Pup Fiction

Book 27: Melanie Travis Canine Mystery

by Laurien Berenson

Genres: Female Sleuths

Synopsis

With a new litter of Standard Poodles on the way, it's shaping up to be a vibrant July in Greenwich, Connecticut, for Melanie Travis. Too bad there's a killer in town who would love to drain the life out of her summer . . .



While usually protective, Melanie feels comfortable sending her sons to the Graceland School's summer camp for two reasons: The institution is well-regarded and proprietor Emily Grace is a trusted friend. But Emily has been acting strange since three rambunctious Dalmatian puppies suddenly appeared on her doorstep. The unusual arrival marks the first of several mysterious happenings at camp, each more intense than the last. Emily's rough streak takes a frightening turn with a discovery in the nearby woods—the body of her estranged ex-husband.



As suspicions rush in, proving that Emily didn't murder her biggest mistake will be about as easy as raising prize-winning show dogs. Realizing she's the only one who can prove her friend's innocence and keep the Graceland School from shutting down, Melanie dives into an investigation on the victim's whereabouts leading up to his demise. With a few spotty clues and Aunt Peg's growing curiosity about the Dalmatian pups' origins, Melanie must name the culprit before good intentions come back to bite!

Release date: June 29, 2021

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

On a list of things that bring joy to a mother’s heart, the first day of school must surely rank near the top. And the first day of summer camp cannot be far behind. Just the thought of all those melted popsicles, wet bathing suits, skinned knees, and sticky fingers occurring somewhere other than my house was enough to bring a smile to my face.

My two sons, riding in the car with me, weren’t similarly amused.

“What?” Davey glanced my way. He was sitting beside me on the front seat.

Soon to turn fifteen, Davey had just finished his freshman year of high school. By his estimation, that meant he was the smartest person in the car. He’d grown two inches over the winter and had recently buzz-cut his hair in preparation for starting his first real job. For the next four weeks, he would be a junior counselor at Graceland Nursery School summer camp.

“It’s nothing,” I said quickly.

“No, it’s not.” He looked suspicious. “You’re smiling.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“I’m smiling too!” Kevin crowed from the back seat.

My younger son was five, and an optimist by nature. A blond-haired, blue-eyed bundle of energy, he was looking forward to spending the next month swimming, hiking, and making new friends. Kev had been to preschool—indeed, he’d graduated from Graceland in the spring. But camp would be a new adventure. Now he had one arm looped around the neck of the big black Standard Poodle sitting next to him.

The Poodle was Faith, my constant companion for the previous nine years. A glance in the rear-view mirror confirmed that she had drawn close to Kevin on purpose. Poodles are an empathetic breed. She’d sensed that, for all my son’s bravado, he was a bit nervous about his first day.

“I’m smiling because I’m happy,” I said to Davey. “You should be too. Having a job is something to be excited about.”

“I’m excited about the prospect of a paycheck,” he said with a grin.

I slanted him a look. That wasn’t what I’d meant, and he knew it.

“Okay, yeah. Maybe I’m looking forward to trying out my cat-herding skills.”

“Cats?” Kev piped up, surprised. “There are going to be cats?”

“Not real cats,” I told him. “Davey means you, and all the other campers in the younger groups. He’s saying it’s hard to keep an eye on a dozen five-year-olds at once.”

“We’re not cats,” Kevin grumbled.

Davey twisted around in his seat. “It’s just an expression, munchkin. You’re not supposed to take it literally.”

“And I’m not a munchkin.” Kev crossed his arms over his chest. “Nicknames are for babies.”

“No, they’re not,” I said. “Nicknames are for people you love.”

“Eww,” said Davey.

Kev laughed and joined in. “Ewww. . .”

Faith wagged her tail happily. I could hear it thumping up and down against the seat. She didn’t know what the boys were complaining about, but she liked the sound of their protest.

