by Ann B. Ross
But not entirely haphazardly, for as I played the light around the room, I saw that two full fertilizer bags—one stacked on the other—had been placed a suggestive length from the side wall—the wall at the very back of Miss Petty’s property.
“Miss Julia!” Lillian hissed, as she stuck her head in the door. “Hurry up, that dog still cuttin’ up.”
“Just one more minute.” As I recalled Thurlow’s dog, I remembered it as being stiff and grizzled, much like Thurlow himself, and unlikely to be allowed to roam free. I was sure the dog would be kept inside on such a cold night. The truth of the matter was that after my first flash of fear, I was now too intent on what I was doing to pay attention to the sound of long-distance barking. Thurlow would think a cat was roaming around.
Carefully guarding the beam of the flashlight, I walked over to the two stacked bags and played the light over the cleared space around them. Large footprints were visible in the soft dirt, which could’ve been Richard’s or, most likely, those of investigating deputies. I shivered, picturing Richard’s final moments in this lonely shed, the pungent smell of mower gas and fertilizer filling his last conscious sense. At the thought of his dying moments, I swung the light beam around in case his ghost was hovering in a corner. I had to grit my teeth to keep from running out the door, screaming.
Making a mighty effort to be sensible and do what I needed to do, I turned the light back onto the stacked bags. There’d be no clues, I was sure, for the shed would’ve been thoroughly searched. Still, those bags put me in mind of something, and positioning myself to face the wall, I gingerly sat down on them, figuring that the indentation would perfectly fit somebody’s rump. It did, for it fit mine fairly well.
I sat for a minute looking at the blank wall, then moved the flashlight beam so that it threw a shadow against the wall. Right at eye level I saw a knothole in a board. Easing up close, I looked to see what I could see.
Well, of course it was black as pitch outside so who knew what Richard had been able to see. I couldn’t see a thing, but it was a hole to the outside because I could stick my fingers through it.
Pressing my eye to the knothole again, I suddenly gasped, “Oh, Lord!” I sprang up and headed for the door. A kitchen light in Thurlow’s house had come on, his back door swinging open as a huge, four-legged shadow came leaping out.
“Run, Lillian! ” I grabbed her and took off, that dog baying behind us.
“Oh, Jesus! ” Lillian gasped, making tracks as fast as she could. In fact, she passed me, holding out a hand that I grabbed and was dragged along with her.
Just as we reached the hedge, I felt something nudge up against me—from the back and unnervingly close to a personal place. I yelped and Lillian turned around, waving her arms.
“Get away! Shoo, dog! ” she hissed, but the dog turned its attention to her, its tail flapping against my side hard enough to give me a whipping. “Get, dog! Get from here!”
After recovering from the first shock, I realized that Ronnie wasn’t barking and that Great Danes are generally a friendly breed. I began to breathe again. Lillian, who generally steered clear of all breeds, was bravely pushing me behind her and trying to hold off the dog.
“He’s friendly, Lillian,” I whispered. “He’s not going to hurt us. Let’s just go and he’ll go home.”
That’s all we could do, so we did it, retracing our steps beside the hedge until we reached the sidewalk, our new addition dogging every step we made, his inquisitive nose all over us. We scurried along with backward glances at Miss Petty’s house, hoping it would stay dark. Ronnie kept right behind us, nudging Lillian now and then as she jumped and gave out a muffled shriek with each nudge.
“Go home, Ronnie!” I said as we hurried along the sidewalk, the dog bounding along with us. “The meat, Lillian! It’s the meat he smells. Give it to him and let’s get away from here.”
“Oh, Law, I forget.” She took the chunk of roast beef from her pocket and unwrapped it. Then she threw it behind us, and Ronnie jumped for joy, taking off to gobble it up when it landed.
We hurried along, practically running, especially after faintly hearing Thurlow calling and whistling for Ronnie. Expecting more than a snack, though, Ronnie wasn’t interested in going home. I looked over my shoulder as we neared Mildred’s house and saw the ungainly dog loping up behind us, his rear end slightly out of line, his tongue hanging out and a toothy grin on his face. He followed us every step of the way home.
