Читать книгу Hounded To Death - Laurien Berenson - Страница 10

The reception was beginning to wind down. That was fine by me because after two Shirley Temples, a slew of introductions to people whose faces I could barely remember, and more inane chatter than I usually heard in a week, I was worn out.

Richard came back and collected Aunt Peg. Florence was nowhere to be seen; presumably Derek and Marshall had escorted her to dinner.

Bertie and Alana had disappeared together while I’d been busy talking to Margo and Aunt Peg. I could have hunted them down but the prospect of food held little appeal, and the prospect of Alana’s company held even less.

There was a granola bar in my purse upstairs that could double for dinner. Better still was the thought of stretching out on the bed and putting my feet up. Sad but true; it was eight-thirty on a Monday night and I was just about done for.

As I walked up the wide staircase to the second floor of the inn, leaving the noise and the revelry behind, I ran my hand over my stomach. I felt the slight swell and imaged the tiny person nesting within. Life as I knew it had changed dramatically over the last few months. My breasts were tender, my ankles swollen, my energy level flagging.

You better be worth it, I thought with a smile.

I hadn’t expected a response and yet I wasn’t startled when one came.

I am, said a voice in my head, clear as a bell. You know I am.

No arguing with that.

Once in the room, I immediately kicked off my shoes and unbuttoned my waistband. A sigh of relief followed. That felt much better.

Then I pulled out my cell phone and pushed the buttons to connect me with home. As I listened to it ringing, I piled up a nest of pillows on the bed and lay down gratefully.

I imagined Davey running to pick up the phone, Sam pausing in what he was doing to hear who was calling. All the little routines of home, going on in my absence. The Poodles would follow Davey out to the kitchen; several would bark to add to the excitement.

I could have called Sam’s cell phone, but that would have spoiled Davey’s fun. When you’re nine, things like picking up the phone are still exciting.

I felt a swift stab of homesickness as I heard a click and Davey yelled, “Hey!”

“Hey yourself, it’s Mom.”

I could hear the Poodles in the background and I quickly picked out Faith’s distinctive voice. She was the first dog I’d ever owned and she’d become my canine soul mate. Since Faith can pretty much read my mind, I assumed she knew it was me on the phone.

“I figured it was you,” Davey said, sounding very pleased with himself. “How are the Poconos? Are they big? Do they have snow on them?”

Told that I’d be spending the week in the mountains, my son had pictured me scaling the Alps or living at a Mount Everest base camp. Unfortunately my real life wasn’t that exciting.

“They’re medium-sized and I haven’t seen any snow yet. Actually the weather here is pretty much like it is at home.”

“Oh. No skiing?”

“Not this week. And probably not at all for me until after the baby is born.”

“The baby needs a name,” said Davey.

This was a familiar complaint. Davey is very organized and he likes the world around him to be the same.

“Sam-Dad and I are working on it,” he said.

“Good. What have you come up with?”

“We’re thinking maybe Rufus.”

I swallowed a laugh. “Really.”

“You know, in honor of Sam’s Scottish heritage.”

“Sam doesn’t have a Scottish heritage.”

“That’s not what he told me.” This time it was Davey who let a giggle escape.

“Okay,” I said. “Rufus sounds good. What if it’s a girl?”

“It won’t be.”

“It might be.”

“It won’t.”

The utter confidence of youth. While I loved the idea of a baby daughter myself, I was really hoping he wouldn’t be disappointed.

“How’s everything going at home?” I asked.

“Mom, you’ve only been gone a day. Not even.”

“Yes, but I know you guys. And things can go wrong in less time than that.”

“No problems here,” said Davey. “Everything’s cool. Wait! Here’s Sam.”

“Hi, Mel.” Sam’s voice replaced my son’s on the line. “How’s everything going?”

“Great. If you don’t count the fact that Aunt Peg came to this symposium to rendezvous with her new forty-nine-year-old boyfriend whom she met over the Internet, that some sort of judging scandal is brewing, and that the organizer of the event is afraid the keynote speaker is up to something nefarious.”

“In other words, business as usual,” said Sam.

“Pretty much.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Good.” I leaned back on the pillows and closed my eyes. “Tired.”

“Don’t do too much. You’re there to enjoy yourself, take in a few lectures, learn a little something, have a week off. A low-stress vacation.”

