by Kacey Gene
Although his worried eyes don’t change in the slightest, some color comes back to his cheeks.
Bark. Bark. Bark.
Jennifer’s heart leaps, and she feels every muscle in Junior’s back tense up when they hear the dogs’ barks. Some of the barks are deep and mature, like that of an old, wise dog while other yips are full of excitement -- the kind of excitement only a puppy can find in life.
“Eb,” Junior says, desperately looking at the doorway that connects this front room to the next room. And that’s when Jennifer sees the small face of a yellow lab puppy peek around the corner of the door. He has a collar around his neck, and the leash that’s attached to it is trying to pull the puppy back, but the puppy won’t hear of it. He’s too interested in smelling the door frame and then when he sees Junior, his little paws scurry in place.
He wants to run to Junior, but the leash is holding him back.
And then two more puppies, three adolescent dogs, and a pack of five full-grown dogs -- all different breeds from labs and retrievers to mutts with amber eyes and pink tongues -- come around the corner. What bonds all the dogs together though, is their barks, which echo and bounce off the walls.
But Junior raises his hand, and they all stop. Not only that, the dogs completely relax.
“Whose dogs are these?” Jake asks, reaching out and petting the golden retriever that’s now resting against his leg. The retriever nuzzles into Jake’s hand as he repeatedly strokes the shiny fur of the dog. Jennifer imagines that if that dog was a human, he would tell the best bedtime stories.
Jake crouches down, and Jennifer finds herself doing the exact same thing when the little yellow lab puppy Junior called “Eb,” directs his big brown eyes on her. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen anything more adorable in her life, and she can’t help but let out a small squeal of a “hi,” as the puppy runs in place trying to get to her and Junior.
And then Captain Sharb comes around the corner.
He’s at the end of the leashes holding the older dogs, and an officer Jennifer doesn’t recognize quickly trails behind him. That officer is holding the younger dogs, and by coming into the room, he gives enough slack on the leashes to let little Eb run and pounce into Junior’s arms.
Without even thinking about permission, Junior unhooks the leash and smiles as the puppy licks his neck, his face, and his ears. Then Eb angles his attention to Jennifer, and every part of her melts.
“Jennifer, meet Eb,” Junior says. “That’s short for Ebenezer.”
Jennifer reaches out her hands and takes the little, warm puppy in her arms. When he licks her neck, it fills her with so much love that she feels like her bones are made of twigs. Eb wiggles and excitedly squirms until finally snuggling into the crook of her elbow. He looks up at her, licks his nose and then snuggles his face into her body and rests.
“Put that dog back on its leash,” Sharb says, his bark harsher than anything these dogs could produce. “We’re taking these dogs to the shelter.”
“You can’t do that,” Junior says. “These are my dogs.” Junior charges toward Sharb, ready to yank the leases right out of his hands, but Jake steps in.
Jake puts a hand on Junior’s shoulder and quietly says, “I got this.” The golden retriever moves to where Jake moved and resumes leaning his head and body on Jake’s leg.
“What’s the situation here?” Jake asks.
“These are your dogs?” Sharb asks, ignoring Jake’s question and turning his beady eyes on Junior. “You have a permit for housing twelve dogs in a building that doesn’t belong to you?”
“This building does belong to me,” Junior says. “I know it does.”
“No, this building belongs to Fred Gailey.”
“What?” Jakes asks, and Jennifer can barely believe what she’s hearing. Keeping Eb snuggled closely to her, she walks over to the others.
“What do you mean this building belongs to Fred Gailey?” she asks.
Sharb turns his authoritative and annoyed glare from Junior straight onto Jennifer.
“Look who it is,” he says, his eyes narrowing at the sight of her. “I thought I told you to stay out of police business,” Sharb says.
