Ruff Way to Go (20 page)

He was an
ugly man, pockmarked leathery skin, a nose that had been broken at least twice,
a deep scar over his left eye. He pointed at Pavlov with his knife. “You better
call off your dog.”

“I will,
just as soon as you put your knife away,” I said with a confidence I didn’t
feel.

He grinned,
revealing crooked, tobacco-stained teeth. “You mean this little thing?” He
folded the blade, but kept it in his palm. “I got a much bigger one in my belt.”

Oh, shit.
Why did I
have to come out here? I wasn’t some macho crime crusader; I just wanted to
live in peace with my dogs. The man was undressing me with his eyes. I needed
to end this standoff as quickly and quietly as possible.

“Pavlov, lie
down.”

She
hesitated, but obeyed. She kept her legs tucked under her in such a manner that
she could spring up in the blink of an eye, though.

“Pretty dog
you got there,” he muttered. “Reminds me of mine.”

“You’re...the
husky’s owner?” I didn’t want to give away Suds’s name, wanting to make sure he
really was her owner and knew her name.

“That’s
right.”

“I’m just
foster-adopting her, through the animal shelter.” I wanted to find out his name
and hoped that I could trick him into giving it. “You must be Sam Grant, right?”

He shook his
head. “Carver. Craig Carver. Don’t know nobody named Grant.”

“We have no
intention of keeping your dog. You’re going to get her back in three weeks, at
the latest.”

He shook his
head. “Can’t wait.” He was staring at something behind me. I followed his gaze.
On the other side of the fence, one of the puppies was outside and making his
way toward us.

“The puppies
are too young to be separated from their mother.”

“Can’t help
that. Timing’s just bad.” His large hand was in a tight fist around his knife.
He and Pavlov locked eyes like prizefighters, each waiting for the other to
make the first move. “I’m in a hurry.” He gestured in the direction of the
house, causing Pavlov to bark in protest. “Take your dog back inside and get me
my dog.”

“Okay. I’ll
just contact the kennel supervisor and tell him you needed to get the dog
early.”

“This is
between me ‘n’ you. And Suds is my dog. Nobody else’s got nothing to say about
this.”

At least he
knew her name. He probably
was
her owner. There would be no reason for
anyone to fake that and try to steal the dog. “How about letting me keep her
and her puppies just one more week? That will give me enough time to wean them
properly, which will be much healthier for Suds, as well as for her puppies.”

He laughed
without humor. “Lady, you got no idea what’s gonna keep
you
healthy ‘n’
what ain’t. But I guarantee it’s got nothin’ to do with you keeping my dog from
me. Now stop stalling and get me my dog.”

If only Mom
would call the police and get them here before anything bad happened. “I’ll be
right back with her.”

“You better
be. Hate to have to go into your house and hassle the ol’ lady.”

I bristled
and glared at him. He grinned. “I seen her through the glass.” He stared
through the chain-link fence at the puppy. “This one of Suds’s pups?”

“Yes. That’s
Fez.”

He rounded
the gate, grabbed the puppy, and held him up by the scruff of the neck, which
made me wince, though I knew he wasn’t actually hurting the little dog. “Hello,
Fez.”

I didn’t
want to go anywhere near him and stayed outside of the yard, keeping a tight
leash on Pavlov, who’d risen and was again growling at Carver’s having violated
her territorial boundaries.

Carver eyed
me and rocked on his heels, still holding Fez harshly as if to make certain I
understood that he wouldn’t hesitate to injure the poor little puppy. “Well?
You gonna get my dog for me, or do I gotta go in after her myself?”

“I’ll bring
her to you. She’s your dog, after all.” I held out my free hand for Fez and
stepped toward him. “Let me take him back inside.”

He shoved me
away, causing Pavlov to voice three sharp warning barks. “You get the puppy jus’
as soon as I get my dog. You tell the old lady in the house to let Suds out
back.” He glared at Pavlov and pointed at her with his chin. “That police dog
of yours acts like a junkyard dog every time I get near. You keep her inside
your house. Let me take Suds ‘n’ you won’t hear from me again.”

