Hounded To Death. Laurien Berenson

me too,” said Sam.

      Bertie got back to the room just before midnight. She beat Aunt Peg by at least an hour. So it was no surprise that my aunt was looking rather bleary eyed at breakfast the next morning.

      Not that I was eating breakfast actually. But I was sitting at a table with the two of them, sipping a glass of orange juice and trying to be sociable.

      Aunt Peg’s a multi-tasker. She had a fork in one hand and the day’s agenda in the other.

      “Margo has really outdone herself,” she said. “This schedule has something that should be of interest to just about everyone.”

      “Better still,” said Bertie, “if we get tired of sitting through lectures and panel discussions, all the inn’s facilities are available to us. I’ve got my eye on the spa myself. I’m pretty sure I could use a mud bath or a massage.”

      I watched enviously as she cut off a large square of waffle and stuffed it into her mouth. Bertie never had to worry about her weight. Not only that but whatever carousing she and Alana had been up to the night before, she didn’t seem to be suffering any repercussions.

      “Richard wants to try out the hot tub,” said Peg. “He asked if I’d brought a bathing suit with me. Can you just imagine?”

      “Sure,” I said, lying with conviction. I’d never seen my aunt in a bathing suit and I doubted I ever would. “Speaking of Richard, how was your dinner?”

      “It was fine.”

      I sat and waited. Aunt Peg ignored me and returned to eating her omelet. Obviously she thought her first answer had been sufficient.

      Which of course it hadn’t.

      “Fine?” Bertie said after a minute. “Just fine?”

      Peg looked up. “What do you mean just fine? Fine is a good thing.”

      “Fine is an okay thing,” I said. “It’s damning with faint praise. It certainly doesn’t sound very exciting.”

      “Oh, pish. Who wants excitement at my age?”

      Bertie and I exchanged a glance. As if we were going to buy that. Especially considering the source.

      “We want details,” I said.

      “Well, I’d like to win the lottery,” Aunt Peg replied, “and I don’t see that happening either.”

      She looked at her watch, pushed back her chair, and stood. “My dear friend Wanda Swanson will be starting her Saluki lecture shortly and I intend to be sitting front row center when she does. I trust you two can manage to keep yourselves occupied without my guidance?”

      Bertie and I agreed that we could.

      “In that case, I shall see you later. We’ll meet at quarter to three outside the main lecture hall. Does that suit?”

      Charles Evans would be giving the keynote address at three. Before speaking with Margo the previous evening, I wasn’t sure I’d bother to attend. Having been forewarned, however, that Charles’s presentation might be the most exciting thing to happen all week, I now had no intention of missing it.

      Bertie obviously felt the same way. We both nodded. Aunt Peg gathered up her things and left.

      Bertie glanced down at the schedule. “Let’s see, the first track offers a choice between Salukis and Irish Setters. Or I can cut out on them both and get a little pampering.” She considered for a moment. “Not much choice there, I’m going for the pampering.”

      “It’s Irish Setters for me,” I said. I’d always been intrigued by the beautiful, russet dogs.

      “Go for it,” said Bertie. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

      If I had been paying more attention—which translated in my mind to if I wasn’t pregnant—I would have realized that Caroline Evans was the judge leading the discussion of Irish Setters. I settled down near the front of the room and watched Charles’s wife take command of the podium with authority. She was petite in stature but her forceful demeanor made her seem bigger. When Caroline was ready to start speaking, the room, filled nearly to capacity, immediately quieted.

      What followed was a talk that was every bit as lively and playful as the red setters themselves. Caroline clearly adored her subject. She managed to convey her devotion to the breed while at the same time imparting a huge amount of useful information.

      It was easy to understand why Bertie and Aunt Peg had praised the woman’s judging skills. If Caroline handled herself in the show ring as well as she did in the lecture hall, even the most knowledgeable exhibitors would have been delighted to have her opinion.

      Having skipped breakfast, I took a quick break for an early lunch when the lecture ended. Soup and crackers eaten in a café overlooking the wooded mountainside was about all my stomach could tolerate. That afternoon, I listened to half a session on Otterhounds, then stuck my head briefly into the Kuvasz room.

      By then, I’d been inside nearly all day. The building was beginning to feel stuffy to me; I grabbed a jacket and headed outside for a walk.

      As soon as I stepped through the door, the crisp, cool autumn air revived my spirits. The tangy scent of pine filled the air. A hiking path angled away from the far side of the parking lot and off into the woods. Striding out, I headed for it eagerly.

      After a day of sitting still, it felt good just to be moving again. The only thing keeping the experience from being just right, I realized, was the lack of canine companionship.

      I’d grown up without pets, and spent my early adult years similarly dogless. Then Aunt Peg had given me my first Standard Poodle, Faith, and everything had changed. Faith’s daughter, Eve, had become part of our family several years later; and now it was hard to imagine how I’d ever lived without either one of them.

      When Sam and I got married, he’d added his three Standard Poodles to the mix. Now we had a houseful, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone for a walk without at least one Poodle cavorting at my side. Glad as I was to be outdoors on such a beautiful afternoon, I knew I’d enjoy the activity more if I had a dog to share it with.

      Lost in contemplation, I actually, for a moment, thought I’d conjured up the dog that suddenly came trotting out of the woods and onto the path in front of me. He was a good-sized German Shepherd, tan with black markings. His body was muscular, but thin. He wasn’t wearing a collar.

      “Hey, boy,” I said.

      The dog stopped in his tracks. He seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

      “What are you doing out here?” I asked.

      Not surprisingly, he didn’t answer.

      I stopped walking, too. We stood and stared at one another.

      After a moment, I held out a hand. The dog lifted a lip, showing a row of strong white teeth.

      “Shhh,” I said, “it’s okay.”

      But I pulled my hand back, just in case.

      The dog had a wary, skittish look about him. He was an attractive Shepherd, clearly a purebred. His eyes were sharp and shifty, though. He didn’t look like someone’s pet.

      “Are you hungry?”

      The dog cocked his head. Clearly he was listening to me. Just as clearly, he wasn’t about to come any nearer.

      Slowly I reached in my pocket and pulled out a granola bar. Probably not the best thing for him, but it was all I had. If the dog was a stray and had missed a couple of meals, he wouldn’t be too choosy.

      He watched me unwrap the treat. His body was still, his dark eyes riveted.

      Once again I held out my hand. Once again he declined to step toward me. Someone, somewhere, had destroyed his trust in people.