Unleashed (A Melanie Travis Mystery) (3 page)

They weren’t. In the living room, Sam and Brian were drinking beer, petting dogs, and swapping stories about Honey Sue Beaudine and other classmates they hadn’t heard from in years. Maybe what Brian said was true, and the trouble between them had ended a long time ago.

For all our sakes, I hoped he was right.

Sheila had opened most of the windows in the small house and a gentle, evening breeze floated through the dining room. Once again, there were candles, flickering on the table and the sideboard. The lamb was delicious; the merlot, a better vintage than I could afford. In short, the ambiance was all one could have wished for.

And the company? Once everyone settled down, that wasn’t half-bad either.

Over dinner, Brian told us all about the plans he and Sheila had made for their new magazine. Gesturing with his fork, toasting their venture with his wine, laughing heartily to punctuate his own stories, he made his enthusiasm for the venture abundantly, and infectiously, clear.

By the time dessert and coffee were served, Brian had me sold. Thank God he wasn’t soliciting backers, or I probably would have signed on. As it was,
Woof!’s
upcoming launch was beginning to sound less like a gamble and more like a sure thing. Maybe I’d been wrong in thinking that Sheila’s career path had taken a precipitous detour.

Sam, however, wasn’t as easily convinced. Though he joined in the conversation and the laughter, his eyes never entirely lost their slightly wary look. Even after downing several glasses of wine, it was clear to me, if not the others, that he was far from relaxed.

“You know,” Brian said to his old friend, “if this project is a success, I’ll have you to thank.”

Sam looked up sharply. “How do you figure?”

“You were the one who got me started in dogs in the first place. Without your guidance, I would never have known the dog show world even existed.”

“Don’t you mean my interference?” Sam permitted himself a small smile. “As I recall, that’s what you called it at the time.”

Brian waved away the interruption. “I wanted a dog,” he explained for my benefit. “A big dog. I’d seen a Saint Bernard in a movie and thought it would be just the thing. I figured any pet store would have one.”

“Thank goodness Sam was there to set you straight,” Sheila said, voicing the antipathy that any informed dog lover feels toward pet shops.

“Sam told me I had to find a breeder. Someone who did genetic testing and had healthy puppies with good temperaments. Before he started all his lecturing, I figured I was just looking for something cute with floppy ears and big feet.”

“I dragged him to a dog show,” Sam said. “
Drag
being the operative word.”

“I couldn’t believe he wanted me to waste a whole Saturday watching pampered canines prance around a show ring.”

“You couldn’t believe they didn’t have a beer stand.” Sam laughed.

“Hey, you sold the thing to me as a sporting event, okay? Let’s just say I had certain expectations. And then this big guy steers me to the Poodle ring. The Poodle ring! Where I discover that otherwise sane-looking people are putting hair spray on their dogs.”

Been there, done that, I thought, enjoying the teasing banter, and the glimpse of what the two men must have been like when they were young and still friends.

“I got him out of there just in time,” Sam said, grinning. “Luckily the Saint Bernards were coming up two rings over.”

“Once I saw them, I was hooked.” Brian smiled with pleasure at the memory. “They were massive, majestic. I’d never seen anything so beautiful. I got on a waiting list for a litter that afternoon and bought Boris’s great-grandmother six months later.”

“Did you show her?” I asked.

“Of course. I got lucky for a first-timer and she was a good one. Even with a rank beginner on the end of the lead, she still managed to pick up half a dozen points. That first purple ribbon sealed my fate; there was no turning back after that. Her breeder stepped in when it was time for the majors and finished the job. Boris is the third generation of my own breeding, and there have been half a dozen champions along the way.”

“Is Boris finished?” I asked, exhibitor’s shorthand for “has he accumulated enough points to be awarded the title of champion?”

The big dog knew we were talking about him. Lying along the edge of the rug, he lifted up his head and stared at us balefully. Brian picked up an oatmeal cookie that had been resting on the edge of his saucer and tossed it. Boris’s mouth opened, then snapped shut. I never even saw him swallow, but his tail thumped up and down happily on the floor.