“So rounding up and stealing dogs who are happy, healthy, and in a safe home is police business now?” Junior sarcastically throws in Sharb’s face. Then he turns to Jennifer. “This is what I wanted to show you. Fred helped me create ‘Ebenezer’s Home.’ We train dogs to be service dogs and therapy dogs, but Fred handled all the paperwork, and since he died--”
“Save your story,” Sharb says, cutting Junior off. “This place isn’t registered as a shelter; you’ve got an entire kennel on the second floor without any permits; and I think you know what we need to talk about from this floor. You have some serious explaining to do, kid.”
“You have some explaining to do,” Junior yells back at Sharb. “Like how come you’re spending your time going after innocent people and stealing their dogs when you should be finding criminals. Actual killers.”
Jennifer sees Junior’s face enflame as he throws these words at Sharb. Eb must sense Junior’s anger too because his smooshed face pops up, and even though his puppy eyes are coated in sleepiness, he lets out a tiny yip in Junior’s direction.
“It’s alright, Eb. I’m alright.” Junior reaches out and scratches Eb behind his ears, who licks the air as he does, and then turns those licks onto Jennifer’s coat before nuzzling back down into his sleeping spot.
“You know, you’re right,” Sharb says to Junior. “We should be arresting some criminals,” and with those words he hands the leashes to Officer Holtz and says, “Hold these.”
He pulls out his cuffs, turns Junior around and starts reading him his rights.
“Jake,” Jennifer yells, ready to get arrested herself to stop what’s happening, but Jake holds up his hand. And Jennifer feels everything in her break when Sharb fully tightens the cuffs around a frightened and confused Junior.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Back Rooms
Before Jennifer can do anything, everything has already happened. Junior is taken and shoved into the squad car that’s parked out back, and the dogs are rounded up in the police van, including a protesting Eb who yips and yelps when he’s taken from Jennifer’s warm, loving arms.
His yips are nothing compared to the tearing Jennifer feels in her heart.
She wishes she could stop this. She wishes she knew what to say or what to do, but Sharb is the law, and she can’t fight him; at least, not yet.
Sharb yells out to Officer Holtz, “Make sure you see them drive away.” He points at Jake and Jennifer when he says this. “They are banned from that building.”
Officer Holtz nods, and then turns around. “Shall we?” she asks, gesturing toward the yard behind the building, letting them know that she’s going to follow Sharb’s orders exactly.
“This isn’t fair,” Jennifer says, even though Jake is giving her a look to be patient. But how can she be patient after seeing those scared dogs piled into the back of a van and watching Junior be taken away without being given a chance to explain his side of the story? Plus, they still don’t know how “Ebenezer’s Home” fits into the message she and Jake decoded last night.
All of this sends her mind into a tailspin.
The three of them walk to the building, and Jennifer sees that the back door is still open. She imagines that Officer Holtz is going to lock it up for good right in front of their eyes.
“I could probably get fired for this,” Holtz says, looking at Jake, “but go look in the back two rooms.”
Jake stares at her with a furrowed brow and Jennifer does the same.
Holtz nervously looks over her shoulder, but when she sees that Sharb has already pulled away she adds, “Look, Sharb sent me back here to grab the camera he left and to make sure you two are locked out of here, so there’s no time to be confused. Just go check out the back rooms while I take my sweet, sweet time getting the camera from
the second floor.”
In that instant, Jennifer falls in love with Officer Holtz. More than that, she falls in love with the way her hazel eyes twinkle at this deception. But, when Holtz turns those twinkling eyes and her soft smile to Jake, Jennifer feels a different emotion; one she’s not used to feeling.
It inspires Jennifer to grab Jake by the hand and pull him away. He doesn’t resist, so they quickly move through the front room, which they’ve already seen. When they enter the second room, though, they come to a dead stop.
It has the same black and white tile as the front room, but this room has five monstrous, black machines lining one of the walls.
“What are those?” Jennifer asks, but she answers her own question when she steps closer to the machines. She sees the block letters, the large roller that’s covered in black ink, and the giant crank that’s connected to a small conveyor.
