Once Bitten (A Melanie Travis Mystery) by Laurien Berenson

the house.”
    “Supposedly, that was the idea. This guest house was added to the property by Roger Bentley, Sara’s father and Delilah’s first husband. According to Sara, he used it as a hideaway to meet with his various mistresses when Delilah was busy with her dog shows or her bridge club.”
    “How old was Sara when her father died?”
    “I’m not sure,” said Bertie. “Thirteen? Maybe fourteen?”
    As she stepped forward to knock on the door, I found myself picturing Sara as a little girl, sneaking out of the big house and following her father into the woods. I imagined her pulling herself up and gazing in the cottage’s darkened windows. What a way to lose your innocence.
    “No one’s home,” Bertie announced. Unlike me, she was concentrating on the business at hand. “If Sara was here, we’d have heard Titus by now. Somehow I knew it wouldn’t be that easy.”
    “Me too,” I admitted. “Let’s go inside and have a look around. Do you have any idea where Sara might keep an extra key?”
    “The cottage isn’t locked. It never is.”
    “You’re kidding.”
    New Canaan isn’t a high-crime area, but it’s still a place where front doors are expected to be secure.
    “Nope.” Bertie turned the knob and pushed the door open. “What can I tell you? That’s just the way Sara is. She always wanted to be a flower child, but unfortunately, she was born too late. The hippie movement had already gone by. Peace, free love, good karma. That’s Sara all over. She claims not to believe in the ownership of material things.”
    I wasn’t impressed. “Easy for someone who grew up rich to say.”
    “I’m sure that’s probably part of it. Nearly everything she does seems to be a conscious repudiation of her mother’s values and lifestyle. Some might say that she’s carried the notion of teenage rebellion to its absolute extreme.”
    I walked past Bertie and stepped into the cottage. A table next to the door held a small, blue porcelain bowl. Inside was a stack of mail and a cell phone, turned off.
    “There’s one reason you haven’t been able to reach her,” I said, pointing to the phone. “Wherever Sara went, it looks as though she wanted to be out of touch.”
    “If she had a choice,” Bertie said ominously.
    The living room was to our left. In keeping with the rest of the cottage’s cozy dimensions, it wasn’t very large. Still, the room looked comfortable and well lived-in.
    A stone fireplace dominated one wall. There was a tall pile of ash beneath the andirons, and three fresh logs had been stacked on top. The kindling was already in place, and a box of long matches sat ready for use, as if Sara had laid the fire and intended to be back any minute to light it.
    Lifting my gaze, I saw a collection of silver-framed photographs on the mantelpiece. All were of Sara and many included Titus. Other than the Sheltie, however, her partners differed in almost every picture. Sara had been captured, smiling happily, with nearly a dozen assorted men. Bertie was right: the woman must have had a very full social life.
    The matching chairs and couch in the room were made of dark burnished leather. Bertie walked over to the closest one and sat down, sinking deep into the plump cushion. “This is a dead end. I’m wondering if we ought to call the police.”
    “It isn’t dead yet. We haven’t even begun to snoop around. Besides, what are you going to tell them? That your adult friend, who by the way is known for her flightiness, has been out of touch for a few days? Somehow I don’t think they’ll be too concerned.”
    “I don’t care,” Bertie said stubbornly. “Something’s not right. Sara must be in some kind of trouble, or she wouldn’t be missing. And what was up with that note anyway?”
    “I have no idea.” I stepped in closer to have another look at the photographs on the mantelpiece. “Who are all these guys up here? Do you know?”
    “Old boyfriends, I think.” Bertie got up and came