Graceland Nursery School was situated on five acres of rolling land in the northeast corner of Stamford, Connecticut. Founded eighteen years earlier by teacher Emily Grace, the small preschool was noted for its friendly atmosphere and its adherence to the principle that early learning should be fun. Kevin and Davey had both attended the school, and Davey had also been a camper when he was young.

I pulled through the gate, and we followed the driveway until we came to two weathered, clapboard buildings. They were angled apart from each other and connected by a low covered walkway. The main building in front of us housed the classrooms, plus a gym and a locker room. The smaller building off to our left held several administrative offices, a storeroom, and the school cafeteria. Emily lived in an apartment upstairs.

Behind those structures was a spacious lawn with a playground and a soccer field. An enclosed swimming pool sat off to one side. On the other side, an incline sloped downward toward a picturesque pond where campers sailed toy boats and attempted—usually unsuccessfully—to catch frogs. The school property ended in a thick belt of woods that merged its rear boundary with that of its neighbors.

The compact parking lot near the admin building was flanked by a row of leafy maple trees. I bypassed the drop-off area in front of the main structure and pulled the Volvo into a shaded parking space. As the boys got out of the car, I opened all the windows. Faith would have to wait here for a few minutes while I got Davey and Kevin situated.

Since it was opening day, new counselors had been told to check in thirty minutes before campers were due to arrive. For now, the yard in front of the school was still mostly empty. I knew from past experience, however, that it would soon look like bedlam, with hordes of children trying to figure out where they were supposed to go.

At the moment, there were only a few people in sight. A group of teenagers, all neatly dressed in khaki shorts and white polo shirts, was gathered near the entrance to the other building. Davey’s fellow counselors, I presumed.

A young woman with a rounded figure and an eager smile stood ready to assist us at the end of the sidewalk that connected the driveway to the school. I immediately recognized Emily’s cheerful assistant, Mia.

She had a clipboard in her hands and a pen tucked behind one ear. The bun on top of her head was starting to come loose, tendrils frizzing into curls in the summer heat. Mia had a name tag affixed to the front of her shirt, with her name written in large red letters. She’d used a purple marker to add a smiley face next to it.

“Hello, Ms. Travis. Hi, Kevin!” she called in a bubbly voice as we approached. “Welcome to the July session of Graceland summer camp.”

“Thanks,” I said. “We’re delighted to be here.”

Mia turned to my older son. “You must be Davey. We’re happy to have you as a new addition to the staff. And it’s nice to finally meet you. Kevin talks about you all the time.”

“He does?” Davey sounded surprised. And maybe a little pleased.

Mia nodded.

“I do,” Kevin confirmed, sounding quite pleased with himself.

Mia looked down at her clipboard. “Davey, you’ll be working with Courtney. The two of you will be in charge of our Jellyfish group.” She pointed toward the group of teens. “Go introduce yourself to your fellow counselors. See the guy with the red hair? That’s Brian, and he’s in charge. He’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

“Terrific.” Davey turned and strode away, leaving us without even saying goodbye.

I stared after him. I probably had a disgruntled look on my face because Mia giggled.

“Teenagers,” she said with a shrug. “What can you do?”

Mia was less than a decade beyond her teenage years herself. But she had a point. If Davey’d had his way, I’d have dropped him and Kev off at the end of the driveway so he wouldn’t have to be seen arriving at camp with his mother.

“I’m going to be a Sunfish,” Kevin announced.

“Yes, you are,” Mia agreed. “Your counselors are Kayla and Luke, and several of your former classmates will be in the group with you.”

She looked up at me. “Why don’t you take Kevin inside and get his things stashed in his locker? A few other kids have already arrived. They’re hanging out in the music room with one of the older counselors. You can leave Kevin there.”

“Thanks, I’ll do that,” I said. “Is Emily here this morning? If she is, I’d like to say hello.”

Actually, I’d been surprised not to find Emily out here ready to greet the new arrivals. After all, Graceland was her school.

