by Donna Ball
She chuckled. “Well, as long as you’ve got some help.”
Pepper, who had been trying so valiantly to get Cisco’s attention all this time, gave it her best shot with a running dive and a nip on his shoulder. Cisco returned an annoyed snap and her ears went down; she tucked her tail and ran to the other side of the yard. Cisco leapt up on the fence again and barked at Cameo. I didn’t want anyone’s feelings to get hurt, so I decided a little judicious intervention was in order.
“I’ve got to go, Sonny,” I said, standing. “Cisco is making an absolute fool of himself over Cameo. I’ve never seen him act like this before.”
She laughed. “He’s in love.”
I started down the steps. “If they weren’t both neutered, I’d be worried.”
“Love is about more than sex, Raine,” she advised sagely.
Once again I sighed. “Don’t I know it,” I said. “I’ll talk to you later, Sonny.”
My last duty of the day was to feed all the boarders and turn them out into their individual outdoor runs while I washed their dishes and made sure their kennels were clean and sanitized for the night. All the kennels at Dog Daze have raised beds, but some of the boarders bring their own fluffy beds, blankets, or personal toys, which sometimes become the victims of accidents during the day. I tossed a few such misfortunes into the on-site laundry and went back to my office to close out the computer.
I spent a fortune remodeling Dog Daze last year, and Miles, whose crew was in charge of construction, might have added a few items for which I was never billed—like the oversized industrial dishwasher that washed and sanitized all the dog dishes so they did not have to be done by hand—although I was never able to precisely nail him on it. The result was that Dog Daze is way more luxurious than my house, with air-conditioning and radiant heated floors throughout, piped in music, the aforementioned washer-drier, a kitchenette, two bathrooms—one with a shower so that I don’t have to run back to the house to clean up when a dog throws up on me or I slip in the mud during an agility class—and even a bunk room where I’d spent more than one night during the winter simply because it was warmer than my house. So I don’t really mind working long hours at Dog Daze, especially when I can take Cisco down with me and squeeze in a few extra minutes of agility practice between chores. Tonight, however, Cisco was interested in nothing but Cameo, who was still in the rescue run, and it was clear his heart was not in the practice. I left him flat on his belly with his nose pressed against the crack at the bottom of the door while I wound up the day’s business.
According to the paperwork Crystal had given me on Cameo, her owner’s name was April Madison of Highlands, Virginia. I knew she would have half a dozen messages already from the microchip company and from Crystal, but I wanted to make sure my contact information was also on her list, so I called and left another message. While I did so, I took Cameo’s pink rhinestone collar back to the grooming room and started scrubbing out the scuffs and dirt with saddle soap. That was when I noticed something odd.
A few stitches had been neatly sliced away from the double layer of leather just near the buckle, and I could clearly see the shape of a small round object inside. I finished leaving the message for April Madison and went back to my desk where, after a moment’s rummaging, I found a letter opener with which I used to pry the object out.
“Whoa, Cameo,” I murmured, setting the small metal button in the center of a sheet of plain paper on my desk. “You must be more valuable than I thought.”
Although I had only seen them in specialty high-tech catalogues and online, I was pretty sure what this was. It was a GPS locator of the kind commonly used by cops and spies and, more recently—and much less commonly—by owners of championship dogs and cats who had a tendency to wander. The only thing I couldn’t understand is why someone who would go to all the trouble to microchip a dog and put a GPS locator in her collar would be careless enough to lose her in the first place.
Tourists. I’d never understand them.
CHAPTER FIVE
I live in a big old farmhouse that was built in a time before climate change, when thick green forests and a complete lack of asphalt made air-conditioning unnecessary. Even now, I make do with ceiling fans and open windows in most rooms of the house, but I relented a few years back and put a window air-conditioning unit in my upstairs bedroom, where the temperature can easily climb above eighty degrees in the daytime. The hum and hiss of its motor is soothing white noise to me, and that’s probably why I did not hear the intruder until it was too late.