“Printing presses,” Jake says, putting his hand on one. “This one is warm,” Jake says.
Jennifer feels what he feels and then puts her hand on the machine next to it. “So is this one.” They check each of the machines, and all of them are warm. “Someone must have used this recently,” Jennifer says.
“Yeah, like in the last day,” Jake says. “But what for?” he asks, ready to investigate further, but then Officer Holtz comes into the room.
“Go to the two back rooms. We don’t have a lot of time,” Holtz says with a stern voice, “and you need to see what’s back there.” Holtz veers off to the right and takes the stairs up. Jake and Jennifer follow her orders and head into the next room.
It’s completely dark. Jake turns on his phone flashlight, and it illuminates a dusty floor that has shards of broken glass and fallen debris on it. There are heavy, black curtains covering every window of the exterior wall. Jake’s phone lights up the far corner of the room, which is piled up with large plastic containers.
“Those look like protein powder containers,” Jake says as he and Jennifer move closer to the corner.
The containers don’t have any stickers or labels on them, and they’re all stark white. As they get closer they see that there’s writing on the top of each container. There are four letters handwritten with a black sharpie.
“NaCN,” Jake reads. He moves his light from container to container. “The same thing is written on all of these,” he says. “What in the world is NaCN?”
“Na is sodium,” Jennifer says, remembering the periodic table Miss Johnston has hanging outside her sixth grade classroom. “But CN--”
“Cyanide,” Jake says, giving her the other piece to the puzzle.
Jennifer feels chills move from her fingers to her toes. Both Fred and Earl were poisoned with cyanide. Jennifer crouches down and lifts one of the containers. “It’s completely full,” she says, looking up at Jake with worry.
“I’ve gotten the camera!” they hear Officer Holtz’s yell from upstairs. “I’m going to be walking down the stairs soon!”
They don’t have time to sift through their theories about these containers -- why they’re here, what they were used for, and why Junior didn’t tell them about this corner full of evidence. Jake quickly snaps a picture and says, “Come on.”
He keeps his flashlight on and leads Jennifer toward the next room. The spotlight on the floor in front of them guides them past empty, overturned plastic containers, a broken broom, and empty garbage cans. The next room, which is the last room on this floor, is just as dark as the previous room.
The difference, though, is that this room doesn’t have any walking space. It’s filled -- from floor to ceiling and wall to wall -- with giant stacks of a greyish, white object.
Jake and Jennifer reach out and touch the stacks.
“It’s paper,” Jake says.
“Thick paper. Almost like cardboard,” Jennifer adds.
“Are these all the same print out?” Jake asks. And without saying a word, Jennifer moves to the far side of the stacks, and Jake moves to the other side.
Both of them search for a piece of paper that’s sticking out from the others -- one they can wrestle free. Jennifer finds a corner and wiggles the sheet free.
“I got one,” she triumphantly says.
“Me too,” Jake says.
They meet back in the middle, and both of them are speechless when their eyes fall on the design they hold in their hands.
The background is a grey-white, the ink is black, but most importantly, it’s a flattened version of the pudding boxes they found in Fred’s cabinet and in Earl’s closet. The cyanide and the pudding printouts can only mean one thing: Jake and Jennifer are standing exactly where Fred and Earl’s murderer stood.
And Junior has a key to this place, Jennifer thinks. The place with cyanide and the pudding boxes.
“This is why Sharb arrested Junior,” Jake says. “Sharb may be a lot of things, but he’s not a bad cop.”
“There’s no way Junior is the murderer,” Jennifer says, shaking her head. “I can’t believe that.”
“Hey,” Officer Holtz says, interrupting what would have soon become a debate. She peeks her head into the door frame. “Times up. And there’s no way you can take those,” she says, pointing to the printouts they’re holding. “That’s evidence.”
Jake and Jennifer nod. They hand the printouts to Holtz, and then both of them silently follow her out of the building.