“Of course.” Mia’s head bobbed a quick nod. “She’s in her office now, but I expect her out here shortly. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”

Kevin and I entered the main building. We found his locker and placed his backpack and lunch inside. Then I walked him to the music room, where a teenage girl was leading half a dozen campers in a sing-along. Without missing a beat, she beckoned Kevin into the room and dismissed me with a cheery wave.

Now that he was on familiar ground, Kevin’s earlier trepidation had vanished. He went skipping in happily to join the others.

In less than ten minutes, I’d gotten both boys to their assigned places. That had to be some kind of record. I hurried back outside to retrieve Faith from the car.

The big Poodle was waiting for me with her head poked out the open window. When I opened the door, she hopped out of the Volvo with her tail wagging. Faith had no idea what we’d be doing next, but it didn’t matter. She was just happy to be part of the plan.

All dogs are wonderful, but Poodles are particularly perfect. I live with five of them, however, so I may be somewhat biased about that. Faith had entered my life when she was a young puppy, arriving as a gift from her breeder, my Aunt Peg.

I’d quickly discovered that Poodles are smart, easy to live with, and always entertaining. They’re companion dogs who will gladly adapt to just about any lifestyle as long as they can be with their people. Poodles also love a good joke, especially one at their owners’ expense.

Faith is a Standard, the tallest of the three Poodle varieties. Her head comes to just above my waist, so she’s within easy reach for either a pat or a conversation, both of which happen often. She has dark, intelligent eyes and a short blanket of dense black curls covering her body. Faith is both a clown and a sage. She’s also my best friend. I hope she lives forever because I can’t bear to think about the alternative.

My ankle twinged as Faith and I strode across the parking lot to the smaller building. I’d broken my fibula in February. Although the break had healed well, it still ached sometimes when I walked on hard ground. The accident that had caused the break had been my own fault, so I tried to think of the pain as a useful reminder to watch my step.

When I slowed down, Faith ran on ahead. Nose to the ground, she checked out all the unfamiliar scents while also keeping an eye out for errant squirrels. She circled back as I reached the building, and we entered it together.

Emily’s office was halfway down the hall. She must have heard us coming because before we reached the doorway, she was already stepping out of the room to meet us.

I’d known Emily Grace for more than a decade. In all that time, she hadn’t changed much. Now in her mid-forties, she had a slender, well-toned frame and long blond hair that swung loose around her shoulders. The crow’s feet etched at the corners of her eyes were new, but she remained as lovely as ever.

Emily loved her job, and she was very good at it. Maybe that was why she almost always seemed to be smiling. She wasn’t doing so now, however. Even as we exchanged a quick hug, she still looked preoccupied.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, when we’d drawn apart.

“Nothing,” Emily replied quickly. Perhaps too quickly. Then she shrugged. “Oh, you know, just first-day jitters.” She reached down and scratched beneath Faith’s chin. “Hello, pretty girl. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Don’t think you can change the subject by talking to my dog,” I said.

“You’re kidding, right?” Emily almost laughed. “You talk to that Poodle more than most people talk to their spouses.”

There was that.

“Come on in and sit down.” She waved me to a comfy seat, then pulled out the chair behind her desk. “I have a few minutes before I need to be out front. Let’s catch up.”

“You probably don’t have to hurry,” I told her. “Mia seems to have everything under control.”

“I’m sure she does. Mia is a whiz at getting things done.” Emily frowned slightly. “That girl loves to make herself useful. She solves problems before I’m even aware that they exist. In the six months she’s been here, she’s managed to make herself all but indispensable.”

“That’s a good thing,” I said. “Right?”

“Yes . . . of course. I guess. Although, to tell the truth, sometimes her constant activity drives me a little batty.” There was a threadbare rug on the office floor. Emily paused to watch Faith turn two full circles before lying down. “Or maybe it’s just that Mia makes me feel old. I remember when I had that much energy . . . and it seems like a long time ago.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” I said. “Any more than I think you have first-day jitters. You’re an old hand at this. It’s what, your fifteenth year of running the camp?”

