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

And I do mean we. You’re going to have to help me, you know. I don’t know Sara at all. I don’t even know where she lives.”
    “New Canaan,” Bertie said. “She lives in the guest house on her parents’ estate. Gorgeous place. I’d go down a cup size to be so fortunate.”
    While others of us might have counted ourselves fortunate if we’d had a cup size to spare.
    “What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?” I asked. Howard Academy had early dismissal on Fridays, and I could probably convince Frank to pick Davey up at school and take him over to the Bean Counter for a couple of hours.
    “Getting ready for the weekend shows, but I can free up some time.”
    “Good. Why don’t we meet at Sara’s place? Maybe we’ll get really lucky and find her there.”
    “Maybe,” Bertie agreed, but she didn’t sound very optimistic.
     
    New Canaan is one of my favorite towns. Located east of Stamford and north of Darien, New Canaan has worked hard to retain its charm and New England ambiance in an area that’s teeming with growth. While most of the surrounding Fairfield County towns have allowed chain stores, fast food outlets, and, in some cases, skyscrapers to change the unique flavor of their landscapes, New Canaan continues to resist such advances nobly.
    The downtown area is small and picturesque. Nearby Waveny Park draws joggers, kite flyers, and scores of soccer players; every Fourth of July the town hosts a gala fireworks celebration there. Strict zoning laws insure that once you leave the center of town, you see more greenery than houses. As in Greenwich, estates abound; many of them fine old, stone homes, built to last and situated on a sumptuous amount of acreage.
    Following Bertie’s directions on Friday afternoon, I took Weed Street out to West Road and found that Grant and Delilah Waring lived in just such a manor. From the street, the main house wasn’t even visible. Instead, all I could see was a post-and-rail fence enclosing a vast meadow, a long tree-lined driveway, and a copse of tall trees in the distance.
    Bertie had gotten there ahead of me. Her maroon Chevy van was parked just inside the gate. I pulled up beside her and she rolled down her window and waved.
    “There’s a back way around to the guest house,” she said, gesturing toward a spot a hundred yards up where the driveway forked. “Actually it’s the service entrance, but Sara always uses it so she can come and go without her parents knowing what she’s up to.”
    “I’m surprised she doesn’t find it restrictive, living at home at her age. I know I would.”
    “Sara seems to manage pretty well. And once you see this place, you’ll know why she isn’t in any hurry to leave.”
    I waited while she pulled out in front of me, then followed her up the driveway. Even approaching from the back, the Warings’ estate was impressive. The house wasn’t huge, but it had beautiful lines. Built of red brick that had weathered to a soft shade of rose, the home had three parts: a main section and two ample wings that angled outward at either end. A grotto-like swimming pool was nestled within their embrace.
    A garage big enough to accommodate at least half a dozen cars was on the other side of the driveway. Beyond lay a tennis court and a kennel building, with banks of covered runs jutting out from either side. Following Bertie’s van around behind the garage, I saw that the long driveway forked again, leading into another small grove of trees. Almost immediately we came upon the guest house, which turned out to be a delightful ivy-covered cottage nestled in a private clearing.
    “What a gorgeous place,” I said as I parked beside Bertie’s van and got out.
    She was already starting up the flagstone walkway. “Told you.”
    “I guess I can see why Sara wouldn’t want to move. She’s pretty far removed from her parents out here, too. In fact”—I turned around and had a look—“I bet they can’t even see back here from inside