In fact, there’s a good chance I wouldn’t have heard anything at all if it hadn’t been for the nightmare. The bomb, the car, Cisco, Melanie and Miles who wouldn’t run no matter how much I screamed at them, no matter how hard I tried to warn them. And then a sudden, explosive sound that propelled me upright in bed with a choked, indrawn scream, my pounding heart shaking my whole body, gasping for breath. Cisco and Cameo were standing at the window that didn’t contain the air-conditioning unit, heads forwards, tails curled, staring out intently. I realized that the sound that had awakened me was the bark of a dog only because, at that moment, Cameo barked again.
Of course Cameo should have been safely in her crate downstairs with Pepper, Mischief, and Magic—my bedroom really wasn’t big enough for all five dogs—but the way Cisco flopped down in front of my closed door with his nose pointed downstairs, emitting a loud sigh every thirty seconds or so, assured me that the only way I’d get any sleep that night was if Cameo joined us. I brought her upstairs, Cisco forfeited his duck-printed dog bed for her, and we were all sleeping soundly by ten thirty.
And so we remained until—I squinted my eyes at the digital numbers on the clock—four forty-five. It should have been pitch dark outside, but a glow of light illuminated the two dogs at the window clearly, and above the hum of the air-conditioning I could hear the faint staccato rapid-fire barking of multiple dogs. The kennel. Something had disturbed the dogs in the kennel, and triggered the security lights.
I came to this conclusion about half a second before Cisco gave a deep determined bark, and Cameo joined in the fray. Both goldens stood with their tails curled high and their feet planted stiffly, barking at something in the yard. I rolled out of bed and rushed to the window just in time to see the shadow of a man running across my yard away from the kennel.
“Hey!” I shouted.
I flung open the door and ran down the stairs in my bare feet, followed closely by two barking, galloping golden retrievers. By this time all three dogs in the living room were awake and barking in their crates and over the cacophony. I thought I heard the sound of an engine starting. I flung open the door just in time to see the flash of taillights midway down my drive. I wouldn’t have seen anything else of use at all except that the curve of my driveway brought the fleeing automobile into the momentary reflection of the kennel security lights.
It was a blue sedan.
I found my rain boots in the hall closet and pulled them on before racing across the yard in my nightshirt to the kennel building. I was vaguely aware of Cisco bounding along beside me, barking just as though the burglar—or whatever he was—had not already escaped. The window glass was unbroken, and the lock clicked open as I punched in the code on the keypad. Nonetheless I checked the petty cash and the locked drawer in my office where I kept the checks from day’s receipts. All accounted for. Apparently the barking of the dogs, along with the security lights, had scared the prowler off before he was able to do any damage. What kind of idiot tries to break into a dog kennel, anyway?
One thing was certain. I was not calling the sheriff.
I spent fifteen minutes or so passing out treats and trying to calm down the kennel dogs, then I turned off the interior lights and used a flashlight to cross the yard back to the house. At the bottom of the steps I stopped, my heart lurching with alarm. The front door was standing wide open.
I knew exactly what had happened. I’d rushed outside, pulling the do
or closed behind me, only it hadn’t caught. Cisco had followed me, because the instinct to run by my side was even stronger than his obsession with his new girlfriend. Cameo had no such instinct.
I caught Cisco’s collar and ushered him quickly up the steps and into the house, closing the door firmly behind us. Almost as soon as I did, I could have sworn I heard the back door slam closed, and I my heart jumped to my throat. I glanced wildly around the room, closing my fingers around Cisco’s fur and pulling him close. Had someone been in the house? Was he here now? What had I been thinking? I’d just seen someone running from the kennel; his partner could be inside, waiting for me; it might all have been a diversion just to get me trapped inside, and I’d been so worried about losing the dog that I’d blundered right into it. And me, a cop’s wife.
Ex-wife.
I stood frozen in place for a moment, heart pounding as I strained to listen. I heard nothing except Mischief’s claws clicking on the bars of her crate as she stretched to try to see what was happening. I eased open the door of the coat closet and found a heavy stick that I used to prop open the screen door when carrying things inside and, so armed, made my way through the house toward the kitchen. Cisco was fascinated by the stick and trotted beside me with his head up, waiting for me to throw it. I hoped I didn’t have to.