“Something like that. But it feels like every year is a new challenge. Or maybe just a new chance for something to go wrong.”

I stared at her across the room. That wasn’t at all what I’d expected to hear. “Is there something in particular that you’re concerned about?”

Emily finally managed a small smile. “Because being entrusted with the care and custody of nearly fifty four- to seven-year-olds isn’t enough of a worry?”

“Okay, I get that.” I smiled with her. “In your place, I’d probably be a basket case. But you’re terrific at what you do.”

“So are you. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that summer all those years ago when you got roped into filling in when I needed a substitute counselor. You did a great job; the kids all loved you.”

I couldn’t help but notice that Emily had deftly changed the subject. Perhaps my probing had touched a nerve.

“Now Kevin’s a camper,” she continued. “And Davey—who was a Sunfish back then—is a counselor himself. That must feel like déjà vu to you.”

“More like things have come full circle, I think.” Looking back, it seemed as though the previous ten years had gone by in a flash.

I was about to mention that when there was a tremendous crash in the room above us. I winced and ducked to one side. It sounded as though the ceiling had cracked.

Faith was just as startled as I was. She leapt to her feet and began to bark. I went to grab her. I wanted to calm her down—but the Poodle eluded my grasp. She’d never done that before.

When Faith became upset, I paid attention. Now that made two of us wondering what the heck was going on.

Faith wasn’t the only one on her feet. Emily had jumped up too.

“Those damn dogs,” she said.

Dogs? What dogs?

Then, abruptly, I remembered. In the spring, Graceland School had become home to three rambunctious Dalmatian puppies. Occasionally, I’d catch a glimpse of them when I was dropping Kev off or picking him up. The spotted trio had been roly-poly youngsters when they’d appeared in April. Now they must be around six months old.

Not a good age to have been left alone without supervision. That thought brought me to my feet as well.

“Where are your puppies?” I asked.

Emily pointed toward the ceiling—which, remarkably, was not in tatters on the floor around us. “Guess.”

“That’s your apartment, right?” I’d never seen it, but I knew it was there. “You live upstairs?”

“I do if the place is still in one piece. Right now, I’m thinking the chances of that are about fifty-fifty.”

I wouldn’t have taken those odds myself. Apparently, the puppies were loose up there by themselves. And it sounded as though they were having a great time.

“You didn’t want to crate them?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I might have, if I owned crates.”

Yes, that definitely would have been helpful.

I started to say something else, then stopped. My relationship with Emily had always been cordial, but she and I only really knew each other in a professional capacity—either as teacher and parent, or briefly as employer and employee. I hoped my curiosity about the Dalmatians wasn’t causing me to overstep some unspoken boundary.

“I usually try to keep the puppies with me,” Emily said. She sounded apologetic. “Or at least somewhere nearby. But this is the first day of camp, and you know what that’s like. Today, I just wanted them out of the way, in a place where they couldn’t cause any trouble.”

If that had been her goal, it appeared she’d failed miserably.

Another thump—this one not nearly as large as the first, came from above us. Emily and I both gazed upward with trepidation. Yup, there was definitely a crack in the ceiling.

At least Faith was no longer barking. Now she’d returned to stand with her body pressed against my leg. Clearly, she was feeling apologetic too.

I reached down and gave the big Poodle a pat. Her earlier transgression was forgotten. She and I were good.

Emily sighed. She briefly closed her eyes. She was probably imagining the damage being done upstairs. I figured I probably shouldn’t mention that; when my family’s male dogs were in the mood to make some serious mischief, they’d been known to attack our couch cushions.

“Don’t you have a pen for the puppies out back?” I asked. I was pretty sure I’d once seen the Dalmatians confined behind the school.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you put them in there?”

“That’s just it. I did.”

I frowned. “You did what?”

