4 Woof at the Door (17 page)

“About their dog?” he shrieked at me. “Now you want to talk to me about their dog! What are you, some kind of a sadist?”

“No.” Sheesh! I think I liked it better when he was calling me a spy. “Ty Bellingham hired me to work with his dog, and—”

“Don’t ever let me see your face again, young lady. You should be ashamed of yourself!”

He got into his car, slamming the door, and threw the engine into reverse. I had to jump out onto the sidewalk to keep him from running over me. He pressed his garage button one last time, watched me to make sure I wasn’t going to bolt inside his garage, then drove off.

I stared after his car long after he’d already disappeared around the corner.

There was only one scenario I could concoct that might begin to explain his actions. Even then, it was quite a stretch. I had to go over to Beverly’s and ask what she could tell me about Mr. Melhuniak—specifically, whether or not he once owned a dog. Perhaps one that had fallen victim to Doobie.

I left my car where it was and walked across the street. As I neared, I could hear Beagle Boy barking inside. The barks were unnerving—repetitive and shrill.

I tried to shake off my worries as I rang the bell. I’d only been with Beagle Boy a half dozen times. I didn’t know him well enough to gauge his emotional state from his barking. At the sound of the doorbell, the barking grew even more persistent.

Beverly had been at my office less than three hours ago. Surely nothing horrible could have happened in the meanwhile.

I rang the doorbell a second time and followed it up by knocking on the door. No answer.

Finally I tried the knob. It turned. The house was unlocked. Now I was scared. Beverly was not the sort to leave her front door unlocked if she were away.

“Beverly?” I called as I pushed it open.

No answer.

The house was completely still. Then I heard a whining and Beagle Boy’s claws clicking across the hardwood flooring.

Beagle Boy came running to the foyer. His paws were covered in blood.

Chapter 12

My heart was pounding. As I made my way through the house and toward Beverly’s enormous kitchen, my mind refused to grasp what I was seeing. There were red smudges and paw prints on the hardwood flooring. Beagle Boy danced in front of me in crazed, darting circles, barking incessantly as I walked.

In the kitchen, blood was everywhere.
This can’t be happening. I must be losing my mind.
Feeling as if my legs were under their own control, I continued further into the kitchen.

On the other side of the kitchen isle, I found Beverly. There were no signs of injuries from a wolf or dog, but the slash across her neck was all too apparent.

“No!” I’d arrive too late to help her. She was dead.

My ears were ringing, my heart pounding so hard I felt faint. I stumbled toward the phone to call 911, but found only the cradle; the portable phone was missing.

I heard a metallic sound from the living room. Someone, my sluggish brain finally realized, was turning the knob on the front door.

The door creaked open. Beagle Boy dashed away from me and toward the sound. He was barking at the intruder, who maintained a slow but steady pace. Somebody wearing hard-soled shoes was nearing.

The killer! He’d come back! I had to get out of here!

I lunged toward the back door and fumbled with the lock.

“Allida?” The female voice was a near whisper. I turned. It was Rebecca, Beverly’s partner. The color had drained from her face. “What’s happened? Did you cut yourself?”

I couldn’t find my voice.

“Where’s Beverly? She was supposed to meet me over an….” Her voice faded as she caught sight of the body on the floor.

She came toward Beverly and dropped to her knees. She moaned in despair, then started to cry, pulling Beverly’s body onto her lap and rocking her. Without taking her eyes away from the body, she cried, “Who did this! Who did this to my friend?” Rebecca looked at me, her face a picture of despair and outrage. “Was it you?! Did you kill Beverly?!”

Seeing Rebecca in an even deeper state of shock than mine helped me to think more clearly. “It wasn’t me. I got here just a few seconds before you did. We need to call the police. My cell is in the car. Do you have yours with you?”

She was sobbing so hard she couldn’t speak. This was too convincing to be an act.

Rather than search through the house for the second phone, I pressed the page button. A beeper sounded from a cabinet nearby. I opened it and found the handset in a back corner behind some plates. I grabbed it with my good hand. My gaze fell upon the object on the counter. It was a butcher-block style of knife holder. One slot was empty.

