Bite Club Page 2

  And now it seemed that our numbers had nearly doubled.

  Thank you, Aunt Peg, I thought somewhat murderously.

  “You’re welcome,” she replied.

  Oh Lord, I hadn’t said that out loud, had I?

  The doorbell rang and Aunt Peg went to answer it. The Standard Poodles leapt up and ran after her, the five of them eddying around the closely grouped furniture like a fast-flowing canine stream. A moment later, a chorus of new voices filled the front hall.

  Ready or not, I thought. Here we go.

  Chapter 2

  “Where did all these people come from?” asked

  Terry.

  Only minutes had passed, but the living room was already packed with a lively crowd. I’d given up my perch on the loveseat to claim a spot by the wall from which to observe the new arrivals. Fortunately the corner I’d staked out was next to the dish of Sarah Bernhardts. When Terry cut through the group and joined me there, I’d just stuffed a second one into my mouth.

  Since I was briefly unable to speak, Terry took up the slack. “This crowd is unexpected, isn’t it? I’m glad I dressed for the occasion.” He peered around the room. “Is that Rush Landry? I wouldn’t have pictured him as a novel reader. Automotive magazines, maybe. Or possibly porn . . .”

  I swallowed hastily and slapped him on the arm. “Stop that!”

  “Stop what? Saying out loud what you know perfectly well you’re thinking?”

  “I am not,” I replied. “And what is that you’re wearing anyway?”

  Terry was in his thirties but he could easily pass for a decade younger. For some reason, he’d decided to come to the meeting dressed in a velvet smoking jacket with a cream-colored cravat knotted around his neck. His blond hair was slicked back off his face and his nails were perfectly manicured. He looked like an extra in a British period film. All he needed to complete the picture was a pipe and a valet.

  “Do you like it?” Terry spun in place. Though it was evening, the temperature hovered around eighty degrees. Dressed like that, I would have been sweltering. Terry looked cool as a cucumber. Or maybe a cucumber sandwich. “I found the ensemble online. It seemed like just the thing to wear to this convivial gathering.”

  “If we were on Downton Abbey, maybe,” I retorted. “In February.”

  “It may not be Highclere but we are at Aunt Peg’s house. For all I knew, the dress code might be formal.”

  “We’re here for a book club meeting,” I told him. “My book club. It’s casual. You wore shorts to my house last month.”

  “You held your shindig in the backyard. Shorts were appropriate.”

  At my house, we’d sat out back on the deck and sipped sangria. We’d held our discussion with the Poodles and Bud cavorting in the yard around us.

  At least that part was the same, I thought, as Claire Travis stepped through the doorway and gave Zeke a friendly pat on the head. Aunt Peg’s Poodles were mingling happily with the guests.

  “Last time there were just half a dozen of us,” Terry said. “You know, a friendly gathering. Tonight this place is jammed. What happened?”

  “I’m surprised you even have to ask.” I nodded toward the hallway where my aunt was holding court. “Aunt Peg happened.”

  “Did she invite the entire dog show world?”

  “I sincerely hope not, but don’t hold me to it.”

  “Who’s that?” Terry pointed toward a tall man with black-framed glasses and a long, slender nose. “He looks familiar but I can’t quite place him.”

  “Aunt Peg acquainted me with the guest list before you got here. I’m guessing that’s Jeff Schwin. She said he has Greyhounds.”

  “Of course,” Terry said with a nod. When you’ve been to as many dog shows as we have, the entire dog community begins to look like someone you probably know.

  Alice entered the room, spotted me, and immediately waved. She cut through the throng of people between us and made her way to my side. Alice’s husband, Joe, was a partner at a law firm in Greenwich. Her son, Joey, was thirteen like Davey, and the two of them were best friends. Daughter Carly, a budding ballerina, was three years younger. Alice worked part-time as a paralegal at Joe’s firm.

  We both missed the easy intimacy we’d enjoyed when we were young moms and neighbors. Sharing babysitters and swapping kid-friendly recipes, we’d supported each other through highs and lows. No matter what transpired, Alice would always have my back, just as I had hers.

