Killer Cupid

Book 0: Melanie Travis Canine Mystery

by Laurien Berenson

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Animal Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

Melanie is delighted at the prospect of three uninterrupted days alone with Sam (and, of course, her prize-winning Standard Poodle, Faith). They're booked at the White Birch Inn, a picturesque New England resort nestled at the foot of a snow-covered mountain. The inn has a full slate of couples' activities planned for the busy Valentine's weekend—date nights, sleigh rides, tobogganing, ice skating, and pop-up shops in the inn's ballroom—from the bubbly to the bubble bath, the resort is a perfect match for Melanie and Sam's vacation. But the first night of festivities feature an event that isn't on the program: murder.



The sheriff quickly launches an investigation, but at the inn keeper's urging—and because she suddenly finds herself a person of interest in the case—Melanie tries to sneak a little detective work into her romantic getaway. But with the resort nearly sold out for the holiday weekend, there's no shortage of suspects, and Melanie's secret sleuthing is already attracting the wrong kind of attention. Her Valentine's trip is heating up faster than the chocolate fondue . . . just not in the way Melanie hoped. But if she doesn't catch the cold-hearted killer soon, another innocent victim will get the kiss of death . . .

Release date: December 27, 2022

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 224

Sample

“I know something you don’t know,” Kevin announced.

Five years old, almost six, my son was a pint-sized bundle of energy and charm. He had his father’s wicked sense of humor, deep blue eyes, and shaggy blond hair. Now, as I watched him dance gleefully around the front hall of our house, it occurred to me that his hair was overdue for a trim. Something else to add to our busy weekend schedule.

It was Saturday morning and I’d only been up and dressed for an hour. Already it felt as though the day might be getting away from me.

“What don’t I know?” I asked Kevin.

“I can’t tell you.” He giggled. “It’s a surprise!”

My life is full of surprises. Not all of them are good ones.

Judging by the expression on my son’s face, however, this was a surprise I should be excited about. At least that was what he thought.

In our house, excitement is contagious. I heard the sound of scrambling feet. Kevin’s frolicking had brought our canine crew running.

Five black Standard Poodles, all interrelated, all current or former show dogs, came bounding toward us from several directions. Bud, the small, spotted mutt we’d adopted several years earlier, brought up the rear on his much shorter legs.

I reached down, intending to swoop Kevin up before he could be bowled over by the oncoming horde. He dodged away, evading my grasp, and embraced the scrum eagerly. Tar and Augie were our two boisterous male Poodles. That pair led the charge. Eve and six-month-old puppy Plum raced close behind.

Following them was Faith, my very first Standard Poodle, and the dog who held my heart in her paws. Now in her senior years, Faith was often content to watch rather than take part in the youngsters’ high jinks. As she entered the hall, Faith’s dark eyes immediately found mine. When I held out a hand, she skirted around the edge of the room and came to my side.

Standards are the tallest variety of Poodles. The top of Faith’s head nearly reached my waist. I could trail my fingers over the dense black curls on her back without leaning down. She pressed her body against my legs as Bud came skidding across the hardwood floor and leapt into the fray.

“What the heck is going on down there?”

My older son, Davey, leaned over the banister on the second floor to have a look. At fifteen, he was navigating the transition from child to adulthood. His voice seemed too deep for his lanky body, and his long limbs were always outgrowing his clothes. Now he frowned down at us and attempted to stand on his dignity.

“You people are crazy,” he muttered.

My husband, Sam, stuck his head out of his home office. “You’d better hope not,” he said. “Considering that we’re your family. Because, you know . . . genetics.” He strolled out to join us.

Kevin popped up out of the dog pile. “I told Mom we have a secret.”

“Wait! What?” Davey came flying down the stairs. “You weren’t supposed to do that.”

“Do what?” Sam glanced my way. He and I have been married for eight years and I adore everything about him. Including his naive belief that I’m on top of everything that goes on in our house. “Do you know what this is about?”

“Not a clue,” I told him.

Together, Sam and I turned and stared at Davey.

“What?” He held up his hands innocently. “I didn’t say a thing.”

“No, but you know something,” I said.

“Davey knows lots of things,” Kevin informed us. Now that the Poodle mayhem had finally died down, he was ready to tune back in to the conversation. “He’s in high school.”

Davey was generally a really good kid. But I’m a mother. So I had to ask. “Are you in trouble?”

“Whoa.” Davey took a step back. “Where did that come from?”

Note that he hadn’t answered my question.

“Kev says you have a secret.”

“It’s a surprise!” Kevin crowed. “A really fun one.”

Sam and I both relaxed somewhat. Davey wasn’t in the clear just yet, however. “Why don’t you tell us about it?” Sam asked.

“He can’t,” Davey replied.

“Why not?”

“I promised,” Kev said solemnly. “I crossed my heart.”

I hunkered down to his level. “It isn’t a good thing to keep secrets from your parents.”

“It’s not our fault,” Davey told us.

“Then whose is it?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I suspected I already knew what his answer was going to be. Before he could reply, however, the doorbell rang.

Immediately the Poodles regrouped and raced toward a new target. “Saved by the bell,” Davey said with a grin.

Sam was closer to the front of the hall than I was. He glanced through the row of glass panes beside the door before unlatching it and pulling it open. The fact that he didn’t say a word to the dogs who were now milling around his legs confirmed my guess. Aunt Peg—the Poodles’ favorite person—had arrived.

We hadn’t been expecting visitors, but that never seemed to matter where Aunt Peg was concerned. She swept through life like a tornado, making grown men tremble and thrusting all unwanted obstacles from her path. The fact that she was in her seventies had neither mellowed her disposition nor slowed her stride. Aunt Peg did what she wanted, when she wanted, and damn the consequences to anyone who attempted to impede her progress.

