Rescue You

by Elysia Whisler

  Sunny’s perusal settled on Constance’s cheek. “Where’d you get that bruise?”

  “Fell off a stair-stepper. Have you ever tried one of those things? It’s just wrong.”

  “Those machines are wrong,” Sunny agreed. “In any form. You should get back to running again. Outside. Like you used to.”

  “Nah.” Constance waved a careless hand. “I don’t want to run. But I had to do something. It’s hard to explain. I—”

  “You saw Josh, didn’t you?”

  Constance picked up a muffin and peeled away the paper. “I ran into him at the grocery store yesterday. Didn’t want to tell you because you would’ve made it a thing.” She took a huge bite and worked around the muffin as she spoke. “He told me I looked good, which is impossible. I was wearing...well—” Cici gestured at her lap “—this. And I hadn’t washed my hair in three days. I even had it in a scrunchie.” She touched the back. “What’s left of it. He felt sorry for me. I could see it in his eyes.”

  “That was guilt you saw in his eyes. The jerk feels guilty for dumping you.”

  “Can’t really blame him.” Constance’s voice dropped. “I’m not exactly the same girl he started dating once upon a time.”

  “No, you’re not. You’ve changed with your life. Grown wiser. Better. Like a fine wine.”

  Constance stuffed the rest of the muffin in her mouth. “Do I look like a fine wine?” She chewed quietly, then said, “You can’t bullshit someone who practically raised you.”

  “I’m not. You’re amazing, and Josh is a douchebag.” Sunny peeled back a piece of her muffin paper and took a small bite. Constance’s muffins were deadly good. If you ate too much, you just wanted more. “You should try my spin class. I don’t think you’d fall off the bike.”

  “Yeah?” Constance’s voice had an edge. “So fake bikes are okay but all other machines aren’t?”

  Sunny knew she’d walked into that one, but she ignored it. “I dare you to try it. Just once. I swear I’ll go easy on you.”

  “Maybe. But even if I do, I’m not going when you’re teaching.”

  Sunny rolled her eyes. “Where’s the bitch?”

  A tiny smile hooked the corner of Constance’s mouth and her lips parted.

  Sunny cut her off. “Don’t.” She shook her head. “That would be too easy, even for you.”

  Constance giggled and sipped her coffee. “She’s in the living room.” She tilted her chin in that direction.

  “And you just found them? Last night?”

  “Was on my way home from working, after about six travel-to massages. Right there on Bright Valley Road.”

  “This wasn’t a dog you’d been scoping out? For the rescue?” Even though Constance wouldn’t take part in the “liberating” of abused and neglected dogs—from both Janice Matteri’s puppy mill, and anywhere else they might find—she was constantly giving Sunny tips on this or that dog she’d seen somewhere, or updates on when Janice got a new batch of dogs, which meant the older ones were farmed out to the back, forgotten and neglected.

  “Nope.” Constance shook her head. “This dog appeared, literally, out of nowhere. I think she’s a leftover from the pit bull fighting. I was so tired last night I thought I was seeing things.”

  Sunny pushed away the remains of her muffin, her stomach turning at the memories of Janice’s brothers’ and cousins’ illegal cruelty, and went to investigate. She saw Fezzi first, sitting up tall like a soldier on his one good front leg, across the room from the mother and her nursing babies. He was a merle—a rare coloring that on Fezzi presented as a striking solid white head and a body of icy gray patched with stark black. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would ever abuse such a beautiful creature.

  The mama lay on her side inside the box. Four babies—who didn’t look like purebred pit bulls, which suggested the mother had mated with a stray—suckled away. That was a small litter for a pit bull, but the numbers made sense. Either the mother had more and had lost them or her poor health had kept the numbers low. Plus, she was no spring chicken. Her age could be a factor. “The runt doesn’t look so good,” Sunny said. He was considerably smaller than the other three, skinny, and his suckling wasn’t as active.

  “I know.” Constance leaned against the entryway that separated the living and dining rooms. She looked tired and sad. “I had to attach him myself this morning. He wasn’t nursing like the others.”

