Words With Fiends (14 page)

When she heard no response, she turned, prepared to head back into the store again. Just then she saw Robert's dark head and then the rest of him reappear as he walked up the stairs from his apartment. Now, however, he moved huddled over, his attention seemingly fixed on whatever it was that he carried. Darla's puzzlement grew.

“Robert, what is it?” she repeated as he drew closer.

The youth looked up as he started up the steps, moving carefully now so that he didn't slip. One corner of her mind was reminding Darla that she'd need to break out the salt pretty soon, so that the steps were safe for customers. But the greatest portion of her attention was fixed on the white bundle cradled in Robert's arms.

Before he could answer her, a sharp little bark and the glimpse of a broad tapestry collar confirmed her suspicions.

“Look,” Robert exclaimed, his expression reflecting both uncertainty and joy as he joined her on the stoop. “It's Roma!”

“QUICK, GET HER INSIDE,” DARLA URGED HIM. SHE PULLED
the door open wider and ushered Robert and Roma in, and then followed after with Hamlet. Once the door was safely closed, she unbuckled the cat before joining them at the register.

“She must have escaped and come to me for help,” Robert was saying in an excited tone as he hugged the small gray and white dog to him. “But, look, she's shivering.”

And, indeed, the tiny greyhound shook as if she were being bounced about in an old-style washing machine. Alarmed, Darla hurried around the counter and reached for the bag from the pet boutique that she'd stashed there.

“I was going to return all these things today,” she exclaimed as she pulled out one of the dog sweaters. “Here, set her up on the counter so we can put this on her.”

While Robert held the dog as still as he could, Darla managed to get the sweater on her, pulling up the broad neckline so that Roma was now snuggled in fleece from tail to nose. “Go ahead and sit down over there,” she told Robert, pointing him toward the beanbag chair in the kids' section. “I'll get some warm water for her to drink. That'll help take off some of the chill.”

While Robert trotted over to the beanbag, Darla headed upstairs toward the lounge, where she found James finishing his own warm drink—and told him what had just happened.

“An interesting turn of events,” he observed as Darla pulled a bowl from the cabinet in the kitchenette area and began filling it from the hot water tap. “It would seem the dog has made its choice of owner.”

“Well, I wouldn't put it past Dr. Tomlinson to track her down to here,” Darla observed in a dark tone as she took the now-filled bowl and started toward the stairs again. “Let's get the poor thing thawed out first, and then we can figure out what to do with her.”

“Indeed. I may have a few ideas on that score.”

Darla gave him a questioning look at that last comment but decided it could wait until she'd taken care of Roma. By the time she made it back downstairs again to where Robert sat cuddling the dog, Roma's shivering had subsided to the occasional shake. Still, she lapped eagerly at the warm water that Darla offered her, looking expectantly up at her when she'd finished.

“I bet she's, you know, hungry, too,” Robert said in an accusing tone. “I bet that lady didn't even feed her.”

“Let's decide what to do with her, first,” Darla told him, “and then you can take her down to your place to eat. James,” she added as he joined them, “this is Roma, the Italian greyhound that used to belong to Master Tomlinson.”

“A handsome animal, at least from what little I can see of her. She is obviously quite resourceful to have made it here safely from several blocks away . . . or maybe even farther, if she came from somewhere other than the dojo. And weather like this is hardly conducive to creatures of her size.”

“Yeah, Hamlet is a real hero,” Robert declared, giving the cat a grateful look. “Roma would have, like, frozen if Hamlet hadn't told us she was out there.”

Hearing his name, the hero in question padded over to where the youth sat. He leaned in for a quick sniff at the swaddled dog. For her part, Roma squirmed in Robert's arms and stuck her narrow muzzle out from the fleece coat so that cat and dog were nose-to-nose. Then Roma gave an excited yap.

Her small bark was promptly answered by a hiss from Hamlet. The feline raised a paw for a swipe, and Darla opened her mouth to call a warning. But before she could intervene, Roma stuck out her own delicate paw and tapped Hamlet's fuzzy foot.

“Hey, fist bump!” Robert exclaimed in delight. Hamlet, obviously taken aback by the dog's response, dropped the threatening paw and gave another, slightly more half-hearted hiss. Then, green eyes blazing, he turned and stalked away.

