She felt a flutter near her armpit that was soft like a child’s hair. A tendril of scent caught her attention. It was the musky almond smell of her daughter’s hair when the girl had been small, when the world had been theirs. For one agonizing moment, she felt the cupped palm of a child against her cheek. As if lancing a gangrenous wound, the years of poison released from Jan and the green squirt of liquid shattered. All that was left was the deep ember of mother and child.
Outside in the yard, the dog sat up, tilted his head back and howled as if a fire truck was splitting the night with its siren.
Chapter 28
Rocky hit the redial button. She had already left a message at the funeral home ten minutes ago. She wanted to speak to a person, not a recording. She wanted the phone number of Liz’s parents. The funeral home had been listed in the obituary and that was all she had. The Townsends were unlisted; she’d already tried calling Information. She’d gone into Tess’s house and tried everything to search for them on the Internet. Nothing. Isaiah was still out of town and he had been the only one to talk to them on the phone. As a last-ditch effort, she tried the vet clinic in Orono, but they were closed for two days. “In case of emergency, leave a message for the doctor on call and he’ll get back to you.” Rocky had tried the doctor on call and he said he couldn’t give her information from another veterinarian’s office.
Cooper had been gone for four days and Rocky was frantic. She had never been this clear about anything. She had made a terrible mistake and now she was going to fix it. She hit the redial button for the funeral home in Providence seventeen more times in the next hour. Then on the eighteenth time, a voice said, “Harsdale Mortuary.”
Rocky’s voice stuck in her throat, then she swallowed hard and spoke. “I’d like to call the Townsends in Providence to offer my condolences and I believe you handled the arrangements of their daughter Elizabeth. Do you have their phone number?”
“Who’s calling please?”
“This is an old friend of Liz’s from Maine. I just found out about her death,” said Rocky. Why had she fabricated this lie, why didn’t she just tell the man that she was the dog warden and that she needed to get in touch with the Townsend’s about the dog?
“We can’t give out phone numbers of our clients. But you can send your condolence card to us and we’ll be sure to get it to them,” said the as yet unidentified man.
“I’ve already done that. Now I want to call them. Calling is better. I mean I used to have their phone number, but I’ve changed address books and that was back when Liz lived with her parents. I just don’t have the address now, it’s not like I never had the address and phone number. So could you just give me the street address? I’d like to send flowers too,” said Rocky.
“We can handle the flower arrangements also. What would you like to send? Do you have a price range?” he asked.
Rocky hung up.
Because she was desperate for any connection to Liz and Cooper, Rocky decided to drive over to the old Hamilton place where Liz had so briefly lived, possibly for only a few days. Tess had described it as one of the few old houses that had ventured toward the center of the island. Almost all the old vacation houses were built as close to the shore as possible, but this house was the last house on a sandy road that plunged inward, crossing a small bridge over a marsh, surrounded on both sides of the lane by impenetrable growth, tangled and dense.
The road ended in the yard of an older house that had gone through a series of additions and remodels. Like so many of the houses, it was built on the uncompromising waves of rock that layered much of the island. The core of the weathered house was tucked behind a façade of screened in porch. On either side, newer additions had been attached with limited regard for symmetry.
She opened the door on the truck and the groaning creak of door hinges sounded louder out here. She made a mental note to blast the hinges with WD40. The owners of the house had made a heroic effort to keep about an acre cleared of the encroaching undergrowth. Rocky looked at the large outbuilding where a riding mower was likely to live. She grabbed her gloves from behind the front seat and slammed the door shut. A damp wind whistled in the clearing. She was not going to think about Hill today.
Had this been Liz’s dream, to come here with her dog? And do what? It might have been the impulsiveness of youth, the result of manic buying, or the simple desire to live within an easy commute of Portland. Rocky zipped her jacket and walked to the outbuilding, a small barn that was rapidly rotting into the ground. Stone-lined garden spaces graced either side of the large barn doors. With a forceful heave, she slid open one of the doors. Air that was even colder than the outside temperature escaped and ran over her, chilling her to the core.
