There had to be an easy way out of this mess. Even if I elbowed him and got away, I didn’t want to put anyone at the Humane Society in jeopardy. Carver would just grab some other person to use as a hostage.
My mind was blank. He was right in assuming that no one would stop us. Though Carver couldn’t possibly know this, the staff had seen me there frequently in the past few weeks working with the dogs. All I had to do was put on a volunteer’s vest, walk straight in, locate Suds’s cage, and take him out.
Carver got out and opened my door. He leaned in, his eyes roaming down the length of my body. “You do realize, don’t you, John boy, that if you try anything, if the car isn’t right here, engine running, no police in sight when we get back here with Suds, this is the last you’ll see of little Allida. I’ll slit her throat on the spot. You got that?”
“I understand. I’ll be right here.” His face was pale and sweating profusely. He gave me the quickest of glances, then averted his eyes, not willing to face the part he’d played in dragging me into this mess.
Carver shut the door and grabbed my upper arm firmly, pulling me out of the car. “Come on.”
“Listen, Mr. Carver. I’m no heroine. You obviously love Suds and deserve to keep her. There’s no reason for you to go in there with me. I’ll just tell the employees that I’ve located Suds’s owner, pay the fine, and bring her to you.”
He laughed and leaned down, putting his face inches from mine so that I got another whiff of his foul breath. “Guess what, girlie? I don’t trust you out of my sight, either. Now let’s go.”
With slow, deliberate movements, Carver folded up his knife and stuck it in his back pocket. “Just to let you know, Miss Allie, this is a switchblade. I can whip the blade out before you can get to the letter h in the word ‘help.’“
I was impressed that he knew how to spell the word, but held my tongue. As we turned to head for the entrance, I caught a glimpse of John through the windshield. He tried to give me an encouraging nod, but his face was pale and he looked stricken.
Carver opened the door for me. I’d deliberately chosen the door on the right side of the lobby so that we’d have farther to walk. The warm air inside the building was heavy with animal odors that normally didn’t bother me, but under these circumstances made me gag.
There was what looked to be a family of three engaging a male volunteer in an animated conversation. A young woman named Skye was behind the counter. She looked up, caught my eye, and said, “Hi, Allida.”
I indicated Carver with my eyes and said, “Hi, anathema,” knowing that the word would be beyond Carver’s vocabulary and hoping Skye would at least be alerted to keep an eye on Carver.
Unfortunately, it was apparently beyond Skye’s vocabulary as well, for she chuckled and said, “You mean ‘Skye,’ don’t you?”
Though I again tried to point with my eyeballs, she had already turned her attention elsewhere.
“Keep going,” Carver said into my ear.
Nobody gave us a second glance as we pushed through the door into the hallway. Adult customers don’t need supervision during the day to go back here, and given that the vast majority of employees had seen me before, there was no chance that anyone would stop us.
The hallway was empty. The dog kennels were to the left, but the exit to the exercise pens was straight ahead of us. I could run for it. Just as the thought hit me, a young boy—seven or so—came bolting inside, followed by his parents. I hesitated, imagining Carver pulling his knife out of his pocket in front of the child, and the moment was lost. Carver laid a heavy hand on my shoulder.
“Let’s find Suds. Right now.”
“They won’t let us take her out without a leash,” I said, gesturing in the direction of the dozens of leashes hanging on the wall.
To get to the leashes, we would pass another area where there were always staff members and volunteers. If only some burly man would come out. That might distract Carver long enough for me to get away.
No one was near this door, nor by the laundry room on the other side. I grabbed a sturdy leash, torn between the hope that, if I went along with this quietly, Carver might just let me get his dog, perhaps he’d steal John’s car, and take off, at which point we could let the police handle him—and the realization that Carver was acting so irrational now, there was no guarantee that I’d ever have another chance to get away from him.
We went into the kennel area. There were twenty large cages here, all chain-link. To my surprise, only two men happened to be in the immediate area. They were prospective customers, walking through ahead of us, checking out the dogs. They were young and athletic-looking. If things came down to it, it was unlikely Carver could handle both of them at once. This was going to be my one opportunity.
Carver sensed this, too, and grabbed my wrist, his other hand on my shoulder. “Find the dog and get us out of here.”
The kennels were in their typical state of chaos whenever anyone walks through. The majority of dogs had rushed forward to bark at us, pleading with us in dog-speak to get them out of here.
My first thought was to throw open a batch of the cages to create a diversion, but Carver would pull his knife by the time I got one cage open. We passed the first couple of cages. Carver had such a tight grip on me that I couldn’t even reach a gate latch.
I finally caught sight of Suds. She would not be up for adoption yet because of her short time here. She was all the way at the end of the row. Even at this distance, I could see the bandages on her injured muzzle where Carver must have beat her. The sight filled me with rage.
Carver was looking around, as if concerned he had not seen her yet. One of the men checking out the dogs was coming our way.
“She’s right over mere,” I said to Carver, pointing with my free hand. The moment he loosened his grip on me to follow my gaze, I whipped my wrist around and threw my shoulder into his midsection.
My sudden motion surprised him enough that he fell back against the cages. With the racket this caused, both men looked our way.