While James joined Robert in amusement over Hamlet's antics, Darla was considering the manager's earlier statement. Had Roma fled the dojo? Or had she leaped from a car, or maybe even escaped from the Tomlinsons' home, wherever that might be? Or, more disturbing, had the good doctor simply turned Roma loose to fend for herself?

That last idea set Darla's temper aflame, though she swiftly reminded herself she had no idea how Roma actually came to be on the street. Hank and Hal might be out in the cold looking for Roma this very minute. The important thing was that the little dog had found Robert, and that she was safely out of the weather. But how could they assure her well-being for the future?

“I don't know what to do, Professor James,” Robert was telling the man, his tone sober now. “Hal and Hank—they're Master Tomlinson's stepsons—seemed, you know, okay with me keeping her. It was Master Tomlinson's wife that said no. And that's only because she wanted to sell Roma to a breeder where she'd live in a cage forever.”

“Ah, yes, and allow some commerce-minded incompetent to make a few dollars by unnecessarily adding to the domestic animal population in this country.” His tone was sharper than usual, and Darla suddenly recalled Jake mentioning that the man was involved in a pet rescue of some sort. Maybe that would be a solution.

“James, Jake once told me that you had some connection to an animal welfare group. Do you think they could figure out a way that Robert could keep Roma for good?”

“I was about to suggest that very thing,” he replied. “But it will take a leap of faith on Robert's part. He will have to give Roma over to the rescue people. Wait,” he added when the teen started to protest. “This would be only for a short time, until they determine that no owner will step up to claim her. It would be at that point that he could legitimately adopt her. I would, of course, be happy to cover all the fees involved.”

“Are you, like, sure about these rescue dudes? What if they stick her in a cage somewhere?” the youth asked, eyes wide. He hugged the little dog still closer, and a long pink tongue flicked out from the folds of fleece to lick his cheek. “And what if Dr. Tomlinson says she does want her, what then?”

“I agree there is a risk involved, but it is the best way to assure that dog stays safe, and that your claim to her cannot be contested.”

“It sounds like the right thing to do,” Darla spoke up, “but won't the rescue group just phone Dr. Tomlinson right off the bat and tell her someone found her dog? And then Roma will be back in the same bad situation.”

James shook his head.

“Let me explain in more detail. When I make the call to our contact, I will dissemble somewhat and merely state that the dog has been found. The rescue group will pick her up and bring her to their veterinarian for a check-up. At that point, she will be scanned for a microchip implant so that they can retrieve her owner's information. If both the original breeder and Mr. Tomlinson neglected to take that step, then with no information on her owner, they will upload Roma's particulars to various lost pet sites to see if anyone claims her.”

“And if no one does, then Robert gets to keep her?”

James held up a restraining hand. “It is not quite that simple a process. I will suggest—and, believe me, I have a certain influence with that group—that Robert be approved to foster her in the meantime. If, after a certain amount of time has passed, the owner still has not responded to these advertisements, Roma will then be put up for adoption. With my recommendation, Robert should be approved immediately as her new owner.”

Darla considered this for a moment. Technically, James's plan seemed a bit underhanded. With the possibility of Roma being shipped off to a puppy mill to end her days, however, she was willing to squelch her conscience's nagging reminders of same.

“And if they do find a chip,” she asked, “what then?”

“They are obliged to make that call to the number on file with the registry, and I fear that Roma and Robert are back in the same situation where we started.”

“Then I won't tell anyone,” was the youth's stubborn response. “I'll just keep her.”

Darla gave him a sympathetic look. “I know where you're coming from, Robert, but she
is
a valuable dog. You could be charged with theft if Hank or Hal learns you have her. And if Reese ever finds out, he'll be obliged to do something about it. Really, I think James's plan makes a lot of sense.”

She could see the emotions—anger, dismay, hope—play across his young features. Then Robert struggled out of the beanbag chair and got to his feet, his expression determined.

“Okay, I'll do it, but only if you'll wait until tomorrow to have someone get her. She came all the way here to find me, and I don't want her to think I'm trying to get rid of her like Dr. Tomlinson is.”

“Agreed,” James said with a small smile. “I will make the call but explain we will hold her until tomorrow.”

“Robert, why don't you take your break now and carry Roma down to your apartment and get her fed?” Darla suggested and handed him the bag of dog gear. “James and I can take care of things until you're back.”

