Shepherd's Crook

by Sheila Webster Boneham

  “You don’t look like you need much more stimulant, Dr. Saunders.” You look like you might leap out of your skin. As soon as I had the lid back on my mug, he backed out of the driveway, a big grin on his face. I glanced at the doggy boys, both of them panting happily. “The boys are in for a surprise,” I said.

  We beat the morning rush and were on I-69 headed south just as the sun prepared to clear the treetops. Tom slipped a Grupo Putumayo disc into the CD player, set it to background volume, and sang along to the beginning of “Madre Selva.” I took my own advice to the dogs and tilted my seat back a tad, savoring the morning light and the pleasure of being cocooned in a small space with three of my favorite friends. The coffee was rich and warm and smooth, with no acid bite and just a suggestion of cinnamon. I reached for the cooler, hoping for a bear claw or at least a bagel with cream cheese.

  “You call this breakfast?” I asked, pulling out a container of sugar-free low-fat Greek yogurt, a baggie of hard-boiled eggs, and an orange.

  “You said you were cutting out sugar and bread.”

  “And you believed me?” I sighed, fished a spoon from the bottom of the cooler, and opened the yogurt. “At least it’s key lime.”

  “If you start to feel faint, we’ll stop at the first rest stop and get some junk food from the machines,” said Tom, patting my knee and grinning sideways at me. “Shopping trip a success?”

  “It was.” We laughed about the sales clerk’s confusion over my status as daughter, not mother, of the bride, and I changed topics. “Still no sign of Bonnie.”

  “No. I talked to most of the neighbors within about a mile last night. But there’s a lot of land, and more than a little of it covered with woods and brush.”

  The idea of that lovely little dog lost or hiding alone out there made my stomach heave. “We have flyers out all over the place, and Giselle has been posting to social media. Luckily, I had some pretty good photos of her from Saturday. Bonnie, not Giselle.”

  We rode in silence for a few minutes. Leo had been abducted once, and my eyes still burned when I thought of that time. As far as I knew, Tom had never had a pet go missing, but I’m sure he could imagine the pain and guilt, fear and second-guessing the experience brings on. Even if Bonnie wasn’t our dog, her disappearance had spurred a lot of dog lovers to help with the search. I knew that if we found her, someone would give her a good home.

  The sun cleared the tops of the trees and slammed into the side of my head. I pulled the visor to the side and down, but it didn’t reach far enough, so I gave up on my semi-reclining position and re-adjusted my seat. Maybe it was my movements, maybe it was the brighter light, but the mood in the car shifted again.

  “Guess what?” Tom’s face was all grin.

  “Let me guess … You’re getting a puppy?”

  He laughed. “That too. But there’s more.”

  “You have a new book contract?” That was true, too, but it was week-old news. Tom had signed a contract with Indiana University Press for a book on something to do with herbs and magic among New Agers in the desert southwest. He’d spent the previous summer doing fieldwork in Arizona and New Mexico, so much of our early relationship had developed over the phone and through emails.

  Tom pulled me back to the moment. “More.”

  “I think you’re going to have to tell me.”

  “The house is sold!” He was practically bouncing in his seat.

  “Yeah? The second showing?”

  He nodded. “I accepted the offer last night. The realtor called while I was out looking for Bonnie, and I signed the paperwork on my way home.” He grinned at me.

  “So now we wait to see if they get the loan approval? How long—”

  “Nope.” Another glance and grin my way. “It’s a cash deal.”

  I couldn’t imagine having enough cash to pay outright for a house. “No kidding?”

  “They’re moving back here after thirty-five years in the Bay area, so they came with big-time equity from their house,” he said. “And they want to close and take possession as soon as I can get out.”

  Whoa, screeched both my little voices. I’d been counting on a leisurely adjustment period between offer and closing to let me ease all the way into this realignment of the earth’s axis. I’d been living alone for decades. So had Tom. Neither of us was completely inflexible, but we had developed our own ways of living. It’ll be fine, said Janet Devil, eager as always for adventure and risk. Oh dear oh dear oh dear, muttered Janet Angel. He’s tidy. You’re not. He cooks. You don’t. He’s easy going. You’re a hot head. He minds his own business. You snoop. Not that I hadn’t thought of all that many times already.

