Putting on the Dog

by Cynthia Baxter

  I wished I felt the same way. Instead, I let out a deep sigh, resolving myself to the fact that I was in for a long evening.

  But at that point, I had no idea that the giggling, teasing, and knee-squeezing would turn out to be the least of it.

  “Still afraid to touch me?” Nick murmured as we stumbled toward the guesthouse, draping his arm around me and drawing me close.

  My head was spinning, no doubt the result of Marcus’s insistence upon ordering a third bottle of wine. That, combined with the massive infusion of hormones that had permeated the air throughout dinner, made the idea of climbing into bed with Nick an exceptionally attractive proposition.

  “Now that the social portion of the evening is over,” I returned, “I don’t have to worry about mussing your hair. As for untying that bow tie, I’ve been waiting for the chance to do that all evening.”

  Nick and I slid through the front door, glommed onto each other. Lou immediately bounded over, sticking his nose in my hand and, as usual, insisting on being the focus of my attention.

  “I’ll let the dogs out,” I told Nick. “It’ll only take a minute.” I moved aside to let Lou out.

  My Dalmatian just stood there, staring up at me anxiously.

  “Great,” I muttered. “Lou’s suddenly decided he’s afraid of the dark. And where’s Max? What on earth has he gotten into?”

  Lou barked, as if answering my question. Then he skittered around me in an agitated fashion.

  “Quiet, Lou!” I ordered. “For goodness sake, where’s Max. Max?”

  I headed into the bedroom, impatient over my Westie’s uncharacteristic lack of cooperation. It was late; I was tired; and all the wine I’d consumed as a way of getting myself through the unsavory evening had caused cobwebs to form in my brain. Wherever I went, Lou insisted on charging after me. I ignored him as I scanned the small bedroom, looking for Max. There was no sign of him.

  “Max?” I called again, becoming increasingly frustrated. I strode into the kitchen, nearly tripping over Lou.

  “Come on, Louie-Lou,” I pleaded. “I really don’t have time to—”

  “Did you find him?” Nick asked.

  “No. You haven’t, either?”

  I looked at Nick and saw the stricken look on his face.

  “We have to find Max,” I insisted, a flash of heat shooting through me. The cobwebs were gone. “Where is he?”

  Lou barked again. I looked down, focusing on him for the first time since I’d gotten home. And realized he’d been acting strange from the moment I walked in.

  “I’ll look outside,” Nick suggested, striding toward the door. “Maybe he got out.”

  “Max?” I cried, my eyes darting around the room. The feeling of panic was escalating. “Max? Where are you, Max?”

  Lou barked once more, a sharp, staccato sound that cut right through me.

  I went through the house once again, with Lou scrambling beside me everywhere I went. “Max?” I called again and again as I checked under the bed and in the closet. I even dropped to the floor to peer under the dresser. It was only three inches off the ground, a space that was much too small for a Westie to fit into. But I was growing increasingly desperate.

  “Max? Max? Where are you?”

  My voice had been growing more and more shrill as my feelings of panic escalated. At this point, I was practically shrieking.

  Nick came back in, his expression pinched. I knew the results of his search without asking. I could no longer ignore what was obvious.

  Max was missing.

  Chapter 17

  “Man is an animal that makes bargains; no other animal does this—no dog exchanges bones with another.”

  —Adam Smith

  A horrible sick feeling came over me, twisting my stomach into such tight knots I had to wrap my arms around my waist to keep from doubling over. My mind raced, as if a bizarre slide show was running out of control, flashing one horrific image after another on a screen. I pictured every mistreated animal I’d ever seen, from heartbreaking pictures in textbooks to emergency cases I had treated with my heart in my throat. Only this time, every one of those scenarios featured my precious Westie.

  Interspersed among the slides I dredged up from my memory were more current shots: images of the dead animals that someone had left on my front porch. First the mouse, then the rat, then the cat...

  “Oh, my God!” I gasped, blinking hard to stop the stinging in my eyes. The gesture didn’t keep the tears from streaming down my face. “Max!”

  A more rational voice emerged from my despair, trying to take over like a responsible parent. You’re jumpingto conclusions, the voice insisted. You don’t know what actually happened. Maybe Max simply managed to escape from Shawn’s property. Maybe he’s running around the neighborhood, chasing squirrels and having the time of his life.

  I darted out the front door, ignoring Nick’s pleas that I stop a minute to think.

  “Max!” I cried, sprinting across the lawn. Lou loped alongside me, barking furiously. “Maxie, where are you? Max, please !”

  I ran blindly in the darkness, darting around without paying attention—until I turned abruptly and collided with something.

