by Paula Munier
Sound carried far across the lake, remembered Mercy. She started shouting for help as she pumped her arms and legs through the water, hoping a Good Samaritan would hear her.
The current was against her and the wake of the boat slowed her down. Mercy kept on swimming. Stroke after stroke, the lines from Shakespeare’s The Tempest pounded in her sore head:
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Ding-dong
Hark! now I hear them,—Ding-dong, bell.
She saw Dr. Winters try to grab the tiller, and Elvis push his snout up to her face, barking furiously. His snarls echoed across the lake. The professor must have bumped the tiller to the side, because the unhinged boat was moving slowly in wide circles now, like a broken motorized toy in a child’s bath.
Ding-dong.
Mercy was getting very tired. Her limbs were heavy, her injured arm floated limply at her side while she flailed forward with her right arm. But she couldn’t give up. With the boat circling, she could close in on them now. She blinked the water out of her eyes as the fireworks intensified, lighting up the sky and filling the air with noise.
Elvis stayed on point, despite the sound and fury. She could see him straddling the professor, his teeth still clenched around her wrist. Good boy, she thought.
“Mercy! Mercy!” She heard Troy’s voice calling her name over and over again, and she practically cried with relief. She couldn’t see him, but hearing him was enough.
“Over here,” she yelled, peering across the dark night and treading water until the next round of fireworks allowed her to spot him.
She didn’t have to wait long. A torrent of red and blue and white sprays of light showered the night sky. A bellow and a splash, and she paddled round to see a black beast moving toward her with surprising speed. Susie Bear. Just the sight of the big shaggy dog, graceful as a seal in the water, gave her the strength to keep swimming.
“Come on, Susie Bear,” she shouted, and powered against the current toward the bass boat. She looked over her shoulder to make sure the Newfie mutt was following her. There, silhouetted against the exploding sky, was a canoe manned by Troy Warner, who wielded his paddle like a sword and sliced through the water like a warrior on his way to war.
Ding-dong, bell.
Mercy was in reach of the bass boat now. She lunged for starboard as it careened past her, caught the side, and held on tight. She was exhausted, the adrenaline that had fueled her fading fast. She tried to heave herself onto the boat. Failed.
“I’m going to kill you and your dog,” said Dr. Winters. Elvis was holding her down against her seat, his paws on her chest, his mouth still clamped around her wrist. Whenever she tried to strike him with her free arm, he clenched harder—and she pulled back her arm, moaning with pain.
“One more word and I’ll order him to break your other wrist.” Mercy breathed heavily, trying to prepare herself for another try at climbing aboard. She looked at the baby, who was sleeping again, still curled up on the coil of rope.
Amy maneuvered away from the professor, scooting across the boat on her butt to help Mercy. Her hands and feet were still tied together, and her mouth was still gagged. She shifted her feet and lifted herself to a standing position.
“No,” Mercy said. “You’ll fall.”
Dr. Winters kicked at the rope where the baby lay. Helena whimpered. Amy turned to confront the professor. Elvis growled.
The boat tipped suddenly in the wake of a speedboat passing just far enough away not to notice the trouble they were in or Mercy screaming for help.
Amy lost her fragile footing and pitched backward, falling out into the water on the port side. The wrong side.
“Man overboard,” Mercy yelled, hoping Troy at least would hear her.
With her hands and feet tied together, Amy would drown quickly. Mercy let go of the boat, hoping Elvis could forgive her for leaving him alone with a lunatic. She swam to Amy, who was kicking wildly with her legs but going down anyway.
Mercy was on the verge of going down herself. She needed to grab Amy under the arms from behind and help her float on her back, with the back of her head leaning against her own. But Amy’s arms were tied together behind her back.
“Stay still.” To her credit, Amy stopped kicking, and Mercy grabbed her by the shoulders as she went under, pulling her back up. “Stay still.” She pulled the gag out of her mouth. Amy gasped for air and spit up water. “I’m going to turn you around. When I do, lie your head back against my chest, close your eyes, and float.”
Amy moaned.
