Once Bitten (A Melanie Travis Mystery) by Laurien Berenson Page B

Sara’s been here since yesterday and deleted them all herself. Let’s see who this one’s from.”
    The tape began to spin and almost immediately an angry voice rang out. “Sara, you creep, this is Maris. Call me, do you hear? I’m tired of being the one who always has to bail you out, and I’m not going to stand for it anymore. It’s Friday morning now. Get back to me today or you’ll be sorry.”

9

    “M aris,” I said, turning to Bertie. “That’s an unusual name. Any ideas?”
    “Maris Kincaid. Lives in Norwalk. Breeds Soft Coated Wheaten Terriers and shows a few every now and then. She has a grooming business that she runs out of her basement to pay the dogs’ expenses. She and Sara are friends.” She glanced down at the machine and grimaced. “Or not.”
    “I wonder what Sara did to her.”
    “Who knows? One thing I learned pretty quickly with Sara is that it tends to be feast or famine. Either she’s your bosom buddy or you want to kill her. At first I thought it was just me, but it seems to be the way she treats everyone.”
    “Didn’t you tell me last week that Sara was doing some grooming, too? She must have records around here somewhere. I wonder if any of her clients have heard from her this week.”
    “There’s a desk up in the loft,” said Bertie.
    “Computer?”
    “Laptop. We can take a look, but if it’s not here, she probably took it with her.”
    Upstairs, in the top drawer of Sara’s desk, we found her business records, such as they were. Actually what we found was a calendar, with names and times stuffed into some of the date boxes and an occasional arrow pointing out to the margin, where several phone numbers had been scribbled.
    “You must be insane,” I said to Bertie. “ This is the woman you hired to plan your wedding? No wonder all her businesses have fallen apart.”
    “Sara’s usually very organized.” Bertie sounded defensive. Also annoyed. I would be, too, if this was what I had to defend. “Her businesses fell apart because she didn’t take them seriously. I’m sure Sara has better records than that somewhere. She has to. They’re probably on her laptop.”
    Which was, as we’d suspected it might be, missing.
    I flipped through the calendar to the second week of November. “Sara was supposed to groom three Poodles, a Maltese, and two Cockers this week. Plus, she was pet-sitting a Siamese cat in Rowayton. I may as well call these people and see if any of them heard from her. Maybe one of them can give us a lead on where she went.”
    “Good idea.”
    Bertie crossed the room and opened the door to Sara’s closet. The small cupboard was a mess. Its hanging bar and shelves were jam-packed with a jumbled assortment of shoes and clothing.
    “It figures.” She sighed. “I was hoping we might be able to tell if she’d packed some things, but with this much junk, how would we ever know if anything was missing?”
    I tucked the calendar under my arm and headed for the bathroom. “Maybe we’ll have better luck in here.”
    The bathroom off the sleeping loft was utterly charming, with a claw-footed bathtub, half a dozen hanging plants, and a lace-curtained window overlooking the clearing. It didn’t, however, reveal any clues to Sara’s whereabouts. A toothbrush sat in a holder next to the sink, and I found deodorant, moisturizer, sunblock, and dental floss in the medicine cabinet above.
    Would Sara have taken those things with her if she’d left of her own volition? I had no idea. It could be that, like some people I knew, she kept a toiletries bag packed with doubles of everything for travel.
    “Hey!” yelled Bertie.
    “What?”
    “Come here.”
    Her voice sounded muffled, and when I walked back out into the bedroom, I saw that it was empty.
    “Where are you?”
    “In the stupid closet.” A loud thump punctuated her words. “Open the door, would you? There’s no knob on this side.”
    Quickly I strode over and drew the wooden door open. Face