  “Janet?” Tom’s voice, still excited but stitched through with a slender thread of worry.

  “That’s great news!” I said, meaning it. “I was just thinking … . I’ll have to speed up the reorganizing.” I had promised to clear out my guest-cum-storage room to make an office space for Tom, and I hadn’t made much progress. Plus we had to decide which pieces of whose furniture we wanted to keep. I might have to take Goldie up on her offer to lock me out and purge, as she put it, “all this crap.” And then there was the little matter of Phil Martin’s pet limit bill. “So, what are you thinking, time wise?”

  “How does May Day sound?”

  May Day! May Day! “Perfect,” I said.

  twenty-four

  An hour and a half into the drive, Tom took the Pendleton exit, turned west onto State Road 38, and engaged his GPS system. “They’re just this side of Noblesville,” he said. “I think we should take the boys out before we get there.”

  He was right. Most breeders with young puppies aren’t keen on having strange dogs on their property. Even healthy dogs can bring in disease, and puppies who have been weaned but not yet fully vaccinated are vulnerable. We pulled into the parking lot beside a small branch bank and walked Drake and Jay across a side lawn to a gnarled redbud in its full glory. The sky overhead was clear and blue, but gray clouds rolled across the horizon and, judging by the prevailing wind, were headed our way.

  Ten minutes later we turned onto a county road and found the mailbox we were told to look for. “Kurt and Karen Williams, Sycamore Labrador Retrievers” was stenciled under a pair of Lab faces, one black, one yellow. Tom parked in a gravel pull-off and grinned at me. “Wait ’til you meet the ‘screening committee.’”

  Karen Williams opened the door before we were up the steps, and five adult Labs surrounded us, shouldering each other out of the way to check us out. Tom scratched chests and tail-bases with both hands. One black boy with grizzled muzzle and eyebrows leaned against my leg, his paw on top of my foot, and gave me that woeful look that retrievers do so well. I pulled on the strap to position my camera in the middle of my back and leaned down, talking softly and scratching the old dog’s chest while he made little groany sounds.

  “Guys, guys, that’s enough,” said Karen, a laugh in her voice. The four younger dogs broke off their attentions and ran back into the house. “Tom.” She nodded at him and turned to me and my new friend. “Fowler, that’s quite enough, you old flirt.” She guided the old dog toward the door with a gentle hand, held out the other, and said, “Karen Williams. You must be Janet.” When I felt the confidence of her hand in mine, I couldn’t help but think of Phil Martin’s flaccid imitation of a handshake.

  Karen ushered us through the door and said, “The screening committee seems to approve of you both!” She led us to a great room at the back of the house and sent the dogs out through a sliding door. Fowler hesitated, turning big eyes on me for help, but Karen laid a hand on his shoulder and said, “No you don’t, you. ‘Everybody out’ includes old guys, too.” The dog sighed and walked slowly onto the outside deck.

  Karen positioned a baby gate across the end of the hallway we had come through and looked at us, a sparkle in her eyes. “Ready for the nex
t wave?”

  Tom sat down on the floor, his back to the couch, and grinned at me. Karen opened a door to another room off the kitchen. There was the sound of scrambling on the vinyl floor, a soft whump! against a something out of sight, and five roly-poly Lab puppies bounced and slid into the room followed by a yellow bitch with drooping boobies and a whirligig tail.

  I may have squealed. I set my camera in a safe place and joined Tom on the floor. Lucy, the mama dog, inspected us both, switching between us as she confirmed that we were okay to be with her puppies. And the puppies! Three blacks, two yellows, and if you can find anything cuter than baby Labs, I’d like to see it. They were all over us, clambering onto our laps, untying our shoelaces, tugging on our clothes.

  A few minutes in, Karen took Lucy, the three black pups, and the yellow boy back to their room, leaving the yellow girl. Tom threw a few toys, and the pup brought them right back. I stepped outside and took some photos of the big dogs, and when I came back in, Tom had the yellow girl cradled in his arms. She was relaxed and quiet as he rubbed her soft round tummy and they studied each other. Call me a sap, but my eyes stung and my throat tightened.