The back door was closed, just as I had left it, and when I checked the windows everything seemed quiet. The security lights were still on and I could have easily seen someone trying to flee across the yard. And why weren’t the dogs barking? If anyone had been inside my house they’d be having a fit by now. I was starting to think I’d imagined hearing the door slam when I checked the lock. The dead bolt was unlocked. I was sure I had locked it. I always lock it. Well, almost. But I’d locked it tonight … hadn’t I?
I twisted it closed and went quickly to check the rest of the house. I looked in closets and under furniture, behind draperies and in hidden cubbies. There was no sign of an intruder. And with every passing moment my heart sank deeper in my chest. Because there was also no sign of Cameo.
I called for her, I checked every room again, knowing all the while it was futile. She was a stray, she’d been frightened in the middle of the night, and there was an open door. Of course she’d bolted.
And I was as irresponsible as the owners who had lost her in the first place.
I pulled on jeans, took my flashlight, and searched the perimeter of the house, the yard, the kennel area, calling for her all the while. It’s an exercise in frustration to try to find a runaway dog in the dark; believe me, I’ve tried it before. She could have been hiding in a dozen different places, or deliberately running from me, or, as every instinct in my body told me she had done, she could have taken off for the woods the minute she was free.
Eventually I was forced to admit defeat. I returned to the house a little before dawn, where Cisco was watching for me with his paws on the window. He looked at me anxiously when I came in and I felt just awful. I sank to the floor and put an arm around him. “Oh, Cisco,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
I don’t think he understood.
CHAPTER SIX
As soon as it was light, I put Cisco’s tracking harness on him and took him out to search. He picked up her trail immediately, as I’d known he would, and it led straight into the woods and across the mountain, as I’d known it would. Those woods eventually join up with the Nantahala National Forest, and the odds against finding a single lost dog in all that wilderness, even with the aid of Cisco’s nose, were not good.
We searched for over an hour before I reluctantly called Cisco off. He looked uncertain and confused, because he was trained to keep searching until he lost the scent, and even training exercises ended with a mock “find” and a reward. But it was after eight and I hadn’t yet opened the kennel. We might well track miles into the woods on the trail of a dog who had too much of a head start to be found, and I simply couldn’t afford the wasted effort. There had to be a better way.
I played a quick game of tug with Cisco and let him munch down a handful of treats before we turned back. “It’s okay, boy,” I told him, ruffling his ears. “We’re not giving up. Just falling back to regroup.”
I had given Pepper, Mischief, and Magic their breakfasts before I left, but after last night’s incident I wasn’t comfortable about leaving them outside while I was away, either in my double-fenced kennel play yard or my fenced backyard. So, even though the kennel dogs were waiting to begin their day with breakfast and exercise time, the first thing I did was hurry to the house to release my own three charges from their crates. Then, with Cisco beside me, I trotted across the drive to Dog Daze.
I hesitated, glancing around, when I saw the bicycle with the paw print helmet dangling from the handlebars parked outside the gate. But when I heard the barking of a couple of dogs in their outside kennel runs, I hurried up the walk. The door was unlocked and I rushed inside. “Corny?”
He called cheerfully back, “Good morning, Miss Stockton!” He came from the kitchenette with a mug of steaming black coffee, which he presented to me. Cisco raced to greet him and sat, without being asked, at his feet, grinning up at him. Corny stroked Cisco’s ears and added, “The dogs are fed, the dishes are in the dishwasher, Chi-Chi and Dimples have had their meds, and I’ve just started opening the kennel runs. Oh, and I stopped by a farm stand on the way in for fresh blueberry muffins. I left one on your desk, warm from the micro.”
I stared at him. He was dressed today in red plaid Bermuda shorts and an emerald green shirt with white piping around the collar, matching green Crocs, and white socks. But that was not why I stared. “How did you get in here?” I demanded.
