Hot Dog (21 page)

“Good.” My brother smiled uncertainly. “I mean, that
is
good, isn't it? I just didn't know . . .”

“If Bob and I were adult enough to be able to handle meeting each other's new lovers?”

“Something like that.”

“Of course they are,” said Bertie. “After all, Bob's known Sam for a while now. They're even getting to like each other.”

Frank shot me a meaningful look. “
Everybody
likes Sam.”

“Don't start,” I warned.

“Hey, Frank!” Pam caught sight of my brother and waved at him exuberantly from across the room. “I just stopped by to pick up a cup of coffee. Is Bobby here?”

Even in the busy, lunchtime crowd, the pitch of Pam's voice carried easily above the babble of conversation. I couldn't help but notice that several people turned to stare.

“He's working in back.” Frank began to move toward her through the crush of tables. There was a small office off the kitchen where Bob did most of the paperwork that pertained to running the coffeehouse. “I'll tell him you're here.”

Pam's gaze left Frank and slid briefly in Bertie's and my direction. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of Bertie—no doubt the beautiful redhead was accustomed to receiving such looks from other women—then skimmed past me without acknowledgment.

I probably shouldn't have felt miffed, but I did. Hadn't I just told my brother that Bob and I were mature enough to deal with each other's new relationships in a suitably adult fashion? I hoped I hadn't spoken too soon.

Before Frank could reach the other side of the room, Bob came out of the kitchen. Maybe someone behind the counter had told him Pam was there. Or maybe her voice had carried even better than I'd imagined.

At the sight of him, Pam's face lit up like a child's on Christmas morning. “Bobby!” she shrieked. Pushing her way past the line of patrons who were waiting to place an order, she reached Bob just as he circled out from behind a high glass counter that held an assortment of pastries.

Bob held out both hands. To a casual observer—yes, me, thank you very much—it looked as though he intended to give her a hug.

Pam wasn't having any of it. Instead she stepped into his arms, rose up on her toes and kissed him quite thoroughly on the mouth. My eyebrows rose so far I could feel my forehead wrinkling all the way up to my hairline.

I wasn't the only one who was interested. From somewhere in the room, a wolf whistle sounded. It was followed by a small burst of self-conscious laughter.

“That's a bit much,” said Bertie. I was glad she'd offered the opinion, thereby saving me from doing so and looking like a shrew. “I haven't met Pam before. Is she always so demonstrative?”

“I don't know. I've only seen her a few times myself.”

By now the kissing couple had broken apart. Bob looked more than a little embarrassed by the scene they'd caused. Not Pam; she looked thoroughly satisfied.

I watched as Bob leaned down and said something to her. Pam shook her head. Bob tried again. This time, she glanced in our direction.

“Uh-oh,” said Bertie. “Brace yourself.”

“He wouldn't,” I said.

Why did I even bother? It was obvious he already had. Bob's source of consternation was about to become ours.

It figured.

“H
i,” Pam said brightly. She'd wound her way to us across the crowded room. Her hips, clad in tight, faded blue jeans, swayed seductively from side to side as she skirted through the maze of tables. “You must be Frank's wife.”

“I must be,” Bertie agreed. “Bertie Kennedy.”

Having already established a professional presence in the dog world, Bertie had kept her maiden name when she and Frank married. Oddly enough, the only relative who'd quibbled about that was my Aunt Rose, who for the majority of her life had been known as Sister Anne Marie. Go figure.

“Pam Donnelly. Nice to meet you.” The horsewoman tossed an off-hand smile my way. “Do you mind if I join you two? Bobby's going to fix me a cappuccino to go. I can only stay for a minute.”

“Sure,” I said. A minute sounded good to me. “Pull up a seat.”

Pam snagged an empty, ladder-backed chair from another table. Setting it face-out, she threw a leg over the seat like she was mounting one of her ponies and straddled the chair backwards. Her arms folded across the back's top rung.

“Bobby's been telling me all about his family,” she said to Bertie. “You and Frank just got married, right?”

Bob's family—his parents and an older sister—lived in Florida. If he'd been telling Pam about relatives in the area, he had been talking about
my
family. Maybe it was churlish of me, but I wasn't sure I wanted my life to be fodder for conversation between my ex-husband and his new girlfriend.

“At Christmas,” Bertie replied.

“You are so lucky.” Pam sighed. “I'll bet it was beautiful. I can't wait to get married. That's every girl's dream, isn't it, to be a bride? I already have my wedding dress picked out.”

It seemed to me that she'd do better to find a groom first, but what do I know? I never was one of those little girls who'd dreamt of the perfect wedding day.

Bertie sat back in her chair and grinned. “Does Bob know that?”

“No,” said Pam. “And believe me, I have no intention of telling him. Guys these days, it's amazing how little it takes to scare them off. I've found you've gotta be really careful about stuff like that. Besides, Bobby and I have only known each other a couple of weeks. There's no need for either one of us to rush into anything.”