  “Dr. Winters will be at my place in an hour.” Sunny glanced at the clock over the mantel. “She can check them all over. I’ll get them loaded up soon.”

  “You should call Pete, too. These pups will be good candidates for Canine Warriors.”

  “You’ve only known them for one night.”

  Constance shrugged. She looked just like Daddy when she did that—a lift of the shoulder so slight you almost missed it. Unlike most people’s shrugs, there was no uncertainty in the movement. I’m just telling you how it is. You can believe me or not, but I’m right. “They’re smart and have good dispositions. They’ll train easy. They’re going to be perfect for rehab dogs. Either vets with disabilities or PTSD. Pete’s going to love them.”

  “You got that just from touching them, huh?” Sunny wouldn’t believe it if she hadn’t seen Constance do it a million times. She could read a dog, or a person, within a matter of minutes of assessing posture, gait, the way they carried themselves and, of course, how they felt to the touch.

  “Chevy’s a fighter,” Constance said. “She’s been through hell and back, but she’ll hang on, no matter what.”

  “Chevy?” Leave it to Constance to have already named the mother. She might’ve even named the pups.

  Constance crossed the room, stooped down and ran her palm lightly over the dog’s head. The mother didn’t even flinch, which indicated that Constance had already “whispered” her into trust. “Chevy can come back here, if nobody wants her. After the pups are weaned, I mean.” She glanced at Fezzi, who sat nearby. “Fez is in love.”

  “Good thing he’s such a gentleman.” Sunny stroked Fezziwig behind the ears. “She’d take him out in a heartbeat.”

  “Yeah.” Constance rose up and ran her hands through her messy hair. “C’mon. Let’s get her loaded up.”

  By the time the mother and pups were in Sunny’s van, Constance was yawning. Even though the dogs might’ve kept her up last night, the sight made Sunny’s insides sink. She had a momentary vision of her big sister, years back, dressed in running clothes and a pair of one of the several sets of Nike shoes she kept in rotation, her strawberry hair back in a ponytail and a GPS watch on her wrist. She’d streak by the dog rescue on her morning runs, wave to Sunny and the dogs as her feet pounded over the trail that ran behind the house. She ran all those winding, long trails that connected Constance to Sunny, to Pete, and even to Janice Matteri—all of them out here on this rural acreage, separated by miles but connected by dogs, both the good and the bad of it. Then Daddy got sick, and Constance’s routine changed and slowed, her mornings filled with hospital visits and caring for an elderly man sick on chemo and radiation. By the time Daddy died, Constance rarely ran at all anymore. And then, of course, came the day Constance stopped running for good.

  “Remember to come try my spin class,” Sunny said. Who knows? Maybe Cici would fall in love with spin like she had the open road, way back in her cross-country days in high school. “Evenings at the shopping center and mornings at Spin City.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Chicken.”

  “That hasn’t worked on me since I was twelve.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Constance lips parted in retort, then closed as her attention was diverted to the police cruiser that was pulling smoothly up to the house.

  Sunny’s heart did a little flip inside her chest. The sight took her back two decades, to the first dog she, Pete and Constance had res
cued. They passed by the Potter place almost every day, either playing in the woods or walking home from the bus stop. As the old Potter couple had gotten older and older, their coonhound had gotten more and more neglected. A dog that was once let inside during the cold or heat was now being left out to shiver or sweat, with no water or shelter in sight. Sunny, at the tender age of nine, had declared one day that she was going to save him, if none of the adults had enough balls—balls being a word she’d proudly learned from Daddy. Pete had been game to help and Constance, always the mother, had been the lookout; she could neither bring herself to break the rules nor leave the poor creature to suffer.