With his
free hand he plucked his shirt off of the fence. Then he grabbed a thin piece
of white fiberglass rope six feet or so long that he must have lain by our
fence when he’d first arrived.

“That’s your
leash?”

“It’s Suds’s.
Yeah.”

He didn’t
stop me from entering the gate, but still held the puppy in his one hand as if
Fez were insignificant.

“Pavlov,
come.” I was too proud to break into a run, but I walked as fast as possible
back into the house.

My mother
was standing back from the glass door, with Sage at her side and her largest knife
in her hand. From the whines and scratching noises, it was obvious that she’d
put the other dogs in the basement.
Trying to keep my voice as
unemotional as possible, I said, “Mom, Suds’s owner is back there demanding I
give him his dog, and he’s scary. I’m calling nine-one-one.”

“I already
tried. He must’ve cut the phone line. I was going to dash out to a neighbor’s,
but I couldn’t just leave you out there.” She lifted her knife. “I also didn’t
want to run out there and provoke him. What do we do?”

“It’s his
dog. Let’s just let him take her. Meanwhile, you go next door and call the
police. Tell them what’s happening. The man’s name is Craig Carver. I think he’s
probably going to leave town once he’s got the dog.”

All of the
dogs rushed into the kitchen when I opened the basement door. I grabbed a
decent leash and snapped it on Suds’s collar. The leash was the very least I
could give her, at this point. I instructed the other grown dogs to stay, but
the four remaining puppies tried desperately to follow as I led their mom out
back. I slid the door shut on them, hating myself for my role in taking their
mom from them before it was time.

Five-year old
Melanie lost her mother. Now the puppies were having theirs snatched from them.
Was this the pattern of my life, all of a sudden, to watch young ones be
separated from their mothers?

Suds quickly
picked up on the scent of her owner, who was still standing just inside the
back gate. Tail wagging, Suds strained against her leash, anxious to greet
Carver. This was the irony of dogs’ temperament; they love even the worst of
owners. For my part, I felt humiliated and cowardly, but ultimately trapped.

I released
my grip on the leash, hoping against logic that Suds would lunge at his throat.
Carver dropped the puppy on the ground and gave his dog a hug. She leapt up and
began licking his face. “Hey, girl. That’s enough, now,” he said through his
laughter. I looked away, not wanting to see anything remotely joyful in what
Carver was doing.

“Mr. Carver,
I have to say that I’m opposed to you taking Suds like this. The puppies aren’t
fully weaned. This isn’t going to be good for them or for Suds. Please. Let me
keep her for another week.”

He dragged
his forearm across his face. “Got to leave the state. I hope the puppies’ll pull
through all right.”

“So do I.”

Suds rolled
over in the submissive position and he started to rub her tummy. “Shit! She’s
still full of milk. What should I do with her?” He got to his feet and glared
at me as if this were my fault.

“Normally
you gradually cut down on the dog’s food supply so that she’ll stop lactating.
We’re still on a schedule to feed her the full amount till the end of the week,
but you could get her to stop by not feeding her anything tomorrow, then over
the next four days increasing her food by one-quarter amounts each day. She’ll
be pretty uncomfortable for the next couple of days, but will be back to full
meals on day five.”

He started
to unhook my leash.

“Keep it.”

He gave me a
smirk but kept my leash on her. He ran his hand over her, shaking his head. “Isn’t
there some medicine I can give her to make her stop producing milk?”

To my
knowledge, there wasn’t such a thing for animals, but it would be best for Suds’s
sake not to tell him that. “Yeah, I think there is. You could bring her to a
vet and ask for a prescription.”

He shook his
head. “You don’t seem to get it, do you? I got my truck around the corner, all
packed up. Got myself a job in Wyoming that starts at eight
a.m.,
and I’m making a clean start for
myself. Can you write up a prescription to get me some of that medicine for her
to take with me?”

