Hot Dog (27 page)

O
f course we ended up at the Bean Counter. I only let Bob take me back there on one condition.

“I know,” he guessed. “No Mongolian chicken, right?”

“That sandwich wasn't a big hit?”

“Not with the paying customers. Frank thought it was delicious.”

My brother would.

“He and Bertie will be eating coconut and raisins for the next month,” said Bob.

Outside the coffeehouse, I found a place to park in the shade and left the windows open. Davey ran into the Bean Counter and returned with a bowl of water for the Poodles. After all the exercise they'd gotten at the pony farm, both dogs were perfectly content to nap for a while. Bob leaned against the hood of the Volvo and waited for me to get things set to my satisfaction with unexpected patience. I'd turn him into a dog person yet.

As Davey went on ahead to get us a table, a blue Mazda pulled into the parking lot. Bob stared hard for a moment. “Is it my imagination, or did that car follow us over here from Long Ridge?”

I gave the Poodles one last pat and headed for the coffeehouse. “You're not imagining things. That's my TV crew.”

“Your
what?”
He turned and had another look.

“I'm being shadowed by a cable television reporter who's hoping that I'll lead her to the story that will make her famous.”

“Good luck.” Bob snorted.

“That's what I said.” I sketched a wave to Jill and followed him inside.

One thing led to another, and Bob, Davey, and I ended up spending the rest of the afternoon together. The Poodles have visited Bob's house before. By the time we got back there in the early evening, the two dogs were happy to make themselves at home. The fact that Bob keeps a box of their favorite peanut butter biscuits in his pantry never hurts.

Bob's answering machine had recorded three messages in his absence. As Eve and Faith munched on their biscuits, he hit the button to play them back. All three sounded the same. Beep, click. Beep, click. Beep, click. Three hang-ups.

“That's odd.” I stared thoughtfully at the machine. Apparently I wasn't the only one who'd been getting silent messages.

Bob just shrugged. “Probably some telemarketer wanting me to look at a time-share or buy his stock tips. I'm probably better off having missed them. It saved me the trouble of saying no.”

He walked over to the refrigerator and started poking around. “It looks like Davey and I are doing burgers for dinner. Want to stay?”

“Thanks, but no. I should be going.”

That morning when I'd phoned Davey, I'd been looking for any excuse to get out of my house. I'd wanted to leave the demons from the night before far behind me. An easy, nondemanding day was just what I'd needed. And just what I'd been lucky enough to get.

But now it was time to start putting my life back in order. The first thing I needed to do was talk to Sam. Last night's mystery caller had contributed to my insomnia, but I had to admit he wasn't the only cause. Thoughts of Sam, and the way I'd left him standing on the sidewalk outside Peter and Rose's, had also haunted me through the sleepless hours.

He'd told me to call him anytime.

I was finally ready to make that move.

Davey was sorry to hear that I wouldn't be staying, but his disappointment quickly faded when Bob offered to teach him how to barbeque hamburgers on a gas grill. Eyes shining in anticipation, my son sneaked a look in my direction, waiting for my response.

Trust doesn't come easily to me, but I was working on it. “You will be careful,” I said to Bob.

“Of course.” His wide grin all but negated the vow. Then he added in a lower tone, “He's my son, too, you know. I won't let anything go wrong.”

Feeling very virtuous about my non-interference, I hugged Davey good-bye and told him I'd call again in the morning.

“Don't worry,” he whispered in my ear as I held him close. “I won't let Dad singe his eyebrows this time.”

Good thought. I held on to it all the way home.

The house was dark when I arrived. Not surprising really. When I'd left that morning it was light out, and I hadn't expected to be gone all day. Still, I didn't rush to go inside. Instead, I sat in the driveway for a few minutes, waiting and watching.

I also kept an eye on the road behind me. Unfortunately, no light blue Mazda pulled up to the curb. Jill must have gone off duty.