  “Winnie,” said Tom, and the puppy lunged at his face and licked his nose. “She looks like a Winnie.”

  “Perfect,” I said.

  It took another quarter hour to do the paperwork. When that was finished, Tom handed me the folder and scooped up his baby dog. Karen walked us to the car, where Tom set Winnie in her crate. She wagged her little tail with perfect Labrador enthusiasm, sniffed Drake and Jay through the bars of their crates, and let out one loud yip. The boys stood and sniffed back, Jay’s rear end vibrating and Drake’s tail waving slowly. Puppy girl bowed at Drake, jumped at his face, and bounced off the wires that separated them. Drake pulled his head away from the wires and gave Tom a look that seemed to say, “Really?” Winnie spun around and repeated the maneuver with Jay, and he pushed his nose against the bars, whining softly. Drake lay down facing away from the puppy and let out a low, grumbly moan.

  “You’ll adjust, old man,” said Tom. To me he added, “Change is hard.”

  No kidding.

  We stopped to eat in Anderson. Tom seemed to glow with happiness, and my doubts about our next move—his move—drifted away. Most of them, anyway. I knew we were great together, and that I could depend on him. He wasn’t the problem at all. The problem—my problem—was the reality of giving up my long-standing autonomy. But you’ve already made most of the adjustments, whispered a voice. That was true. But hanging out at one house or the other knowing that the one who didn’t actually live there would go home eventually offered a safety cushion that cohabitation did not. Better get over it soon, MacPhail.

  After lunch, we found another stretch of grass behind another business—an auto parts store this time—where we could let the dogs out for a pee. It was also a good place to introduce each of the boys to the puppy, up close and extremely personal. We had just pulled in when my phone rang.

  “Janet, have you heard the news?” It was Giselle, and she was talking faster than a terrier after a squirrel. She sounded angry.

  “No, we left early to pick up the puppy.” My lunch turned into a cannonball in my stomach. What now? “We’re in Anderson, on our way back. What …” I started to ask, but a terrible thought stopped the question in my mouth. Please, not bad news about Bonnie.

  “The city council. They released the details of the bill.”

  Tom cocked his head at me, a question all over his face, and I shrugged.

  “The bill?” My heart was beating so loud in my ears that I wasn’t sure I heard her.

  “The pet limit bill?” Giselle must be upset, I thought. She’s back to her old habit of speaking in interrogatives. “I thought of you and Tom right away. It’s going to affect so many people and pets. And they’re being very hush hush about when the public hearing will be.”

  Tom pointed at the clouds to the northwest. They were bigger, darker, and closer than before, so I told Giselle I would have to call her later.

  “But Janet,” she said. “It’s worse than expected.”

  I didn’t want to spoil the fun of picking up the puppy, so I tried to keep my voice light. “Okay.”

  “They want to set the limit at four pets per house. Two dogs and two cats.” Giselle paused. “Oh, you don’t want to spoil the moment. I’m sorry. I guess I already did?”

  “That’s fine.” I forced a lilt into my voice. “I’ll call you later.”

  “Wait! One other thing?” Giselle spoke quickly.

  “Okay,” I said. Tom gave me a look and stepped out of the car.

  “I thought you’d want to know. Hutch told me … they got the coroner’s preliminary opinion, you know, pending the autopsy on that man Ray? You were right. It wasn’t suicide.”

  twenty-five

  I shoved Giselle’s double whammy as far back in my mind as I could and walked Jay onto the grass. Tom was already there with Winnie. Jay whined softly and I could almost hear him say Aww, a puppy! Winnie ran right to him, licked his chin and lips, rolled on her back, spun in a circle, and jumped on his head. Jay stood still but for his wiggling tail.

  “Well, this is promising,” said Tom.

  Jay flopped on his side and rolled onto his back, and Winnie crawled over his throat and straddled his head. He squirmed, and the pup ran around him in goofy loops until their leashes were a twisted mess.

