Deadly Dog Days

by Jamie M. Blair

  We walked down the sidewalk to the road. A car was parked on the side and loud music throbbed through its rolled-up windows. It was a red Kia. A sporty red Kia.

  My instincts sharpened and I craned my neck trying to see who was inside. When he turned and looked out the passenger window, I almost dropped my hoop. It was Zach. The driver turned the wheel to pull out, and I got a quick peek at her. My world was rocked. Lianne Berg. Jenn’s sister was driving her car and picking up her ex-boyfriend from a serving gig at Briar Bird Inn.

  • Fourteen •

  The next morning I fought to stay asleep. I was having the kind of dream you don’t ever want to wake from. It was Christmas, and Christmas in Metamora was nothing shy of magical. The shop windows shined with twinkling lights. Pine garland and red velvet bows scalloped the railings of the wooden bridge. Sleigh bells jingled from the draft horses, and fat snowflakes floated down from the sky. The air smelled of cookies and warm sugar frosting.

  In my dream, Ben and I walked hand in hand through town, stopping to say hello to neighbors and friends. Little kids made snow angels and chased each other with snowballs, squealing in delight. I carried a shopping bag with a gift from Ben inside—a new weathervane for our house. Ben led Brutus on a leash. He’d somehow trained the crazy animal to behave.

  Then he turned to me and smiled. It was the slow, lazy smile from when we were first dating. The one filled with longing. Ben’s “in love” smile. “Cam,” he said, “what do you think I should get Jenn Berg for Christmas?”

  I shot up in bed, shaking off the dream-turned-nightmare. My subconscious refused to believe Ben was telling the truth about not dating Jenn. It wouldn’t let me forget for one second, not even while sleeping.

  It was hot, and the sheet was twisted around my legs. My hair was damp with sweat, but all I wanted was a big cup of coffee. Today I was doing nothing. Not one single thing. I wasn’t stepping a foot out of my yard, not even if Monica was bored out of her mind and begging me to leave. Well, maybe we could see a movie in Brookville and go out to dinner. Cooking wasn’t on my agenda, either.

  I took a quick shower and dressed before heading downstairs. Coffee was in the pot and Monica was sitting on the patio drinking a cup, petting Isobel, who stood beside her chair. What the heck?

  I poured my coffee and took the mug outside. “How’d you get her to be nice?” I asked, fending off Gus and the nutso twins.

  “She likes me.” Monica smiled, like it was a grand achievement, and it was—not just because it was crabby old Isobel, but because Monica was allergic to dogs and therefore not a fan. Isobel lifted her muzzle and growled at me.

  “She doesn’t like me,” I said, sitting down at the patio table. I picked up a stick at my feet and threw it for the three amigos. They ran after it, tumbling over one another, which distracted them from retrieving the stick and started a game of chase around the yard.

  “You don’t understand her. She doesn’t like to be stuck with those three young males and all their energy and barking.”

  I considered this. “I don’t blame her, I guess. But she has her spot beside the fridge and they seem to leave her alone.”

  Monica nodded, watching Isobel tip her face to the sun and close her eyes. “I suppose.”

  “Has Mia been down yet?” I asked.

  “No. But she’s planning on going to Irene’s with you.”

  “I’m not going to Irene’s. Why would I go to Irene’s?”

  “Because she called last night to summon you to the Daughters of Metamora meeting this afternoon, where you will have the opportunity to present your case for the ‘appalling’”—here she made air quotes—“colors you’ve painted Ellsworth House, and they will determine if you are required to repaint.”

  “What? That’s insane! You think that’s insane, right? I’m not the only one who sees that this woman is out of her mind?”

  “Out of her mind or not, that’s how things work here.” Monica stroked Isobel’s head, and the dog put a paw up on her lap.

  Everyone was against me. Even the dog.

  My weathervane spun on top of Irene’s roof. “Climb up there and take that down,” I told Mia, pointing to the trellis standing against the enormous brick colonial.

  “Why would I do that?” she asked, with her perpetual frown.