The flashlight was in the truck, and if the dog had been with her, she would have gone to get it. Or if Tess was with her, she would have gone to get it. But here alone, not needing to take care of anyone else and not caring very much what happened because all the worst things had already happened, she stepped into the barn and waited for her eyes to adjust to the gray light. Late-afternoon sunlight came in through two dust-covered windows. She sat gingerly on a wood chair that needed webbing on the seat.
Someone had shot Cooper out here. He had to have been shot on the island. And by all accounts, no matter how difficult Liz’s life had been at times, she loved Cooper more than anything or anyone else. The two of them must have had just a few days of their new life on the island before things went terribly wrong. Rocky scratched the heel of her shoes along the dirt floor and the low rays of sun caught the disturbed dust. She sat until her bottom ached from the cold.
Her heart double-timed as she heard a truck pull up. She was terrified that it was Hill, because if he knew about the Hamilton place, then he had lied about everything. Could he have shot Cooper? Rocky went to a dust-covered window and peered out.
Rocky knew it was Peter, the boyfriend of the dead woman, the minute he stepped out of his SUV. The windows were tinted dark, the color of the vehicle was dark; she still couldn’t tell exactly what color in the approaching twilight. She was obviously here; her truck was outside. She walked out of the barn, mustering all of her best body language to appear confident and official.
What was it, how did neediness and obsession get exactly translated by the way he held his shoulders in so tight that she could see it through his jacket? And the way he walked straight toward her, and smiled with the bottom half of his face while his eyes hooked into her.
“Shit,” thought Rocky.
What do you do if you meet a bear on the trail, or a mountain lion, or any of the big predators? Those were the only two she could think of, and she was pretty sure that most black bears were more interested in bird feeders and compost. You didn’t run, she remembered that much. Bob had told her that in the animal world it really is about size or about perceived power. Make yourself bigger, turn and face them, maybe back up slowly, which she didn’t think was such a good idea in this instance because that would put her back in the empty barn, and more than anything she didn’t want to be in the barn with this man. She scanned the area for something large to pick up, like a thick branch, all without moving her head. Turn and face him and make yourself bigger. No backing up.
“I saw your truck. Are you the animal control lady? Someone at the dock said you drove a yellow truck. I think you have a dog that I’m looking for.”
He stopped four feet from Rocky. She didn’t know if he remembered running into her for all of thirty seconds that day in Portland. She’d had her car, and Cooper and they were in the parking lot of a convenience store, when this guy pulled in and Cooper went off like a grenade in her car. But before Rocky could hold on to this shred of temporary comfort, Peter drew in closer and pointed a finger at her chest, dead center.
“Hey, that was you, wasn’t it? About a month ago, over in Portland.”
Rocky felt one of her fingernails pierce her palm. She was with a predator. Stand and face him, make your
self bigger.
“Yes, and I recall the dog didn’t seem to take to you. He went ballistic, didn’t he?”
Peter kept his arms at his sides, not folded in front, not hands in pockets, but at his sides as if he had guns ready to go off.
“That dog belonged to my girlfriend. I know how to handle him. A dog like that, you have to be firm, show him who’s the alpha. She’d want me to have him. She’s dead.”
Rocky willed herself into being a therapist again and not a woman alone with a crazed ex-boyfriend of a dead woman.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s so hard to lose someone.”
She saw a flicker near his eyes, a moment of hesitation, a moment of who he had been before he had turned into the bad boyfriend who couldn’t let go. Now he was stalking the dog because that’s all he had left.
Rocky had only worked once with a man who stalked his ex-girlfriend, and he came to therapy because he was convinced that going to therapy would get his girlfriend back. She had been struck by the absolute singularity of his pursuit; he became a laser beam, breaking into his ex-girlfriend’s computer, accessing her e-mail, her post office box, even tapping into her parent’s phone messages. Rocky realized that Peter had something that she wanted more than anything right then, the address and phone number of Liz’s parents in Providence. She became the predator. She became very large and faced him.