Sheila rolled her eyes. The Pugs looked annoyed. It wasn’t hard to figure out that they wanted a treat, too. “Now look what you’ve started,” she said.

Brian was unrepentant. “Live a little,” he said. “Cookies for everyone.”

“Feed them from the table even once, and they’ll expect it every time. Besides, training issues aside, my guys have to watch their weight.” Looking as disgruntled as her Pugs, Sheila got up, whistled the dogs to her, and went to the back door to put them all outside.

Brian shook his head slightly as he watched her go, then turned back to me. “In answer to your question, no, Boris isn’t finished. I’m taking a break from the show ring until after the magazine is launched. I wouldn’t want anyone to think I have a conflict of interest.”

“What Brian really means,” Sheila said, returning to the table, “is that he’s lying low until we see how people take things—how many judges, exhibitors, and officials we manage to tick off with the first issue.”

“Do you expect it to be that controversial?” I asked.

“We’re starting out with a bang,” said Brian. “And we’ll know how it goes over soon enough. The debut issue is already in the mail, and we’ll be handing out freebies at the show this weekend.”

“I’ll be disappointed if our audience doesn’t think Woof! is controversial,” Sheila said earnestly. “But I hope people make an effort to understand what we’re trying to do. The dog show world is a fascinating subculture. Some people, even some who’ve been exhibiting for years, still see mostly the surface.

“It’s like a Poodle’s show coat, and believe me, I watched Sam put together enough of those. From ringside, that great mass of mane hair looks incredibly thick, almost solid, like it stands up by itself. Then you go back to the grooming tent and watch someone break down a topknot and see all the layers underneath. The half dozen rubber bands, the hair spray, sometimes there’s even fake hair.

“That’s what we’re going to do with
Woof!
. Go beyond the pretty surface and expose some of the stories that nobody wants talked about. Like that terrier breeder in Delaware a couple of years ago The one whose top stud dog died, but he kept taking stud fees anyway, and breeding bitches to the dog’s sons? It took years for the AKC to nail him, even though other breeders had been suspicious forever. All those pedigrees are compromised now. That stud book may never recover.”

“And lots of people are still very angry about it,” said Sam. “If that’s the kind of story you’re planning to cover, you’d better realize that you’re not going to be very popular.”

“We’re not looking to make friends,” Brian declared. “We’re performing a necessary service. Besides, people love to know all the latest dirt. The response rate to our subscription offer has been incredible. In a couple years, we’re going to be bigger than the
Gazette.
Maybe nobody wants to admit they’re going to read
Woof!,
but it’s obvious that no one wants to be left out either.”

He pushed back his chair and rose. “I’m going to go outside and grab a smoke. Be back in a few.”

Sam’s foot nudged mine under the table. “Why don’t you keep Brian company? Sheila and I will get things cleaned up in here.”

“All right,” I said, though I wasn’t pleased by the prospect. Clearly Sam wanted a few minutes alone with his ex-wife.

I was trying very hard not to play the role of the disgruntled fiancée. Sam could have made the whole stupid charade a lot easier if he hadn’t kept doing things for me to be disgruntled about.

“I left my cigarettes in the car,” said Brian. “Let’s go out the front. Then we can walk around back and check on the dogs.”

In the ten minutes the dogs had been outside, we hadn’t heard a sound. Faith, left to her own devices in my yard would have long since been clamoring to come in. Then again, that was probably the difference between having one dog and a houseful. Faith looked to me as her chief source of entertainment and companionship.

In less than two weeks, however, that would change. Much as I was looking forward to having puppies, I hated the thought that the Poodle and I might lose, even temporarily, the special bond that we’d built.

Which probably indicated something about one of those rules I should have learned in kindergarten. Obviously, I’m not very good at sharing.

Brian retrieved his cigarettes and lighter from the front seat of the Boxster with a sigh. “It’s a miserable habit. Too bad it’s so damned enjoyable.” He lit up and inhaled deeply. “Did you ever smoke?”

“No. I never saw any reason to start.”

“You’re one of the lucky ones, then. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

We strolled around the side of the house, where a wire-mesh fence stretched between the porch and the garage, then continued across the yard and into the woods. We headed for the gate.