“Good point.” As Davey's mother, I felt obliged to speak up. “Especially since Bob's been married twice already, I'm sure he'd like to get things right the third time. If there is a third time.”

Pam cocked her head in my direction. “I don't mean to be rude . . .” she said.

In my experience, a statement like that is inevitably followed by rudeness. Pam didn't disappoint.

“I don't happen to think that whether or not Bobby marries again is any of your business. You had your chance with him and you blew it.”

The expression on Bertie's face was priceless. I wondered if I looked equally flummoxed. Yes, I'd had my chance with Bob, two in fact, which was one more than I'd needed. But no matter what Bob might have told Pam,
I
hadn't blown anything.

“Besides,” she continued blithely. “So what if Bobby's made a few mistakes in the past? We all have, haven't we? I'm certainly not the kind of woman who would hold it against him.”

By now, Bertie had begun to bounce up and down in her seat. Either she was suffering from a monster bout of hiccups, or she was trying very hard not to laugh. As for me, having found myself reduced to the dubious status of a mistake from the past, I was simply speechless. Compared to this conversation, that Mongolian sandwich was beginning to look like a winner.

Pam stood up as Bob headed our way. He was holding an oversized cup; steam escaped through a vent in the plastic top. “That looks like my cue,” she said. “Nice to meet you, Bertie. Good to see you again, Melanie. Davey's off of school this week, right? Will you be bringing him out to ride Willow?”

“I'm not sure yet. Davey's going to be spending the next few days with Bob, so we'll have to see how things work out.”

A look of surprise flickered across Pam's face. “Davey's going to be staying with Bob? I didn't know that. What fun!”

“What fun indeed,” Bertie muttered as Bob walked Pam to the door. “Shadowed all week by a seven-year-old chaperone. I think you just seriously deflated that woman's balloon.”

I pushed aside my plate and joined Bertie in watching Pam leave. “I'm sure you'll understand when I say that I don't think I'll lose any sleep over it.”

“I can't imagine why not. I thought it was rather big of her, the way she was willing to overlook your ex-husband's mistakes.”

“Actually, I don't think she was willing to overlook them so much as she was willing to blame them on me.”

“That, too,” Bertie said agreeably. “You don't suppose she and Bob are serious about each other, do you?”

I thought about that for a minute and finally shrugged. “Like Pam said, it's only been a couple of weeks. They're both still in love with the being-in-love stage. Once that wears off, I guess we'll have to see.”

Bertie had dogs to look after at home and I had dogs to attend to at Phil Dutton's house in Old Greenwich. Mutt and Maisie would be waiting for their regular Monday visit. Since I was going to Rose and Peter's later, I'd decided to do my hour of pet-sitting on the way home from the Bean Counter. Bertie and I parted at the door.

Davey came out and helped me unload his small suitcase from the back of the Volvo. He'd spent the night at his father's house before, but this was the first time we'd be separated for a couple of days. I set the suitcase on the ground and gathered him into my arms for a big hug.

“You have fun with your Dad, okay?”

“Sure, Mom.”

My son thinks he's too old for public displays of affection, but he managed to suffer through. I tried not to sniffle and really embarrass him.

“Do everything he tells you to, right?”

“Right.”

That promise came easily. Even I knew it wasn't a hardship. It wasn't as though Bob was going to make Davey eat his vegetables or go to bed on time.

“Call me anytime you want, okay? Or stop by. Or I'll come and see you. . . .”

Davey had stepped back out of my arms, but I hadn't released his hand. “You have to let go, Mom,” he pointed out with implacable seven-year-old logic.

“I know.” I sighed. “You be good, okay?”

“You told me that already.”

I picked up his bag and walked him into the coffeehouse. Bob was waiting just inside the door.

“Everything will be fine,” he said. “And don't forget, if you need anything—anything at all—I'm just around the corner.”

“Thanks.”

“Don't mention it.” Bob turned to his son. “Hey, Davey, want to go back in the kitchen and taste-test the whipped cream?”

Kids. What are you going to do?

 

 

A light blue Mazda followed me from the Bean Counter to Old Greenwich. Like that was a surprise. I wondered if Jill had Rich with her today. I speculated as to whether or not they'd gotten any heartwarming footage of me saying good-bye to my son. And my temper rose to a slow boil.

I parked by the curb outside Phil Dutton's house and waited for Jill to pull in behind me. She was alone in the car. The day was warm enough that her window was already down. She offered a tentative smile as I approached.

“I'll be here an hour,” I said. “You can time it if you like. Or drive into town and get an ice cream cone. I'm sure you'd enjoy that more than sitting out here on the street.”

