Once Bitten (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

by Berenson, Laurien

  The ballroom decorations were tastefully lavish. I know that because even Terry approved. Ice sculptures adorned the long buffet table, and Patricia had managed to find yellow tulips for the centerpieces, too. But lovely as everything was, I couldn’t help feeling a lingering sense of sadness.

  It was hard not to remember that at one time I’d thought Sam and I would be the ones having a Christmas wedding, a public celebration of the love I’d thought we shared. Instead, this joyous occasion belonged to somebody else, and I’d neither seen nor heard from Sam in months.

  When the music started and the dance floor filled with happy couples, I found an empty table in a quiet corner and sat down for a few minutes of solitude. Frank was squiring Aunt Peg sedately around the dance floor while Bertie and Terry made an impossibly dashing duo. Even Davey had found himself a partner among Bertie’s younger relatives and was twirling in time to the infectious beat. As I settled back to watch, I found my toes tapping beneath the hem of my gown.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  I looked up to see Bob, wonderfully handsome in his formal attire, standing behind me and waiting for permission to sit.

  I nudged out the chair closest to me. “Sure, go ahead.”

  “As I recall, you used to love to dance.”

  “I still do. I just thought I’d sit for a minute.”

  “Thinking.”

  “Yes.”

  “About weddings?”

  I nodded. Even after all the time apart, he still knew me too well.

  “You and Sam?”

  “I thought it would happen.” I sighed. “It didn’t.”

  “You and me?”

  I lifted my eyes.

  Even though he’d asked the question, Bob seemed to know the answer he was going to get. “I don’t want to go back,” he said.

  “Good.”

  “But I was thinking we might try going forward . . . together.”

  I reached over and placed my hand on his knee. “We’ll always be friends.”

  “Ouch.”

  “I can’t lie to you, Bob,” I said gently.

  “I wouldn’t want you to. It’s just that . . .” He paused, laying his hand on top of mine. “. . . being around you and Davey makes me happy.”

  “We like having you here, too.”

  Six weeks earlier, I’d have been shocked to hear myself say such a thing. But what a pleasant surprise the turnaround had been. I could never fall in love with Bob again, but his visit had turned out to be an unexpectedly welcome distraction. Not to mention the restorative effect it had had on my ego.

  My ex-husband watched the play of emotions across my face. “You’re still waiting for Sam,” he said slowly.

  “No.” I realized as I said it that it was the truth. I’d never regret one minute that I’d spent with Sam, but it had been his choice to walk away. What I would regret was wasting any more of my valuable time wishing for something that wasn’t going to be. “I’m not. Not anymore. Now I guess I’m just working on getting over him.”

  “Will you give me a call when you do?”

  “I might.” I smiled. “Who knows? By then you’ll probably have hooked up with another Jennifer, or Tiffany, or Chelsea . . .”

  “One twenty-year-old is enough, thank you. Think of it this way, I’ve already had my midlife crisis and gotten it out of the way. That makes me a pretty solid bet for the future. How many men can say that?”

  “Not many,” I admitted.

  “We’ll keep in touch,” he said.

  “Of course we will.”

  “Just in case you change your mind.”

  “Bob—”

  He didn’t let me protest. Instead he took my hand, lifted it to his lips for a brief kiss, then used it to draw me to my feet.

  “Let’s dance.”

  “I’d love to.”

  For the first time that day, my smile felt genuine, not forced to suit the occasion. The band was playing Van Morrison’s “Moondance.” We walked over to the dance floor and I stepped into Bob’s arms.

  Davey and his dance partner glided by. She was at least six inches taller than he was and probably three years older. Neither seemed troubled by the disparity. The girl was leading, which was a good thing, because my son’s grasp of ballroom dancing is rudimentary at best.

  “What do you think?” I asked him. “Shall we dance all night?”

  Anything that involves staying up past his bedtime garners Davey’s immediate approval. “Yeah!”

  Two votes in favor, none against. Everything in life should be this easy.