Chapter 29
“How we gonna get in? ” Lillian asked, as we turned into our yard. “And what we gonna do ’bout him? ” She pushed Ronnie’s big head away, but he kept stepping on her feet and snuffling around her pocket.
“Look.” I pointed toward the back of our house where yellow light spilled from the kitchen windows. “Somebody’s up.”
As we approached the back stoop, I could see Etta Mae at the counter, preparing bottles. I tapped on the door, saw her head jerk up and her eyes widen in fright.
I pressed my face against the window in the door so she could see who it was. She took one look at my absurdly capped head, let out a shriek that would wake the dead, and hightailed it out of the kitchen.
Lillian rattled the doorknob, calling, “Miss Etta Mae! It’s us—let us in!”
I kept tapping smartly on the glass, but Etta Mae disappeared down the back hall, yelling, “Hazel Marie! Call the cops, they’re breaking in!”
Babies started screaming and so did Hazel Marie.
“Oh, Lord Jesus, what we gonna do?” Lillian moaned. “They gonna put us in jail.”
“Ronnie!” I yelled, turning on the dog, which had pushed his head under my arm. “Get away from me. Go home! ” The dog apparently had had enough of night roaming and wanted inside, where it was warm. He shouldered his way between Lillian and me, stood on his hind legs, and looked through the window. Throwing his head back, he started baying.
At my wit’s end by this time, what with the racket inside and out, I thought of running over to Mildred’s and using her phone just to get into my own house.
Just then, the swinging door from the dining room pushed open and Lloyd stumbled into the kitchen. Still in his pajamas, his hair standing on end and without his glasses, he peered shortsightedly around, looking for the source of the din.
Lillian and I tapped and rattled harder to get his attention. He looked our way, his eyes squinched up, trying to make out who was there.
“Lloyd, it’s us!” I shouted. “Let us in.”
Recognition partially dawned, and he crept closer to the door to be sure. Just as he put his face against the window on the other side, Ronnie leaped up again, looking at him eye to eye.
“Whoa! ” Lloyd said, springing back. Then I heard him yell toward his mother’s room. “It’s all right, Mama! It’s just a dog.”
Then, thankfully, he turned the knob, unlocking it, and the three of us—Lillian, Ronnie, and me—fell forward into the kitchen. Ronnie was delighted. His tail wagging with joy as it thumped against everything within reach, he licked Lloyd’s face with abandon.
“Who is it?” Lloyd yelled, pushing the dog away and scrambling away from us. “What d’you want?”
“Lloyd,” I cried, “it’s us! It’s us!” Realizing that the world was fuzzy to him without his glasses, I snatched off the cap, feeling the static electricity crackle in my hair.
He jumped back another step at the sight and screamed, “Mama!”
Hazel Marie came running from the back hall, swinging a lamp with the cord trailing behind her. Babies cried. Ronnie barked, and Lillian took off her coat and closed the door.
“Everybody jus’ hush up,” she said, having reached the end of her rope. “Nobody be breakin’ in. We jus’ let the door lock behind us, that’s all.”
“Oh, Lordy,” Lloyd said, patting his chest. “You scared the daylights out of me.”
Hazel Marie lowered the lamp—it was the one shaped like a rabbit that she’d bought for the nursery they
didn’t yet have.
“What in the world?” she asked, looking around, trying to figure out what was going on.
“Miss Julia an’ me,” Lillian said without turning a hair, “we hear something outside an’ we go see what it was. That’s when the door locked up on us, but it was jus’ this ole dog an’ we all get locked out.”
Every one of us turned to look at Ronnie, who’d found a heat vent. He circled it a couple of times, then flopped down across it with a great sigh. Putting his head on his front paws, he looked up at us with his great, mournful eyes.
“Well, for goodness sakes,” Hazel Marie said, as Etta Mae eased up behind her, holding both squalling babies. “I thought something awful was happening. Etta Mae was about to run out the front door with the babies.” She took one of the babies and jounced it a little, with no effect. “Let’s get them fed, Etta Mae. Lloyd, you all right?”
