Death of a Dog Whisperer (9780758284570) (26 page)

A discreet rattle of the shed's door confirmed what I'd already suspected: the padlock was back in place. I was locked in.

Considering the shed's state of disrepair, I could probably kick loose a couple of boards, then pry them apart to create an opening. But that seemed like entirely too noisy a proposition. I had no idea where Phil might be, and the last thing I wanted to do was alert him to the fact that I was not only awake, I was also untied.

Time was passing much too quickly. The sun was dropping lower in the sky. Pressing my eye to a narrow opening between boards, I saw that dusk's long shadows were beginning to fall across the yard. The oncoming darkness would help hide my escape, but it also meant that Phil might return at any time. My window of opportunity was starting to close.

I looked around the shed once more, hoping for inspiration. I felt like I was overlooking something important, something that should have been obvious. I stared at the containers piled in the rear of the shed and frowned thoughtfully. Then all at once, it hit me. I knew what I'd been missing.

I'd forgotten about Barney, the dog who would eat anything. Two days earlier before we'd taken him to the vet, Barney had been digging around the shed. Basset Hounds are expert and enthusiastic tunnelers. If Barney had created an entry to get himself into the shed, then there was a way for me to get out. All I had to do was find it.

I strode over to the stacks of containers and began shoving them aside to reveal the base of the wall. At first I saw nothing. The packed earth floor I exposed looked as though it hadn't been disturbed in years. I moved a second stack, and then a third. Aching, sweating profusely, I was beginning to question the wisdom of my idea when I lifted a container to set it aside, and finally found what I was looking for.

Loose dirt scattered across the floor drew my eyes to a Basset Hound sized hole that was just visible beneath the lower edge of the wall. Quickly I stooped down for a closer look. Bending low over the opening, I dipped my head into the opening and twisted around to look out. I could see the tops of trees and the darkening sky above them.

I could see freedom.

Luckily for me, Barney was a chunky dog. The tunnel he'd created for his own use was already pretty sizeable. Nevertheless, I dug at the crumbling edges and clawed at the loose dirt with my fingers to enlarge the hole's rounded perimeter.

Within minutes, I had a space that looked like it might be big enough for me to fit through. I spun around, lay on my back, and shoved myself down into the opening headfirst. Pushing with my feet, pulling with my hands, I inched beneath the wooden boards.

Dirt tangled in my hair. A jagged rock tore at my shirt. My shoulders were too wide; they caught at the base of the hole. With a sharp jerk, I twisted them free and kept going. Back aching, feet scrambling on the loose debris, I shimmied and swiveled and maneuvered my way through the narrow tunnel.

Head tipped upward, all I could see was sky. That was more than enough to keep me moving.

By the time my hips reached the bottom of the passage, my arms and shoulders had cleared its upper edge on the outside. I leaned back and braced my elbows on the ground behind me, then gritted my teeth and pulled hard. With one last painful wrench, I dragged my legs through the opening. Their final release sent me sprawling backward.

Breathing heavily, covered in dirt, I collapsed in a heap on the grass. I'd gained my freedom but I felt utterly drained by my efforts. And I wasn't in the clear yet. Not by a long shot.

Lying on the ground, partially hidden by the shed, I hoped I wasn't visible from the back of the house. But I couldn't afford to relax. I needed to gather my strength quickly. I had to be gone before Phil discovered that I was missing. And without knowing where he was, any direction I chose to run was going to be a calculated gamble.

With a quick look around, I opted for the route that offered the shortest distance from the shed to the sheltering woods at the perimeter of the yard. The span of open lawn I would have to cross was about twenty feet. I could sprint that far in a matter of seconds. Once I reached the woods, it wouldn't be hard to hike to a neighboring house or out to the road. If I could just get to that dense band of trees, I'd have a chance—as long as Phil didn't see me and come racing in pursuit.

It was now or never, I thought. I didn't feel ready, but it didn't matter. I still had to go. It was time to take my chances.

Slowly I levered myself up. Crouching, I hugged the side of the shed, hoping that its dark shadows would swallow me. Once I was out in the open, I would need to be moving fast. I was gathering my resources, getting ready to make a run for it, when the back door to the house flew open. It banged against the wall and as Phil came racing out.