“Float,” she ordered. “Float.” Mercy’s strength was fading, her cut arm and her concussion getting the better of her. She couldn’t hold up Amy or herself much longer.
Where was Troy? She looked around but couldn’t see anything. The dark sky was quiet now. Dr. Winters’s boat lumbered on, circling them in the deep gloom. She could hear it, but she couldn’t see it. She tried to untie the girl’s hands, but she couldn’t do it and keep them both afloat at the same time. She needed help. And nearly laughed out loud when she realized that Troy was right. She had to wait for backup.
She felt the big dog before she saw her. A cold nose, a wet shag rug she could hold on to for dear life.
“Good girl,” she said.
Amy opened her eyes. “Big dog.”
“Susie Bear,” she said. “Search-and-rescue dog. We’re going to be fine.”
* * *
AMY CLOSED HER eyes. The fireworks started up again, and Mercy watched Troy’s canoe reach Dr. Winters’s boat. He climbed aboard and switched off the motor. Then he handcuffed Dr. Winters’s free wrist and admonished Elvis to release her other one so he could handcuff that one, too. But Elvis was apparently reluctant to do so. She heard Troy say, “Drop it,” two more times before the dog would relinquish his hold. But even once he’d let go of the professor, the shepherd continued to stand guard over his prisoner.
Mercy held on to Amy with one hand and Susie Bear’s plumed tail with the other as the big dog swam toward the canoe. She smiled as Troy cradled little Helena and laid her carefully into the canoe. He tied the boat to the canoe and paddled over to them. Elvis kept an eye on Dr. Winters in the bass boat.
Without a word Troy helped Mercy get Amy into the canoe first. He untied her feet and wrists, then stripped off his uniform shirt and wrapped it around the young mother, who was shivering with shock.
“She killed Adam,” stammered Amy. “She was going to kill us.”
“You’re safe now.”
He pulled Mercy in next. “You’re hurt.”
Mercy had forgotten all about her injury. “Get Susie Bear up here first.”
“We could, but it looks like she’d rather hang out with Elvis.” Troy pointed behind the canoe, where Susie Bear was swimming alongside the boat, as close as possible to Elvis as he guarded the professor.
Troy paddled them quickly and expertly back to shore. As soon as they hit water shallow enough for Susie Bear to stand up in, she leaped onto the boat to join Elvis. The professor did not look pleased at the thought of two dogs guarding her now, the second even bigger than the first.
The dogs barked.
The professor cursed.
And the baby, happy again in her mother’s arms, laughed.
FIVE DAYS LATER
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
PATIENCE ORDERED COMPLETE REST FOR MERCY, and she got a people doctor and a CT scan to back her up. Not that Mercy got much rest.
First, there was the matter of the cat. Patience came every day to check on her, bearing food and advice and, finally, the no-name kitten she and Elvis had rescued from the Walker place.
“Hello, kitty.” She showed her grandmother into the kitchen, taking the carrier from her.
Elvis leaped up and trotted over to supervise the release of their new housemate.
The cabin was crowding up now. Amy and Helena had moved into the guest room, although in truth it was more like they had moved in everywhere. Astonishing how such
a small infant could take over an entire house in no time at all. Child Protective Services had agreed that Helena could remain with her young mother under two conditions: that they live with Mercy, and that Amy finish her senior year and graduate.
They were in the living room now, the baby playing on a blanket spread out on the floor in front of the couch, surrounded by a growing mountain of toys supplied by all of her adoring fans—from Mercy and Patience to Mr. Horgan and Lillian Jenkins. Even Thrasher had presented the sweet little Helena with a new set of brightly colored blocks.
“The kitty’s good to go. But still no name.” Patience started pulling out covered dishes and groceries from her Vermont Country Store tote bag. “Any ideas?”
“Not yet.”
The little tiger tabby—who’d been so worn and weary the last time Mercy had seen her—leapt out of the carrier with an excess of feline energy and greeted Elvis nose to nose.
“She’s fattened up a bit.”
“Poor thing was starving.” Patience shook her head.
“I tried to take care of them,” said Amy. “But there were so many of them. Mom never got them fixed, she said that was unnatural.”