“Yes’m, I think so. I didn’t know who it was. All I saw was that dog.” We all turned to look at Ronnie again, asleep now on the heat vent. “He sure does smell bad,” Lloyd said, as the sour odor of old dog permeated the kitchen.
“Jus’ wait,” Lillian said darkly, remembering our first meeting with Ronnie a few years back when the activity of his digestive system nearly ran us out of the room. “He gonna smell worse’n that ’fore long.”
I could hardly wait to get in bed, so drained from trekking around in the cold and from the spurts of adrenaline brought on by fright that I was asleep by the time my head hit the pillow. Lillian and I had been gone only a little more than an hour, although it felt like a good bit more than that, so there was time for a few more hours of sleep.
We’d not lingered in the kitchen, even though everybody but Latisha had been up. The babies had soon quieted and gone back to sleep, as had Hazel Marie and Etta Mae. Lloyd, still in his flannel pajamas, had squatted beside Ronnie for a few minutes, crooning and petting him.
Lillian, who could hardly keep her eyes open, edged up to me. “What you gonna do with that dog? He need to go home.”
“Well, I’m not about to take him home now or call Thurlow to come get him either. I’ll call him first thing in the morning.”
“It already mornin’,” she grumbled, “an’ none of us have a lick of sleep.”
“Let’s go back to bed,” I said, heading out of the kitchen. “There’s time for a good long nap. Come on, Lloyd. That dog will be here when you get up.”
Lillian looked at me with disbelief. “You jus’ gonna leave him here in my kitchen?”
“He’ll be fine, Lillian. We’ll close all the doors so he can’t wander around. Besides,” I said, gazing at the slumbering dog spread out now over the vent and half the kitchen, “who’d be able to move him?”
So the house fell quiet as we went to our separate rooms and crawled back into bed. I’d intended to spend a few waking minutes going over the significance of Richard’s watching not Miss Petty’s house but Thurlow’s, but as I’ve said, I went immediately to sleep.
So deeply did I fall into sleep that I could not rouse myself when I heard Sam come in downstairs and push through the swinging door to the dining room. Instead, as my heart leaped with joy, the peace of having him home, regardless of the time of night, spread contentment and satisfaction throughout my limbs, dropping me further into sleep. He was home where he belonged, and I dreamed of the many ways I could welcome him back. I wanted to tell him how happy I was, and I wanted to hold him close, yet I couldn’t bestir myself enough to hold out my arms when he crawled into bed.
“Sam,” I mumbled, snuggling up against his back, “I’m so glad you’re home.” I felt his warmth enfold me, letting me know that whatever had come between us was now resolved. It was over and done with. I think I smiled the rest of the night.
Waking in the gray light of dawn, I found one arm and one leg hanging off the side of the bed as I clung to the edge of the mattress. Whatever resolution Sam had come to, he certainly had missed me. He was a deadweight against my back and had crept closer and closer to me during the night until he’d almost pushed me out of the bed. Being periously close to tumbling to the floor, happiness nonetheless flooded my soul. He was home! He could have the whole bed if he wanted it—I didn’t care.
Grabbing the corner of the nightstand, I pushed back to give myself room to turn over. “Sam, honey, move over. I need some room.”
Sam sighed deeply but he didn’t budge. I pushed harder, trying with one foot on the floor to get some leverage. Finally I was able to flip over, wrapping my arm around Sam and holding on to keep from falling off the narrow strip of bed.
Sam suddenly stirred, then sat up in bed, turning so that he was staring directly into my eyes. Then his tongue slid out and he licked my face.
I was in bed with Ronnie.
Chapter 30
“Thurlow!” I said through gritted teeth as I stood in the kitchen, gripping the telephone so hard my knuckles had turned white. Ronnie, the big sneak, was dancing around Lillian as she prepared breakfast. “Come get your dog!”
“Is that where he is? What’s he doing over there?”
“Don’t ask me, but it’s a pretty come-off when people let their dogs wander all over creation and wake people up and disturb a whole household and eat them out of house and home.”
I hadn’t told a soul where Ronnie’s wandering had taken him during the night, and I certainly hadn’t said who I’d thought he was. I’d never hear the end of it if I had. And I was still so low and blue at discovering it wasn’t Sam in my bed that I wasn’t in the mood to be laughed at for having thought it was.