“I brought the dog to the shelter in Portland. I didn’t know about other family. Why don’t you check the shelter tomorrow. And I’d like to send the family a sympathy note. What’s the street in Providence?” said Rocky. She kept her gaze soft, remarked on the shockingly early arrival of night at this time of year, and jingled her keys as a cue to leave.
The address and phone number slid off his lips so easily. Rocky knew instantly that he had prowled the neighborhood in Providence searching for the dog. She thanked him like she meant it and walked past him to her truck. She held the car keys as if they could save her.
Rocky locked both doors of the truck and pressed her palms against the steering wheel. She suddenly had to pee worse than anything, but she was too afraid to get out of the truck, too afraid that he’d come back, that he would have caught her lie. He was on a mission, and his senses were shined up like silver. Any minute now he’d guess what had happened. Somehow Rocky had gotten what she needed from him, the phone number and address of Jan and Ed Townsend in Providence. Rocky had lied to him, said that the dog was being held at the shelter in Portland. She had until he took the ferry to Portland and drove to the animal shelter, worse yet he probably had a cell phone. But the shelter should be un-staffed at night. She had until tomorrow. He might call and find out that Cooper had never been there. It wouldn’t take him long to figure out what she had done.
She stopped her hands from shaking and drove the truck to her house. She drove right up on the winter grass, left the truck running and jumped out. She hadn’t locked her door, half the time she forgot. She grabbed the phone and punched in the number for the Townsends. The answering machine picked up and Jan’s dusky voice came on. Why weren’t they there? It was six P.M. and they didn’t look like the kind of people with either friends or hobbies.
“This is Rocky on Peak’s Island. This is very important. Your daughter’s former boyfriend is going to try and convince you to give him Cooper. Liz didn’t want Peter to have the dog. Look, it’s worse than that, something is off with this guy. I have a feeling he had been stalking Liz. Don’t let him in your house.” She hung up the phone.
She still had to pee. She didn’t want to. She knew it would take too long, but she had to. She marched into the bathroom and slipped her jeans down and sat on the cold toilet seat. Faster, go faster, she willed herself. She pressed on her belly. The next commuter ferry would be leaving in thirty minutes, and then not again until seven o’clock. She hauled up her pants. She couldn’t miss the ferry. Peter would have taken the ferry that just left. She grabbed an atlas, turned the pages to Massachusetts and Rhode Island, and in two running steps she was out the door and back in the truck. As she drove past Melissa’s house, she paused, and without knowing why, she stopped and knocked on the young girl’s door. Melissa and her mother both answered.
“Melissa, I just wanted you to know that I’m going after Cooper. I’m not coming back without him. You keep an eye on my place and feed Peterson, OK?”
Melissa’s eyes softened slightly, going from rage to hope and settling in at caution. Rocky saw that Melissa’s skin was pulled even tighter around her face than the last time she had seen her.
Rocky turned and ran back to the truck and drove to the ferry, waiting impatiently for the 6:30. She prayed that she wouldn’t see Peter standing at the dock in Portland. She stayed in the truck for the crossing, kept the doors locked and was prepared to drive over him if he stood glaring at her on the dock. But he wasn’t there.
She changed vehicles in Portland. The yellow dog warden’s truck hadn’t passed an inspection in five years, so she picked up Tess’s car in Portland.
She figured the trip would take two and a half hours. She flew onto the highway out of Maine and watched the digital clock glow the time at her, watched the odometer tick off the miles. She had to stop in the notch of New Hampshire before Massachusetts to get fluid for the windshield wipers to keep her windshield clear. When she hit Massachusetts, she started imagining what she would say to Jan and Ed, wondered if she’d have to wrestle them to the ground, if they’d call the police, and what she could say so they would just give Cooper back to her. She slipped into the eastern edge of Connecticut and had to pull over once to turn on the overhead light and chart the fastest path into Rhode Island.
