Unleashed (A Melanie Travis Mystery) (20 page)

“It sounds like a big job.”

“Pretty big,” Sam said. He sounded tired. “But I can do almost all of it from Connecticut. That’s why I called. I wanted to let you know I’ll be coming home Saturday.”

“Good. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” His voice dipped. “I wish I was holding you right now.”

“Me too.” I sighed. “Will we see you Saturday?”

“You’ll be my first stop.”

Hallelujah.

It was time to visit
Woof!
again. Brian was supposed to be back in the office at the end of the week, which meant he should have returned by now. And if not, I’d talk to Aubrey. Or Tim. It’s not like the place had a shortage of suspects.

Less than a week had passed since we’d all been together at the dog show; it seemed like much longer. The last time I’d seen Brian, I’d asked some questions. But not the right ones, apparently. Now I had a better set.

Was
Woof!
going under? And if so, had Sheila known how precarious things were when she became his partner? Was Aubrey undermining Sheila’s efforts as publisher, and, more importantly, how was she getting away with such behavior? Who was Tim “facilitating” for aside from Alida Trent? How many times had he sold out?

Friday shaped up much as all the others had that week. Davey at camp. Faith at home. Me on the road. And to think, this was supposed to be my vacation.

As soon as I reached the magazine office, I knew that Brian was in. The sight of Boris, lying on his side in the middle of the linoleum floor just beyond Carrie’s desk, was a dead giveaway. Though it was morning, with the full heat of the day yet to come, the Saint Bernard was sacked out.

Air conditioning kept the room cool; I’m sure the floor was cooler still. Even so, Boris’s mouth was slightly open, his breathing heavy. A ribbon of drool spiraled down to the floor.

“Hi, Boris!” I said as I pushed the door open. “How are you doing, big guy?”

The dog’s bushy tail flopped up and down in greeting. The eye he rolled in my direction had a devilish-looking gleam. Added to the effect of the open mouth, I could swear he was grinning at me.

“Oh please.” Carrie grimaced. “Don’t encourage him. He just lay down, for Pete’s sake. If you talk to him, he’ll get up and come and drool on me again.”

Obviously Brian’s campaign to turn Carrie into a dog lover hadn’t yet succeeded.

I walked over to the Saint Bernard, squatted beside him, and reached out a hand to scratch behind his ears. His whole body wiggled with pleasure. That’s what I love about dogs. Find their spot, and they’re yours for life.

“You’re Melanie, right?” Carrie asked brightly. “Am I good with names, or what? Who do you want to see? Tim? Aubrey?”

Though I could hear voices coming from one of the other offices, she and I were the only ones in the room. I looked up over my shoulder. “How about Brian?”

“Brian.” Carrie looked thoughtful. Or maybe she was trying for a dreamy expression, like one she might have seen in her magazine. “I don’t know. This is his first day back, and he said he was going to be busy all morning.”

“Why don’t you check and see?”

“Umm ... okay.”

Carrie rose from her chair and walked toward Brian’s office. The door was standing slightly ajar. Just for the heck of it, I stood up and followed.

The publisher’s office was a fairly nondescript room that looked as though it had been outfitted with furniture ordered from a rental catalogue. Brian was seated behind a large desk, his chair swiveled sideways to face a computer on a console. Beside the monitor, a cigarette sat burning in an engraved crystal ashtray, probably an old dog show trophy. A thin stream of smoke spiraled toward the ceiling.

Brian glanced over as Carrie pushed open the door. He saw me, and smiled. “Melanie! Come on in. What a nice surprise.”

Carefully he closed his file before standing. The screen wiped dean. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“I know you’ve been away,” I said. “But I was hoping you could spare me a few minutes.”

“Sure. Have a seat.”

Carrie withdrew. I noticed she didn’t shut the door behind her.

“How’s Sam doing?” Brian asked. “Is he handling things okay?”

“Actually, I thought maybe you’d seen him. I heard you were traveling and wondered if you went to Sheila’s funeral. It was held yesterday in Evanston.”