“You hear that, Roma?” he whispered into her neatly folded ear. “You're safe with me, at least for tonight.” To James and Darla, he added, “I'll get her settled and then I'll be back to work.”

Robert hurried out the front door, Roma yapping happily in his arms. Darla waited until boy and dog had disappeared into the frosty swirl on the stoop before turning to James. “Do you think you'll be able to keep your promise to Robert that he'll get to keep Roma?”

“I made no such promise,” James countered in a stern tone. “I merely laid out the most favorable path and assured him I would do my part to help.”

“Yes, but you know Robert is taking what you said as gospel. If this doesn't work out with Roma, he'll be devastated.”

“Then we simply must hope for the best. Now, if you will excuse me, we have a customer needing assistance.”

Darla took the hint and said no more about the situation, even after Robert returned half an hour later to continue his shift. It was enough that the youth seemed cheerier than he had the past few days. As her mother always told her, no sense borrowing trouble. She'd put her faith in James's ability to get things done.

After a final check on Roma a few hours later, she and Robert—both bundled up from ears to toes—set off on foot through the cold night toward the dojo. Earlier that afternoon, Robert had almost backed out of going, afraid that Hank and Hal would somehow guess that he was harboring the fugitive greyhound.

“Don't worry,” Darla had assured him. “Chances are that Dr. Tomlinson hasn't even bothered telling them that Roma is missing.”

“Yeah, but what if the Steroid Twins have that martial arts psychic thing going? I've seen those movies where the karate masters could read minds and stuff.”

“Movies, Robert, not real life,” Darla reminded him.

After considering that advice for a few minutes, the teen had agreed. Then, recalling the class mantra and the sensei's admonition to fight injustice, he'd been spurred to a new mission.

“We should look for clues at the dojo,” he had told her as he unpacked the new shipment of cozy mysteries. Holding up a popular author's latest release—the cover of which featured a dog and a plate of cookies and a knife—he had said, “In the books, there's always something the cops miss that regular people notice. Maybe we can discover something to help Detective Reese track down Master Tomlinson's murderer.”

“Books, Robert, not real life,” Darla had answered with a small sigh, wondering if this was how Reese felt whenever she offered him advice. “Just act natural tonight and concentrate on the lesson.”

But that was easier said than done—not just for her and Robert, but for the entire class. The first thing she noticed as they reached the studio was that the small tribute alongside the fu dog had grown significantly since the day before. Someone had tied an Asian-style parasol to the statue's raised paw to shelter the collection of cards, flowers, and other offerings from the earlier dusting of snow.

Inside, the atmosphere was equally reverential, even though the number gathered was far larger than on most class nights. Darla had feared that some people would be there simply to gawk at the spot where the sensei had met his tragic end. Instead, the students and parents milled about in respectful silence, most of the conversation limited to murmured questions and answers at the table where one parent was helping finish up the tournament paperwork. Even the young grade-schoolers going through their drills seemed more focused than usual, snapping to attention immediately each time Hal barked another order.

Darla and Robert drew curious looks as they settled behind the divider panel with the others to watch the junior class. Apparently, word had gotten out that they were the ones who had discovered Master Tomlinson's body there at the dojo. On the way to class, she had discussed with Robert how to reply to any questions about the tragedy. Their agreed-upon response was likely not dojo-approved. She was relieved, therefore, that no one had the poor taste to try to pump them for information as they sat there.

No one, that was, except for Mark Poole.

A few minutes before the junior class was to end, he slipped into the seat behind Darla and tapped her on the shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise.

“Hey, Darla,” he greeted her in a stage whisper. Leaning forward to breathe a reminder of his earlier garlic-laced supper on her cheek, he pushed up his glasses on his nose and added, “I hear you were the one who found Sensei's dead body. How weird was that?”

“Ouch,” was Darla's reflexive reply as, rubbing her shoulder, she turned to give him a quelling look. Her first impulse was to ignore the man, but she'd been around Mark often enough to know that he wouldn't give up until she answered him. Better to apply the non-dojo-approved response and get this over with.

Jumping up from her seat, she grabbed Mark by his gi sleeve. Ignoring the stares of the students around her, she started dragging him toward the lobby.