Once Bitten (A Melanie Travis Mystery) by Laurien Berenson Read Free Book Online Page A

marriage. He’d glanced in my direction hopefully. The glare I sent back could have melted sludge.
    Nothing if not able to read the subtle nuances, he’d switched his attention to our son. “How about it, sport? Want to share your room with me? I’ll bet you have a sleeping bag stashed somewhere. Can I borrow it and sleep on your floor?”
    We ended up with Bob in the bed and Davey, to his delight, on the floor. I somehow forgot to mention ahead of time that Faith sleeps on that bed, too. As I was closing my door I heard a startled yelp—human, not canine—followed by a fit of giggles from Davey, and I figured that they’d gotten things sorted out.
    “Sleep well?” Bob asked now, as we walked out into the cold November morning.
    “Very.” An expedient answer, if not entirely true. Not that the truth was any of his business.
    I’d left the Volvo in the driveway the night before, parked behind Bob’s Trans Am. Since our one-car garage was crammed with enough junk to host a rummage sale, lately I’d gotten in the habit of leaving my station wagon outside. Most mornings recently, I’d had to allow a few extra minutes to scrape the frost off the windows.
    But now, to my surprise, not only were the windows clear, but the engine was running. A steamy cloud puffed out of the exhaust pipe. The car was already warm.
    “I got the keys out of your coat pocket,” Bob said. He opened the back door and got Davey and Faith inside and belted up. “I hope you don’t mind.”
    Mind? A warm car on a frigid winter morning? That was a luxury, not an imposition. Whatever was going on around here—and clearly there was much I still didn’t understand—I decided I didn’t hate it.
    In contrast to the dog show scene of several decades ago, cluster shows—where several kennel clubs get together to hold back-to-back events at the same venue—have now become the norm. I’d left most of my equipment at the show the day before, so that morning we had nothing to unload. My things were just where I’d left them, on the edge of Bertie’s setup.
    She, like the other professional handlers, would have gotten to the arena at dawn to feed, water, and exercise her string of dogs before the competition began. By the time we arrived, however, breakfasts had been eaten and ex-pens had been folded away out of sight. The business of putting on a show was once more in session.
    “Good morning!” Aunt Peg sang out cheerfully as we approached. “Isn’t this a glorious—”
    The words seemed to die in her throat. Actually, judging by the expression on her face, it looked as though a bone might have gotten stuck there. A large one. And she was staring right at Bob.
    Bob and I have had a chance to talk our past problems through. He and Aunt Peg aren’t so lucky. I suspect she’s never forgiven him for abandoning me and Davey, leaving us young and alone, with no visible means of support, while he went off in search of a life that looked a little easier.
    “Bob,” she said, her voice just this side of civil. “What a surprise.”
    “For me, too,” I said, hopping Faith up onto her table. “We got home last night and there he was. Imagine that.”
    “Daddy stayed all night!” Davey added helpfully. “It was lots of fun.”
    “Indeed.”
    Deliberately I turned away and reached for my tack box. I hauled it out and opened it up, getting out the brushes and combs I was going to need. Call me cruel, but Bob was on his own now.
    “Nice to see you again, Peg,” he said jauntily.
    He leaned toward my aunt, but if he thought he’d succeed in kissing her cheek, he was sorely mistaken. At six feet, she looked him straight in the eye, guessed his intent, and evaded him nimbly. Bob should have been chastened. Instead he grinned.
    Uh oh, I thought.
    “Just passing through, I assume?” Peg asked.
    “Actually, I thought I’d stay a while. Frank invited me to his wedding. I figured I’d come a little early and lend him some moral