our couple-dom as transparent as a sheet of glass. “Thank you both so much for coming.”

Fully conscious of the fact that Rose and Peter were watching us through their front window, I still found myself walking out to the curb in silence. I knew what they were hoping to see, but I had no intention of putting on a performance.

When we reached the Volvo, Sam took the key out of my hand and fitted it into the lock. “I don't want you to take this the wrong way,” he said, “but I'd like to see you home.”

For a surprised moment, I couldn't quite think how to respond. I glanced toward his BMW, parked up ahead.

“I'll follow you in my car. When we get to your house, I can go in first and make sure everything's all right.”

“Faith and Eve—” I started to say, then stopped. Yes, the two big Poodles were standing guard. For all the good that had done me before.

“Will both be glad to see me,” Sam finished. “In fact, they'll probably be delighted. I'd like to spend the night, Melanie.”

“No—”

“In your bed, on the couch. Hell, on the floor, if that's where you want to put me. I just don't think you should be alone.”

Where had this sudden protective streak come from? I wondered. How much had Aunt Peg told him? I gazed up at Sam. His face was half in shadow, half in light, illuminated by the amber street lamp above. “Why?”

“In all the time I've known you, you've never sent Davey away before. You can tell me he went to Bob's for spring break, but I don't have to believe it. Something's going on, and since I don't hear you denying it, I'm betting things are even worse than I've been told. Bad enough for you to think you need to put your son somewhere out of harm's way. Whatever's going on, Melanie, you don't have to face it alone. Let me help you.”

Lord, but I was tempted. Sam had no idea how much I simply wanted to melt into the security of his arms. How nice it would be to pass along the burden of my fears and let someone else do the worrying for a change. Mostly I just wanted to stop being afraid of whatever it was that was out there stalking me, disrupting my life, and making me second-guess my every move.

But even so, I knew this was wrong.

If I let Sam come home with me, I could pretty much count on the fact that nobody would end up sleeping on the floor, unless perhaps one of the Poodles found the bed too crowded. Going for the quick fix might help my short-term problems, but it wouldn't give us anything to build on for the future. It also wouldn't quiet that little voice that wondered if I allowed myself to lean on Sam now, what would I do the next time he decided he was feeling confined and needed to get away?

“Thank you.” I lifted a hand and cradled the side of his jaw. The skin was unexpectedly smooth. He must have shaved again that evening before coming to dinner.

His hand came up to cover mine. “For what?”

“For caring.”

I felt Sam sigh, rather than heard it. His hand slipped away. “You know I care, Melanie. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I said.

Once upon a time, I'd thought that was enough. I'd believed that love could overcome any obstacle. But unfortunately, experience had taught me differently. Now I knew that no matter how much you believed, love didn't automatically lead to happily ever after.

“I appreciate your offer, but I'm sure I'll be fine. My locks are good, my dogs are big.” I tried out a small smile. “And apparently the only thing worth stealing in my house is already gone.”

“It's your call.” Sam stepped back. “We'll handle this any way you want. If you'd rather be alone, I guess I'll just have to understand.”

“Thank you.” My throat tightened. Some independent woman. If I didn't get out of there soon, I was going to turn into a mound of quivering Jell-O.

“If you change your mind, call my cell phone. I'll come right away.”

“I will,” I said. Even though I didn't plan on taking him up on it, the offer meant a lot.

Sam stood by the curb and watched me drive away. I couldn't see his expression in the half-light, but I didn't need to. I could tell by the set of his shoulders, by the way he'd jammed his hands into his pockets, that he wasn't happy.

Well, since you're wondering, neither was I. Though we'd only parted moments earlier, I already missed him. I missed the way our thoughts connected so quickly that we could finish each other's sentences. I missed the way my body drew warmth and strength from his. I missed the feeling of well-being that surrounded me whenever we were together. Worse still was the knowledge that Sam had offered me all of that; and this time I had been the one who'd walked away.

My house was waiting for me just as I'd left it. An assortment of lights was on to keep the shadows at bay. The two Standard Poodles met me at the front door. I let them out back and went to the pantry for biscuits, performing the simple tasks by rote, and berating myself for not allowing Sam to be there to share them with me.

His presence was so indelibly imprinted on my thoughts that later, after I'd checked the locks on all the doors and climbed into bed, I still had trouble concentrating on anything else. The book I was reading couldn't hold my interest. Its prose was unable to nudge other, more stimulating images from my mind.