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

realized that they weren’t the only ones making noise. Terry was there, too, applauding happily even though I’d just beaten his boss for a major that I knew he’d miss somewhere down the line. Bertie had also managed to catch the end of the judging. I saw her slap Aunt Peg on the back. As breeder, Peg was basking in the moment, too.
    Even Crawford Langley, leading his Open Bitch back into the ring to try for reserve winners, paused to stick out his hand. “Well done.”
    “Thanks.”
    I grabbed Faith and scooted over to the marker, anxious to grab my purple ribbon before the judge changed her mind. Or I woke up and realized it had all been just a dream.
    “You have quite a cheering section,” Mrs. Fleischman said, handing me my prize. “And a lovely, lovely bitch.”
    “Thank you,” I stammered. “You just finished her.”
    “Owner handled?”
    “All the way.”
    “Good for you. That makes it even better.”
    There was scarcely time to pause outside the ring before I had to go back in. Winners Dog and Winners Bitch both compete with the champions for Best of Breed (or, in the case of Poodles, Best of Variety). Crawford was back, too, of course, with a white Standard specials dog that he’d done a tremendous amount of winning with.
    This time, it was my turn to stand second to him, but Faith and I didn’t mind a bit. Crawford’s dog was Best of Variety. Faith won Best of Winners and Best of Opposite Sex. All in all, it was a perfectly delightful way to finish her show career.
    Back at the setup, Bertie gave me a big hug, slipped Faith a yummy piece of dried liver, consulted her schedule, and began grooming a Bichon. Davey and Bob swooped in, offered copious congratulations—though Bob still didn’t look entirely clear on what had happened—and disappeared again.
    Aunt Peg, meanwhile, was busy schmoozing with the other breeders, accepting good wishes from her peers, all of whom knew from personal experience just how hard it was sometimes to get even a good one finished.
    As for me, I had Faith up on the table. My face was buried in her coat, her nose was nuzzling my ear. I felt her solid body beneath the silly hairdo and smelled her wonderful clean dog smell and told her, over and over, what a good and patient Poodle she’d been.
    “Champion Cedar Crest Leap of Faith,” I said, rolling the title off my tongue. The words had a magical sound. Champion Faith. My first. My best. What a wondrous animal she was. Faith wagged her tail obligingly, pom-pom thumping up and down on the rubber mat.
    “Now you’ll have to start thinking about Eve,” Bertie said, watching our love fest with a smile.
    “She’s not even four months old!”
    “That’s not too young to start her training. Just think, as soon as you get Faith’s coat off, you’ll have another to grow in.”
    “Bite your tongue.” Still high from what I’d just accomplished, I had no desire to contemplate starting over again. Instead, I changed the subject. “Hey, did you ever open that note from Sara? What did it say?”
    Bertie put down her comb. “You know, I forgot all about it. Let me have a look.”
    The light blue envelope was just where she’d left it, wedged in behind some leashes hanging in the lid of her tack box. Bertie drew it out, slit the flap with her thumbnail, and drew out a single sheet of light blue paper.
    Her eyes skimmed quickly down the page.
    “How odd,” she said.
    “What?”
    Bertie glanced back at the envelope, flipping it over and checking both sides. Nothing was written on either. “I wonder if Terry delivered this to the right person.”
    “What’s the matter?” I asked.
    “For starters, it’s not about the wedding. And on top of that, it doesn’t make much sense. Listen to this.”
    She held up the sheet and read:

    “You’ve always been a good friend. I know I can count on you, perhaps better than you can count on me. Whatever you hear about me, don’t believe most of it, and don’t worry. I’ll