“No.” He reached for his cigarette and sucked in a lungful of smoke. “I didn’t make it. I didn’t want to intrude on her family’s grief.”

“I’m sure no one would have thought you were intruding. You were Sheila’s business partner. And her friend.”

“Nevertheless.” Brian frowned apologetically. “I was busy working. Distributing copies of the first issue, visiting some of the major dog food companies that I’m hoping we can count on for contract ads. I’ve never been one to dwell on what might have been. Sheila’s gone, and I couldn’t see how rearranging my schedule to help other people cope with that would help anything.”

Was it just me, or was his reaction cold enough to freeze mud?

“Maybe I misunderstood then. The night we had dinner at Sheila’s house, I got the impression that the two of you were quite close.”

“We were,” Brian said. “Look, don’t get me wrong. I’m sorry about what happened. But it’s not like I’m going to spend the rest of my life in mourning. Things move on. People move on. I’d already lost Sheila once before. This time around, there was no way I was going to get that involved.

“Sheila and I were running a business together and having some fun on the side. That’s all it was. That’s all I was going to let it be.”

I wondered if Sheila had known that. And if she had, whether the realization had come to her before or after she’d invested in Brian’s magazine.

“I guess you needed to visit those major accounts,” I said, settling back in my chair. “I’ve heard that Woof! is heading for bankruptcy.”

“Who told you that?”

I certainly had his attention now. “Marlon Dickie.”

Brian snorted. “Nobody listens to what Marlon says. The man’s an opportunistic bastard. I never should have given him the chance I did.”

“Then it’s not true?”

“Does this
look
like an operation that’s going down the tubes?”

He hadn’t, I noticed, answered my question. “I’d say it looks like an operation with problems. For example, your editorial assistant, Tim.”

“What about him?”

“He was keeping tabs on what Sheila was up to for Alida Trent.”

“Really?” To my surprise, Brian looked almost pleased. He tapped a long gray column of ash into the ashtray. “If we’ve captured her attention, that is something.”

“Sheila was writing a story about her. Alida wasn’t very pleased with the slant Sheila had chosen to present.”

“That’s hardly our fault. Sheila and I discussed that article just last week. I think it will make an excellent cover story for our third issue.”

“Then you’d better tell Aubrey. She assured Alida the story had been scrapped.”

Brian frowned. “Aubrey is reporting back to Alida, too?”

“Apparently she’s been running interference between Sheila and Alida, making sure that Alida’s calls never went through. Tim told me that Sheila had been having trouble with her phone messages. He thought Carrie was behind it.”

“Carrie? She’s just a kid.”

“A kid with a crush on the boss.”

Brian colored, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Carrie’s too innocent for her own good.”

“Too bad you can’t say the same about the rest of your staff.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t need to defend them.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Why would you even ask such a thing?” Brian glared at me, then his gaze narrowed. “Oh good God. You’re investigating us, aren’t you? You didn’t buy the police theory about a breakin, and now you’re trying to solve Sheila’s murder.

“I should have known. Sheila warned me about you, but at the time, your macabre hobby seemed like a joke, an amusing anecdote. I had no reason to suspect that I might ever become the victim of one of your little mysteries.”

My little mysteries?
All at once, I was as angry as he was. I felt my face growing hot. The rest of the questions I’d meant to ask seemed unimportant now. It was Brian himself who was going to have my undivided attention.

“Let’s not lose sight of what happened,” I snapped. “Sheila is the victim here. Not you.”

Amazingly, he still managed to find a way to make himself the center of attention. “That depends, doesn’t it, on how far you intend to go with your meddling? This is a very delicate time for the magazine. Make or break, you might say. This kind of bad publicity now could kill us.”

“Funny thing about that. I thought
Woof!
was built on bad publicity. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

“Look.” Brian stubbed out his cigarette, grinding the butt into the glass until it broke apart between his fingers. “We need to talk about this. There are things you don’t understand. Things you should know.”