“I don't mind waiting. Actually, I'm getting rather used to it.” Jill's face assumed a look of concern that might have looked genuine to someone who wasn't familiar with the rest of her repertoire. “Did you find your poor little Dachshund yet?”

“No.” I bent down, leaned my arms on the car door, and looked in through the open window. “If you were going to hide a Dachshund puppy, where would you put him?”

“I don't have your dog,” Jill grumbled. At least her annoyance seemed real. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“I'm just asking a simple question.”

Like
you've
been doing for the last week, I might have added. Why should Jill Prescott be the only one who got to grill innocent people who only wanted to be left alone?

“I guess I'd give him to Rich,” she said after a minute. “He likes dogs.”

Frowning, I straightened and stepped away. Yet another pass-along. Poor Dox. In his brief life he'd already had four temporary “homes,” not including wherever he was right now, and wherever he might eventually end up. It was a deplorable record for a cute, healthy, AKC-registered puppy. So far, every person he'd come in contact with—with the possible exception of his breeder, Marian Firth—had failed him in some way.

“Do you have any leads?”

Jill's question broke into my thoughts. It was probably just as well. “No,” I admitted.

“Too bad.” She shaded her eyes and squinted up at Phil Dutton's house. “I was hoping you were here to chase down some bad guys.”

Yeah, sure. I did that every day.

“No bad guys here,” I said. “Just a couple of lonely old dogs that I pet-sit for a couple of days a week while their owner's at work.”

“That doesn't sound too exciting. Still, the way I figure it, something ought to break soon. Now that your house has been robbed, some sort of violence might be the next step, don't you think?”

To my dismay, I felt a whispery shiver of dread slide up and down my spine. “Who says there's going to be a next step?”

Jill just smiled sweetly. “Who says there isn't?”

 

 

As always, Mutt and Maisie were delighted to see me. I didn't take it personally. I mean, really, what else did these two old dogs have going on in their lives?

“Walks first,” I said, scooping their leashes off the hook. “We'll play when we get back.”

I thought Jill might follow me to the baseball field, but she remained inside her car. I glanced in as we walked by and saw that she was reading a book. Jill didn't even look up. I guessed she figured as long as I was outside in plain view of plenty of people, not too much could go wrong.

Good thought, that.

Mutt and Maisie made short work of our spin around the park. Sometimes when we were there in the late afternoon, there might be a game or practice session in progress. The two elderly dogs adored that. The crowds and the cheering got them dancing on their toes at the ends of their leashes.

That day, however, all was quiet. I supposed that since it was spring break, many families were out of town. The baseball diamond was deserted; the park around it nearly empty.

Mutt finished his walk by lifting his leg on each of the holly bushes that flanked his front door. Maisie watched this demonstration of macho dominance with a look of bored resignation that was almost human and certainly laughable. Once inside, she led the merry charge to the water bowl.

I was closing the door behind us when a car pulled into the driveway. Phil Dutton parked and got out. Walking over to the house, he looked just as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

“You're early.” Phil didn't sound pleased. “I didn't expect you for several hours yet.”

“It's spring break. I'm not working this week so I figured I'd come by a bit earlier. You know, so it would break up the day better for Mutt and Maisie?”

I knew I was babbling, but something felt off. Why did Phil look so flustered? And what was he doing home in the middle of the day? If he was going to be there, what did he need me for?

“Is everything all right?” I asked, stepping aside as he strode into the house.

“Of course.” Phil gave the front door a shove. Closed, it blocked off much of the light that had been in the room. He turned to face me with a smile. His teeth, small and even, were stained as though he'd once been a heavy smoker. “What could possibly be wrong?”

“I don't know.” Intuition told me to take a step back, so I did. “I just didn't think you'd be here today. Like I said last week, if you're going to be home anyway, it's silly to pay me to come and play with your dogs.”

“Don't be so sure of that.” Phil's arm brushed mine as he walked past me and headed toward the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No.” That sounded too abrupt. I tried again. “No, I'm not thirsty, thank you.” Unfortunately, I had to go to the kitchen, too, to check the dogs' food and water bowls. I trailed reluctantly behind him. “Don't mind me. I'll try not to make any noise. I'm sure you have work you want to get back to in your office—”

“As it happens, I don't.” Phil pulled a pair of long-necked beers out of the refrigerator. “Sit down with me for a minute. Let's talk.”

Maybe he was going to fire me, I thought hopefully. Maybe offering me a beer was his way of letting me down gently. Instead of sitting, I went over, picked up the dogs' water bowl, and carried it to the sink. It was half filled with cloudy water and the bottom was brown and scummy. Didn't he ever wash their things out?

“I can listen and work at the same time,” I said. Mutt and Maisie, sprawled side by side on the cool linoleum floor were waiting for a fresh drink. “Go ahead and talk.”

“But that's just it, I don't want you to work. That's not why you're here.”