Once Bitten

A Melanie Travis Mystery

Laurien Berenson

KENSINGTON BOOKS Kensington Publishing Corp. http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

ere looking for something small, Bertie said. Cozy. Intimate. Bertie Kennedy was Franks ance, a professional handler on the Northeast dog show circuit. When Id introduced the two of them fteen months earlier, I never dreamed things would come to this. Of course its going to be small, Sara Bentley replied. Youre only giving me six weeks. With that kind of lead time, youll be lucky if we pull this off at all. Youll manage. With enviable calm, Bertie eyed the woman shed chosen to plan her upcoming nuptials. You always do. No, I dont. Saras thick, dark curls bounced from side to side as she shook her head. Thats the whole point. What whole point? I wondered. What did Sara and Bertie know that I didnt? I sneaked a glance at the legal pad Sara had balanced across her knees. Her Mont Blanc pen was poised to y across the page, but though wed been talking for the past fteen minutes, she had yet to make a single note.

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Dont be silly, said Bertie. Youve had some bad luck, thats all. And maybe some bad timing. This job is going to be perfect for you. Sara relaxed her shoulders slightly. When she smiled, her whole face lit up. I guessed her to be about the same age as Bertie and me: late twenties, early thirties, but happyshe looked as innocent as a child. Well, I do have impeccable taste. Precisely. And great organizational skills. Not to mention entertaining contacts up the wazoo. I do know how to throw a party, Sara admitted. And how to close a bar, Bertie mentioned. Clearly there was history between these two women that I was missing out on. Sara laughed, not offended in the least. She brushed her unruly hair out of her eyes and got down to business. I sat and watched as the two of them ran through the basics of what Bertie wantedyellow everything, no quiche, and a really kick-ass bandand wondered what I was doing there. Or, more precisely, since the meeting was taking place at my house, what were they doing here? When Bertie had called the night before and asked me to sit in on a meeting with her wedding planner, Id been happy to oblige. I liked Bertie a lot, and I thought shed make a superb addition to the family. Frank had not only chosen well, hed also, to my way of looking at things, been incredibly lucky to nd someone as great as Bertie who was willing to take him on. Then again, Im no expert when it comes to charting the course of true love. Sams unexpected ight had certainly proven that. I also know next to nothing about planning a wedding or any other sort of large social function, and so far I hadnt proven any help at all.

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What do you think? Bertie asked, poking me in the knee hard. A buffet is a good idea, right? No way people want to have to sit down and eat. Besides, were going to keep this small and casual. Everyone can help themselves when they feel like it. Sure A squeal from the next room, followed by the sound of several high-pitched barks, halted me mid-thought. Davey? Sara looked up at the same time, recognizing her own dogs voice as easily as Id have recognized Faiths. Titus? Yes? The single syllable oated in from the kitchen. It was injected with all the innocence a seven-year-old boy could muster. Is everything all right in there? Before he could answer, Faith appeared in the living room doorway. If shed been human, she would have been shaking her head. As it was, the urge to tattle could easily be read in her expression. Whatever game Davey had gotten the visiting Sheltie to take part in, Faith didnt approve. Standards are the largest of the three varieties of Poodles. As Faith approached the armchair where I sat, she and I were almost eye to eye. And of course, her show coat made her look even bigger. The front half of her body was encased in a long, thick mane of black hair, which was mostly wrapped and banded now to keep it out of her way. In the show ring, that hair would be brushed, shaped, and sprayed into an outline uniquely recognizable as belonging to the Poodle breed. Faith walked across the room, reached up, and placed both her front paws across my lap. Her body language was unmistakable. She gured Davey and Titus were about to get into trouble, and she intended to be well out of the way when it happened. What are you guys doing? I called.

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Nothing, Davey answered. As if theres a mother in the world who would believe that. My son appeared at the edge of the archway between the hall and living room. Titus, Saras Shetland Sheepdog, seemed to be standing behind him, though the wall was blocking my view. Davey had both hands behind his back and looked as though he was bracing against something. I thought I heard a low growl. Titus! Sara said sharply. Immediately the dog leapt around Davey and trotted into the room. The Sheltie was a beautiful golden sable color. His ears were up and alert and there was a smile on his foxy face. A long, thickly furnished tail wagged up and over his back as he danced to Saras side. Clearly he was still ready to play. Davey, what do you have in your hands? Reluctantly, my son pulled out the Frisbee he had hidden behind his back. With a yip, Titus ew across the room and grabbed the edge of the plastic disk in his teeth. Shaking his head, he tried to pry the toy free. Sorry. Sara leapt up and pad and pen scattered. Titus knows how to behave better than that. Its just that Frisbees are his favorite thing. Davey knows better, too, I muttered. That knowledge didnt seem to have stopped my son from throwing the Frisbee in the house. I could hardly blame the dog, who, after all, had been no more than a willing co-conspirator. In the few minutes it took us to get everyone sorted out, Sara decided that she had enough information to get started making calls, nding out about availability, and chasing down quotes. She gathered up her things. Bertie and I both saw her to the door.

