Hounded to Death Read Online Free Page A

returned from a vacation on some exotic beach.
    They were holding hands as they entered the room, but almost immediately both were hailed by friends and pulled in different directions. They exchanged a brief look—shorthand between people who knew each other very well—and went their separate ways.
    â€œCharles and Caroline Evans,” said Aunt Peg. “They belong to several kennel clubs, principally Windemere in northern Maryland. Both of them judge all over the country and Charles is a well-regarded speaker as well. He’s scheduled to give the keynote address tomorrow on ‘The Future of Dog Shows.’”
    â€œI’ve shown under Caroline,” said Bertie. “She does sporting dogs and hounds. She can be tough, but she’s fair.”
    â€œThe same is true of Charles,” Aunt Peg replied. “He’s got the Working, Herding, and Terrier groups. One of the reasons they’re so much in demand is that between them they can cover so many breeds.”
    â€œHow long have they been married?” I asked.
    Peg gave me an odd look. Anything that doesn’t pertain to dogs is immaterial, or at least of lesser importance, in her view.
    â€œForever. What difference does that make?”
    None really, I thought. And the question was out of character for me. Or at the least usual me, the one I had known before I became pregnant. But now, along with rocketing emotions, I seemed to have lost my usual air of cynicism. Instead I was filled with a dreamy sort of optimism that looked for the good in everyone.
    â€œI just thought it was sweet that they were holding hands.”
    Aunt Peg snorted. “There’s nothing sweet about those two. Smart, driven, eminently respectable? Yes. Sweet, no. Not even on a good day.”
    â€œHey, look,” Bertie said as a pale, lithe beauty swept through the doorway. The woman had the practiced strut of a supermodel and a look of disdain on her face. “There’s Alana Bennett. I’m going to go say hi.”
    Bertie was no slouch herself when it came to looking good. She was probably the only woman in the room who didn’t feel even the slightest bit threatened by Alana’s arrival. When the two of them joined up and walked to the bar together—silky blonde and fiery redhead, heads dipped toward each other as they talked and laughed—there wasn’t a man at the gathering who didn’t take notice.
    â€œIt’s a good thing Bertie has a decent head on her shoulders,” Aunt Peg remarked, tracking the pair’s progress for a moment before turning back to the door.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause her friend Alana is a bit of a flit. In my day she would have been known as a good-time girl. I’d be shocked if she came to the symposium because she’s interested in getting her judge’s license. More than likely she’s just here to socialize.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with that?”
    I may have sounded a little defensive, and with good reason. I was eons away from applying to become a judge, if indeed I ever did. But I had plenty to learn in the meantime and this symposium, coming up at just the right time, had seemed like a nifty vacation opportunity. Did that make my intentions any more pure than Alana’s?
    â€œYou’re a different case entirely,” said Aunt Peg.
    It was spooky how often she was able to read my mind, probably a skill she’d honed through decades of nonverbal communication with her Poodles.
    â€œYou’ll go to lectures and take a few notes, meet some new people over meals, maybe have a massage and take a hike in the woods, then go home feeling that you’ve had a successful stay. Alana, on the other hand, will drink too much and party too hard. She’ll flirt with half the men here, and won’t think her week is successful until at least one fight has broken out on her account.”
    My gaze drifted toward the bar where Alana was now