After five minutes, the Poodles were looking impatient and I was beginning to feel pretty stupid just sitting in my own driveway. Any action had to be better than this. I got out of the car, let the dogs out, and slammed the door.

“Come on, guys,” I said in a loud voice. “Let's go inside.”

As if that was going to scare anybody off. It did make me feel better, though. I unlocked the front door, reached inside, and flipped on a bunch of switches. Let there be light.

If you believe that dogs have a sixth sense about impending disaster, Eve and Faith were both doing their best to let me know that everything was all right. They ran past me into the house, chasing together through the darkened rooms without the slightest hesitation. I brought up the rear, turning on lights as we went.

By the time we reached the kitchen, I'd stopped holding my breath. The tension in my shoulders began to seep away. I tossed my purse on the counter and went straight to the phone.

At seven-thirty on a weeknight, Sam would usually be home. I dialed his number and waited expectantly. Anticipation hummed through me; I was almost giddy with it. Smiling eagerly, I held the receiver to my ear and waited.

And kept right on waiting, as things turned out. Sam's answering machine picked up after half a dozen rings.

“Hi, it's Melanie,” I said. Compared to the conversation I'd envisioned, talking to a tape recorder was a distinct letdown. “I was hoping maybe we could get together tonight. I'd be happy to come to Redding if you like . . . if you're home . . . I mean, when you get home. Which you're obviously not now. Or you could come here.... I just wanted to see you, and maybe talk . . . well, maybe not.... Anyway, give me a call when you get this message. Or when you want to. You know, depending on how you feel . . . I'm sure you have the number. . . .”

Idiot, I thought. Of course Sam had my phone number.

Grimacing, I hung up before I could babble myself all the way into oblivion. Talking to machines is not my strong suit. Hopefully, I'd see Sam before he got that message. If he was out, maybe I could catch him on his cell phone.

I dialed that number and waited again. Only twenty-four hours earlier, Sam had assured me that he'd be carrying his cell phone. That he wanted to hear from me. That I could call him at any time.

Any time but now, apparently.

When the phone went to voice mail after the fourth ring, I swore loudly and hung up. One stupid message was my quota for the evening. Wherever Sam was, he obviously didn't want to be disturbed. When he got home, he'd find out I was looking for him. For now, I would have to be content with that.

I fixed myself a sandwich for dinner and mixed the Poodles' food so we could eat at the same time. Just one big happy family. That took up half an hour or so. And still I hadn't heard back from Sam.

With more time to fill, I turned automatically to the activity that has become second nature over the last several years. Aunt Peg has trained me well. I began to groom a Poodle.

At eight months of age, Eve's coat is mostly soft puppy fluff. It doesn't require the sort of time-intensive care that will come later as she matures. Even so, the hair isn't above forming mats, especially in the areas that tend to get rubbed and jostled when she and Faith play.

Aunt Peg has a luxurious grooming room on the ground floor of her house; I have to settle for working in my basement. I've cleared a space where the lighting is good. I leave my portable table set up and my equipment out on a nearby shelf.

Eve knows the routine almost as well as her mother. When I led the big black puppy downstairs, she knew what was up. Faith, looking relieved but also jealous that she hadn't been the chosen one, followed along behind to supervise.

Once you know what you're doing, maintenance work on a Poodle requires a lot more patience than skill. Predictably, my thoughts drifted. And since I was determined not to think about Sam—who
still
hadn't had the decency to return my calls—I worried about Dox instead.

Unfortunately, my visit with Marian Firth the day before had raised as many questions as it had answered. If she did have the Dachshund puppy, that was probably the best-case scenario. Dox would be home with the woman who'd bred and cared about him. His status would still be in limbo, but at least he'd be well looked after.

A nice possibility, I decided, but most likely wishful thinking. Because if Marian was the one who'd broken into my house and taken Dox, how could I explain all the other things that had happened lately? She couldn't have been behind all of them; she wouldn't have had any reason to be.

Which meant that Dox was probably still in jeopardy. Just as I would continue to be in jeopardy until I could figure out what was going on.