  Christmas Eve passed in a flurry of baking, wrapping, eggnog, and laughter. I don’t come from a family of procrastinators. For the most part, we’d all finished our shopping early, which left us with nothing to do but actually enjoy the holiday.

  Aunt Peg hosted an open house in the afternoon and early evening. She doesn’t entertain often, but when she does, she draws a crowd. Dog show folk mingled with family, friends, and neighbors around a twelve-foot Christmas tree, which, improbably, featured a blinking Poodle on its top branch.

  Davey, who’d been excited for a week at the twin prospects of being in the wedding and celebrating his favorite holiday, finally began to wind down around eight o’clock. His eyes were drooping as he kissed his father good night and I loaded him into the car. Back at home, he revived just long enough to hang up his stocking and set out a glass of milk and shortbread cookies for Santa before brushing his teeth and tumbling into bed.

  Outside, snow had begun to fall. Flakes drifted through the haloed light around the street lamps and settled softly on the ground. The night air was cold and dry; within minutes the snow began to accumulate.

  I let the two Poodles out in the backyard, watching their reactions through the kitchen window. Eve, seeing snow for the first time, turned her face up into the flakes, blinking in wonder. Faith, who already knew how much fun a snowstorm could be, immediately began to tunnel, shoving the white stuff aside with her nose as she scooted around the yard.

  I loved her racy new look: the grooming-intensive continental trim had been replaced by a becoming blanket of short, black curls on the day the certificate had arrived from the American Kennel Club confirming Faith’s championship. Now she could play as much as she liked, and the Poodle was making the most of her newfound freedom. Out in the yard, both dogs’ dark coats were quickly frosted with white.

  Davey was sound asleep when I went upstairs to check. I doubted that he was dreaming of sugarplums—more likely the toy truck he’d been eyeing covetously at the mall for the past two months, which was now sitting wrapped in the hall closet. Satisfied that he wouldn’t awaken, I began to dig his presents out of their hiding places.

  The Poodles, predictably, wanted to help with the arrangements. Each earned a shortbread cookie for her hard work. I drank the milk myself.

  Setting things up took longer than I thought it would, but the end result was well worth it. Our Christmas tree wasn’t tall, but it was full. White lights glistened on its heavy branches. Brightly colored ornaments seemed to dance on silver strings. I turned down the lights in the living room and stood back to savor the effect. The peaceful hush of the snowy night outside added the perfect final touch.

  The gentle sound of someone tapping on the front door was so soft that for a moment I thought I’d imagined it. The Poodles were alerted, though. I grabbed Eve before she could make any noise, then quickly shushed Faith with a wave of my hand. She ran to the door and cocked her head questioningly.

  I followed her out to the hall, unfastened the locks, and drew the door open. In that instant, time seemed to stop. All my thoughts, all my emotions, were wiped clean.

  I couldn’t think what to say. I couldn’t even seem to move.

  All I could do was breathe. In, out. In, out.

  I’d been there before.

  Heart pounding, I stood and stared at the man who was standing on my front steps. His head and shoulders were dusted with
snow; his blue eyes, shining with love.

  “Merry Christmas,” said Sam.

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  Davey finished his homework before dinner was on the table; in second grade, you don’t get a lot. Sam’s spaghetti turned out to be every bit as good as its aroma had forecast. The dachshund puppy and my two Poodles were already halfway to becoming fast friends. In short, despite the strife that had gotten us off to a somewhat shaky start, the evening managed to pull itself together.

  Later, Sam and I tucked Davey into bed together, sharing the routine as we’d done so many times in the past, with each of us reading a chapter from Davey’s current favorite, Charlotte’s Web. The cozy, familiar ritual felt exactly right. It reminded me how much all of us had given up due to my stubborn insistence that Sam and I not slip back into our old relationship without first examining how things had gone awry.

  Maybe I was wrong to hold out for something perfect, I thought, standing in the doorway to Davey’s semidarkened bedroom and listening to Sam read. Maybe I was asking too much.