  The old coonhound, Bert, had followed them home willingly and had lived in secret in the basement for three days until Daddy found him. Sunny had boldly pleaded her case, Constance had apologized, and Daddy had let the hound live out his last months there under the care of both girls, “long as he didn’t have to lie to nobody or clean up any shit.” The only thing that had saved Bert was that when the police cruiser drove up, investigating the missing dog and Mrs. Potter’s insistence that she’d seen the Morrigan girls making off with him, was that Daddy had not been home to lie and Sunny had discovered that she was quite good at it.

  Constance eyed the police cruiser today the same way she had back then. She squinted, then leveled Sunny with a cautious gaze.

  Sunny raised her hands, palms spread. “Not me. You found Chevy wandering down the road, right?”

  “Yes. The pups were on Matteri land, but at the abandoned house. There’s no way Janice could know I was there.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. You sure this isn’t about you? Because it sure looks like you raided Janice Matteri’s puppy mill again. Or got caught rescuing another dog somewhere?”

  “I swear,” Sunny said. “Not recently. Plus, Janice has never called the cops before.”

  “Looks like she’s stepping up her game.” Constance tore her gaze from the cruiser. “Don’t worry about it. Get those pups home. Dr. Winters will be at your place soon.” Constance tapped her watch.

  Cool as ice. Exactly how Daddy had raised her. Sunny often told her big sister she’d have been right at home inside his foxholes in Vietnam.

  Sunny hopped to, getting behind the wheel and starting the engine before the policeman could even get out of the cruiser.

  * * *

  Constance sat on a scratchy green couch and leafed through the pictures, passing one beneath the other like a woman might her wedding photos, pausing at some, holding others up to the light. A German shepherd. Maltese. Pomeranian. Greyhound.

  Adopted. Adopted. Adopted. Adopted.

  Detective Callahan, as he’d introduced himself when Constance arrived at the station, bumped her arm with a Styrofoam cup of steaming black coffee.

  “Thanks.” Constance accepted the cup. “Nope.” She slid the stack of photos to the desk. “I haven’t seen any of these dogs.” Constance’s eyes locked into the detective’s, which were a pale gray like the sky after a morning rain.

  The detective’s brow furrowed. “You sure?” He rubbed the back of his neck.

  “As sure as I can be. I see a lot of dogs, Detective.”

  Detective Callahan settled into his desk chair and sighed. “Okay. Well.” He raked his thick fingers through his light brown hair. “Janice Matteri claims that your sister’s been regularly raiding her kennel for years. We’re talking to her, of course, but your name also came up. Janice says you two work together.”

  “I do help my sister with her legitimately run animal rescue.” Constance inhaled the steam of the coffee. She could tell it came from the bottom of a pot that had been cooking for hours. “But I don’t steal them. Janice Matteri has never proven that Sunny has stolen any of her dogs, either. All of our dogs are microchipped, proving where they come from. If Janice bothered to chip hers, she might not have this problem.”

  “This is just what she’s saying. That this has been going on for some time. That you typically handle it among yourselves, but things went too far this time.” After a heartbeat, the detective pursed his lips. “She also said that her newly installed security camera was coated in black spray paint. Any idea who might’ve done that? Someone who works for your sister’s dog rescue, maybe?” Detective Callahan rubbed the back of his neck again.

  “No idea whatsoever. Pittie Place is nonprofit. Everyone’s a volunteer and my sister gets a lot of her volunteers from the County Youth Corrections Program. So.” Constance shrugged. “You’re a cop. You connect the dots.”

  The detective squared his hands behind his head and leaned back. His sharp features settled into resignation. “Anything at all you can tell me, Constance?”

  Constance drew a deep breath, suddenly able to smell that dirty backyard kennel. “There is absolutely nothing I can tell you about Janice Matteri’s overcrowded and filthy puppy mill. Perhaps she needs to check the locks on her gates. Better yet, perhaps she needs to stop running an inhumane and illegal operation. Then she wouldn’t have these sorts of problems.”

  A heartbeat of silence passed. “We’ve been out there. Everything was clean, and though her dogs were to capacity, Ms. Matteri’s numbers weren’t over the limit. On paper, her business is legit and in order.”

  “Because she knew you were coming. You should set up a sting. Catch her by surprise.”