“I got up this morning and took them for a long run to wear them out. Then I put them in their pen. Early. It was before seven o’clock. I knew today was going to be hectic. I figured it was the safest place for them to be.”

“But they’re not there now,” I pointed out.

“I know that,” Emily snapped. “Something went wrong, I have no idea what. Next thing I knew, Mia was calling to tell me that the puppies were loose and playing in traffic out on the road. She’d seen them when she was driving in. She said they nearly caused an accident.”

“Yikes.” No wonder Emily was upset. That was every dog owner’s worst nightmare.

“I ran right out to get them. But then they wouldn’t listen to me. Those little stinkers thought we were playing a game. It took me twenty minutes to round them up. By that time, I was covered in dirt and sweating like a pig. In the end, I had to bribe them with hot dogs.”

Entertaining as that visual was, I didn’t dare laugh. Apparently, Emily had yet to train her puppies to pay attention to her. If only she’d required the same respect from them that she did from her students, that whole misadventure would have played out differently.

“At that point, I didn’t dare put them back in the pen,” Emily continued. “Because I didn’t know how they got out the first time. So I was afraid they’d just escape again.”

“Good thinking,” I agreed.

“I was running out of time, so I brought them up to the apartment with me. The puppies were worn out by then. They fell asleep while I was making myself presentable again.” Emily’s expression turned glum. “Now it sounds as though they’ve gotten their second wind.”

You think?

“But I can’t do anything about that now, because they need to stay locked up until after morning drop-off. So remember earlier, when you asked me what was the matter?”

“Yes,” I said. “And now I get it.”

Emily sagged back against the edge of her desk. Suspicious noises were still coming from the room above us. “Why don’t these things ever happen on a quiet weekend morning?”

“Because that would make life entirely too easy,” I replied. “Tell me what I can do to help.”

Unexpectedly, Emily grinned. “Last time you asked me that question, you ended up working here for the summer.”

Good point.

“Not this time,” I said, but I was smiling too. “Why don’t we go and have a look at your pen? Maybe the puppies dug their way out. Or maybe there’s something wrong with the latch.”

Emily walked over to the window. It overlooked the parking lot and the school entrance. Cars were beginning to form a line down the driveway, but drop-off was proceeding in an orderly fashion. Mia and the head counselor, Brian, appeared to have everything under control.

“I guess I can spare ten minutes,” she decided. “I still feel frazzled from all that running around. This’ll give me a chance to catch my breath. Me standing out front and looking like a crazy lady is not the first thing parents should see when they arrive to entrust their kids to our care.”

Emily and I headed for the door. Faith fell in beside us.

“That jittery feeling is adrenalin,” I told her. “It should fade soon. Those puppies must have given you quite a scare.”

She nodded. “All I could think was, what if one of them got hit by a car? Or, even worse, caused someone to crash? It could have been a disaster.”

A door at the far end of the hallway took us out the back of the building. We walked past the playground, with its swing sets, slides, and elaborate climbing equipment. Beyond it was the puppies’ pen.

Six feet wide and ten feet long, the enclosure was constructed of tall, chain-link fencing. It looked solid and well-built. There were no gaps between the fence and the ground. Nor had the puppies dug any holes that I could see. But the door to the pen was standing half-open.

Emily frowned as we approached. “I’m sure I closed that gate this morning.”

Faith trotted on ahead of us and began to sniff along the outer edge of the pen’s wire fence. She’d never met Emily’s Dalmatians, but she was already forming an opinion about them.

“Today you were probably more distracted than usual,” I pointed out. “And maybe you were in a hurry?”

“I suppose it’s possible that I wasn’t careful enough.” She sounded annoyed with herself. “It’s opening day, and I had a million little details to think about. But could I really be such a scatterbrain that I didn’t remember to latch the gate?”

“Let’s find out.”

I examined the metal locking mechanism. It was simple enough. Just a horseshoe-shaped bar that slipped up so the gate could be opened, and then down aga. . .