“Hey!” he shouted.

That was all the impetus I needed. A burst of adrenaline shot through me. I pushed away from the shed and began to run. Knees pumping, feet pounding, I sucked air into my lungs and dashed across the lawn.

I could hear Phil coming, somewhere behind me. The shed was positioned toward the back of the yard. That gave me a good head start. Even so, I knew Phil had to be gaining on me. I didn't dare look around to find out.

Then all at once, over the pounding in my ears, I heard another sound. It was the elated, full-bodied howl of a hound on the hunt. Barney burst out of the house through the open door.

Now I did glance back and what I saw caused my heart to leap. The Basset must have thought that he and Phil were playing a game, because Barney was racing after his quarry as fast as his short, stubby, legs could carry him. Phil, meanwhile, was totally oblivious to his pursuer. Intent on catching me, he wasn't even looking at the dog.

So when Barney cut across the yard to catch up, then launched himself into the air, Phil never knew what hit him.

The Basset's bulk knocked Phil's legs right out from under him. His arms flailed briefly as he lost his balance and stumbled forward. I watched as he tried, then failed, to right himself.

Barney's howl turned into a yelp of surprise as Phil somersaulted down on top of him. Momentum sent the two of them rolling end-over-end together. I hoped that Barney wasn't hurt but I didn't stop to find out.

Instead I just kept running. Moments later I reached the trees and disappeared into their embrace. It was a relief to be enveloped by the cool, sheltering, darkness.

F
our-acre zoning, I thought. Back country Greenwich was known for its beautiful estates and its spacious, private lots.

Ridiculous, the things that go through your mind when fear and exhaustion have wiped everything else clean and all you can think about is continuing to put one foot in front of the other. That, and not stopping for anything. Hands held up and out in front of me, eyes straining to see in the darkness, I scrambled through the underbrush and dodged between the trees.

Right, left. Right, left.

Concentrating on the steady rhythm kept me going me through the wide band of forest that separated Fran's house from the neighboring property. One minute I was surrounded by thick foliage, looking downward as I ran, and trying desperately not to step in a hole or trip over a fallen branch. And in the next I had quite suddenly broken through the verge of the arboreal boundary and stumbled onto another manicured lawn.

A house, big and brick, with wide front steps and massive white columns rose up before me like a mirage in the desert, glittering with the promise of salvation. Amber lights glowed softly on either side of the front door. Spotlights, situated up below the eaves, illuminated the approach.

Almost safe, I thought. I exhaled an unsteady breath and refused to even consider the fact that someone might not be home. I had seen Phil go down, but he could have gotten up again. Even now, he might still be following me. I couldn't afford to let my guard down yet.

Holding my side, gasping for air to fill my burning lungs, I navigated the wide expanse of lawn and staggered up the steps. I didn't mean to lean against the doorbell, but it happened anyway. Even so, several minutes passed—and my fleeting sense of relief began to edge once more toward alarm—before someone opened the door.

By the time that happened I was sitting down. Actually I had crumpled into an exhausted heap on the ornate doormat. So I had to turn and look way up to see the face of my would-be rescuer.

He was a man in his sixties, with a fringe of white hair and a thick pair of reading glasses. A gnarled hand, dropped to his side, was holding a book. One look at the startled expression on his face reminded of what a bedraggled mess I was. I was muddy and bruised. My clothing was ripped, my hair snarled. No wonder his first reaction was to take a step back.

I braced my hands on the prickly mat and pushed myself wearily to my feet. “Please,” I said. “Could you call the police? Ask for Detective O'Malley. Tell him it's an emergency.”

“I should hope so,” the man replied. He was frowning. “Wait there.”

As if I had a choice. The door snicked shut in my face. Another several minutes passed.

I hoped the man was doing as I'd asked. If not, I would have no choice but to keep going until I came to someone who might be willing to help. At that depressing thought, my legs simply gave out. I sat down on the mat again and concentrated on conserving what little strength I had left.

Then the door reopened. The man was back. Now he was holding a telephone.

“The police are on their way,” he said. “Do you require an ambulance?”

I shook my head.

