Double Dog Dare

by E J Cochrane

  And then she heard the sirens.

  “What now?” she muttered and waited for any indication they would start moving again soon.

  Chapter Two

  “See anything?” Maddie asked Patrick, who stood on his seat trying to get an idea of what lay ahead of them. Almost a foot taller than Maddie, Patrick’s chances of getting an accurate visual far exceeded her own.

  “One ambulance, a fire truck, at least four cop cars and absolutely nothing to indicate why they’re here.” He sank back into his seat, and apparently guided by his unflagging optimism about their chances of moving before Thanksgiving, refastened his seat belt.

  “And not one of them can try directing traffic?” She sighed in exasperation.

  She wasn’t one of the many Chicagoans who viewed the CPD as a mostly necessary evil. The majority of her interactions with the police had been positive (bordering on enjoyable if she focused on the day the stunning Officer Murphy had strolled into her living room), and she was intelligent enough to understand that the entire police force was greater than the sum of its few unsavory parts. At this particular moment, however, she cursed their refusal to do something—anything—to alleviate her suffering.

  They’d been stuck for twenty minutes, Maddie watching her generous cushion of time slipping away all the while. The last time they moved was five minutes into their ordeal, when she (oddly proud of her progress) lurched forward half a foot. Since then there hadn’t even been cause to hope they would move again, and as the automotive impasse dragged on, she contemplated turning off her car. It didn’t look like they’d be getting anywhere anytime soon. Why waste the gas?

  “Should you call your sister?”

  “Probably.” Even if their path were cleared by every car in front of them magically disappearing in the next thirty seconds, they still had no chance of making their appointment on time. Admitting defeat, she groaned and reached for her phone.

  Normally, she refused to touch her phone when driving. Nothing was so urgent that it couldn’t wait until she pulled over. And for all she knew, she currently sat in vehicular purgatory because some fool thought a call or text was more important than operating the two-ton machine at his disposal. In her present state, however, she was as good as parked. Where was the harm?

  “She’s never going to let me live this down,” she grumbled as she waited for Harriet to pick up.

  “I’m walking up to the building right now, and you’re ten minutes early. Do not give me grief about being late,” Harriet said by way of greeting.

  “Considering that we’re not there yet and probably won’t be for at least half an hour, I wouldn’t dare give you a hard time.”

  “What?” Harriet’s sharply barked response rang in her ear, and she imagined that her sister’s purposeful stride came to an abrupt halt as she processed this extraordinary information. “You can’t be late. You’re never late. You were even born early.”

  “Only by a day.”

  “Still early.”

  “Well, if not for the mysterious emergency blocking our path, we would be there already, waiting for you.”

  “I have to call our sister. She should know about this, maybe start stockpiling canned goods and bottled water. The end times are here.”

  “You’re hilarious. I’m ignoring you now, just so you know.”

  “That won’t get you here any faster.”

  “Anyway,” she set the conversation back on track, “I have no clue how long it’s going to take to get out of this mess. You don’t happen to have all afternoon to sit around waiting for us, do you?”

  “I have about an hour before my next appointment. I could reschedule, but my client can be a little high maintenance.”

  “Dottie?” She recalled that her best friend had hired Harriet to help her “throw off the yoke” of Lincoln Park.

  “You said it, not me.”

  “If she feels like you’re neglecting her, she’ll kill us both,” Maddie said. “I guess we should just reschedule.”

  “Actually, now that I’m here looking at this place, I’m thinking we won’t need to.”

  “That bad?” She was almost grateful the traffic jam had saved her from feigning interest in yet another not quite suitable piece of real estate.

  “It’s just not very you.”

  “Great. Wasn’t that the last vacant building in the neighborhood?”

  “I may have one more space.” Harriet spoke cautiously.

  “You’ve been holding out on me?” Her voice rose an octave. She attributed her excited tone both to surprise that she somehow hadn’t trudged through every abandoned structure on the North Side and relief at the probable end of her quest for property. This building, whatever it was, would almost certainly disappoint her like all its predecessors, and once that was established, she would postpone the search for new headquarters, possibly indefinitely.

  “Well, it’s a bit of a fixer-upper.”

  “You sold me my house and have been to it since.” Maddie had labored with her father for months to transform a long neglected graystone two-flat into a charming living space, one she took an extra helping of pride in, considering the effort she’d made to resuscitate it. “You know I’m not afraid of a fixer-upper.”

  “It’s also a little…unorthodox.”

  “Unless it’s a bomb shelter or in the center of the lake, I don’t care. I just want to find something so I can go back to my regular life.”

  “Why? Is your laundry piling up?”

  “You know I can hire a different realtor, right?” Of course, she would never fire Harriet, but the threat was the only leverage she had in the face of her big sister’s teasing.

  “And you would regret it,” Harriet countered. “Call me if you ever get to leave your car,” she said after promising to arrange a showing of her latest architectural offering.

  “Don’t hold your breath.”

  “Good news.” She turned to Patrick and speaking more brightly than should have been possible when face to face with a wall of immobile vehicles, filled him in on the change of plans. “The rest of the afternoon is ours.”