“I always figured I’d stop when I had children.” The tip of Brian’s cigarette glowed red in the gathering darkness. “It seemed like a good plan when I was young.”

“You’re still young.”

He shrugged slightly. “I’ve always been an overachiever. Had a lot of success, financially, very early. I guess I always thought that the rest of my life would fall into place just as easily.”

I unlatched the gate and swung it open. “Maybe you and Sheila ... ?”

“Maybe.” Brian didn’t match my hopeful tone. “I gather that would make your life easier.”

“Sheila had Sam, and she left him. Now I just want her to leave him alone.”

“Maybe Sam doesn’t want to be left alone, have you considered that?”

More times than I’d ever admit, I thought. Especially to someone like Brian. I had no intention of letting him see me react.

He and Sam might have been friends once, but they hadn’t seen each other for a decade. Maybe Brian still thought he had a score to settle. Maybe he thought he could get to Sam by going through me.

“Let’s go find the dogs,” I said.

“Sure.” He dropped the butt and ground it out beneath his foot. Then he lifted his fingers to his lips and whistled. There was no response.

In the time we’d been outside, night had fallen. A curved sliver of moon barely illuminated the enclosed acreage. I squinted into the darkness, but didn’t see any dogs.

“Come on.” Brian shut the gate behind us. “They must have gone over the hill. This paddock is pretty big. I think Sheila said it used to hold a llama once upon a time. They probably chased a squirrel out to the back fence.”

We trudged to the top of the small rise in silence. Still no dogs. Whoever had installed the fence had had a capricious streak. The mesh snaked in and out of the woods that bordered the lawn, so there were parts of the enclosed area we couldn’t see.

“Damn.”

“What?” I looked where Brian was gazing.

Tucked in along a thick row of bushes was another gate. It was standing open.

“The wild bunch is out. They’ve probably gone to terrorize the neighborhood.”

“The dogs know you,” I said. “Why don’t you start after them? I’ll go back for leashes and reinforcements.”

“Good idea.”

Brian took off down the slope at a steady jog. Loose dogs, even in a quiet neighborhood, were cause for concern. And since these dogs were used to being contained, they weren’t car-savvy.

I turned back and went the other way at the same pace. The flats I’d worn with my skirt weren’t made for running. Maybe Sheila would have a pair of sneakers I could borrow.

An outside light above the kitchen door guided me quickly back to the house. Sam and Sheila weren’t in the kitchen, however. As I drew near, I heard the sound of their raised voices through the open living-room window. It wasn’t until I’d opened the back door and gone inside, however, that I could make out what they were saying.

Someone with more scruples might have immediately announced her presence.

I entertained the thought for a moment or two. Then I closed the door quietly behind me and crept across the room.

“You’re crazy!” Sheila was saying vehemently. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“We have to talk about it,” Sam’s tone was firm. “I know you don’t want to hear this, She, but I can’t just stand by and watch you screw up your whole life.”

“It’s
my
life,” Sheila shot back. “Isn’t that what you’ve spent the last four months telling me? We’re divorced, Sam. You have no right to an opinion anymore.”

“The fact that we’re not married doesn’t mean that I don’t still care about you ...”

There was a pause, then a muttered curse from Sheila. I had to strain to hear her words. “Don’t touch me!”

I didn’t realize I’d begun to move. I had no idea I was backing away until my legs hit a kitchen chair and I nearly tripped. I didn’t want to hear any more; I’d heard too much already.

I wished I could go back in time five minutes and make an entirely different decision. Irrationally, I found myself pretending that if I ignored what I’d heard, it would all just go away.

I reached for the door, opened it and slammed it shut. “We need help,” I called out.

As I glanced around the kitchen for leashes, Sam and Sheila appeared in the doorway. “The back gate’s open, and the dogs are loose,” I said. “Brian’s already gone after them. I came back for you guys.”

Sheila opened the door to a pantry and scooped several leashes off their hooks. “Let’s go.”

I hadn’t looked at Sam. I hadn’t even glanced his way. But somehow I knew he was staring at me, weighing my expression, wondering about my tone. He knew me entirely too well.