“Help! He’s got a knife!” I yelled, hoping the man nearest the exit would go to get outside help.
Carver was struggling to regain his balance. I dove at him before he could get his knife out. His head banged against the white-painted cinder block partial wall that separates the two rows of kennels.
I was too slow. Carver shoved me down as if I were a child and grabbed the knife out of his pocket.
The man just a few feet away from us took off running for the exit, saying, “I’ll get help,” as he scrambled out the door.
Shit! The second man had left as well, and now I was on my own with this creep and his knife!
I kicked Carver blindly, men sprang to my feet, but I knew there would be no way for me to outrun Carver to the exit. I threw open the cage of a rambunctious mixed breed I’d been working with—part dalmation, part springer spaniel. She rushed out of the cage, distracting Carver for the half second it took for me to whip the leash at Carver’s face, the metal clasp catching him right in the eye.
Carver cried out in pain and brought his free hand up to his injured eye. I kneed aim in the groin, and he dropped the knife.
I kicked the knife away, just as Carver managed to get his hands around my neck.
“You little bitch! I’ll teach you!”
Just then, three men charged through the doors toward us. Carver loosened his grip on me at the sight, and I managed to elbow him in the Adam’s apple and break free.
While the men nearly barreled into me in their effort to grab Carver, I ducked down and snatched up Carver’s knife. One man tackled Carver and another bent his arm back.
Carver growled and struggled to free himself, but the men had him firmly pinned. Meanwhile, the dog I’d freed was in a frenzy, scared by the men’s struggle, and tried to jump up on me. I turned my back on her, which, as with almost any dog, immediately made her get down, then I grabbed her collar and pulled her back into the cage.
&nbs
p; I tried to thank my rescuers, but my voice came out in a croak. I put a hand on my throat. My throat and voice box were in horrible pain. The memory of Carver choking me with his strong hands was not going to leave me anytime soon. “Police,” I managed to utter.
“Skye’s already called them,” one of the men said.
The Boulder police arrived and took Carver away. Another officer drove me to the station house to make a report and later drove me home. My day’s schedule had been shot to hell, but I was just glad to be alive and rescheduled everything for next week.
Ironically, Mom was feeling guilty for not having worried about me. When she found I’d left without saying goodbye— and without taking my car—she assumed Russell had picked me up to make my rounds with me, and had taken off herself shortly afterward. I changed into a turtleneck so that she’d stop staring at the red marks on my neck. She kept asking me if there was anything she could get for me, and, more to get her to stop than anything else, I sent her out for ice cream, claiming that would soothe my throat. Moments after she’d pulled out of the driveway, the doorbell rang. The full menagerie of dogs, puppies included, accompanied me to the door, where I looked out the peephole. It was Trevor’s sister, Luellen. I considered simply calling out to her to go away, but my voice wasn’t fully restored and I didn’t want to strain my vocal chords. I opened the door, but said nothing in greeting.
Luellen was wearing splashy-looking, predominantly blue pants augmented with gold lines and a scoop-necked T-shirt “Hello, Allida. I was in the neighborhood and wanted to check on Shogun.” She turned her attention to Shogun, who’d worked his way to the forefront “There’s my baby,” she cooed. “How’s my little man? Huh? How’s my little man?”
Her “little man” promptly got overexcited and piddled on the floor. We were getting accustomed to accidents with the proliferation of puppies anyway. Shogun began scratching at the wooden frame on the screen door. I opened it a crack. He squeezed out, and while he and Luellen greeted each other, I slid a newspaper on top of the newest puddle. She picked up Shogun, and we locked eyes.
“Trevor called me this morning. He told me you still have Shogun. You know just as well as I do that that dog would be best off with my brother. What’s the holdup?”
With a hand on my throat to soothe the pain, I answered, “If you or Trevor had told me that the dog was at your house the night after my neighbor’s murder, this would have been resolved back then.”
“We didn’t take him, Allida. I went looking for him when he was first missing, and I found him.”
“I’m supposed to believe you? After you tried to make me look like an idiot? After you lied to the police about your having Shogun?”
“Allida, I did some underhanded things, I realize. But they were all done in an effort to protect Shogun.”
“Protect him from what?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Can I come in?”
I herded the dogs back and shoved open the door, still too exhausted and cranky to be the least bit hospitable. Luellen stepped inside, but neither of us moved toward a seat. She ruffled his fur then set him down with the other dogs.
“When I found Shogun, Allida, he was frightened out of his wits. He didn’t even recognize me, and he bit my hand when I first tried to pick him up. It was as if he were running for his life.”
Only then did I notice that she wasn’t wearing the wrist braces she’d had on the previous times we’d met. “That’s what you were wearing the wrist supports for? To cover up your dog bite?”
“Right. I put them on to hide this.” She showed me the characteristic puncture wounds across the fleshy part of her hand between the thumb and fingers. The bite marks could only have been made by a very small dog, such as Shogun. “I’m not exactly a walking advertisement for my dogs while sporting bandages from a bite wound.”
“I can imagine.”