  She and I shared a quick hug. Terry poured her a glass of Pinot Grigio. Both part of the original book club group, they’d known each other for almost a month.

  “What’s with the crowd?” Alice asked. She gulped down a swallow of wine as if to fortify herself. “Did I come on the wrong night?”

  Claire was heading our way too. She arrived just in time to hear Alice’s question. “Ditto that for me,” she said.

  Claire was sleek as a cat. She had shiny, dark hair and honey-toned skin. An event planner by trade, she was very good at managing things. And people. Now her hand lifted, long fingers pointing gracefully toward the sideboard. “And ditto on the wine too, Terry, if you wouldn’t mind?”

  “Not at all,” he replied. “In fact, I’ll pour for all four of us before the horde descends on this spread like locusts.”

  “Horde indeed.” Claire caught my eye and frowned. “This is Peg’s doing, isn’t it? I should have known our amiable little group was too good to last.”

  Claire was a relative newcomer to the family. She and Bob had been married for just eighteen months. Unlike most people, Claire wasn’t intimidated by Aunt Peg. Of course when they’d met, Claire had suspected that Peg might be guilty of murder. The two women were friends now, but Claire had no illusions about the kind of mischief Aunt Peg was capable of causing.

  “You know Aunt Peg,” I told her. “The bigger the production, the better. I’m not surprised she wanted to add to the group. But what I can’t figure out is how she managed to dig up so many book lovers among the dog show crowd so quickly. It’s not as if anyone stands around at the shows and talks about what they’re reading.”

  “What makes you think they’re all book lovers?” Alice asked skeptically.

  We all looked around the room. People were gathered in small groups, chatting with one another. Most seemed to be discussing the previous weekend’s dog show results. Two were comparing pictures on their phones. No one was holding a book.

  “Well, for one thing . . . they’re here.” I might have sounded a little defensive. “And for another, Aunt Peg says they are.”

  “Oh please.” Terry sniffed. “Peg is the sneakiest woman I’ve ever met. Since when have you believed everything she told you?”

  Ummm. He had a point.

  Terry tilted his wineglass to point toward a plump, middle-aged woman on the other side of the living room. She had beautifully styled blond hair and an Hermès scarf wrapped around her throat. Unlike everyone else, she wasn’t talking to anyone. Instead, she was standing by herself, surveying the other book club participants with a calculating expression on her face.

  “That’s Felicity Barber,” he told us. “She’s been showing dogs since Crawford was in short pants and she’s one of the toughest competitors on the circuit. Felicity would sell her own mother to get in the good graces of a judge as powerful as Peg.”

  I huffed out a breath. “Well, that’s disappointing.”

  Claire didn’t think so. She seemed to be enjoying herself. “Five dollars says Felicity didn’t read this week’s book.”

  “Ten dollars says she doesn’t even know the title,” Alice shot right back.

  “Done,” said Claire. The two women shook on it.

  I winced and looked away. Some people had put in an appearance tonight to gain favor. Others were placing bets. My friendly little book club was morphing into something unrecognizable right before my eyes. And I was powerless to prevent it.

  I chugged the glass of Pinot Terry had handed me and poured
myself another. He glanced at me and smothered a grin. Terry doesn’t miss a thing.

  I suspected it was going to be a long night.

  Aunt Peg stepped into the middle of the room. As hostess for the meeting, it was her job to take charge to the proceedings. “Can I have everyone’s attention, please?”

  Conversation died down. People put their phones away. We all turned politely in her direction.

  “I’d like to welcome all of you to tonight’s gathering. Bite Club,” she said with a smile. “Please don’t take the name literally.”

  Most people laughed in appreciation. Marge Brennan, seated on a loveseat, emitted a loud guffaw. Apparently Felicity Barber wasn’t the only one who’d joined the book club in order to suck up to Aunt Peg.

  “Thank you.” Aunt Peg dipped her head in gracious acknowledgment. “There are refreshments on the sideboard. I hope you will all help yourselves to a drink or a snack. Then please take a seat so we can call the meeting to order. Has anyone counted noses? Is everybody here and ready to get started?”