“I can’t. I’m
not a veterinarian. If you give me a minute, though, I’ll call the animal
shelter and—”

“Never mind.
I’ll get some from White on my way up north.”

“John White?
You know the kennel supervisor?”

He gave me a
wink. “The two of us go way back.” He started walking toward my front gate,
with Suds in tow. I followed.

“Is that how
you got my name and address?”

He merely
kept walking without answering.

“My phone
line seems to be down. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

He chuckled
and pointed at the gray-covered wire now lying on the ground. “Squirrel must
have chewed through it.”

I picked it
up. The wire had been cut in a neat diagonal line. “Must have been a squirrel
with a pocketknife.”

He laughed
and led Suds out the gate.

Angry and
humiliated, I couldn’t stop myself from calling after him, “If you had anything
to do with my neighbor’s murder, you’ll be back behind bars in no time.”

“I don’t
know nothing about no murder. Never even met the woman.”

He headed
around the corner, where I assumed he’d parked his truck so that we wouldn’t
spot it.

From the
safety of my house, I watched out the front window for my mother, the puppies
whining at my feet. Moments later, she returned, slightly out of breath.

“Sergeant
Millay is on his way.”

“Good. Maybe
he can find out for us just how it was that this creep knew where Suds’s foster
owners lived.”

“Do you
think the animal shelter told him?”

“At first I
assumed he heard it over the radio, but now I think he got the information
straight from John White, the kennel supervisor.”

“The man you
had the date with last night?”

“Yes.”

She paled a
little, then laid a hand on my arm. “Is this a good time for me to mention how
very much I like Russell?”

I was so
tense at that point, it was a struggle not to snap at her, but I managed to say
in an even voice, “I’m glad. I like him, too.” A question occurred to me. “Whose
phone did you call from?”

“The
Haywoods’. They’re always at home. If you can get them to come to the door,
that is.”

“How was
Harvey behaving?”

“I didn’t
see him. Just Betsy. And she was as grouchy as
ever. As soon as I’d hung up
with the sergeant, she said, ‘Tell your daughter to mind her own business and
not go talking to my Susan anymore about Harvey.’ “

The next
day, Mom and I went to Cassandra’s funeral, held in the small Methodist church
on Lake Avenue. We arrived a bit late. There were a half dozen or so family
members, with Paul and Melanie up front. Really, though, there were far fewer
people there than I’d expected. Only thirty or so. Most were from our immediate
neighborhood.

To my
surprise, both Haywoods were there as well as Susan, but I was beginning to
wonder where this husband of hers was. We took seats directly across the aisle
from them. They wore matching expressions of crabbiness. Meanwhile, Edith and
Trevor sat at opposite sides of the church in an obvious attempt to avoid each
other.

An elderly
woman was playing indistinguishable music on the organ. Just as a man in a
black suit rose to go to the podium, someone touched my shoulder. It was
Russell.

“Russell?” I
said in surprise. “Hi.”

“Hello,” he
whispered into my ear. “I thought about how upset you’ve been by this, and I
decided I’d come pay my respects.”

Out of
deference for our setting, Mom greeted him with a mere nod, but her eyes beamed
as she looked at him and then at me. She seemed to be telepathing the thought
to me,
See how great he is? Marry the man!
But that may have been my
reading into things.

Throughout
the service, there were periodic sobbings from the front, and the elderly woman
I took to be Cassandra’s mother was barely able to keep herself in check. The
lecturer had the vocal vibrato of a Baptist minister, but I found myself
blocking out the words, just trying to get through this without breaking down
myself. What hurt me to the core wasn’t the loss of Cassandra, whom I barely
knew, so much as the loss of any vibrant person’s life before her time. I was
also acutely aware of the heat of Russell’s body beside me, and I was grateful
that he’d come.
Afterward, we rose and waited while the family left first. I felt
a pressure in my chest and throat when Melanie walked down the aisle past me.
She was holding on to her father’s hand and a woman’s who looked like a
slightly older version of her mother. She must have been Cassandra’s sister.