  “Okay, little girl, that’s enough of that.” Tom was laughing as he picked her up and snuggled her under his chin while I unwound the leashes. When I looked up, Winnie was pasting kisses all over Tom’s grinning face. She stopped, sniffed his beard, and grabbed it. Tom gently lifted her away with both hands, then set her on the ground and led her away. Deprived of her boy toy, she squatted on the grass. “Hurry up,” he said, and when she’d finished peeing, Tom gave her a tiny treat from his pocket. He wasn’t trying to rush her, he was beginning her “go on cue” training right from the start. Having a dog who does her business when you say so can be very handy.

  “Trade,” said Tom, holding the puppy’s leash toward me. “I’ll bring Drake out. He seemed a little grumpy.”

  I wouldn’t say he was grumpy, but he didn’t seem thrilled, either, about the bouncing bundle of joy on the leash I held. If anything, Drake seemed incompetent, like some people I’ve seen who freeze in close proximity to human toddlers. When Winnie jumped at his face, Drake backed away. Tom hunkered down beside him and draped an arm over the big dog’s shoulder. With his other hand he scooped the puppy onto his knee and held her. Drake seemed more comfortable with her restrained, and he sniffed her face and neck and paw. She licked his face. Drake shifted on his front feet and looked at Tom, then back at the pup. He heaved a big sigh as if to say, “Okay, if this is what you really want.” Drake drew his big tongue up Winnie’s cheek, then leaned into Tom’s side. Something in my chest tightened as I watched Tom hug the black dog and, laying his cheek against Drake’s glossy head, murmur, “Don’t worry. You’ll always be my best Labby boy.”

  The first raindrops hit the windshield as we pulled out of the parking lot, and by the time we were back to the concrete hum of the interstate, it was raining in earnest. The wipers tapped out a steady rhythm, and Tom hummed along. It was something he did when he cooked, and when we walked hand-in-hand some evenings. I don’t think he even knew he was doing it. At first I couldn’t make out the tune, and then I got it. “Singing in the Rain.”

  I shifted in my seat and looked at the dogs. “All sacked out,” I said. “Jay and Winnie are nose to nose.”

  “Aww,” said Tom, and winked at me. “So what was Giselle upset about?”

  “Did I say she was upset?”

  He glanced sideways at me.

  “Nothing.”

  “Janet, you’re tapping a hole in the armrest. Just tell me.”

  “The
city council released the details of the pet limit bill.”

  “Stupid,” he said.

  “Worse,” I said. “If Giselle had the details right, the limit is four. Two dogs, two cats.” And you’ve sold your house and we now have five pets. We could have moved out of the city limits to escape the ruling, but I didn’t want to move. I loved my little house. Sharing it was going to be adjustment enough—I didn’t want to sell it.

  The only sounds in the car for the next few minutes were Winnie’s paws dream-racing against the floor of her crate, Drake’s soft snoring, and the rhythm of the windshield wipers. Inside my head, though, all sorts of thoughts were banging around. The stupid new law and the dilemma it created for us. Bonnie lost on this wet, chilly day. A killer on the loose. Finally Tom took my hand in his and said, “We’ll figure it out.”

  I hoped he meant our living arrangements, because I was still reluctant to get involved any more deeply in a criminal investigation, especially murder. Either way, Tom was right. We’d figure it out. We always did. I just couldn’t imagine how.

  twenty-six

  Tom broke the silence as he slowed into the curve to exit onto Coldwater Road. “What else did Giselle say?”

  “The coroner has ruled that Ray’s death was not suicide.”

  “But you already thought that.”

  “I didn’t know him well, but,” I paused, trying to assemble the pieces into a hint of a picture, “suicide just didn’t seem to fit. But neither does murder. It seems like his death must be connected to the theft of the sheep, but that seems a bit extreme.”

  “Do we know for sure they were stolen?”

  “What do you mean? You think they ran away?”

  “You said Summer and Evan were having money problems, yes?”

  I considered the conversation I had overhead. “I think so. Summer wanted to sell some of the sheep a few months ago, and I got the impression it was to pay some bills. But she called the police and reported the missing animals stolen …” I let my voice trail off as I considered the possibilities.