The poor man stared down at me, looking utterly perplexed by this unexpected event that had intruded upon his orderly life. He hadn't the slightest idea what to do with me. I could hardly blame him for that.

“A drink of water perhaps?” he offered.

“That would be great,” I said.

He turned around and disappeared again. This time he left the door to the house open. Maybe he'd decided to trust me. Either that, or he'd realized that in my exhausted state I was in no condition to pose a threat.

The first squad car arrived ten minutes later. By that time, Mr. Fowler and I had introduced ourselves and I had drunk two tall glasses of cold water. Then I'd used Mr. Fowler's phone to make a quick call to Sam to outline my situation. I had even begun to feel somewhat restored.

That was a good thing because when Detective O'Malley—who came up the driveway right behind the squad car—heard what I had to say, he was not happy. I had hoped the bruise on my jaw might earn me a more sympathetic reception, but apparently not. Nevertheless, O'Malley listened to everything I told him and followed up by asking all the right questions.

“And you can connect this guy not just to Nick Walden, but to his murder?” he said.

“Phil still has the gun,” I told him. “And I hid it before I left. If he doesn't know where it is, he can't get rid of it.”

That revelation led to an immediate flurry of activity. The two officers already on hand were quickly dispatched to Fran's house. Then O'Malley placed a call to the station and requested backup.

“Stay available,” the detective told me before heading next door himself. “We may have more questions.”

“I will,” I promised.

As O'Malley left, another pair of headlights, vehicle moving faster than was strictly prudent, came flying up the driveway. When it drew near, I recognized my husband's SUV and saw Sam behind the wheel.

He hopped out, came over, and put his arms around me. Supported by my husband's strength, I felt the tension and anxiety of the last several hours finally begin to ebb away. Wearily I relaxed into Sam's embrace.

Together he and I thanked Mr. Fowler profusely for his help. Then, moving slowly and carefully, Sam helped me to the car and fastened me securely into my seat. I meant to close my eyes for only a minute but the next time I opened them, I was already right where I wanted to be.

Home.

 

Once the police had Phil's gun in their possession, anything further I might have told them became superfluous. Which was totally fine by me. I spent the next several weeks reading updates about the case in the newspaper and online like everybody else. I also went over all the new developments with Aunt Peg, who was seriously miffed to have missed out on all the action.

According to Peg's always impeccable sources, once Phil was in custody he began to sing like the proverbial canary. Looking to make a deal any way he could, Phil was revealing everything he knew about anyone he'd ever done business with. The information he supplied would be enough to keep Fairfield County police departments busy for a very long time.

Fortunately for Bob's neighbor James, his involvement in Phil's marijuana enterprise had still been in the planning stages. Nevertheless, a For Sale sign appeared in the Fines' front yard shortly after Phil was indicted on a wide range of charges. Apparently James and Amber had come to the correct conclusion that nobody in that family neighborhood would ever again regard them with the same degree of goodwill that they'd previously enjoyed. They packed up their belongings and moved out, opting to make a fresh start somewhere else.

With a little prodding from me and Bob, Claire put aside her ambivalence about meeting with her sister, and she and Anabelle got together for a family reunion a few weeks later. Claire said that the high point of the meeting was having the opportunity to make the acquaintance of her eight-year-old nephew, Alexander. She and Anabelle are in contact regularly now and I heard from Bob that Claire will be planning Alexander's next birthday party.

Speaking of Bob, when I asked him which part of his house he intended to tear down and rebuild next, I received an unexpected answer. Bob told me that he intended to leave that decision up to Claire since he's planning to propose just as soon as he gets up his nerve.

Having blurted out that information without thinking, my ex-husband's next move was to swiftly swear me to secrecy. I told him he didn't have to worry, I'm good with other people's secrets. Still, the suspense of waiting for him to do the deed is killing me.

I'm really hoping that Claire says yes. I'd love to be able to welcome her to the family and I know she'll fit right in. No doubt the adjustment will be tougher for Thor and Jojo, not to mention Bosco the Siamese. That cat will throw a hissy fit when he finds out that he's going to be adding two dogs to his domain.

But I'm not going to worry about that now. One way or another, the whole crew will manage to blend itself together. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that the best things in life never come easy. But the effort is always well worth it in the end.