  A smile played around the corner of the detective’s mouth. “Are you...?” He cleared his throat. The ghost smile vanished. “You’re not joking. Well, maybe I should do that. Maybe we should pay a surprise visit to your sister’s rescue, as well.”

  A tremor ran through her, but Constance held her breath, squelching it. Daddy had taught her how to play poker when she was only five years old. She’d had nearly thirty years to perfect her face. “You won’t find any of Janice’s dogs at Pittie Place.” That, at least, wasn’t a lie.

  “I know.” Detective Callahan shrugged. “The officer who visited you this morning paid a visit to your sister’s afterward. She gave him a grand tour. He said it was the cleanest setup he’d ever seen for animals. Said he saw a new litter of pups, too.”

  Constance made sure nothing was written on her face before she spoke. If she showed emotion, it would come out in her voice. “Those aren’t Janice Matteri’s dogs, either. She doesn’t sell pit bulls. Claims they’re a ‘dangerous breed.’” Constance made air quotes with her fingers. “Which is ironic, since her brothers used to fight them. But those pups are going to be Canine Warriors, not bait dogs. So Janice Matteri can suck it.”

  Detective Callahan suppressed a laugh by pretending he coughed. “Canine Warriors,” he mused. “That’s the guy who trains dogs for service members.” A new light ran through the detective’s eyes. “Does it for free. Right?”

  “That’s right.” Constance seized the opportunity to make the most of Callahan’s interest. “Pete Clark. My sister, Sunny, works with him. She donates pups who are good candidates to be trained as service dogs to Pete, and Pete trains them for service members who need them. It’s a good partnership. Dog gets a home, service member gets help. Win-win.”

  “That’s awesome.”

  Constance could tell he meant it.

  “I have a buddy who could use one of those dogs.”

  “I’ll leave one of my friend’s cards with you.”

  Detective Callahan shook his head. “He’d never admit he needed one.”

  “All right, then.” Constance rose from the couch, set the untouched coffee on the desk and smoothed out her clothing. She wished she’d worn a clean shirt. She looked like hell. Not that she was trying to impress anyone. Detective Callahan was hard, handsome and no-nonsense. Just her type. But ever since Josh, she only looked at men with cool detachment.

  Detective Callahan followed her lead. “Thanks for coming in and looking at the photos.”

  Co
nstance shrugged. “I knew the request wasn’t really a request.”

  He gave a short laugh. “So your sister rescues the dogs. Pete trains them. What’s your part in all that, Constance? Other than raiding the Matteri puppy mill, perhaps?” He rubbed the back of his neck.

  Another thing Daddy had taught her was that diversion was often the best tactic to avoid a trap. “How long have you had that neck pain?”

  His eyebrows rose. Then he shrugged. “Months, on and off.”

  “Anything specific happen before you first felt it?”

  He shrugged again. “Not that I remember. But on this job, who knows?” He shook his head from side to side. “Feels better when I do this, though.”

  Constance came around the desk and stood behind him. “May I?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “You asked my part,” she said. “I’m a massage therapist. I work the dogs. Help them heal. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you, Detective.”

  He laughed, but then took a seat. “Knock yourself out.”

  Constance hovered over his neck before she touched his skin. The air around him was warm and a little fizzy. “Lean your head forward.” After he obeyed, she palpated his upper neck, allowing her fingertips to sink in along the spine. Detective Callahan drew a deep breath and expelled it slowly. She spent a couple of minutes there, working soft and slow, starting with fascia and only gradually moving into muscle tissue. After a while, she spoke softly. “Have you been saying yes to something—” Constance gave him some light traction “—that you really want to say no to?”

  The detective’s body froze. “What?”

  “Not a small thing, like saying yes to meat loaf when you want steak. But a big thing?”

  He chuckled softly. “Maybe.”

  Constance released him and came around to the front of the desk. “You need to come clean. Until you do, that pain in your neck won’t go away.”

  “Come again?” His eyes sparkled with curiosity.