He straightened up from petting Cisco and looked confused. “The door?”
“It was locked.”
“Oh.” He waved that away. “I used the code.”
I glared at him suspiciously. “I didn’t give you the code.”
“Well, it was easy enough to figure out.” He looked pleased with himself. “Cisco’s birthday.”
Now I was the one who was confused. “How do you know Cisco’s birthday?”
He widened his eyes in every appearance of sincerity. “Doesn’t everyone?”
I sucked in a breath, and let it go. Two things were clear: I had to get a better security system, and I had to stop being so suspicious. The man had brought me coffee, for heaven’s sakes. And fresh blueberry muffins. And he’d fed the dogs and washed the dishes and Cisco adored him. So I said, in a much more patient tone than I had originally intended, “Listen, you really can’t just …”
And then I stopped as something occurred to me. “Corny, you didn’t happen to come back here last night, did you?” So much for not being so suspicious. “Maybe for something you forgot?”
“Gracious, no.” He smiled confidently. “I hardly ever forget things. Organization is the key to a happy life.”
I nodded, making such an effort to keep my expression pleasant and nonjudgmental that it’s a wonder my skin didn’t crack. I pretended to turn toward my office, and then looked back. “Oh, by the way … what kind of car do you drive? I need to know for, you know, the employment papers.”
The minute I said it I felt like a jerk. He made coffee. He brought muffins. He had not been tailing me in a dark blue sedan and he had not tried to break into the kennel last night. Why should he have, when he obviously could have just used the keypad? I was not just a jerk, but a stupid one as well.
But Corny looked not in the least offended. “Oh, I don’t have a car,” he assured me breezily. “They wreak absolute havoc on the environment. I’m a cycler all the way.”
“But …” Again I stared at him, somewhat at a loss for words. A bicycle might work fine on a college campus or in a suburban area like Chapel Hill, but these were the mountains, for heaven’s sake, with nothing but long rural highways to connect the widely scattered farms and houses to town. I finished lamely, “Are you staying nearby?”
“No
t far,” he replied cheerfully.
I should have been more persistent, but I already felt bad about practically accusing him of attempted B&E, and after he had come in early to feed the dogs. Besides, the faint sugary aroma of warm blueberry muffins lingered in the air, beckoning me toward my office. “Well,” I said, turning that way, “stop by my office when you get a chance and fill out the employment application and W-4. I’ll leave them on my desk. Go ahead and let the rest of the dogs out. I’ve got some phone calls to make.”
“Sure thing, Miss Stockton.” He practically skipped through the metal doors and down the corridor toward the kennels. I had to admit, I had never had an employee this excited about his job, and I resolved to be more gracious in the future.
I munched on the muffin and sipped my coffee while working up the courage to make the series of unhappy, embarrassing phone calls that were awaiting. The first one was to the vet’s office, just so they wouldn’t be surprised should someone happen to bring in the lost dog they had last released to my care. I admit, I was half hoping someone already had, but no such luck. The second was to the ranger station, where I left a message for Rick. I left a message on the machine of our newly opened animal shelter, just in case someone spotted her on the road and had the good sense to take her to the shelter. Then I started calling my neighbors up and down the highway, asking them to please call me with any sign of the missing golden retriever—not that they would have done otherwise. When it comes to dogs, I am everyone’s first phone call around here.
All the while, Cisco lay patiently beside my desk gazing up at me in hopes of a dropped muffin crumb. Because I felt so bad about losing his girlfriend in the first place, I saved the last bite for him—even though, to be honest, it was so good I wanted it all. While he licked his lips, I picked up Corny’s resume and dialed the first number on his list of references. It was a pet store whose doors had long since closed, telephone disconnected. The second was a grooming salon that didn’t keep records back that far. The third one claimed to remember Corny fondly, although they kept referring to him as a her and calling him “Corkie,” and gave him—or her—the highest recommendation. Coming from an assistant manager who didn’t sound old enough to be giving one anyone a recommendation, I supposed it was a start. The last call I made was to a Professor Rudolph; it went to voice mail so I left a message.