  “Because you totaled my car, and you owe me.”

  “My dad’s buying you a new one, so I don’t owe you anything. It was an accident, okay?” She let out a huff and strode past me up the brick walk to Irene’s front door.

  One of these days, karma would find her. Or she’d grow up and learn from life kicking her in the pants. One or the other. I didn’t wish Mia misfortune, only lessons that would make her a nice person. If that was possible. But people won the lottery, so why not?

  Irene swung the door open and smiled her caked-on pink lipstick smile. She smelled like-old-lady lotion (lilacs maybe?) and wore a crisp pink skirt and jacket. “Mia!” She grabbed her granddaughter’s shoulders and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Your first Daughters of Metamora meeting. I’m so proud. Stewart!” she yelled. “Get the camera!”

  Then she turned her attention to me. “You got my message.”

  “Apparently.”

  “You think this is ridiculous, I suppose?”

  “Apparently.”

  “It’s called respect, Cameron. Respect for the history of this town. Respect for the legacy of the founders and their families. That’s what the Daughters represent. That’s why the historical code is in place—to protect tradition and honor our past.”

  It was a nice speech, I’d give her that. “What will the town do when nobody can pay their bills? When the town is abandoned and everyone leaves to find work? How are the Daughters working to improve tourism?”

  “I recognize your contribution,” she said, ushering me into the living room where the other Daughters were sitting around in similar pastel suits, drinking tea and coffee. “It’s a shame the musical had to be canceled. I know that has to be hard for you.”

  From the sofa, Cass waved at me. She sat between her mom, Judy Platt, and her grandma, Betty Underwood.

  The room was filled with mothers and daughters and grandmothers. Sue Nelson perched on a chair by the window, looking out into the front yard. Next to the fireplace, Mia chatted with young Stephanie Berg. Sitting on the opposite side of the window from Sue, Lianne tapped on her cell phone. And the Nelson matriarch, Elaina, in a hot pink polka dot dress with matching hat, chatted Fiona Stein’s ear off.

  I took a seat on the fireplace hearth, close to Cass. “I’m sorry about this,” she said. Then she leaned close and whispered in my ear. “Once the old women are gone, this club will exist for girls night out only.”

  “With Mia involved, I believe it,” I whispered back.

  “I heard about your car.” She shook her head.

  “Sergeant-at-Arms,” Irene said from the front of the room, “bring this meeting to order.”

  Fiona untangled herself from Elaina’s stream of babbling and stepped up beside Irene. “Madam President, I give you the daughters of our founder Graham W. Nelson.”

  Sue, Lianne, and Stephanie stood for recognition. Elaina remained seated but waved and blew kisses, drawing titters of laughter from her fellow Daughters.

  “Madam President, I give you the daughters of our founder Samuel L. Jackson.”

  Samuel L. Jackson? The actor? Probably not. Decidedly not.

  Cass, Judy, and Betty stood up, and Irene nodded her acknowledgement.

  “Madam President, I am the daughter of our founder Paul S. Brooks, and I call this meeting to order.”

  “Thank you, sister Daughter.”

  Sister Daughter. I held in a chuckle.

  “I am the daughter of our founder Elijah Levinsworth Ellsworth, and President of the Daughters of Metamora.”
>
  Levinsworth Ellsworth? This kept getting better and better.

  “I would like to welcome my granddaughter Mia to her first Daughters meeting. Stand up, dear!”

  Mia stood awkwardly while everyone clapped politely, then she retook her seat and resumed whispering to Stephanie.

  “The minutes of our previous meeting have been read and approved,” Irene said. “Now on to new business. Our first item on the agenda is the painting of Ellsworth House, now owned by my son, Benjamin Hayman, and occupied by his estranged wife, Cameron Cripps-Hayman.”

  “I wouldn’t say estranged,” I said, prickling at her word choice. “Ben and I talk daily, or almost daily.”

  “Nevertheless,” she said, “the issue today is the painting of Ellsworth house. Purple and green.” She closed her eyes, like it physically hurt her to think about it.