When Rocky hit the city limits of Providence, she stopped at a gas station and asked where Clementine Drive was. The two high school boys running the place didn’t know, so she bought a city map and found it on the northern edge of the city. When she pulled up to 63 Clementine Drive, the house was dark except for a bluish glow coming from what Rocky imagined to be a kitchen fluorescent light.
The neighborhood was filled with sixties’ ranch-style houses. Rocky turned her car around and parked across the street several houses away. She remembered what Jan had said about a new fence and a dog run in the backyard. She stepped out of her car, closed the door, and looked at a new fence that started at the edge of the garage and connected with the property fence, butting up against a neighbor’s hedge. The lumber was still fresh, a barricade type of fence, the sort that Rocky connected with prison yards minus the razor wire.
First she gave a firm knock on the glass storm door. Then she pressed a doorbell and heard the muffled echo in the house. Knocked again. It was nine o’clock at night, where were these people? Wherever they were, they wouldn’t have taken Cooper with them. She couldn’t picture them taking Cooper for a ride in the car.
Rocky looked at the houses on either side and across the street. The nearby houses had their curtains drawn. She went to the darker side of the house, away from the entrance and the garage and slid around to the outside of the barricade fence and hoped that the Townsends had done the unfriendly thing and presented the neighbor with the side of the fence with horizontal 2x4s. They did not disappoint her. Cooper would have heard her by now. She pictured him with his ears turned toward her and his eyes reflecting green light. She chanced calling to him to let him know it was her so that he wouldn’t bark. She spoke softly.
“Cooper, Cooper. I’m coming in, Big Guy.”
As she got a foothold on the lower 2x4, her nose filled with the smell of fresh lumber. For a moment she was filled with images of her brother Caleb and wished he were with her, giving her a strong boost up with his fingers intertwined into a stirrup. She grabbed on to the top of the fence and hoisted one leg over, felt the top edges of the roughly cut wood grab the inside of her pants. Then she lifted her other leg over and hung ungainly with her legs dangling as the fence pushed hard into her belly.
“Cooper, don’t worry. It’s
just me.” She knew he’d recognize her scent as well as her voice. She dropped into the yard.
“Cooper?”
Her eyes adjusted to the combination of night and filtered light from a streetlight in the next block. The yard was rectangular and unadorned by anything except several trees and a shed tucked into one corner and doghouse close to the house. She saw the reflection of light coming from sliding glass doors leading to the kitchen. As she approached the plastic, igloo-shaped doghouse, she was swallowed by the total absence of life in the yard. Above the doghouse was the dog lead that ran from a wire strung from the house to one of the trees. A wooden pallet had been placed in front of the doghouse to keep the dog off the ground.
Rocky knelt near the pallet and bent over, sniffing the wood. She smelled his damp wonder, the oil from his skin, and saw the one stick that he had managed to find in the scrupulously groomed yard. It was either a newly acquired stick, or Cooper had been too sad to properly gnaw the stick to tiny bits.
She repeated to herself, “I am not coming home without Cooper.” If he wasn’t in the house, what would she do? She was surprised at how easy it was to decide to break into their house. She went through no moral dilemma, no painstaking choice, just a flicker of concern about possible alarm systems that the Townsends might have installed. This was her moment of redemption for the crime of letting Cooper go and alarms and glass were incidental.
She tried the sliding glass doors. Locked. She had read about how easy it was to break into the average sliding glass doors, but she couldn’t remember the exact method. She tried several aluminum cased windows, and unless she was willing to cut through the tight aluminum screening to get to the inside window, she was roadblocked. She wasn’t opposed to slitting the screens, but she had nothing sharp enough with her to do the job. She looked at the door leading into the back of the garage and pictured the knob turning effortlessly in her palm, going into the garage, into the house. She willed it so.
Lost & Found Page 18