My return trip to the police station was horrid. The detectives were having more than a little trouble accepting the fact that I was innocent and yet had twice been the person who discovered the body. Afterward I went straight home. I had another couple of appointments, but I couldn’t go. My shock at discovering Ty Bellingham’s body was tripled at finding a murdered friend.

Part of me wanted to go into a blind rage. Yet, these murders were the acts of just one individual. I was determined to do anything in my power to help the police find whoever it was and put a stop to this.

I called Russell’s office number on the off chance that he’d returned at some point in the afternoon. He answered, and to my chagrin, just the gentle tone of his voice pushed me over the edge and I burst into tears.

“Allida?”

I managed to control myself enough to mutter, “Oh, Russell. Beverly’s dead. Somebody killed her. I need you to—”

“What? Did you say Beverly Wood is dead?”

“Yes.” I battled my emotions enough to force my voice to work. “I need you to find my appointment book. I think it’s in the kneehole drawer of my desk. I’ve got two appointments, I think. Probably already missed them. Please call them and tell them I’ll reschedule.”

“Where are you now?”

“Home. At my mother’s house. But I’m okay. I’m just…” I let my voice fade, losing interest in whatever line I’d intended to pass off as the truth. I wasn’t okay. At the moment, it was all I could do to hold my head up.

“Is your mother there?”

“No. She’s…she must still be at the airport or with a student.”

“Allie, whether you want me to or not, I’m coming over. After I reschedule your appointments.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry to ask you to do this.”

“I don’t mind. See you soon.” He hung up.

I indulged myself in another minute’s worth of tears, then went out into the backyard, throwing sticks for the dogs. That horrid image of Pavlov as a charging wolf wasn’t gone, but I was too numb now to care.

Something weird started to happened. It was at last eighty degrees outside, but I was shaking and freezing. It was as if my body was shutting down. I could hear what was happening all around me, but I couldn’t move. I sat shivering on the bottom step of the deck, hugging my knees to my chest.

The dogs soon sensed my distress. Pavlov came and lay by my feet, Sage on the step above me, his body pressed against me back, and Dobbler beside me. The dogs leapt up at the sound of the doorbell, but I was still in this position as Russell came around through the gate when I didn’t answer.

Russell knelt, peered into my eyes, and said gently, “Allida, sweetie, you’re in shock. I can’t carry you with my arm in a sling.” He grabbed my uninjured right hand with his left and pulled me to my feet. He put his good arm around me and led me inside and into my room. He pulled down the blankets and top sheet on my bed and I kicked off my shoes and lay down, feeling exhausted.

Still fully dressed himself, Russell pulled the covers over me and lay down on my bed beside me and warmed me with his body.

My teeth were chattering. “Bet when you wanted to go bed with me, this wasn’t what you had in mind.”

He kissed me on the forehead and murmured, “I also imagined if I made you tremble, it would be a good thing.”

I slowly felt some warmth returning to me. I lay still, staring at the familiar ceiling, tears running unabated down my temples and into my pillow. “This was my room when I was a child. When my father died, I lost track of how many times I’d send my mom to check for monsters in the closet. But she’d always check. She’d never complain; she’d just tell me that there was no such thing as monsters. Finally, she gave me a spray can, which she told me was monster repellant. I’d spray that in my closet and under my bed before I got into bed. The kids in my kindergarten class probably wondered why my clothes always smelled funny. I figured out that it was Lysol Disinfectant by first grade. It took me much longer to realize that there really are monsters in this world. And they are us.”

Russell hugged me.

I closed my eyes and slept for what felt like hours. When I awoke, it was dark outside. Russell was gone. Feeling groggy, I arose and shuffled my way into the living room.

I overheard Mom’s voice in the kitchen, but hesitated at the serious tone. Something horrible had to have happened for her to be having such sorrow in her voice.

I wasn’t sure who she was talking to, but she was saying, “…my fault, in a way. After her father died, I had no desire to meet another man. I just plowed ahead, doing the best job I could of raising my children alone. She hasn’t ever had a man to depend on, and the one time she trusted someone, he turned out to be a total bastard. But all of her experiences with dogs were the exact opposite. It’s like she can read their minds, and they hers. I wish there was something I could do to make her see what she’s got in you.”