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Saras blue Mercedes Benz sedan was parked at the end of my driveway. Titus ran on ahead, jumping up to bat his white paws eagerly against the side door. If Sara was concerned that his nails might scratch the pristine metallic nish, she didnt show it. Instead, she took her time, shing her keys out of her purse and pausing to kiss Bertie good-bye on both cheeks in the European fashion. Then, to my surprise, I received the same treatment, even though wed only met an hour earlier. Bertie glanced at me and rolled her eyes as Sara walked out and got in her car. Old friend, she said as I closed the door. Good friend? At times. Probably more when she needed me than when I needed her. Bertie reached for the coat rack behind the door, where shed hung her leather jacket when she came in. Id already sent Davey upstairs to get ready for bed. He had school the next day and so did I, but I had no intention of letting Bertie leave until I heard more. I took the jacket out of her hands and hung it back up. It sounds like theres a story there. Believe me, with Sara theres always a story. Her life is one big story. I headed toward the kitchen and Bertie followed. She seemed nice enough to me. Who said she wasnt nice? Not me. Life around Sara can be a hell of a good time. Fun, fun, fun, as they say. She stopped and frowned. Who said that anyway, the Beach Boys? I think so. Though to tell you the truth, Im not up on surfer music. We pulled out chairs at the kitchen table and sat down. My house has a perfectly nice living room, but except when Im entertaining people I dont know well, I seem

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to spend my life in the kitchen. How long have you known Sara? Bertie thought back. Probably seven or eight years. When I was trying to get started as a handler, she was at all the shows. Her mother breeds Shelties. Scotchglen Shetland Sheepdogs. Maybe youve heard of them? I shook my head. Ive been going to shows for the past two years, which, in most dog peoples eyes, makes me a newcomer to the sport. Im still trying to get the exhibitors in the Non-Sporting group straight. The Herding group, where Shelties were classied, was currently beyond my sphere of knowledge. Anyway, Sara and I hit it off and we started hanging out together. Was she a wedding planner then? No. Bertie grinned. Im not even sure shes a wedding planner now. I heard footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later, Faith entered the kitchen. She was ready to go outside while I went up and tucked Davey into bed. By the time I returned, shed be waiting for me on the back steps. When I let her in, the big Poodle would dash upstairs and settle in for the night at the foot of Daveys bed. Dogs are creatures of habit. So are mothers, when they get the chance. I loved our cozy domestic ritual; loved the thought of my son and our dog cuddling, keeping each other safe and warm all night long. Bertie saw to Faith while I went up and took care of Davey. Minutes later we resumed our conversation as though it had never been interrupted. The thing about Sara, Bertie said, is that shes still trying to nd her niche. When I met her, she was going to shows because thats what her mother did. And, I guess, because she genuinely enjoys the dogs. But then she saw what

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I was doing and decided it might be a good way to make a living. Sara was a handler? More or less. She was never very successful at it. You know what handlings like. Its a twenty-four hour a day job. And Sara wasnt willing to put in the time. Lets just say she was much better at schmoozing the judges than she was at cleaning the crates. I thought about the shiny Mercedes Sara had parked in my driveway. Id found my niche, to use Berties terminology, and I considered myself lucky to have a Volvo. Who knew searching could be so lucrative? Then what did she do? Dog show photographer. For a while, Sara gured that was the perfect choice. She likes taking pictures, plus she got to go to all the shows and visit with her friends. For a while? Well, she wasnt really getting hired all that much. The big shows, the established ones, have been using the same guys for years. What Sara should have done was try to drum up business at specialties, or the new start-up dog clubs. But that wasnt where she wanted to be. Exit one photographer, I said. She still takes a good picture, Bertie admitted. I used her for some pub shots on a Lhasa I was showing last year and they turned out great. And that stint kind of led to her next career. Which was? I leaned back in my chair, enjoying the possibilities. Id become a teacher and a mother young enough to rule out any such frivolity when it came to making choices. Listening to Saras history gave me a vicarious thrill. I wondered how long it would be before we worked our way around to the wedding-planner gig.

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Dog sitter/pet groomer, said Bertie. Freelance, of course. Because, as Sara has pointed out many times, she could never work for anyone but herself. And that didnt work out either? No, it has. For the most part, anyway. At least shes still doing it. I dont think she has a lot of clients, but there seem to be enough to make her think shes in business. Enough to buy her a Mercedes? Oh, that. Bertie waved a hand. Mummys money paid for that. Good God, you didnt think Sara was actually trying to support herself with all those jobs, did you? Well . . . yes. No, no, no. . . . Saras mother comes from old money. Bertie pursed her lips and made a face, as if to illustrate Saras patrician forebears. Delilah got into showing dogs as a child in the old days, when kennel maids did all the actual work, and ladies, if they showed their own dogs at all, wore white gloves to do so. She was Delilah Cooper-Smith then, Delilah Waring now. Saras father was the rst husband. Divorced? Deceased. Bertie smiled, then added mysteriously. Some say Delilah was to blame. Dont tell me he was murdered. No. Berties green eyes sparkled with gotcha! glee. Heart attack. But Delilah isnt the easiest woman to live with. I grinned along with her. If your hobby is solving murders, Ive found it helps to have a sense of humor. So after all these other occupations, Sara became a wedding planner exactly when? Um . . . Berties gaze shifted from mine. Yesterday. Good golly, Miss Molly. Since Davey got old enough to mimic everything I say,

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Ive tried hard to give up swearing. Some days that vow is harder to keep than others. But shell do a good job, Im sure of it. Sara needs the business, and if her friends dont support her, who will? Besides, how many established wedding planners do you think I could nd to take me on with six weeks notice? There was that. Okay, I said. But why did you bring her here? What do I have to do with any of this? Bertie pushed back her chair and rose. I thought youd have gured that out by now. She walked out of the kitchen, heading for the front door. Unfortunately, I hadnt gured anything out. I jumped up and followed. What? I need your help. With Sara? No, not with Sara. Shes all set. Thats what I wanted you to see. Its your Aunt Peg Im worried about. You know how she tends to . . . Meddle? I supplied. Interfere? Try to run peoples lives? Precisely. I want you to get her to let me do this my way. Fat chance. I want you to keep her under control. No chance. Believe me, Ive tried. But hey, I thought, welcome to the family.