Free Unleashed (A Melanie Travis Mystery) by Laurien Berenson Page A

to greet him, the two Poodles nudging each other aside playfully in their attempt to get there first. Sam stopped and braced for the canine onslaught. He bent low over both dogs, talking to them, ruffling his hands through their hair. It seemed to take forever before he straightened and looked at me.
    As he stepped into the pool of light by the door, I saw that his face was haggard. Somewhere, he’d shed the sports coat and tie he’d been wearing at the show. His shirt was open at the throat, the cuffs were rolled back. There was dirt on the knees of his khakis and a grass stain on his shirt.
    I met him on the bottom step and realized that he smelled of Scotch. Sam wasn’t a drinker. Beer, sure; and the occasional glass of wine. But until that moment I wouldn’t have been able to tell you what kind of hard liquor he preferred.
    His gait was steady, but his eyes were bloodshot. I wondered how much Scotch you had to consume for the scent to linger.
    I didn’t kiss him. Maybe I should have. I thought about that later.
    But his expression was so forbidding that it seemed like a better idea to wrap my arm around his and lead him up the steps. Subdued, the two Poodles followed us inside.
    “You okay?” I asked.
    “Hell no,” Sam growled. He walked into the living room and sank down on the couch. “Do I look okay?”
    All evening, I’d been concerned. But now, seeing the shape Sam had gotten himself into, I was suddenly all out of pity. “Frankly, you look like shit.”
    “Perfect.” His head lolled back on the cushion. His eyes closed. “No reason the outside shouldn’t match the inside.”
    “How about some coffee?”
    One eye opened. Sam brushed a hand over it as if the lighting in the room was too bright. “I’m not drunk.”
    “I didn’t say you were.”
    “And if I was drunk, I don’t think I’d be ready to get sober just yet.”
    “Fine,” I said, sitting down opposite him. “What about your dogs?”
    Aside from Tar, Sam had three other Standard Poodles, who lived with him in Redding. When he knew in advance that he was going to be away overnight, he had a pet-sitter come and stay with them.
    “They’re covered.” Sam exhaled loudly. “I called Holly this afternoon. Luckily she wasn’t busy and was able to go right over. She’ll stay ‘til after breakfast tomorrow.”
    One problem solved. At least I didn’t have to worry about Sam getting back on the road tonight.
    “So,” I said, “where have you been?” I tried hard not to sound reproachful. I didn’t add the words “all this time” though they did seem to dangle in the air. I certainly didn’t go so far as to ask if his cell phone battery was charged.
    “Drinking,” Sam said succinctly. “Can’t you tell?”
    Even Tar and Faith could tell that. Rather than continuing to vie for his attention, the two Poodles were now lying on the floor, watching Sam curiously. They knew something was different about him; they just weren’t sure what it was.
    “I thought you and Brian were going to Sheila’s house.”
    “We were. We did. We met the police there. They seemed delighted to see us, suspects arriving on the scene and all. Made their job a little easier.” His words were measured, spoken with care, as if he was trying to distance himself from the memory.
    “So Sheila is dead.”
    “Yup.” His nod only went halfway. His head dropped, but it didn’t come back up.
    “Do the police really think you’re a suspect?”
    “Hard to tell. So far, they’re just not ruling anything out. They questioned both Brian and me. Separately. Ex-husband and current lover. I think they were surprised to see us show up together.”
    I know I would have been.
    “You both have an alibi, though. You were at the show all day.”
    “Doesn’t help. There’ll be an autopsy, but the medical examiner on the scene was sure Sheila was killed sometime last night. At least twelve hours earlier, probably more.”
    Friday night. Sam had been home bathing