“Don’t pressure her, Mrs. Babcock.”

It was Russell’s voice. My mother was discussing my deficiencies with my boyfriend!

“She feels what she feels,” he continued. “You can’t force her to love me anymore than she can force herself.”

What a sweet man! So kind and loving. If what I feel for him is anything less than love, surely this was close enough.

Unwilling to hang out in the living room pretending I hadn’t overheard, I intentionally stepped onto the squeaky floorboard, entered the kitchen, and forced a smile. Russell and my mother were sitting across the counter from one another, drinking lemonade.

“Talking about me, huh?” My smile turned genuine when I gazed at Russell, whose face was a picture of loving concern.

“Hi, hon,” Mom said, looking only slightly embarrassed.

The phone rang. I answered.

“This is Paige Atkinson. Is this Allida Babcock?”

“Yes, it is.” She must have heard about Beverly Wood, I thought, and was calling to feign sympathy.

“Sammy is missing. Can you help us find her?”

Her dog. She was worried about her dog. “No. Not right now.” I sighed and rubbed my forehead, ignoring my bandages in the process. “Have you asked Hank? Maybe she’s with—”

“Hank’s right here. We don’t know where she could be. Sammy’s so heavy now, she can barely walk! Where could she be?”

“Did you make a whelping box for her?”

“Whelping box?”

“Yes! You’re trying to breed your dog. You should know what the word ’whelp’ means. She might be off trying to find a place to give birth to her puppies. Was she inside the house when you last saw her?”

“I don’t know. Everything was so hectic for a while. Police officers are all over the place. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Allida, but something terrible happened to Beverly.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“I asked the police if our dog was over there, but they hadn’t seen Sammy either. We’ve checked everywhere. She must have been stolen. Oh, please, Allida. You’ve got to help us find our dog.”

What would they do when they found her? Wrench the puppies away because they weren’t white wolf pups? Damn it! I wanted to stay here with Russell! If only I wasn’t afraid that my refusing to help would put Sammy and her puppies at risk.

I set my jaw and said, “All right. But this time if there is the slightest possibility that there are any wolves running around loose, you call the police, you do not wait for me. Got that?”

“We will. I promise.”

“I’ll be there in an hour. In the meantime, look for low, secluded places, such as under your deck.” I hung up.

Both my mother and Russell were staring at me with matching expressions of annoyance. Mom said sternly, “Allida, you just discovered your friend’s body. Three hours later, you’re going to help somebody look for their missing dog?”

“The dog’s probably giving birth, and her owners are idiots. I don’t trust those people to oversee the whelping. They’re the sort that might bury the puppies and keep the afterbirth.”

“They can’t be that stupid,” Mom said.

“No, but they are that untrustworthy. These are going to be mixed puppies that the owners didn’t want their dog to have in the first place.”

“I’d better be going,” Russell said, getting off the kitchen stool.

“Can you come with me? Please? There’s something I need to say.”

He smiled. “Sure. To tell the truth, I’ll feel better knowing you’re not alone, after what you just went through. I’ll even help you look for your lost dog.” A look of alarm flashed across his features as he glanced at the clock above the stove. “I’m supposed to be at a client’s office. We’d better take separate cars.” He stopped at the door and said, “Goodbye, Mrs. Babcock. Thank you.”

We walked out to our cars side by side. He surreptitiously glanced at his watch, his brow furrowed.

“Is this client appointment something you can reschedule?” I asked.

“Sure. It’s nothing important.” He gave me a smile, but his words and nervous mannerisms left me unconvinced. “Remember I’m going to be following, so don’t run any red lights.” He opened the door of my car for me.

“Russell, you don’t need to come with me. I’m just going to help these people—” It suddenly dawned on me that Paige had said
Hank
was helping her look for the dog. No way was I willing to have Russell accompany me to Hank Atkinson’s home, considering how badly he’d injured Russell last night. “I’m just going to find the dog and then come straight home afterwards. You go ahead and meet with your client, and we’ll get together later today.”