  “I guess I’ll work on my tan while we wait.” Seemingly unfazed by this turn of events (or anything ever), Patrick stretched his arms and let his unperturbed head fall back against the headrest. Maddie didn’t want to witness it, but she did wonder if anything ever shook his good mood.

  When the cars ahead of them started creeping forward twenty-five minutes later, she allowed herself to feel a glimmer of hope. Little by little they inched toward the source of their protracted ordeal. Several drivers around her blasted their horns in pointless displays of their frustration, but she tried not to succumb further to her irritation. Honking, though it might feel good in the moment, wouldn’t get anyone out of there any faster, and she could already feel the dull throb of a fledgling headache. Besides which, it seemed obvious that someone was having a much worse afternoon than she was.

  As a rule, she ignored the impulse to examine the scene of an accident as she passed by—they were called gapers’ blocks for a reason, and she refused to allow her curiosity to contribute to the delay. But when she and Patrick finally neared the end of the congestion and the source of their ordeal, her eyes scanned the area without her consent (or resistance). She instantly wished she’d had the willpower not to deviate from her normal conduct.

  The ambulance and fire truck had left. She didn’t remember hearing any sirens, so she hoped this had been a disastrously situated but minor occurrence, at least as far as injuries were concerned. The next sight she took in, however, told her that her proximity to Patrick’s optimism had somehow clouded her judgment. A few cop cars remained on the side of the road and in the parking lot of one of the many high-rises along Sheridan. There in the entrance to the lot stood Detective Fitzwilliam—the surly cop who had readily dismissed Maddie’s input on Howard’s murder investigation—shaking his head and frowning.

  In her minimal experience, thi
s was standard for the detective. Though he’d shown a softer side when it came to animals, nothing else about his dour personality could be considered friendly, happy or positive, a morose outlook reflected in his current grim expression. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder how much of his obvious lack of cheer was habitual and how much was the result of whatever circumstances brought him here. She didn’t know what those circumstances were (though she acknowledged a hint of curiosity), but she knew as sure as Fitzwilliam stood there that she hadn’t just endured traffic hell because of a fender bender. Someone had died, and not from a collision.

  Suddenly her impatience vanished, replaced by guilt over her own selfishness. How petty to wallow in aggravation over traffic and a missed appointment (one necessitated by her own success) when for someone life had just ended, and for that person’s family, a nightmare had just begun.

  Not that all that guilt prevented her from rejoicing—in a subdued way—once they escaped the horde of testy drivers.

  “Free at last,” Patrick whooped.

  “And now I get to turn around and take you back home. Unless you want to let me buy you dinner.”

  “As much as I want to get out of this car, we should probably head back while we have a chance.”

  “I can’t believe you’re going to make me keep driving.” She longed for even the tiniest break from the driver’s seat. She was starting to hate her car, and if she didn’t get away from it soon, she would renounce driving forever.

  “Sorry, boss, but what are the odds that we’ll have to sit through another hour-long traffic jam?”

  “A lot higher now that you said that,” she grumbled and headed back toward his neighborhood.

  As it turned out, the drive back to Patrick’s apartment was blessedly incident free, and aside from the usual trouble areas, she encountered almost no traffic (by Chicago standards). The whole trip took under forty minutes, and as she neared her home, visions of a relaxing evening with her dogs—a strong drink, a good book and maybe a bubble bath (if she could tire the dogs out enough that Goliath would allow her some privacy)—danced in her head. She wanted nothing more than to unwind for a while and then fall into bed.

  Unfortunately, the universe hadn’t finished toying with her yet. There in front of her garage sat a tow truck, its flashing yellow lights sending the message that she would never get home, not as long as the burly gentleman chatting on his phone and not doing his job continued obstructing her path with his giant vehicle. He didn’t look like he’d be receptive to a friendly toot of her horn (not that she trusted herself to keep it friendly this late in her exasperating day), so she didn’t even bother trying to get past him.

  “I quit,” she sighed, backing out of the alley and continuing to her street. So close to the peace and comfort she craved, she was forced to retreat and hunt for street parking, which she found two blocks away.

  Trudging up the sidewalk in front of her house, she glanced up at the normally welcome sight and wanted to cry. There on her front steps sat Dr. Nadia Sheridan, the cause of her most recent broken heart. The adorable puppy at Nadia’s feet alternately chewed on her leash and barked at leaves (reminding her that she needed to devote part of her Sunday to yardwork). Although she’d been dreaming of nothing but getting home since the traffic jam that wouldn’t end, she now wished she was still trapped in a sea of unmoving cars.

  Nadia looked up, locked eyes with her and smiled her irresistible lopsided smile.

  “A perfect ending to a perfect day.” Maddie sighed and dragged herself the rest of the way home.

  Chapter Three

  “We didn’t think you were ever coming home.”