  After a few minutes, Sam tucked the book away in Davey’s night table. He smoothed the blankets over my already sleeping son. Watching the care with which Sam performed the simple tasks, a sudden, unexpected sheen of tears misted my view. What we shared was something precious and rare—not perfect perhaps, but certainly well worth fighting for.

  As Sam headed downstairs, I took a moment to turn off the light and give Faith, who slept at the foot of Davey’s bed, a pat. Then I slipped across the hall to my own bedroom. A quick survey revealed at least a semblance of order. Close enough, anyway, for what I had in mind. With luck, Sam wouldn’t even notice his surroundings; he’d have other, more important things to concentrate on.

  Turning to go, I caught my own reflection in the mirror above the dresser. My cheeks were slightly flushed, my eyes bright with anticipation. I hurried into the hallway and down the steps, only to stop, frowning, at the bottom. I’d expected to find Sam in the living room, or maybe even the kitchen. I hadn’t thought to see him standing by the front door with his coat on.

  “You’re leaving?” I didn’t even try to keep the disappointment from my voice.

  “It seemed like a good idea.”

  I couldn’t imagine why. It seemed like a terrible idea to me.

  I crossed the short distance between us, reached up, and slid my hands beneath the leather jacket that was already growing warm with his heat. Palms flat against Sam’s chest, I nestled my body in close, stood up on my toes, and pressed my lips to his.

  I felt Sam’s mouth curve in a smile. Then he dipped his head toward mine and returned the kiss. His hands went around my waist, molding my hips hard against his. The first kiss turned into a second. Sam wanted this every bit as much as I did. Yet still, he pulled away.

  “I think I’d better go.”

  “Why?” I sounded breathless and confused, which was pretty much the way I felt. My hands reached for him, even as he stepped back.

  “Answer me one question,” Sam said softly. “Do you trust me?”

  Of all the possible questions in the world, I thought, don’t ask me that one. How could I answer what I didn’t know? Yes . . . no . . . maybe . . .

  I wanted to trust Sam. I wanted to believe that he wouldn’t betray my confidences to Jill Prescott just as I wanted to believe that he would never leave us again, but how could I?

  Sam and I had been engaged once; as far as I was concerned, we’d already made a lifetime commitment. And yet when things got tough, he hadn’t turned to me. Instead he’d found his only comfort in solitude. Obviously there’d been something lacking in our relationship; and until we found that hole and patched it, I would always wonder what the next rough spot might bring.

  Did I trust Sam to always want what was best for us? Yes. Did I trust him to always do what was best for us? Maybe not.

  “That’s not a simple question.” I followed Sam’s lead and stepped away as well.

  “Yes or no, Melanie. That’s all I want to know. Do you trust me?”

  I knew what Sam wanted me to say. I knew what he needed to hear. And I was as incapable of building our future on a lie as I was of flying to the moon. In the end, my silence spoke for me.

  “That’s why I have to go.” Sam leaned down and brushed one last gentle kiss across my lips. “I love you, Melanie.”

  “I love you, too.” Those words came easily, truthfully, joyously. But I could see by the look in Sam’s eyes that they weren’t enough.

  He reached for the knob and opened the front door. “I’ll see you this weekend, right?”

  I blinked my eyes and tried to concentrate. After a moment, Saturday swam into focus. There was a dog show Saturday in New Jersey; Aunt Peg was judging Poodles. Sam and I were both planning to go and watch.

  “Right,” I said. “Saturday.”

  His gaze raked over my tousled hair and flushed cheeks. The ghost of a smile played across his lips. “Sweet dreams,” Sam said.

  Like hell. Two could play this game. I drew the tip of my tongue across my lower lip and exhaled softly. “You, too.”

  The door slammed behind him as Sam let himself out.

  I didn’t have sweet dreams or any dreams at all that I remembered. Instead, I fell into a light, restless slumber that left me drifting in and out of sleep. I’d finally begun to nod off when my eyes suddenly flew open and I jerked upright in bed.