The door drew open and a draft of cold air blew into the hallway. It was early February and several inches of new snow had fallen overnight. In a Connecticut winter, that was nothing out of the ordinary.

Aunt Peg stamped her booted feet on the front mat before coming inside. She was appropriately bundled up from head to toe. A longtime breeder of Standard Poodles, Peg was now an acclaimed dog show judge. So she’d had plenty of experience dealing with inclement weather.

Her eyes lit up when the Poodle pack came spilling out of the house. Of course she paused to greet the dogs first. Never mind that we—her human relatives—stood, shivering, only a few feet away.

“You’re doing a good job with Plum’s hair,” Aunt Peg said to Sam. She aimed a wave in his direction. “It’s coming along nicely.”

Sam and I had whelped a litter of puppies for her the previous summer. Aunt Peg had kept a male she’d named Joker. Sam, who’d recently lost one of his older bitches, had chosen Plum for himself. Both puppies were now growing coat so they could begin their show careers in the spring.

“She’ll be ready soon,” Sam agreed. He drew Aunt Peg inside so he could close the door. The Poodles scrambled in quickly behind her.

“You lot.” Aunt Peg motioned to the boys. “Come and give me a hug.”

Kevin complied eagerly. Davey was only a step behind. At his age, he wasn’t into hugging, but like the rest of us he knew better than to deny a request from Aunt Peg.

“You didn’t say hello to Bud,” Kevin complained when he’d extricated himself.

As she unzipped her parka, Aunt Peg looked down toward the floor at her feet. She stood six feet tall, so there was a fair bit of distance between her and the little mutt who was gazing up at her and wagging his stubby tail. Bud was a total chow hound. He was probably hoping Aunt Peg had a dog biscuit in her pocket.

“Bud’s not a Poodle,” she pointed out unnecessarily.

“He doesn’t know that,” Davey said with a laugh.

“Quite so.” Aunt Peg reached down and ruffled the dog’s ears.

Then she pulled off her parka and draped it over my arm. Her scarf followed. Her hat and gloves came next. I could have been a coatrack for all the notice she’d taken of me.

I shoved everything inside a nearby closet and said, “You have some explaining to do.”

“Do I?” Aunt Peg’s expression wasn’t entirely innocent.

“Kevin says he has a secret,” Sam told her. “We’re assuming you had a hand in that.”

“Perhaps.” Aunt Peg favored us with an enigmatic smile. “Why don’t we all sit down first?”

Sam and I herded everyone, dogs included, into the living room. Aunt Peg settled on the middle cushion of the couch. Eve and Augie hopped up to flank her sides. Plum lay down across Aunt Peg’s feet.

As the rest of us found our seats, Faith looked at the other Poodles disdainfully and remained glued to my side. Good girl.

Aunt Peg waited until we were all settled and giving her our full attention. “I swore the boys to secrecy so we could all spring the surprise at the same time. As you know, next Sunday is Valentine’s Day.”

I sighed under my breath. Yet another thing I was behind in planning for.

I loved my husband dearly. I knew he felt the same way about me. We’d been together for nearly a dozen years, and married for much of that time. At this point, we didn’t need the candy and flower industries to tell us that February 14 was the only important day for us to express how we felt about one another.

“Valentine’s Day,” Sam repeated. “Right.”

I smothered a laugh. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who’d forgotten.

“The boys had a wonderful idea about how the two of you might celebrate,” Aunt Peg continued. “I agreed to help them execute it.”

“Go on,” I said cautiously.

Sam looked like a deer in headlights. I nearly laughed again.

“I came up with it.” Davey sounded proud of himself.

“I helped too!” Kevin chimed in.

“The boys thought you would both enjoy getting away for a few days over the Valentine’s Day weekend,” Aunt Peg continued. “Isn’t that splendid?”

Davey nodded vigorously in agreement. It occurred to me that my child might be entirely too susceptible to advertising.

“And the three of us have found just the place. The White Birch Inn bills itself as a winter wonderland in the Berkshire Mountains of Massachusetts. Their website looks lovely.” Aunt Peg threaded her fingers through Eve’s topknot hair and smiled. “Despite its rustic name, the place is actually a full-scale resort offering cross-country skiing, tobogganing, and ice-skating among its many amenities. In honor of the upcoming holiday, the inn is hosting a romantic Valentine’s getaway. At Davey’s request—”

“And mine,” Kev interjected.

Aunt Peg nodded. “—I’ve made a reservation for the two of you. You depart Thursday afternoon. It’s a three-hour drive. You should be there in plenty of time for dinner. You’ll return Sunday evening.”

“But—” I sputtered, then voiced the first objection that came to mind. “I have to work on Friday.”

“That’s already been taken care of,” Aunt Peg assured me. “I’ve spoken with Russell and you’ve been granted a personal day off.”

Russell Hanover was the headmaster of Howard Academy, where I was employed as a special needs tutor. I loved my job. I adored working with children and being able to make a difference in their lives. There was no way I’d have ever asked Mr. Hanover for time off so I could go away on vacation.

Aunt Peg had surely realized that, which was why she’d taken matters into her own hands. She was not only a Howard Academy alumna, she was also a generous benefactor. And one of very few people I knew who were close enough to our distinguished headmaster to call him by his first name. Of course Mr. Hanover would have acceded to her wishes. He’d probably felt he had no choice.

“You work for yourself,” Aunt Peg said to Sam. My husband was a freelance designer of computer software. “I’m assuming that a few days away from your desk won’t break the bank?”

“Umm, no.” Sam looked as st. . .