“None of my dogs has ever bit me before. And Shogun’s never bit anyone. This dog is as gentle as a bunny. He only bit me because he was in such a state of terror. I just couldn’t let him go back there to Edith. I believe she killed that woman. That’s why Shogun was so frightened.”
“If she chased after him or hurt him, maybe, but I can’t see Shogun having been capable of interpreting whatever he might have seen and concluding that he was in danger.”
“Maybe not. But all I know is I’ve always warned Trevor about Edith. She’s a self-centered, evil-minded woman. I think if Shogun had bit her instead of me, she’d have had him put to sleep.”
I tended to agree with that assessment, and the sentiment must have been written on my features, for Luellen studied my face for a moment then smiled. “Allida, I know you’ll make the right decision. But believe me, Shogun would be safer with Trevor than here, so close to that woman. I wouldn’t put it past her to...do something terrible to Shogun, just to keep Trevor from ever enjoying his company again.”
On that note, Luellen turned on a heel and left.
I stared across the street. The police tape was down from Edith Cunningham’s house, and I got a glimpse of her through her front window. As much as I wanted to curl up in the fetal position and stay safe for the rest of the day, Luellen was right I needed to get this issue regarding Shogun resolved. I had already met with Trevor. I needed to do the same with Edith.
I called her on the phone. When she answered, I asked, “Would this be a good time for me to come over with Shogun and finally have our appointment?”
“As a matter of fact, this isn’t terribly good timing. I only just now got back into my house. I shouldn’t even be here; I’m supposed to be at my store, but there are some things I need to take care of.” She paused and sighed. “However, I am anxious to see Shogun again. How long would you estimate that this will take?”
“Half an hour at the most.”
“All right, then. Let’s get it over with.”
She hung up abruptly, which I assumed meant I was to come over posthaste. I wrote a note to my mom that I was at Edith’s and would be back ASAP, and that I hoped she could just stick my ice cream in the freezer for me.
Though I now had that nicely personalized bed for Shogun, no one had given me his leash, and I wanted to test Shogun’s reaction as we neared his former home. It would be interesting to see if he was anxious or reluctant to get there.
I foolishly grabbed Doppler’s leash right while he was in the room. This, of course, immediately signaled to Doppler that we were going for a walk, and my snapping it on Shogun’s collar instead of his was likely to lead to a power struggle between the smaller dog duo. Before leaving, I reached into my emergency supplies in the coat closet and gave Doppler a rawhide bone, which more than compensated for the temporary use of his leash.
Shogun and I left through the front door. To my surprise, Shogun had been leash-trained. He stayed right by my side and sat the minute I stopped at the roadside. “Shogun, heel,” I ordered out of curiosity as we started out to cross the street. He hopped up and again walked perfectly at my left side, his pointy ears up and his mannerisms happy and proud.
To test his reaction, I slowed my pace and gave Shogun full lead as we headed straight for the Randons’ walkway, which was directly across from mine.
To my surprise, Shogun started up the walkway as if this were a visit he was accustomed to making. And yet Cassandra had been so dog shy, it would have been strange for either Edith or Trevor to bring the dog when going next door.
As soon as the leash got tight as I quit following the dog up the Randons’ walkway, Shogun stopped, looked back at me with hunched shoulders and hanging head—the dog expression of embarrassment—and trotted back over to me. When I deliberately didn’t move, to see which way he headed, he let out a little whine and started toward Edith’s house, then sat down, waiting for me.
As soon as I took one step down the sidewalk in the direction of his former home, he started happily trotting ahead of me, pulling on his leash. This was a good sign, to my way of think
ing. It was good news to everyone, in fact, except possibly Trevor, but for all I knew, Shogun might be hoping to see Trevor in his house. Dogs can be infinitely patient when expecting to return to their old routine, which meant, for Shogun, both owners at home.
I started getting the heebie-jeebies as we neared the Cunninghams’ house. I immediately stared at the gate, noting that this time it was shut, and tried to blink away the hideous scene from a few days ago that had returned unbidden to my memory.
Out of curiosity, I removed Shogun’s leash. The dog raced up the walkway and to the front door, which meant this was a common return route for him, as opposed to his heading toward the gate at the side.
I rang the doorbell, and Edith swung open the door, looking her usual elegant self in a tailored dress suit—predominantly rust-colored, which matched her lipstick and brought out the auburn highlights in her hair. As usual, her cosmopolitan attire struck me as incongruous with our rural setting, but maybe that was just me.
“Hello, Allie,” she said, with her version of warm smile that struck me as more for show than heartfelt. Her use of my nickname was a bit offensive. Normally only my closest friends call me Allie, and she was far from that category. I noted, too, that she was focused on me and not her own dog, her vision not drifting down in the least.
She continued to pay no attention to Shogun even as she ushered us inside her house. The little dog rushed ahead as Edith led me to the center of her tastefully furnished living room, where we remained standing.
As a test, I wanted to keep her engaged in conversation not related to Shogun to see how long it would take till she even noticed her supposedly beloved dog. “Edith, I was wondering when that sale you were telling me about was going to start.”
“Today, as a matter of fact, which is why this is so inconvenient.” She appraised my attire and said, “I can do wonders for you. Give you an aura of professionalism.”
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