“There is such a thing?”

“Damn straight. You’re on it. Let me talk to Bertie. I want to find out if she’s keeping an eye on you.”

“Not here,” I said with a yawn. “She’s out partying the night away with her new friend, Alana.”

“Not Alana Bennett?”

“The very same.”

Like Aunt Peg, Sam had been involved in the dog show world for eons. Her knowledge and connections were legendary, but his were pretty impressive too.

“Tell Bertie to keep her hand on her wallet and her back to the wall,” said Sam.

“Will do. Aunt Peg has already said much the same thing. Now, what’s this about Rufus?”

Sam’s deep laugh rumbled through the phone. “Just trying it on for size.”

“And your supposed Scottish heritage?”

“Supposed, hell. I look fine in a kilt.”

“No arguments from me, not that I’ve ever had the pleasure. Maybe when I get back?”

“Anytime, babe.”

“Now listen,” I said on a more serious note. “Talk to Davey about the fact that he might be getting a little sister. He’s waited so long for a sibling, I’d really hate for him to be disappointed.”

“I know,” said Sam. “Me too. I’ll work on it.”

“One more thing. Reach down and give Faith a pat. Tell her it’s from me.”

“Already done,” said Sam. “She’s been sitting on my lap listening to your voice while we’ve been talking.”

My heart softened. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“Do better.”

“You’re the love of my life and you always will be.”

“That works.”

“For me too,” said Sam.

Bertie got back to the room just before midnight. She beat Aunt Peg by at least an hour. So it was no surprise that my aunt was looking rather bleary eyed at breakfast the next morning.

Not that I was eating breakfast actually. But I was sitting at a table with the two of them, sipping a glass of orange juice and trying to be sociable.

Aunt Peg’s a multi-tasker. She had a fork in one hand and the day’s agenda in the other.

“Margo has really outdone herself,” she said. “This schedule has something that should be of interest to just about everyone.”

“Better still,” said Bertie, “if we get tired of sitting through lectures and panel discussions, all the inn’s facilities are available to us. I’ve got my eye on the spa myself. I’m pretty sure I could use a mud bath or a massage.”

I watched enviously as she cut off a large square of waffle and stuffed it into her mouth. Bertie never had to worry about her weight. Not only that but whatever carousing she and Alana had been up to the night before, she didn’t seem to be suffering any repercussions.

“Richard wants to try out the hot tub,” said Peg. “He asked if I’d brought a bathing suit with me. Can you just imagine?”

“Sure,” I said, lying with conviction. I’d never seen my aunt in a bathing suit and I doubted I ever would. “Speaking of Richard, how was your dinner?”

“It was fine.”

I sat and waited. Aunt Peg ignored me and returned to eating her omelet. Obviously she thought her first answer had been sufficient.

Which of course it hadn’t.

“Fine?” Bertie said after a minute. “Just fine?”

Peg looked up. “What do you mean just fine? Fine is a good thing.”

“Fine is an okay thing,” I said. “It’s damning with faint praise. It certainly doesn’t sound very exciting.”

“Oh, pish. Who wants excitement at my age?”

Bertie and I exchanged a glance. As if we were going to buy that. Especially considering the source.

“We want details,” I said.

“Well, I’d like to win the lottery,” Aunt Peg replied, “and I don’t see that happening either.”

She looked at her watch, pushed back her chair, and stood. “My dear friend Wanda Swanson will be starting her Saluki lecture shortly and I intend to be sitting front row center when she does. I trust you two can manage to keep yourselves occupied without my guidance?”

Bertie and I agreed that we could.

“In that case, I shall see you later. We’ll meet at quarter to three outside the main lecture hall. Does that suit?”

Charles Evans would be giving the keynote address at three. Before speaking with Margo the previous evening, I wasn’t sure I’d bother to attend. Having been forewarned, however, that Charles’s presentation might be the most exciting thing to happen all week, I now had no intention of missing it.

Bertie obviously felt the same way. We both nodded. Aunt Peg gathered up her things and left.

Bertie glanced down at the schedule. “Let’s see, the first track offers a choice between Salukis and Irish Setters. Or I can cut out on them both and get a little pampering.” She considered for a moment. “Not much choice there, I’m going for the pampering.”

