Hot Dog (10 page)

“So I see.” Sam got out a frying pan and began to heat some olive oil on the stove. He was as at home in my kitchen as I was. “Do you want me to have a talk with her?”

“No, I'll do that. Don't worry about it.”

“You're sure?”

“Positive. I'll be fine.”

I would be fine, I told myself firmly. For whatever reason, being shadowed by Jill and Rich was making my imagination work overtime. That was my problem, not Sam's; and I'd solve it myself, without his help.

I'd learned that lesson the hard way. No matter how tempting the notion was, it simply didn't pay to be too dependent on a man who coped with his problems by running away.

D
avey 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 semi-darkened 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?

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.

Slipping out into the hallway, I went first to Davey's room. His door was open; I could see his small form curled beneath the comforter, his head resting on the pillow. His breathing was deep and even.

I reached out and pulled the bedroom door closed. Behind me, both Poodles were waiting expectantly, ready for whatever might come next. Even better than letting these two big dogs accompany me downstairs, I realized suddenly, I could send them on ahead.

“Who wants to go out?” I whispered, my tone urgent, inviting. “Come on, let's go outside!”

Eve yipped and danced her front feet in the air. This was more exciting than she'd hoped. An
outdoors
adventure in the dark!

Together, the Poodles scrambled past me. When I'd only had one dog, the mad dash to the back door had taken place in silence. With two, however, the excitement was multiplied. It had become a competition. Faith and Eve were barking as they ran; the clamor they created seemed to bounce off the walls.

I knew what they were saying. Each was yelling the canine version of “Me first! Me first!” But as I ran along behind them, I could only hope that someone down below would hear their deep-throated bellowing in the darkness and envision a pair of attack-trained Dobermans bearing down upon them.

By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs, the Poodles had already skidded around the banister and headed down the hallway toward the kitchen. I caught my breath, reflecting on the fact that the tone of their barking hadn't changed. That was a good sign. If they'd seen anyone, I would know it by now.

On the other hand, having sent the pair on a single-minded dash to the back door, I'd left the rest of the small house unscouted. Pausing, I reached around and flipped on lights in the living and dining rooms. Both were blessedly empty, just as I'd left them before going to bed.

I was telling myself it was a good thing that I hadn't called the police when I reached the kitchen. Eve was standing by the back door, waiting for me to open it. Faith, however, was in the middle of the room peering curiously at the little television set that was a new addition to my kitchen counter.

The TV was on and its screen cast an eerie glow out into the shadowy room. Shimmering colors reflected off the refrigerator, the sink, the shiny tile floor. The effect was spooky, and at the same time, compelling. Faith stared as though mesmerized.

An infomercial was playing. The participants were talking to each other about the incredible value of the product they were hawking. Theirs were the voices I'd heard from upstairs.

“What on earth . . . ?”

I reached for the wall, found the switch panel and turned on lights inside and out. Eve whined impatiently by the back door. As well she should: I'd told her I was going to let her out.

Automatically I went to flip up the dead bolt. Abruptly, my hand froze in midair. The lever was already upright. The door wasn't locked.

I sucked in a breath and spun around, certain in that instant that I'd felt someone creeping up behind me. There was no one there.

Of course not.

This was ridiculous. I snapped off the TV and the room fell silent. Still, my heart was pounding so powerfully it hurt to breathe. I could feel its rhythm pounding in my ears.

I wasn't an idiot. I was a grown-up with responsibilities. And I always locked my doors at night.

At least I thought I did. Unless the argument I'd had with Sam had been a more potent distraction than I'd realized, which appeared to be the case.

Giving up on the back door, Eve went and slurped a drink from the water bowl. The utter normalcy of her actions began to have a calming effect on my nerves. I crossed the room and opened the basement door. Lights on, I stuck my head down the steps.