  People were making their way toward our side of the room. Drinks already in hand, Alice, Claire, Terry, and I moved out of their way. I was considering the best place to find a seat when Alice spoke up.

  “I don’t see Evan,” she said. “I know he was planning to be here tonight. I’m sure he must be on his way.”

  Aunt Peg was a stickler for punctuality. She made a show of looking at her watch—a clear warning to anyone who might contemplate tardiness in the future. “I suppose we can wait a little longer before beginning.”

  Ten minutes later, Evan still hadn’t arrived. The selection on the sideboard had been depleted. Dog-related conversation had resumed.

  And Aunt Peg was growing increasingly restless. She hated it when things didn’t go to plan. I was about to ask Alice to give Evan a call when the Standard Poodles jumped up and ran to the front door.

  “It’s about time,” Aunt Peg muttered under her breath. She followed the dogs out of the room.

  “I am so sorry to be late.” Evan’s apology was audible from the front hall. A moment later he appeared in the doorway. “I hope I haven’t inconvenienced everyone.”

  Aunt Peg was right behind him. “As long as you don’t make a habit of it . . .” Her voice trailed away as Evan stepped into the light. “My word, that looks awful. What happened to you?”

  Evan Major was slight of build and diffident in demeanor. With his pale eyes, receding hairline, and slightly hunched shoulders, he’d struck me as a person who never wanted to stand out in a crowd. Now he had no choice.

  Everyone in the room was staring at him. Specifically we all were staring at the bruise—swollen, red, and starting to turn purple—that was blooming on the side of his jaw.

  Evan’s hand rose self-consciously to his face. “Oh, this.”

  At six feet tall, Aunt Peg towered over him. She leaned in for a closer look. “Yes, that. It appears you must have taken quite a wallop. Would you like me to fetch you an ice pack?”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine. Really.” Evan started to shake his head, then evidently thought better of it. “Please don’t go to any trouble on my behalf. It’s bad enough that I’ve delayed the meeting.”

  Bella Barrundy stepped forward. She guided Evan to a nearby chair. “None of us minded waiting. And it looks as though you had a very good excuse.”

  A rumble of assent came from others in the room. It was followed by a weighty silence. Mystery readers are curious people. It was clear that everyone was waiting for Evan to explain himself.

  He looked pained by the necessity, but finally mumbled, “I got in a car accident on the way here.”

  “You poor thing.” Bella patted his back solicitously.

  Claire gathered a handful of ice from the bucket on the sideboard. She wrapped it in a linen napkin, then crossed the room and handed it to Evan. “This will help the swelling,” she said briskly. “And take ibuprofen for the pain. Are you injured anywhere else?”

  “No. At least I don’t think so.” Evan shrank down into his chair. “It was just a fender bender. I rolled through a stop sign and hit a guy’s bumper. Nothing to get excited about.”

  “You might think that now.” A man separated himself from the crowd. He had a muscular physique, strong features, and a piercing gaze. “But then lawyers get involved and everything goes south. It sounds like you were the one at fault?”

  “No, I . . .” Evan glanced up uncertainly. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

  “Rush Landry. New book club member.” He grabbed Evan’s hand and pumped it up and down. “Just trying to help.”

  “Thank you.” Evan managed a small smile. “I appreciate your concern.” He looked at the rest of us. “That goes for all of you. You’re very kind to worry about me. But it was nothing. Please, let’s just go on with the meeting.”

  “If you’re sure . . . ?” said Aunt Peg.

  Evan nodded. “The other driver and I exchanged information. Our insurance companies will take care of everything. I’d really rather just put the whole episode behind me. So on a totally different subject—did anyone happen to read a good book this week?”

  Aunt Peg knew how to take a cue. “Good question!” she agreed. “Let’s take our seats, shall we? Margaret Maron is a wonderful writer. I know we’ll all have plenty to say about Bootlegger’s Daughter. And I’ll begin by saying that I think the title is genius. Who wouldn’t want to know more about Deborah Knott after a tease like that?”

