Dog Eat Dog by Laurien Berenson Page A

Francisco’s. It’s very convenient.”
    For people who lived in Greenwich and were committee heads. Neither of which seemed to apply to me. “I thought that meeting was next week.”
    â€œIt was, but there was a mix-up in the booking at the restaurant, and we lost our room. It’s not that big a group, but if we’re to get any work done, we need to be set apart. Lydia rebooked us for Thursday.”
    â€œI’m not a committee head,” I pointed out. “I’m not even a member.”
    â€œYes, but I am.” The patience of a saint was there in her voice. “And I need a ride. My car’s going to be in the shop.”
    â€œYou just bought that car.” I thought of my old Volvo, which had weathered more than a decade. “Don’t tell me it broke down already.”
    â€œTwenty-thousand mile check-up. When you show dogs, the miles add up quickly. The service was already scheduled and when I called to change it, they said they couldn’t fit me in again for a month. Imagine!”
    I did. Knowing the way Aunt Peg got around, by then she’d be due for the next check-up.
    â€œIt’s a week night. I don’t know if I can get a sitter.”
    â€œAlready done,” Peg said smugly. “I called Frank. Did you hear he has a new job?”
    Frank is my brother, younger by four years chronologically; and by eons, if maturity were taken into account. He lives in an apartment in Cos Cob, a fifteen minute car ride from here, tops. Even so, we never seem to spend much time together. Some siblings are born friends; others develop the relationship later. Though the death of our parents six years earlier had brought us somewhat closer, Frank and I were still in the process of finding our way.
    Meanwhile my brother, who had yet to choose a career path in life, changed jobs with regularity. On the whole, he was just as likely to be unemployed as he was to be working. He called it keeping his options open. To me, it looked like swinging on a trapeze without a net. But then, I’ve always played the ant to his grasshopper.
    â€œHe’s tending bar,” Aunt Peg told me. “It seems he sees this as the first step up the ladder in food services management.”
    I thought of all the comments I could make, but didn’t say a word. After all, stranger things have happened. Look at me. I was trying to find three hours in my schedule to blow-dry a dog.
    â€œDon’t bartenders work at night?” I asked. There was an out here somewhere. I just had to find it.
    â€œFrank’s got the weekend shift. So he has Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday off. It all worked out perfectly. Frank will be at your house by six, and you can come straight here. I’ve explained to Lydia and made your reservation. You’re having the sirloin.”
    â€œGreat,” I said with notable lack of enthusiasm.
    â€œI knew you’d be pleased.”
    Like hell she did. Maybe I should bring some school work with me. I could use the time to get caught up....
    â€œListen,” said Aunt Peg. “I’ve been thinking.”
    Uh oh. A sure sign of trouble.
    â€œYou really don’t have anything to do with the planning for the show, but since you’re going to be at the meeting anyway, maybe you could snoop around a little—”
    â€œDo what?” I yelped and woke Faith up. She lifted her head and cocked an ear inquiringly.
    â€œThose dinner checks are still missing, you know., And I mentioned to Lydia that you were pretty good at figuring things out.”
    â€œOh no I’m not,” I said quickly. The last thing I wanted to do was get involved in another of Aunt Peg’s projects. “I’m often baffled and confused. Even the smallest things confound me.”
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous. This whole business is very odd, you have to admit that. Nobody can cash those checks, so what could they possibly have hoped to gain by