“Ridiculous.” Patience had zero tolerance for people who did not spay or neuter their animals.
“I know.” Amy’s heart-shaped face flushed. “When I went to live with Adam, I couldn’t take any of them with me. He is—was—allergic. I tried to sneak home sometimes, but it was hard to get away.”
“You should have reported it,” said Patience severely.
The teenager’s dark blue eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t want to get my mother in trouble.”
Patience looked over Amy’s head to catch Mercy’s eye. She knew her grandmother was thinking what she was thinking: She didn’t mind getting you in trouble.
Karen Walker had not been charged with anything to do with the murders, but Mercy knew that if Patience had her way she’d be found guilty of cruelty to animals and receive the maximum sentence, which could include jail time as well as hefty fines. Not to mention the forfeiture of all rights to the cats, which would enable the Cat Ladies to put them up for adoption. But she didn’t tell Amy that.
“It’s okay,” said Mercy. “All’s well that ends well.” She told Amy all about the rescue, including the magpie Munchkin and his stash of collectibles.
“What kind of jewelry?” asked Amy.
Mercy described what she could remember of the items, including the pendant with the pine trees.
“My necklace.” Amy gasped, and the tears that had pooled in the corners of her eyes rolled down her cheeks. “It was the first thing he ever gave to me. I thought Don stole it and pawned it.” She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Do you think I could get it back?”
“I’ll talk to the game warden about it,” promised Mercy.
The three of them watched the baby on her blanket, mesmerized by Elvis and the cat playing together.
“Elvis is happy to see the kitty,” said her grandmother, giving Amy a break and changing the subject.
“She’s his little muse.” Mercy smiled, and snapped her fingers. “Her name is Muse.”
“A homophone,” said Patience, rolling her eyes. “A homophone pun, no less.”
“More specifically, a heterograph.”
“I don’t get it,” said Amy.
“Don’t worry, no one else will either,” said Patience.
“Mews and muse are two words that sound the same but are spelled differently and have different meanings,” explained Mercy.
“Cute,” said Amy. “I think.”
“Don’t encourage her.” Patience frowned at her granddaughter.
“You are kind of a word nerd,” said Amy.
“Okay, okay.” Mercy laughed. “I know it’s lame. But in a good way.”
“If you say so,” said Patience. “I don’t think Jade would approve.”
“Jade?” asked Amy.
“She’s the girl who helped out at the rescue. We invited her over to meet you and the baby, and little Muse.”
“She is a very sweet kitty.” Amy pointed to the kitten, who had danced over to the blanket. The baby laughed, her slate-blue eyes shining, as the kitty boogied through the blocks while Elvis supervised, a noble and vigilant babysitter alert at the edge of the blanket. Both were safe with this dog, for whom duty came first. Just like his sergeant.
Mercy excused herself to text Troy. She wanted to tell him about the necklace, but not with Amy around. And after nearly a week in the house she was desperate to get out. She bet Elvis was, too. Her Jeep was back, good as new with four brand-new all-terrain tires. She whistled for the dog, hoping to sneak out before her grandmother could stop her.
“Where are you going?” Patience called her out just as she and Elvis hit the front porch.
“Two Swords K-9 Training. I thought it would be good for Elvis.” The truth was, the dog was just fine. She’d spent some time on the yoga mat with him, but she’d seemed to need it more than he did.
“Uh-huh.”
“I thought you liked that place.”
“I do. Jake is very good.”
“So we’ll see you later.”
“Be home in time for dinner. We have guests coming.”
No surprise there. Ever since word got out that Patience was coming over with dinner every day, everyone Mercy knew was dropping by to visit.
* * *
THE TWO SWORDS K-9 Training and Pet Resort was in a small converted strip mall about ten miles north of town on Route 7. She parked right next to Troy’s Ford F-150, and Elvis knew the warden’s truck when he smelled it. He barked his approval and jumped right out of the Jeep before she could get a lead on him. “Elvis! Down!”
