“If you like dogs, you’ll love Laurien Berenson’s Melanie Travis mysteries!” — Joanne Fluke, New York Times bestselling author Melanie Travis needs a little peace from her busy life this Christmas. But the usual holiday hubbub is a joy compared to the killer surprise she finds tucked underneath the tree . . .   With a demanding teaching job at Connecticut’s elite Howard Academy and five poodles scampering around the house, Melanie barely has energy for the upcoming Christmas rush. But she unwraps an unexpected challenge when her brother and ex-husband, elated by the recent success of their country café, make a spontaneous bid on a dilapidated pine tree farm. Although the ten-acre lot had been a popular seasonal destination while the original owner was still alive, it’ll take some sprucing up—and a small miracle or two—before the neglected place is in shape for December.   Unfortunately, the impromptu business venture goes cold when the group discovers a purebred Maltese whimpering in the snow-covered grove—right beside a dead body. Pete, a squatter who camped out on the land, apparently met his end after a fallen fir tree branch knocked him on the head. But as Melanie and Aunt Peg investigate Pete’s history and the terrible habit that cost him everything, it’s clear his death was no accident. Now, Melanie must run through a flurry of likely suspects and muzzle a dogged murderer in time—or she’ll be next on someone’s deadly list. LAURIEN BERENSON is an Agatha and Macavity nominee, winner of the Romantic Times Reviewers' Choice Award, and four-time winner of the Maxwell Award, presented by the Dog Writers Association of America. She and her husband live on a farm in Kentucky surrounded by dogs and horses. Readers can visit her website at: www.LaurienBerenson.com. Wagging Through the Snow By Laurien Berenson KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP. Copyright © 2017 Laurien Berenson All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4967-1298-1 CHAPTER 1 "Ho! Ho! Ho!" I was sitting at the kitchen table, working on a project for one of my fellow teachers when the back door to the house flew open. A blast of frigid air hit my papers and sent them scattering across the tabletop. My hasty grab to save them didn't help. Instead, I knocked into my laptop and sent it spinning into my half-full coffee mug. Five black Standard Poodles had been snoozing on the floor at my feet. Startled by the intrusion, they jumped up and began to bark. Bud, the little spotted mutt who was the latest addition to our canine pack, scuttled over to stand beneath my chair. Quickly I righted the mug and scrambled to gather the papers before they could blow off the table. Peace and quiet to utter mayhem in under ten seconds. Even for my house, that was a record. I turned and aimed a withering look at our uninvited guest. My brother, Frank, was standing in the open doorway, grinning like a fool. Unfortunately, that was nothing new. "Some welcoming committee," he said, gazing at the dogs. The Poodles were now looking embarrassed by their outburst. Of course they recognized Frank. They just hadn't expected him to come flying through the door on this tranquil Saturday morning. Any more than I had. "Be glad they didn't bite you," I told him. "They wouldn't do that." Frank took a step back. " Would they? " Nope. No way. Not unless they thought there was a dire need. My dogs were Standard Poodles, the largest of the three Poodle varieties. They were smart, funny, perceptive, and wonderfully affectionate. Poodles are people dogs. They would definitely attempt to think their way through a problem before resorting to violence. On the other hand, my little brother has often been the bane of my existence. Maybe it wasn't a bad thing he didn't realize that. "Come inside and close the door," I said. "It's freezing out there." "It's December," Frank told me. Like we weren't all aware. "Merry Christmas!" "Oh please. Christmas is a month away. We're still eating leftover turkey from Thanksgiving." Frank shut the door, then pulled off his parka and draped it over the back of a chair. "It's never too early to embrace the Christmas spirit." He walked over to the counter, got a mug out of the cabinet, and poured himself some coffee. The Poodles had yet to resettle and were still milling around the room. Faith, the oldest of the group, was keeping an eye on Frank. As he made himself at home in my kitchen, she shot me a look. Is that allowed? I nodded silently. Faith has been part of my life for nearly eight years. I had never had a pet as a child, so she'd introduced me to the joys of dog ownership. I'd immediately fallen in love with Faith's sweet disposition, her empathetic nature, and her goofy sense of humor. My Poodle and I are soul mates. The relationship we share is deeper and more meaningful than I ever imagined was possible. Faith found a quiet spot on the floor to lie down. I pushed my work stuff aside as my brother sank into a chair on the other side