Hounded to Death Read Online Free PDF Page A

but I was beginning to suspect the latter.
    â€œPerhaps I should leave you two alone so you can get to know one another?” I asked.
    â€œYes, please,” Richard said smoothly.
    â€œNo!” cried Peg.
    That settled it. Nerves, it was. I was torn between feeling compelled to come to her aid and wanting to enjoy the moment at her expense.
    Petty of me, I know. But it wasn’t like she didn’t make a habit of abandoning me to the wolves.
    â€œI’ll tell you what,” said Richard. “I’m going to go to the bar and get a drink. Maybe while I’m there, I can refresh yours?”
    Aunt Peg nodded.
    She was drinking scotch neat. Considering that her usual beverage of choice was tea, it wouldn’t take too many more of those before the occasion acquired a pleasing, rosy hue.
    â€œWhile I’m gone, you two can decide what you’d like to do.”
    Richard took Peg’s tumbler and disappeared into the crowd.
    â€œDon’t leave me here alone with him,” she said as soon as he was gone.
    â€œWhy not? I thought you were looking forward to meeting him.”
    â€œI was. But now that the time has come, I find it’s harder than I thought. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I tried to make small talk with an attractive man? What if I say something stupid?”
    I chuckled under my breath. “My being here won’t prevent that.”
    â€œAll right, then, what about awkward silences? Who’s going to smooth those over?”
    â€œWhy should there be any silences? Don’t you already know Richard? How long have you been corresponding?”
    Aunt Peg considered. “Three months at least. But writing is entirely different. You can go back and edit what you say. There’s time for a second draft. In e-mail, I always sound brilliant.”
    Hard to believe she could suffer a crisis of confidence, isn’t it?
    â€œIf you want me to stay,” I said, “I will.”
    â€œThank you.” Peg looked past me and scanned the room. Fresh drinks in each of his hands, Richard was threading his way back toward us through the crowd. “Next to you, I’m sure I’ll come off wonderfully.”
    That was me, ever useful.
    Richard had not only wrangled a pair of drinks; he’d also met up with a couple of friends along the way. Perhaps he’d hoped that enlarging the circle of conversation might put Peg more at ease. Or maybe he simply hadn’t wanted to feel outnumbered.
    Introductions were quickly performed. Derek Ryan was a Beagle man from northern Kentucky. He had a strong handshake, kind eyes, and a habit of standing much too close. Marshall Beckham looked like a stork. He was tall, slender, and serious; and when he heard Peg’s name, he immediately shifted his attention her way.
    â€œPeg Turnbull?” he repeated. “You’re Margaret Turnbull, of Cedar Crest Kennels fame?”
    Peg nodded graciously.
    â€œI saw you win the group at Westminster! Champion Cedar Crest Chantain, wasn’t it?”
    She nodded again. Marshall was speaking much too fast for any of us to get a word in.
    â€œI can’t believe it. This is fantastic! What a turnout there is here. First Charles Evans, the man is one of my heroes…and now I’m meeting Margaret Turnbull. Somebody pinch me. That win at Westminster was quite a coup for an owner-handler! And what a lovely dog.”
    â€œThank you. Beau was always one of my favorites.”
    In the face of Marshall’s barrage of words, Aunt Peg was finally beginning to relax. Dog talk always did the trick. She was an old hand at that.
    â€œI have Bichons,” Marshall said. “And I handle them myself. Certainly not with your flair, but I pride myself on doing okay. I know you’ve recently been approved for the breed and I hope you’ll consider coming out to Ohio to judge. I’d be delighted to have your opinion of my dogs.”
    Peg