He paid no attention, bounding for the front door, almost colliding with a lady carrying a white long-haired Chihuahua with a pink rhinestone collar in her big black purse. Realizing his mistake in the nick of time, he stopped just short of the woman, with only inches to spare. She shrieked, and her Chihuahua screeched and snarled and squirmed in her arms.
“Elvis! Get back here.”
He came back to her, head hanging. He knew he was in trouble. She snapped on the leash and they waited while the lady dropped off her dog for grooming and returned to her Lexus sedan, glaring at them both as she drove off.
“Good going,” said Mercy. “Maybe you need to go back to obedience school.” But it was her fault. She’d isolated herself since moving home to Vermont, and in so doing isolated Elvis as well. The past ten days had been the most social interaction either of them had had in months, apart from visits with Patience—and it had challenged them both. One-on-one training and long walks alone in the woods were not enough. He needed more. Maybe she did, too.
The office and grooming rooms were housed in what looked a lot like a day-care center. Several chest-high enclosed cubicles were devoted to play, full of toys and cushions and small yapping dogs, most of whom seemed to be well-groomed poodles and shih-tzus and Yorkshire terriers and cocker spaniels. The back wall was lined with floor-to-ceiling kennel cages, where larger dogs who could scale the cubicles were kept—at the moment that meant a pair of harlequin Great Danes, a German shepherd, two black Labradors, a St. Bernard, and one lone Jack Russell terrier, who bounced up and down like a bungee cord.
The receptionist behind the long counter was a purple-haired young woman with a tattoo of a smiley pit bull on her slim upper arm. She wore a name tag that identified her as Kaitlyn. Kaitlyn grinned at her and Elvis, who paid no attention to her or to any of his fellow canines. His eyes were on the double doors on the back wall. “We’re here to see Warden Warner.”
“Sure. They’re out back in the agility center.” She pointed where Elvis was looking. “Through there to the right.”
Elvis led her between the Great Danes and the leaping Jack Russell terrier and through the double doors to the outside into a large fenced rectangle of neatly trimmed grass the size of a football f
ield. The space stretched all the way back to a line of maples and willows fronting a roaring creek. She could hear the rush of the water, even above the happy yelping and bellowing of the dogs of all shapes and sizes racing around the various obstacles that made up the agility course. There were several lanes, each with its own set of hurdles of different heights, cloth tunnels, seesaws, hoops, and weave poles. A small stand of bleachers anchored the far side of the field.
She spotted Troy and a good-looking, well-muscled guy with a shaved head on the sidelines, watching as a couple of assistant trainers in matching red shorts and T-shirts emblazoned with the Two Swords logo ran several dogs through their paces. She and Elvis trotted over to join them.
“Mercy Carr, meet Jake Wilder,” said Troy.
“Great to meet you,” said Jake, offering her a firm handshake. “And this must be the famous Elvis.” He held out his hand for the shepherd to sniff. “Beautiful.” Elvis wagged his tail and perked his triangular ears, as if they’d been friends forever.
Susie Bear bounded over, followed by a Bernese mountain dog, a border collie, two golden retrievers, and a feisty Pembroke Welsh corgi. They all sniffed and snorted Elvis and each other until Jake said, “Down!” in such a commanding tone that every dog on the field immediately dropped onto the grass. Even Elvis. Mercy was tempted to drop down herself.
The dog trainers ran over, and Jake laughed. “Go on back to work now.” He looked at Mercy. “You can let him off the lead. He’ll behave.”
“I hope so.” She didn’t mention the incident with the Chihuahua.
The assistant trainers escorted all of the dogs back to the starting line, where they each took a lane and waited for their run at the course. She watched with Troy and Jake as the border collie went first, racing through the course like an Olympic athlete, cheered on by an assistant trainer yelling out the appropriate command before each test—go, over, tunnel, seesaw, wee-wee-wee-wee-weave!—and handing out goodies along the route for obstacles well met.
Each dog took a turn, and all performed well, although the corgi balked at the tunnel at first and had to be coaxed through with lots of high-pitched encouragement and treats. Susie Bear was up next. For her size, she was surprisingly fast—even if she looked more like a sumo wrestler than a track star. But what she lacked in grace, she made up for in spirit and strength.
