High in Trial - By Donna Ball Page 0,27
it’s nothing.”
“I’m glad Neil didn’t take Bryte home after all,” I said. “I’m looking forward to seeing her run tomorrow.”
Marcie flashed a look to me that seemed, for the briefest of moments, laced with terror. Then she apparently remembered I’d actually been there when Neil took Bryte away, and she recovered herself with a quick, “Yes. Right.” She cleared her throat and added, “Actually, of course, Neil only lives a few miles away now, so he probably would’ve brought her back for the trial tomorrow.”
Aggie seized on this. “Really? I didn’t know he’d moved.”
Marcie nodded, running a hand over her throat in a nervous massaging motion. “He has an apartment in Pembroke. It doesn’t allow dogs, even though he sneaks them in sometimes, so it’s just temporary.”
“I can’t imagine Neil in a place that doesn’t allow dogs,” Ginny said.
“But you still have your beautiful place back in Derry, right?” Aggie persisted. “Gorgeous farm,” she explained to the rest of us. “A huge training building, regulation agility course, fenced and cross-fenced… We have club picnics there sometimes.”
Sarah said, “I’m confused. I thought Neil owned both the dogs. Are you just boarding them?”
“No.” Marcie’s tone was bitter. “They’re my dogs. We co-own Flame, Shine, and Thunder, but he talked me into signing over Bryte to him when she was six months old. People do stupid things when they’re in love, but that was by far the stupidest one I’ve ever done.” I could see her jaw tighten from where I sat. “They live with me, though. He’s not allowed to take them off the property except for shows. That’s our agreement. I don’t trust him out of my sight with those dogs. You wouldn’t either.”
The curiosity practically sparked across the table, but only Aggie had the courage—or the tactlessness—to ask what we were all thinking. “How come?” she inquired. She leaned in close across the table, her huge bosoms nudging her tea glass, her tone confidential and inviting. “You know, everybody’s heard he amps his dogs up with meds. Somebody said he uses shock collars.”
Marcie stiffened. “That’s ridiculous. I would never allow anyone to abuse my dogs.”
Everyone at the table could feel the situation deteriorating, but Aggie soldiered gamely on. “Well, of course not, but you know there are some people who would do anything to win. And there’s a lot at stake at this level.”
The sound of the silence from Marcie was like ice cracking. I think everyone at the table, with the exception of the two women in the end seats, wanted to slide under it, myself included. And then Ginny, God bless her, turned to me and said brightly, “Say, Raine, I was meaning to ask you, where’s that handsome fellow of yours tonight?”
I blinked at the non sequitur, then smiled. “Paying for dinner, as a matter of fact,” I replied cheerily. “Let’s order dessert.”
* * *
I fed Cisco the leftover tidbits of prime rib that I sneaked out of the dining room wrapped in a napkin in my purse, and even though I made him do a trick for each one, he looked at me with such an expression of worshipful adoration on his face that I laughed out loud with delight and let him gobble the last few bits directly from the palm of my hand, no tricks required. Seriously, there’s nothing better in this world than the unconditional love of a dog. Nothing.
The room telephone was ringing when I came back from washing my hands, and I knew I had to answer it.
“You forgot to turn on your phone,” Miles said.
“I didn’t forget.” I sat down on the bed and kicked off my shoes.
“Uh-oh. Bad day after I left?”
“No. What makes you say that?” I knew my voice was stiff, but I couldn’t help it.
He paused. “Are you mad at me about something?”
“What makes you say that?”
He said slowly, “Okay.” Then, “I have a breakfast meeting in the morning, so I think I’ll stay over.”
I was both relieved and disappointed. “Okay. Good. That’s a good idea.”
There was another pause. “So how did you do in your last event?”
“We lost.”
“Ah, well. Win some, lose some, right?”
“Jumpers- with- weaves,” I said sourly, remembering it was all his fault we’d lost. “That’s our best thing. We lost.”
“Everybody has an off day.”
“I guess. Whatever.” But it was our best thing.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. It’s fine. It’s just a game.”
“Okay.” A note of impatience, or perhaps frustration, crept into his voice. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s just… I think we