Lying on a dog bed in the corner, Faith lifted her head and cocked an ear. She was listening intently to something I couldn't hear. Not an unusual occurrence. I gave Eve a reassuring scratch so she wouldn't lift her head too and cause me to lose my line, and continued brushing.

Faith barked once. The sound was loud in the small room. It reverberated off the concrete walls. The Poodle sprang to her feet and trotted to the base of the steps.

“What?” I placed a steadying hand on Eve's flank.

Faith wagged her tail and looked up toward the open kitchen door at the top of the stairs, making her request as clearly as she knew how to. She wanted to go out.

“Can't it wait? I'll be done in a few minutes.”

Faith barked again. This bark was deep and low, its tone closer to a growl. I grabbed for Eve as the older Poodle cast one last glance at me, then bounded up the steps. The puppy was well trained, but she wasn't perfect. She wanted to see what her mother was up to.

Come to think of it, so did I.

I looped a couple quick rubber bands into Eve's topknot to keep the hair from falling in her eyes while we went up and had a look. Lowered to the floor, the puppy immediately scrambled up the stairs. I was only a step behind her.

When we reached the kitchen, Faith was scratching at the back door.

“What's out there?” I asked.

It wasn't as if I expected an answer. But the sound of my own voice made me feel better. Less nervous. More in control. So I kept talking.

“Do you hear something? What is it?”

Eve joined her dam by the door. Of course, I already had all the lights on, both inside and out. I looked through window into the shadowy backyard and didn't see a thing.

What good are watchdogs if you don't let them do their job? I flipped the dead bolt and opened the door. Immediately both Poodles slithered through the opening and raced outside.

There was a flashlight in the cabinet beneath the sink. It was big enough to illuminate the areas of the yard where the house lights didn't reach. And big enough to serve as a rudimentary weapon should the need arise. Thus armed, I slipped out after the dogs.

Standing atop the step, I shined the light in a wide arc. My backyard, fully enclosed by a tall cedar fence, isn't that large. Two things quickly became clear, one good, one not so good. First, the yard was empty; it didn't hold any intruders, real or imagined. Second, the yard was empty. Faith and Eve were gone as well.

I hopped down off the step and strode quickly around the corner of the house. Once again, the gate was standing open.

Fortunately, this wasn't the crisis it could have been when I was away on Sunday. Fence or no fence, Faith and Eve were Standard Poodles. Though they might race through an open gate to enjoy a few minutes of unexpected freedom, they would never willingly leave the area as long as I was there.

All I had to do was round them up, which, in this case, entailed walking around to the front of the house and calling their names. It sounds simple, and it was. But the ease with which the problem would be solved didn't make me feel any better.

Because I knew that gate hadn't been open earlier. Just as I was sure I hadn't left all my lights on when I left for the dog show the week before. Just as I'd thought Dox was safe and secure when I'd left him locked in his crate in my bedroom.

I found Faith next door, sniffing Mrs. Silano's tulips with the rapt attention of a dominant bitch who smells another dog's scent in an area she considers her own. As Faith squatted to remedy the situation, I spotted Eve out by the sidewalk. I called her, and she came trotting back.

“Good girl!” I praised. I'm a firm believer in the benefits of positive reinforcement. The big puppy's tail came up. Her body wriggled with pleasure at having done something right. “Let's go back inside and get a biscuit.”

Faith heard that and came bounding over to join us. Biscuits rank higher than tulips on her list any day. I ushered both dogs through the gate and pulled it shut behind us.

As the Poodles ran on ahead into the house, I stopped and considered. There was plenty of twine in the garage. It might not hurt to simply tie the damn gate shut. The last thing I needed was to be back outside at midnight, looking for the dogs again.

With the aid of the flashlight, the job took only a minute or two. I half expected Faith and Eve to come back out and see what I was up to. But by the time I'd finished and went trudging around the house, up the steps and inside, no eager black Poodles had come to seek me out.