Saying that he’d be right over, Thurlow hung up and I turned to Lillian. “Does that dog need to go out? I don’t want him ruining my rugs.”
“Big as he is, he ruin more than rugs, he take a mind to. But I already let him out, hopin’ he’d go home. Then here he come, jumpin’ on the door an’ whinin’ like he freezin’ to death. He been under my feet ever since. Move, dog!” She gave Ronnie a shove with her hip as he gazed from his great height at the eggs she was scrambling.
Thurlow appeared at our door within minutes, coming in and greeting Ronnie affectionately. “You been a good boy? Huh, have you, have you?” he said, petting him up, then turning to me. “I hope he’s behaved himself.”
“He’s been fine,” I said, although I nearly choked getting the words out. I would never in my life get over the shock of finding a Great Dane in my bed. I must admit, though, that other than taking up the whole bed, Ronnie had been a perfect gentleman.
After explaining that Ronnie had awakened us in the middle of the night, demanding admittance, Lillian and I glanced at each other, waiting to see if Thurlow believed us. Seemingly, he did, for he told Ronnie he’d have to do his business early from now on because he wasn’t getting out at night again.
Although I wasn’t yet ready to visit with Thurlow, I invited him to have breakfast with us and he accepted. Actually, I thought later that he’d been hoping to be asked. Lillian had to scramble more eggs and, when the biscuits ran out, put bread in the toaster. The man ate as if he were starved. I was just as glad that Mr. Pickens and Sam weren’t with us—somebody would’ve had to make a grocery run.
Hazel Marie and Etta Mae came to the table, each with a baby in her arms, and a fussy baby, at that. They squirmed and cried, and Lillian pronounced colic again, while Thurlow cast glowering eyes at the two little noisemakers. The ruction didn’t curb his appetite, however, or if it did, I’d hate to see him eat in peace. Latisha and Lloyd, preparing for school, only added to the uproar, while Thurlow heaved exasperated sighs at the goings-on. But not one word or one disparaging glance did he aim toward Ronnie, who was in everybody’s way as he lumbered around, hoping for a handout. I could’ve slapped his face—Thurlow’s I mean, not Ronnie’s, although having a dog as big as a horse in your kitchen can unsettle the most genteel of us.
But while I had Thurlow, I decided to save myself a trip to his house, which I had not been look
ing forward to, and subject him to an interview. Pursuant to that, I suggested that he and I take our coffee to the living room. He thought that was a fine idea, especially because Latisha was making known her unhappiness with the lunch Lillian had packed for her.
Thurlow took a seat on my sofa and I sat on one of the wing chairs by the fireplace. Before I could even begin to guide the conversation, Ronnie pushed through the swinging door in the dining room and bounded over to Thurlow. Pushing himself between his master and the coffee table, tail thumping against everything he passed, he collapsed on Thurlow’s feet. As the coffee table teetered, I had to spring forward to rescue my Steuben swan before it fell.
“Good dog,” Thurlow said, ignoring the near tragedy.
With Ronnie finally settled, I wracked my brain for a subtle way to broach the uppermost subject on my mind. After thinking up and discarding several roundabout feelers, I couldn’t for the life of me think of a subtle way, so I just came out with it.
“So, Thurlow, what do you think Richard Stroud was doing in that toolshed?”
“Dying. Or haven’t you heard?”
“Oh for goodness sakes,” I said, exasperated with him, “that’s not what I mean. I’m sure he didn’t go there to die, and that’s what interests me: What was he doing there all by himself in the first place?”
“Maybe he wasn’t by himself. Have you thought of that?”
“Who would’ve been with him? Nobody killed him. He died of natural causes, or haven’t you heard?”
That impish, almost malevolent, glint glittered in Thurlow’s eyes, and with a smirk he said, “Stroud wasn’t a young man, and any unusual exertion in an older man can bring on a heart attack. So,” he went on as if he’d figured it all out, “it stands to reason that whoever was with him hightailed it out of there when he keeled over. Let that be a lesson to you: as old as Murdoch is, don’t be making too many demands on him.”
