Hounded To Death. Laurien Berenson

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      THE BODY IN THE HOT TUB

      Bertie abruptly stopped speaking. We’d been walking while we were talking, drawing closer to the raised platform. I took another step and saw what Bertie had seen. A fluffy, yellow bath towel, the kind found stacked in each of the inn’s rooms, was draped over one of the back benches.

      “What?” asked Aunt Peg.

      “It turns out we’re not alone.” Bertie giggled.

      Funny, I thought, that we weren’t able to see whoever was sitting in the tub. Not that I had a lot of experience with hot tubs, but I thought people usually sat in them with head and shoulders above the water, perhaps even above the lip of the tub itself.

      It was one of those moments when you instinctively know something is wrong, but your brain flatly refuses to process the information.

      Aunt Peg, however, had no such problem thinking things through. She glanced at the discarded towel, then at the splash of water on the platform’s boards.

      “Oh, dear,” she said, pushing me out of the way to step up onto the deck.

      Even as Aunt Peg gasped, Bertie and I were already hopping up to stand beside her.

      A man was floating face down in the hot tub. His dark hair was shiny and slick under the lights from above. His arms were outstretched, well-manicured fingers reaching for something he’d never touch.

      Bertie went pale. “That can’t be good.”

      My sister-in-law, the master of understatement.

      Books by Laurien Berenson

      A PEDIGREE TO DIE FOR

      UNDERDOG

      DOG EAT DOG

      HAIR OF THE DOG

      WATCHDOG

      HUSH PUPPY

      UNLEASHED

      ONCE BITTEN

      HOT DOG

      BEST IN SHOW

      JINGLE BELL BARK

      RAINING CATS AND DOGS

      CHOW DOWN

      HOUNDED TO DEATH

      DOGGIE DAY CARE MURDER

      GONE WITH THE WOOF

      DEATH OF A DOG WHISPERER

      THE BARK BEFORE CHRISTMAS

      Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

      Hounded to Death

      Laurien Berenson

      KENSINGTON BOOKS

       KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

       http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      Chapter 23

      Chapter 24

      Chapter 25

      Chapter 26

      Chapter 27

      Chapter 28

      Chapter 29

      Chapter 30

      1

      On the road again…

      The refrain from some half-forgotten song was playing on an endless, rolling loop in my brain. It made a fitting backdrop to the day’s activities, but it was slowly driving me crazy.

      Anyone who was a dog show enthusiast was accustomed to spending a lot of time traveling to far-flung locations. That was the nature of the game. But this trip was different.

      For one thing, there weren’t any dogs in the car. None of my beloved Standard Poodles—clipped and bathed, beautified almost beyond the point of common sense—had accompanied me on this jaunt. Instead my two companions were Margaret Turnbull, my Aunt Peg, and Bertie Kennedy, my best friend and sister-in-law.

      Three women on the loose—or as loose as one could be in a minivan heading down the highway toward Pennsylvania.

      Aunt Peg was the one who had proposed the trip. And although I often try to fight the impulse, as usually happens I’d ended up falling in with her plans.

      As for Bertie, I think she felt that five days away from the responsibilities of home and family would be just the thing to recharge her batteries. Her daughter, Maggie, was ten months old. She’d consumed most of Bertie’s time and attention since her birth just before Christmas, but now she’d been left in the care of Bertie’s husband, my brother Frank.

      Bertie was currently riding shotgun in the front seat.

      “This is going to be great,” she’d said delightedly when we’d hit the road an hour earlier. “A girls’ road trip. Just like Thelma and Louise. Except that we won’t die in the end.”

      Which…you know…set the bar and gave us something to aspire to.

      “You’re being awfully quiet back there,” Aunt Peg said. Her gaze found mine in the rearview mirror.

      Aunt Peg was driving, of course. She plots her own course and it’s left to those around her to either keep up or get left behind. The fact that we were doing better than seventy miles an hour on the Garden State Parkway was apparently not sufficient incentive for her to keep her eyes, or her mind, on the road.

      “I’m singing to myself,” I said.

      “You are not.” Bertie swiveled in her seat. “I’ve heard you sing. If you were singing, my ears would be hurting.”

      I loved Bertie dearly. That didn’t stop me from reaching up and poking her.

      “Maybe if you two would let me have a turn in the front seat, I’d be more likely to join in the conversation.”

      “We put you back there for your own good.”

      Peg flipped on her signal and changed lanes simultaneously. Not to worry. New Jersey drivers are used to that kind of behavior.

      “To protect me from your driving?”

      “My driving skills are excellent, thank you very much. I haven’t had an accident since Nixon was in office.”

      Aunt Peg was in her early sixties, but age hadn’t curtailed a single aspect of her behavior. I was three decades younger and would have considered myself lucky to possess half her drive and enthusiasm.

      “Bertie and I were only thinking of your comfort. We assumed you’d