Read Online Dog Eat Dog by Laurien Berenson - Free Book Online Page A

brother, Frank, arrived a few minutes early Thursday evening. I was putting a meatloaf in the oven. Faith and Davey were in the living room trying to figure out where in the world Carmen Sandiego was. They sat, side by side, on the couch, my son lifting up the long flap of the puppy’s ear and whispering the clues inside. Don’t knock it. Together, they’ve made some pretty amazing solves.
    Both took time out from the show when the doorbell rang. Guests arriving at my house have learned to beware. Davey and Faith make a formidable welcoming committee. I figured that if I could reach the front hall before Davey got the door open, there was a chance Frank might still be on his feet.
    Too late.
    All three were on the floor together. The only part of my brother I could see was a pair of blue jean clad legs sticking out from beneath child and puppy. The front door behind them was standing wide open, releasing all the heat from the house. Faith was barking; Davey, shrieking. I couldn’t hear Frank at all.
    I stepped around them and shut the door. “Frank, are you alive under there?”
    â€œPossibly.” The voice was muffled, but didn’t sound too unhappy considering he was outnumbered.
    Suddenly Frank’s hands came snaking out of the pile. He grasped Davey around the waist, fingers tickling mercilessly. Davey squealed with helpless laughter; Faith fell back to regroup. My brother saw his chance and scrambled to his feet.
    â€œWhew.” He pulled off his coat and scarf and flung them over the banister. “Some greeting.”
    â€œBe glad they like you,” I said mildly. “You should see the alternative.”
    â€œNo thanks.” Frank was grinning. He raked his fingers back through his hair, an old habit because there isn’t much to rake at the moment.
    He and I have the same hair, medium brown and stick straight. Mine hangs to my shoulders; currently, Frank’s is cut short and combed back. He stands a good deal taller than me, which isn’t hard; and there’s an appealing gawkiness to his frame, as if he hasn’t quite grown into himself yet.
    My attitude toward my little brother veers wildly, ranging anywhere from outraged to over-protective. For the most part we tread, somewhat uneasily, on middle ground. Actually the same could be said of our whole family.
    The Turnbulls are a contentious clan, and over the years a variety of issues have created family rifts. Recently, loyalties had shifted once again when Aunt Peg’s husband, Max, died about the same time his sister, Rose, left the Convent of Divine Mercy to marry a former priest. All this was complicated by the fact that Rose and Peg have hated each other for years. Since Frank usually takes Rose’s side, while I tend to champion Peg’s, we try not to let our differences cause too much disruption.
    â€œSomething smells great.” Frank was already heading toward the kitchen. “Don’t tell me you cooked.”
    â€œOf course I cooked. What kind of a mother do you think I am? I’ll have you know your nephew eats a balanced dinner every night.” I had my fingers crossed, but I was walking behind my brother. There was no way he could have seen them.
    â€œRight.” He opened the oven and had a peek, then went to the refrigerator and got out a beer. “What about the pooch? Does she get meatloaf, too?”
    â€œFaith’s already eaten. Just try not to let Davey give her too much food off his plate. We’ll be at Francisco’s in Greenwich. The number’s written down, and I don’t think we’ll be too late.”
    â€œFrancisco’s, huh? Did Aunt Peg tell you I’m working there now?”
    I frowned. “She told me you were tending bar.”
    â€œRight, at Francisco’s. She’s the one who told me about the opening. I just started last week, and the tips are great. It sure beats selling men’s clothes in the