“About you and Sheila?”

His gaze was hard and direct. “And Sam. Despite what he’s probably told you, he’s not the angel in this situation. And I’m not the villain.”

“Fine.” My stomach muscles clenched. In that moment, I knew I’d rather be anywhere else than sitting in that chair waiting to hear what he had to say about Sam. And the worst thing was, I knew I had to listen. “Let’s talk.”

“Not here.”

Brian glanced at the door, and I heard voices in the outer room. Aubrey and Tim, arguing about the sequence of some pictures that were meant to accompany an article.

“We’ll take it to Brian then,” said Aubrey.

“Fine,” Tim shot back.

I heard papers shuffle and knew they were on their way. “Where?” I asked. “And when?”

“My place,” said Brian. “Tonight.”

“I’ll be there.” I’d have to juggle a few things, and find a sitter for Davey. Bearing Faith’s condition in mind, maybe Aunt Peg could be convinced to fill in.

“Eight o’clock?” Brian said, and I nodded.

As I stood up, Aubrey and Tim pushed through the doorway together, both trying to be the first into Brian’s office. Grow up, I thought irritably. It was just as well they both ignored me.

As I walked out, I glanced back over my shoulder. Judging by the look on Brian’s face, he wasn’t in any mood to deal with whatever they brought him. Aubrey pushed the door firmly shut behind me.

Shaking my head, I started across the room. Boris was still sleeping in the middle of the floor. Carrie jumped up from behind her desk and grabbed my arm.

“Wait!” she said, sounding almost plaintive. “You like dogs, right? I mean, you were petting Boris before. You’re not afraid of him or anything?”

“No,” I said, surprised by the question. “He doesn’t scare me. I love big dogs. Why?”

“I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

“Maybe.” With this crowd, I wasn’t about to take anything for granted.

“It’s time for him to go outside and ... you know, visit a few bushes? He’s been in here a couple hours and that always makes me nervous. I mean, if he has an accident, he’s going to flood the place.”

Judging by Boris’s languid demeanor, the only way he was going to pee soon was in his sleep. He was a grown dog, with a bladder that could probably wait more than an hour or two. Carrie looked genuinely worried, however.

She was a cat person, I reminded myself. She didn’t know the drill.

“Won’t Brian walk him?” I asked.

“Sure, when he thinks of it. But once he gets locked in with Aubrey and Tim like that, he might not surface for hours. And in the meantime ...”

My guess was that Carrie was too intimidated by Boris’s size even to consider walking him herself. There was probably no point in mentioning that most Saint Bernards are placid, gentle dogs with impeccable temperaments. Carrie didn’t look likely to be convinced.

“Where’s his leash?” I asked.

“Right here.” Her worried look vanished, replaced by a smile and a rush of words. “Brian hangs it by the door. Boris doesn’t like the elevator, but you can take the stairs. You don’t have to go far or anything. Brian usually just walks him around the edge of the parking lot.”

I took the six-foot leather leash and hooked it to Boris’s collar. “Come on, boy,” I said. “Want to go out?”

That phrase sends Faith running to the door. Boris managed, with effort, to lift his head. I clucked encouragingly and gave him a nudge. Boris groaned.

After a moment, he shifted his weight and heaved himself to his feet. We lumbered to the office door. Carrie held it open for us.

“Be right back,” I said.

Once outside, the Saint Bernard knew what was expected of him. He strolled over to the nearest tree and lifted his leg obligingly.

“Good boy,” I said. Boris wagged his tail, and went to sniff another spot.

We’d completed a walk around the perimeter of the lot and were heading back inside when the door to the building flew open and Tim came running out. Seeing me and Boris together, he slid to a stop.

“I was hoping to catch you. I didn’t realize you’d been given dog duty.”

“Carrie asked. I think she was afraid to do it herself.”

Tim reached down to stroke Boris’s broad head. “I’m glad you were willing to help. Because that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. There’s something important I have to do. And I need your help, too.”