“It’s Irish Setters for me,” I said. I’d always been intrigued by the beautiful, russet dogs.

“Go for it,” said Bertie. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

If I had been paying more attention—which translated in my mind to if I wasn’t pregnant—I would have realized that Caroline Evans was the judge leading the discussion of Irish Setters. I settled down near the front of the room and watched Charles’s wife take command of the podium with authority. She was petite in stature but her forceful demeanor made her seem bigger. When Caroline was ready to start speaking, the room, filled nearly to capacity, immediately quieted.

What followed was a talk that was every bit as lively and playful as the red setters themselves. Caroline clearly adored her subject. She managed to convey her devotion to the breed while at the same time imparting a huge amount of useful information.

It was easy to understand why Bertie and Aunt Peg had praised the woman’s judging skills. If Caroline handled herself in the show ring as well as she did in the lecture hall, even the most knowledgeable exhibitors would have been delighted to have her opinion.

Having skipped breakfast, I took a quick break for an early lunch when the lecture ended. Soup and crackers eaten in a café overlooking the wooded mountainside was about all my stomach could tolerate. That afternoon, I listened to half a session on Otterhounds, then stuck my head briefly into the Kuvasz room.

By then, I’d been inside nearly all day. The building was beginning to feel stuffy to me; I grabbed a jacket and headed outside for a walk.

As soon as I stepped through the door, the crisp, cool autumn air revived my spirits. The tangy scent of pine filled the air. A hiking path angled away from the far side of the parking lot and off into the woods. Striding out, I headed for it eagerly.

After a day of sitting still, it felt good just to be moving again. The only thing keeping the experience from being just right, I realized, was the lack of canine companionship.

I’d grown up without pets, and spent my early adult years similarly dogless. Then Aunt Peg had given me my first Standard Poodle, Faith, and everything had changed. Faith’s daughter, Eve, had become part of our family several years later; and now it was hard to imagine how I’d ever lived without either one of them.

When Sam and I got married, he’d added his three Standard Poodles to the mix. Now we had a houseful, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone for a walk without at least one Poodle cavorting at my side. Glad as I was to be outdoors on such a beautiful afternoon, I knew I’d enjoy the activity more if I had a dog to share it with.

Lost in contemplation, I actually, for a moment, thought I’d conjured up the dog that suddenly came trotting out of the woods and onto the path in front of me. He was a good-sized German Shepherd, tan with black markings. His body was muscular, but thin. He wasn’t wearing a collar.

“Hey, boy,” I said.

The dog stopped in his tracks. He seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

“What are you doing out here?” I asked.

Not surprisingly, he didn’t answer.

I stopped walking, too. We stood and stared at one another.

After a moment, I held out a hand. The dog lifted a lip, showing a row of strong white teeth.

“Shhh,” I said, “it’s okay.”

But I pulled my hand back, just in case.

The dog had a wary, skittish look about him. He was an attractive Shepherd, clearly a purebred. His eyes were sharp and shifty, though. He didn’t look like someone’s pet.

“Are you hungry?”

The dog cocked his head. Clearly he was listening to me. Just as clearly, he wasn’t about to come any nearer.

Slowly I reached in my pocket and pulled out a granola bar. Probably not the best thing for him, but it was all I had. If the dog was a stray and had missed a couple of meals, he wouldn’t be too choosy.

He watched me unwrap the treat. His body was still, his dark eyes riveted.

Once again I held out my hand. Once again he declined to step toward me. Someone, somewhere, had destroyed his trust in people.

“Here you go,” I said, giving the granola bar a gentle toss.

I thought he might catch it, but he was too cautious for that. Instead he let it land in the pine needles at his feet. His head dipped down for a quick sniff; then his teeth opened and he snatched it up. Immediately then, he spun around and disappeared back into the trees.

“You’re welcome,” I called after him.

I might as well have been talking to myself.

The woods were thick with underbrush, but the Shepherd slipped through the thick cover effortlessly. No sound alerted me to the direction he had taken. When I stepped off the path and peered into the trees, I saw no sign of him. The dog had vanished as suddenly as he’d appeared.

If I hadn’t still been holding the empty wrapper in my hands, I might have wondered if I’d imagined him.