  “Lavender and sea foam,” I corrected. “But actually, I think it’s more of a sage.”

  Fiona stood up. “The chair must recognize you before you speak.”

  I drew my pinched forefinger and thumb across my lips, zipping them. After this business was finished and I left, they’d probably all sit around getting a good laugh from Fiona’s stories of my Civil War dinner misadventures.

  Who was I kidding? The whole town had probably already heard all about it.

  “Do any of our Daughters have an opinion to share on this matter?” Irene asked.

  Fiona stood, and Irene nodded in recognition. “I think it’s an eyesore,” Fiona said vehemently. “It’s right across the canal from the train depot. What will visitors think of our town? It looks like it’s turning into a ghetto.”

  Well. Fiona had done a good job of suppressing her wrath the night before.

  I glanced around the room, afraid of who might blast me next, and caught Mia’s eyes. She smirked, like this was the most fun she’d had in a long, long time.

  Cass stood up and waited for Irene’s go-ahead. “I like it,” she said. “It’s not bright or gaudy. The colors are muted and coordinate well. Cameron hired local help and bought her paint and supplies in town.”

  “Your boyfriend,” Sue Nelson said, standing. Fiona didn’t utter a word about her needing recognition from the chair to speak. “Of course you wouldn’t take issue with Andy getting paid. And going by your taste in interior decor, I’m not surprised you think the colors are muted and coordinate.”

  “Susan, that’s not nice,” Elaina said, wagging her finger at her daughter. “You’re in no frame of mind to pick out house colors.”

  Sue pressed her shaky lips together and sat back down, turning her eyes out the window again.

  Irene pounded a gavel on the coffee table in front of her. “I think we’ve heard enough. Let’s vote. All in favor of Cameron Cripps-

  Hayman repainting Ellsworth House white?”

  Everyone but Cass raised her hand. Judy and Betty gave me apologetic looks but held up their hands as well.

  “By an overwhelming majority,” Irene said, “Cameron, you have thirty days to paint the house white again. Thank you for attending our meeting. You’re dismissed.”

  Dismissed. Wonderful. “What happens if I don’t repaint the house?”

  “Fines begin accruing at thirty days, Ms. Cripps,” Irene said, purposely leaving off the Hayman. She lifted a penciled eyebrow at me. “Any other questions before you leave?”

  Giddiness bubbled up inside me. This was all so absurd. I couldn’t hold back the tickles of laughter in my throat. “No,” I said and did my best to look dignified as I dashed from the room and out the front door so I could burst into a full-blown fit of hysterics.

  I drove Monica’s car home with tears streaming from my eyes from laughing so hard. I don’t know what was so funny. I was being sued and had no money for a lawyer. I had to borrow my sister’s car because mine was crushed, and now I had to come up with more money to buy new white paint to repaint the house I had just started painting purple.

  Wait until Ben found out about this.

  I parked in my driveway and dug through my handbag for my cell phone to call him. After pulling out a dog bone, a bottle of hand lotion, and the case for my missing sunglasses, I finally found it and dialed his number.

  “Your mother’s making me repaint the house,” I said.

  “Before or after you go to jail for aiding and abetting a felon out on bond wanted for questioning in a murder case?”

  “Aiding and … ” Nick! Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to hide him from Sheriff Reins in my shed.

  “I’ll be over to talk to you in ten minutes, Cameron. Don’t go anywhere or I’ll have you arrested.”

  Oh good gravy.

  • Fifteen •

  Did you forget that I was here Friday morning?” Ben asked, hands on hips, pacing around the kitchen. “I even told you Mia was outside talking to Nick Valentine.” He stopped and threw his hands in the air. “You knew I saw him here! Then you lied to Reins about it. Do you know what kind of position that puts me in?”

  Sunday was turning out to be just as terrible as Saturday. I stuffed a cookie in my mouth and muttered, “Sorry.”

  “Sorry?” He ran both hands over his head and got those wide, wild eyes he got when he didn’t know what to do with me. “What am I going to do with you, Cameron?”