  Nadia stayed rooted to Maddie’s steps, and Maddie had an inkling that (improbable as it seemed) Nadia was nervous. She looked apprehensive but fantastic nevertheless. Not that she was surprised. When had she ever seen Nadia looking anything less than gorgeous? A quality she’d enjoyed in the past but found annoying at the moment.

  “I really wish I hadn’t,” she muttered.

  She’d spent weeks hoping for any contact from Nadia since she walked away from their zygote of a relationship, but today was not the day she wanted to do this. Tired and cranky, her defenses were down. Still, if they didn’t talk now, who knew if they ever would? How much time would pass before Nadia felt like showing up again?

  While she was in no mood to deal with the human half of her surprise visitors (no matter what the floaty feeling in her stomach had to say about it), she couldn’t be expected to overlook a puppy, especially not one as precious as the creature occupying her front steps. Chances were good that Nadia understood that and had planned accordingly.

  “You must be Mabel.” Maddie squatted in front of the gangly gray canine, ignoring Nadia completely, a feat made next to impossible by the intoxicating aroma of Dr. Nadia Sheridan (and there went that stomach flutter again). “It’s nice to meet you, Mabel.”

  Maddie stuck out her hand, and Mabel placed an oversized paw in her palm, executing a perfect shake before licking her chin. “You are so smart.” She scratched behind Mabel’s floppy ears and was rewarded with more licking. “And much more well-behaved than your father.”

  In defiance of almost two months of training, Goliath still refused to move beyond the basics: sit, stay, come. At times his willful nature prevented him from giving Maddie even that much. The one command he obeyed without fail was roll over, which he performed with gusto, often repeatedly and without being asked, before bounding over to her for his reward.

  “What I’m wondering, Mabel, is what you and your friend over there are doing at my house. Because somebody asked for time to think about things, then disappeared for two and a half months.” The puppy kept licking her face, making speech (and anger) a challenge, but she pressed on. “Last I heard, we don’t really have the kind of relationship where we drop in on one another unannounced.” Though they might have by then, had Nadia not walked away.

  “You’re not happy to see me?”

  She favored Nadia with an irritated glance. “It’s been a long day made a thousand times longer by a stranger’s death.”

  “Are you going to investigate?” Nadia smiled as if to say she was joking, but Maddie glared at her for an eternity, watching as Nadia’s jovial expression withered.

  “I don’t know. Are you going to tell me you had a clandestine connection to the deceased?”

  Nadia blanched, and Maddie instantly felt awful for reminding her of her peripheral role in Howard’s death.

  “I’m sorry. I’m exhausted, and I wasn’t expecting company. Did you need something?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Now? You’ve had two and a half months, and you chose the worst day since the last day I saw you to talk to me?”

  “I’m sorry if this is a bad time, but you’re not the only one who’s been taken by surprise lately.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You had Goliath’s records sent to your vet’s office.”

  “He was sick.”

  “What was wrong?” Nadia instantly flipped into concerned vet mode, reminding Maddie of why she’d been so drawn to Dr. Sheridan (beyond the physical). “Was it serious?”

  “Nothing a little boiled chicken and potatoes couldn’t fix.” She wanted to stay mad, but damn it, Nadia’s concern for Goliath softened her resolve.

  “Why didn’t you warn me?”

  “You asked for space.”

  “Not from Goliath.”

  “Just from me, then.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “What did you mean?”

  Nadia, looking meek (and somehow managing to be even more attractive in her contrition), gazed at her from under a furrowed brow. “I missed you.”

  She jingled her keys for a moment, considering what to do. Before she realized she’d made up her mind, she unlocked the door and held it open. “You might as well come in,” she said to a grinning Nadia.

  Once ins
ide, they were ambushed by Goliath and Bart, Maddie’s rescued mutt, who rushed to greet and inspect the recent arrivals. After much hearty butt sniffing, excessive yowling and gleeful leaping, a spirited and vocal game of chase inspired her to banish all three dogs to her yard. With any luck, Mabel would exhaust the boys before she and Nadia left, getting Maddie one step closer to her peaceful evening.

  In her kitchen as she waited for the dogs to settle down enough to come back inside, she took another step toward that relaxation and poured herself a drink. Part of her wanted to exclude Nadia from cocktail hour, but the good manners instilled by her parents and Granny Doyle forced her to at least make the offer.

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Not if it has to be that.” Nadia wrinkled her nose and gestured to the bottle of bourbon in Maddie’s hand.

  “I have plenty of lightweight options. Can you be more specific?” she snapped and then cringed when she saw Nadia’s wide-eyed, fearful expression. She turned guiltily away and, under the pretense of letting the dogs back in, made her apology to her back door. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long, exhausting, horrible day.”

  “So you said.”

  “I just want to take care of my dogs, have a drink, and go to bed.”

  Nadia looked concerned and beguiling simultaneously. Her mouth quirked up in a lopsided half smile (the same smile that had hooked Maddie initially) while her eyebrows dipped and her brow furrowed. She hated how good Nadia looked almost as much as she hated her visceral reaction to the beautiful Dr. Sheridan.

  “You don’t have to do any of that alone,” Nadia said.