  The conversation that followed was fast and furious. People chimed in with opinions from all corners of the room. When they were too impatient to wait their turns, they simply talked over one another. Aunt Peg tried to moderate the discussion, but the choice of the debut novel in Maron’s southern mystery series had proven so popular that even she could barely get a word in.

  Those among us who hadn’t previously been acquainted with Judge Knott were now planning to dive in and read the rest of the series. Those for whom the book wasn’t new had been happy to revisit it. The only complaint came from Toby Cane, who grumbled about the choice of a book that was first published in the previous century. He was quickly overruled by consensus.

  As for Felicity Barber, she had not only read the assigned book, she gave it a rave review—causing both Alice and Claire to lose their bets. Neither woman seemed to mind. When the meeting ended, they left arm in arm, still arguing companionably over who had placed the better wager.

  As the exodus began, I bid adieu to Aunt Peg’s Standard Poodles, who acknowledged my good manners with bright eyes and wagging tails. The line to pay my respects to Aunt Peg was considerably longer. I decided to slip out the door, but before I could make my escape, I was hailed by Evan. He was standing at the sideboard, replacing the linen napkin Claire had given him earlier.

  “Alice recommended that I have a word with you,” he said as I approached.

  “Oh?” My gaze dropped to his jawline. The swelling might have gone down a little but the bruise was even uglier than when he’d come in. “Are you feeling all right? Do you need me to do something?”

  “No, I’m okay. I wanted to ask you about something else entirely. I know you have lots of dogs.... I saw them last month when we met at your house.”

  I nodded. “Yes, we have six. Sometimes it feels like a lot.”

  “The thing is . . . I recently got divorced. That’s why I moved to Stamford. I guess you might say I’m starting over.”

  “I can understand that.” I smiled encouragingly, wishing he’d get to the point.

  “I didn’t realize how lonely it would be, living by myself with no one to talk to. So I decided to fix that.” Evan’s expression brightened. “I went out and bought a puppy. He’s a Bulldog, three months old. And he’s great. But the problem is, he doesn’t know anything.”

  “Puppies are like that,” I said. “They’re a blank slate. That’s why it’s so important to start them right with proper training.”

  “T
hat’s what Alice told me you would say.” Evan paused, then added hopefully, “She also said you might be willing to help me with that. She said you know everything about dogs.”

  The thought made me laugh. “You have that wrong. That’s Aunt Peg, not me.”

  “Your aunt is a formidable woman,” Evan replied seriously. “I wouldn’t dream of asking her to spend her precious time dealing with my problems.”

  I was pretty sure there was an implied insult in there about my precious time, but I decided to ignore it. I must have looked annoyed, however, because Evan gestured toward the exit. “I didn’t mean to hold you up. Let me walk you out while we finish our conversation.”

  We skirted around the last of the stragglers—Aunt Peg’s dog show cronies who were still paying court—and let ourselves out the door. In a courtly gesture, Evan took my arm to guide me down the darkened steps.

  “I’m the white Prius,” he told me. Last to arrive, he’d still managed to find a spot near the house. “So what do you think? Bully’s awfully cute. But he and I need proper guidance from someone who knows what she’s doing. Will you help me get him off to a good start?”

  Of course I agreed.

  Evan shook my hand and thanked me profusely. His gratitude seemed so out of proportion to the favor he’d requested that I wondered if he’d expected me to turn him down. Maybe when I was finished showing Evan how to train his puppy I’d work on finding a way to shore up his self-esteem.

  After we’d made a plan to get together later in the week, Evan got in his car. When he started the engine, his headlights flicked on. They illuminated the Prius’s grill and fender. My gaze slid over the front of the car, looking for signs of damage. To my surprise, the white bumper looked pristine.

  That was odd. Even if Evan hadn’t been wearing a seat belt, it was hard to imagine how he’d ended up with such a big bruise without acquiring so much as a scratch on his car. I would have asked, but Evan was already backing away down the driveway.

  I stood and watched him leave. Thanks to his new puppy, I’d be seeing him again soon. There’d be plenty of time to find out then.