Even though they don’t say a word, their minds are racing. So Junior -- who was burning Fred’s books that held a secret message, who ran away from Jake, and who was lurking around Jake’s window before the sun was even up this morning -- claims that this building, which holds evidence linked with two murders and is owned by one of the victims, is his.
None of those details bode well for Junior.
But Jennifer can sense a criminal, and that’s not the sense she gets from Junior. He loved Fred; she knows it. Although, then she remembers how Junior really didn’t tell them anything about his relationship with Fred, except that Fred helped him “do something different.”
What was this “something different”? Jennifer wonders. Are Fred and Junior the shady characters in this story, and she’s missed that fact? Did Junior blind her with his vulnerability?
Jennifer runs her fingers through her hair, hoping that will stop the questions flying around in her mind. But nothing stops the wheels that are turning and churning in her brain.
For the first time in her life, Jennifer doesn’t know who or what to believe. So after a quick goodbye and a thanks to Officer Holtz, Jennifer slips into Jake’s car. Confused. Frustrated. And overrun with emotions.
Jake gets behind the driver’s seat. “You want to go to Judy’s?” he asks. “Talk this through.”
Jennifer nods, not really able to live in the world of words quite yet. None of this is adding up, she thinks, but then she hears Jake’s phone go off.
He clicks into it. “Text from my dad,” Jake says. “He sent the receipt.”
“The one from the bookstore? From Matt Kiley’s parents?”
Jake nods as he opens the image.
Finally, Jennifer thinks, a trail that might lead to some answers rather than this endless trail of questions.
“Unbelievable,” Jake says.
“What?”
“Look at the name of the place,” he says, flashing his phone screen at her.
She leans in to see the picture of the receipt and at the very top of the image are the words: Pelznickel Used Books. Then she zooms in on the address.
“1450 Astor Street,” she says in complete surprise. “That’s close to my mom’s place,” she says looking up at Jake. But her look isn’t just a look of surprise. It’s one of determination.
“So no Judy’s?” Jake asks.
“Nope,” Jennifer says. “We’re driving to Chicago, my friend.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Dusty Corners of Pelznickel Used Books
The bell above the door jingles as Jake and Jennifer walk into
Pelznickel Used Books. Jennifer stretches, having been crouched over in Jake’s car crocheting the entire drive to Chicago. Julie’s tree skirt is halfway finished, and Jennifer has the strawberry jam, the baby’s stocking, the Christmas cookies, and the other presents all tucked safely in Jake’s car. Plus, they’re in Chicago. Cold, windy, feels-like-home, Chicago, which puts Jennifer ahead of schedule in one way.
She hasn’t told her mom yet about this early arrival, but it’s only three in the afternoon. Her mom won’t even be at a phone until 6:00, so Jennifer decides she’ll call her then. Even though this explanation is perfectly rationale, Jennifer still feels guilty.
It’s not that she’s avoiding her mom; rather, she’s avoiding the avalanche of social events that always surround her mom. Jennifer can only take so many tea, lunch, dinner, and party dates.
Jake sneezes and pulls Jennifer back into the here and now.
“It’s so dusty,” Jake says, pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket. Jennifer also feels a tingle in her nose due to the dust that lives inside and around every crack and crevice of this bookstore. The creaky hardwood floors aren’t helping, considering that they’re covered in dozens of dust-filled rugs.
And, there are books everywhere.
It’s not just the floor-to-ceiling dark wooden bookshelves, which wrap around every wall of the store, that are filled with books. Jennifer would expect that. It’s that there are books stacked on the large puffy chairs that sit in the corner across from them. There are towers of books teetering in front of the overstuffed bookshelves. And the checkout counter, which is to the right of the front door and set right in front of the gallery window, has piles and piles of books stacked on it.
“Does anyone work here?” Jake asks.
As if hearing his queue, a fluffy orange and white cat leaps from behind the counter onto a pile of books. The cat has a bowtie for a collar, and it looks right at Jake and lets out a long meooow.