  My heart was racing. My fingers gripped the covers. I had no idea what was wrong.

  The room was dark save for a narrow beam of moonlight shining in through the window. The clock on the nightstand read three thirteen a.m. I gulped in air and sat perfectly still, listening....

  For what? I wondered. I had no idea.

  Next to me on the bed, Eve was awake as well. Her head was up, her ears pricked. I had pushed Dox’s crate against the wall in the corner. Now I could hear him moving within. Was that the unaccustomed noise that had awakened us?

  No, I realized abruptly, there was something else. The slight but unmistakable sounds of movement from downstairs. A door swished open. A floorboard creaked.

  Davey? Not likely. My son slept like a rock. Besides, if he was up, he wouldn’t have gone downstairs, he’d have come to me. Then who . . . ?

  My heart froze, even as my brain flatly refused to register the implications. My imagination had been running amok lately. This was nothing more than another symptom of the same problem. It couldn’t be anything other than that, could it?

  For a minute, I strained to hear something else. Anything else.

  And then I did.

  Someone was moving in the hallway outside my bedroom. Breath lodged painfully in my throat. My hand went to the night table, searching for a weapon. All I came up with was a book. Paperback, not even hardcover. Big help.

  All at once, I heard a soft whine. Faith’s black muzzle wedged into the crack I’d left in the doorway and pushed the bedroom door open.

  “Oh, it’s you.” Relief made my shoulders sag.

  Of course it was Faith. Who else would it have been? The big Poodle was up and prowling around the house, that was all.

  She padded quietly into the bedroom. Her tail, usually carried high in the air, was low and still. Her ears were flat against her head. She looked at me uncertainly.

  “What’s the matter?” I patted the bed beside me. Faith didn’t hop up to join us. “What are you doing up?”

  She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to, because both of us heard the next sound at the same time. It was coming from downstairs. My first, hopeful guess had been wrong. It wasn’t Faith who’d awakened us. Whatever had gotten us up had roused her as well.

  Shaking, shivering, I slipped from beneath the covers. I heard . . . something . . . But what was it? The swish of material being dragged? The hushed whisper of voices?


  Was there someone in my house?

  Call 911. That was my first thought. Pick up the phone beside the bed and call. And say what? I wondered. That I was hearing noises? That my old house might be creaking in the night? That my dogs were awake and I hoped I wasn’t imagining things?

  Jill Prescott would get a good laugh out of this, I thought, nervous tension buzzing through my body like a jolt of electricity looking for a fuse to blow. I could see her lead-in now. Melanie Travis thinks she knows how to solve mysteries. The only mystery last night was why she brought the police racing on an emergency call to her empty home.

  Faith and Eve were watchdogs, weren’t they? If someone was downstairs, surely they’d have sounded an alarm. Maybe, I thought. And maybe not. The Poodles were also creatures of habit, accustomed to sleeping through the night, and socialized to look to me for guidance when they were unsure.

  I crept past Faith to the bedroom door. Cautiously I peered through the slender opening. And saw nothing. But still . . . I could swear I heard voices. Was that a good sign or a bad sign? Wouldn’t intruders at least have the sense to be quiet?

  Faith came up beside me, pressing her warm, solid body against my leg. The comfort she offered was tangible and welcome. Whatever was wrong, my Poodle wanted to help. I reached down and stroked her neck and shoulders.

  “What is that?” I whispered.

  Her tail came up and began to wag slowly. Faith didn’t care what was happening downstairs. As long as we were together, all was right with her world. Now I needed to make sure that all was right with mine.

  “We’d better go see,” I said.

  I had no idea if the impulse was brave or foolhardy, but I couldn’t spend the rest of the night cowering in my bedroom. Looking around, I saw a bud vase sitting on the dresser. It wasn’t much but at least I wasn’t empty-handed.

  Eve hopped off the bed and came to join us in the doorway. Like her dam, she knew what “go” meant. Like Faith, she was always ready to have an adventure, even in the middle of the night. If we were going somewhere, she didn’t want to be left behind.