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Authors: Laurien Berenson
Unleashed (A Melanie Travis Mystery) (28 page)
BOOK: Unleashed (A Melanie Travis Mystery)
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S
hock bounced me up off the chair. Carrying the phone, I ran out to the front hall. “Bob, what are you talking about? What newspaper are you looking at? How did you know about Sara?”
hock bounced me up off the chair. Carrying the phone, I ran out to the front hall. “Bob, what are you talking about? What newspaper are you looking at? How did you know about Sara?”
Cradling the receiver between cheek and shoulder, I fumbled with the lock on the front door.
“It’s called ...” Pages flipped. “The
Greenwich Time.
Frank gets it delivered. It was outside the door this morning.”
Greenwich Time.
Frank gets it delivered. It was outside the door this morning.”
As if I cared where he’d gotten the paper from. Details! I wanted details.
The dead bolt slid free. I yanked open the door and ran outside. Frigid November air knifed right through my flannel pajamas. Bare feet freezing, I hopped from one to the other on the concrete step and scanned the yard. My paper boy has an erratic arm. Some mornings we’re lucky he doesn’t break a window.
The Sunday newspaper, rolled up in its plastic sack, was out by the sidewalk. I didn’t get the same paper as Frank, but if there was a story, the
Advocate
would have it, too. Still carrying the phone, I skipped down the steps and ran across the dry winter grass. Good thing it hadn’t snowed recently.
Advocate
would have it, too. Still carrying the phone, I skipped down the steps and ran across the dry winter grass. Good thing it hadn’t snowed recently.
“Bertie’s been talking about Sara all week,” Bob was saying. “Frank filled me in on the details. Anyway, it looks like there was a house fire last night. Do you want me to read you the story?”
“No.” I reached down, grabbed the paper, and raced back inside. I could only hope it was early enough on a Sunday morning that none of my neighbors had been watching. There are days when it seems like the show going on at my house is better than cable. “In a minute, I’ll have it here. House fire? What house fire? Where was Sara?”
“New Canaan, it says. Some big estate.”
Shivering, I shut the front door behind me and ran back to the kitchen, where the Poodles were now waiting outside that door. The Three Stooges probably deal with crisis better.
“You mean that whole huge house burned down?”
“No, not the big place. A guest cottage.”
I yanked open the back door. The two dogs raced up the stairs, happily anticipating their peanut butter biscuits. What choice did I have but to go to the pantry? On top of that, my feet were still freezing. At this rate, I’d never get the paper opened.
“The cottage burned down?”
“Almost a complete loss. According to the article, it wasn’t wired to any sort of smoke detection system, and nobody noticed the flames right away. By the time the fire department arrived, the place was already engulfed. The roof caved in as the first fire trucks were arriving. They never even had a chance to go inside. All they could do at that point was put the fire out.”
“But Sara?” Now my teeth were chattering. Delayed reaction, probably. “What does it say about Sara?”
I heard the sound of more pages being turned, as I pulled a couple of large dog biscuits out of the box.
“Here it is.” Bob skimmed through the details. “Charred remains discovered by a closet in the bedroom ... no immediate identification possible ... medical examiner believes it to be the body of a young woman.
“But listen to this. Here’s how it ends.
Resident of the cottage, Sara Bentley, could not be reached for comment. According to her parents, on whose estate the house is located, Ms. Bentley’s whereabouts are unknown.”
“Damn,” I said, sinking down into a chair.
All at once, I was simply too heavy, too filled with the weight of the bad news, to stand. Despite Bertie’s fears, I’d held onto the hope that Sara would turn up. Now it looked as though I’d been wrong.
“Mel, are you there?”
“I’m here,” I sighed.
“Don’t go anywhere. I’m coming over.”
It was surely a sign of how deflated I felt that I didn’t even have the energy to argue. Instead, I called Aunt Peg. She’s an early riser. I wondered if she’d gotten around to opening up her paper yet.
While the phone rang, I slid the plastic sleeve off my copy of the
Stamford Advocate
and spread the newspaper out on the kitchen table. There isn’t a lot of crime in lower Fairfield County. Like the Greenwich paper, the
Advocate
had carried the New Canaan fire as front-page news.
Stamford Advocate
and spread the newspaper out on the kitchen table. There isn’t a lot of crime in lower Fairfield County. Like the Greenwich paper, the
Advocate
had carried the New Canaan fire as front-page news.
I was scanning the article when Aunt Peg picked up on the fifth ring. It didn’t contain any more facts than Frank had already given me.
“Melanie!” Aunt Peg sounded out of breath. “What’s the matter?”
Despite the fact that I had other things to worry about, I was still piqued. “How did you know it was me?”
“Nobody calls at seven
A.M.
unless there’s a problem.” Her inference was clear: obviously nobody had as many problems as I did.
A.M.
unless there’s a problem.” Her inference was clear: obviously nobody had as many problems as I did.
“I guess you haven’t looked at today’s paper yet.”
“It’s still out by the mailbox. Shall I go get it?”
“No, I can read you what’s in front of me. Sara Bentley’s cottage burned to the ground last night and the body of a young woman was found inside.”
“Sara?” Peg gasped.
“It says that the body was badly burned and the police haven’t been able to make an identification yet. They’re seeking dental records from the owner of the cottage.”
“Poor Delilah,” Peg said softly. “I’ll have to call her and see if there’s anything I can do. Have you spoken to Bertie?”
“No, she’s showing this weekend. I’m sure she left hours ago. I’ll talk to her tonight. I wonder ...” I stared down at the paper, drumming my fingers on the page.
“What?”
“Where had Sara been for the last week and why did she suddenly decide to come back? And why on the night that the cottage burned down?”
“Maybe she had something to do with the fire,” said Peg, voicing my thoughts aloud. “Does it say what started it?”
“No.” I read the official wording. “Cause of the blaze has yet to be determined. That could mean anything.”
“Including that the fire marshall knows what happened but they just haven’t released their findings yet.” Aunt Peg paused. “Here’s a gruesome thought.”
“What?”
“What if Sara didn’t return to her cottage last night? What if she’s been dead since she disappeared and the murderer brought her body back?”
“Oh, Lord.” It was definitely too early in the morning for me to deal with possibilities like that.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LAURIEN BERENSON
is an Agatha and Macavity nominee, and a four time winner of the Maxwell Award for Fiction, given by the Dog Writers Association of America for excellence in fiction. She lives in Georgia with her husband, her son, and six poodles. She can be reached
at
http//:members.aol.com/LTBerenson
is an Agatha and Macavity nominee, and a four time winner of the Maxwell Award for Fiction, given by the Dog Writers Association of America for excellence in fiction. She lives in Georgia with her husband, her son, and six poodles. She can be reached
at
http//:members.aol.com/LTBerenson
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
850 Third Avenue
New York, NY 10022
850 Third Avenue
New York, NY 10022
Copyright @ 2000 by Laurien Berenson
ISBN: 978-1-57566680-8
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
BOOK: Unleashed (A Melanie Travis Mystery)
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