  “What are you going to do with your mother? That’s the question,” I said. “She’s costing us a fortune. First the lawsuit, and now repainting the house. I’ve got five-gallon pails of purple and green paint that I can’t return, you know.”

  He stepped toward me and looked down at me with hard, all-business eyes. His mouth was a tight line of anger. “I can’t afford to pay for a lawyer and get the house repainted on top of buying you a car. If you weren’t always waging war with my mother, you wouldn’t be getting sued or repainting the house. You have to admit that. Take some of the blame for the mess you’re in.”

  “I can admit it! Okay? Your mother is a giant pain! She hates me and goes out of her way to drive me crazy.”

  “Can’t you ignore her?” he said, dropping his chin, like he was exhausted with this subject that had been an ongoing source of conflict for us for four years.

  “No, I can’t. I won’t tuck my tail and hide in the corner when she smacks me on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper. I’m not her dog to train and order around. I won’t let her treat me like that, Ben, and you shouldn’t want me to.”

  “What can I say, Cam? I’m a terrible husband. How was your date last night?”

  I clenched my fists at my sides. “The most interesting part was seeing your dead girlfriend’s sister driving her car—the car you want to buy me—and picking up Jenn’s ex-boyfriend from work. Very curious, don’t you think?”

  He started pacing again. “Zach Kennedy and Jenn went out for a couple years. It got physical a couple times, and I was called out to break it up. She never pressed charges. She broke things off about the same time you and I separated, and he went ballistic, said she’d regret it. Swore he’d get her back.”

  Ben knew everything I’d overheard at the Cornerstone and more. “He’s a suspect, right?” I asked. “I mean, he’s the most obvious.”

  “He’s been questioned, but he has a solid alibi for that night. He’s been taking community college classes, and the professor recorded him as present that evening. After class, the professor and a handful of students—Zach included—went out for a few beers. He was drinking so he stayed overnight with one of his female classmates instead of driving home.”

  “The guy gets around if he’s with Lianne less than a week later.”

  “We don’t know if he’s with Lianne.”

  “Still,” I said, “it’s weird. Why would she hang out with a guy who was so terrible to her sister?”

  Ben shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  I didn’t either, but I w
anted to find out.

  He opened the fridge and took out a Coke, hopping back when Isobel snapped at his foot.

  “Don’t look at me,” I said, avoiding what I knew would be a dirty look. “She’s only nice to Monica.”

  “Maybe she should go home with her then.” He pulled the tab to open his can and took a drink. “Speaking of coming home … It’s been a couple days. Did you think about me moving back in here?”

  “Of course I thought about it.” I wanted to tell him yes, but I knew the right answer was no. I wasn’t at the right place, mentally, to have him come back yet. Still the words battled on the tip of my tongue. Yes, no, yes, no …

  “And have you decided?” He sat down and touched one of the red roses he gave me for my birthday, sitting in their vase in the center of the kitchen table.

  “Nothing’s really changed, has it?” I said, sitting across from him. “I’m the aimless wife with nothing going on for herself, and you’re the cop who gets frustrated and bossy.”

  “I’m not bossy,” he said. “Frustrated on occasion, but not bossy. And what do you mean aimless? I don’t think you’re aimless.”

  “I need my own identity here, Ben. I had one in Columbus. I think that’s one of the things you liked about me, isn’t it? I haven’t found who I am here, though. I’m getting there.”

  “So, I wait until you find yourself, is that it?”

  There was a moment between us where I felt something break, a connection being snapped in two. Whoever we were together before, we couldn’t be again. I wasn’t the woman I used to be, and the new me would eventually have to decide if she could take Ben back, even though he’d always be in my heart.

  “Yes,” I said. “If you want to be with me, you need to wait until I know who I can be here. This was your place, Ben. We moved here, and you were given a house and a job. The prodigal son returned. I’ve made some friends, but it wasn’t easy. Now I need to do more and find my place.”

  “I wouldn’t say prodigal son. It’s not like I left and raised hell.”