  “Whoa, hold on!” Shawn cried, grasping me by my shoulders. “What’s going on? I heard you out here, yelling your head off.... Are you okay, Jess?”

  “No!” I returned. “My dog is missing! I’m afraid something awful has happened. I’m afraid that somebody—”

  Shawn ran his hands up and down my bare arms. “Hey, he’s probably just off sniffing around some female dog in the neighborhood. Chill!” The matter-of-factness of his tone, combined with his easy grin, only irritated me.

  “But somebody’s been killing animals! Somebody’s been—”

  “Hey, what’s all this?” Shawn clutched my shoulders more tightly. “This isn’t like you!”

  “You don’t understand!” I exclaimed. “I’m afraid somebody took him!”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Shawn interjected. “I mean, who would—?”

  “I hate to say this,” Nick muttered, coming up behind us, “but you never should have gotten involved in Barnett’s murder.”

  “Maybe.” I swallowed hard. “But I thought I could handle it.”

  “ ‘Handle it!’ Jess, we’re talking about murder! If you didn’t learn anything the first time you were crazy enough to get involved in something like this—”

  “You’re really not helping, Nick,” I shot back. “In fact, I probably should never even have told you about what I was doing in the first place. I guess this is what I get for thinking that maybe, just maybe, you’d actually support me—”

  “Sounds like you two don’t exactly have much of a communication thing going on,” Shawn observed.

  “Hey, can’t you see the lady’s upset?” Nick snapped.

  “Sure,” Shawn came back, “but it sounds like you’ve got some major issues. Like I said—”

  “This is none of your damn business!” Nick took a step closer to Shawn. “If you had any sense, you’d keep your nose out of this—”

  “If I had any sense! Seems to me you’re the one who—”

  “Do the two of you think you could control your testosterone for just a minute?” I shrieked. “My dog is missing! Max is gone! Isn’t there anything we can do?”

  The ringing of the phone inside the guesthouse shot through me like gunfire. I jerked my head in that direction, but stood frozen.

  “Stay here,” Nick said evenly. He sprinted inside, with Lou cantering beside him on his long, spindly legs. Shawn and I were left alone together on the lawn.

  “If anything’s happened to my dog...”I told Shawn. “I’m going to search every inch of the neighborhood. Maybe I’ve got this whole thing wrong. Maybe he’s hurt, or lost, or . . . or . . .”

  “I’ll help,” Shawn offered. “Want me to see if I can find a couple of flashlights?”

  I didn’t have a chance to answer. Nick was al
ready coming out of the guesthouse. He walked toward me with a determined stride, Lou still at his side.

  It wasn’t often that I saw Nick look shaken. So the expression on his face—and the way all the color had drained from it—set my heart pounding.

  “Who was it?” I demanded.

  “I’m not sure. All I heard was a tape.”

  “A tape?”

  “Music. And then they hung up.”

  “What ‘music,’ Nick?” I asked, bracing myself.

  He hesitated. “It was that old song, ‘How Much is That Doggy in the Window?’ ”

  “Hey, I know that one!” Shawn said brightly. “From when I was a kid. I remember the part about the ‘waggily tail.’ ”

  “Oh, my,” I breathed. “How did they know the phone number?”

  “Easy,” Nick replied. “When they went in to get Max, they probably checked the phone. The number’s written right on it.”

  “Sure,” Shawn said. “Since I mainly use the place to put up friends, they have no way of knowing the number otherwise.” He frowned. “Hey, what do you mean, ‘When they went in to get Max?’ Don’t you guys keep the guesthouse locked?”

  “We haven’t bothered,” I admitted. “The lock is so tricky, and we only have one key....”

  A lightbulb suddenly went on in my head. “The window!” I cried. “Maybe it’s a clue!”

  Nick put his arm around my shoulders. “I’ll go inside with you to check.”

  “A clue?” Shawn seemed baffled. “What is this, some kind of game?”

  Nick cast him a cold look. “Believe me, this is no game.”

  As I walked into the guesthouse with Nick on one side of me and Lou on the other, I didn’t know what I dreaded more: finding something or finding nothing. The same sick feeling still enveloped me, and terrible fantasies about what could have happened to my sweet Maxie played through my head.

  Our first stop was the living room window. With shaking hands, I pulled back the curtain.

  Nothing. Nick and I stared at the ordinary windowsill for a few seconds, studying it as if it were a fascinating painting.

  “The kitchen,” I suggested, my throat so dry it was difficult to utter even those few syllables.

  Lou stuck close, following us the few steps it took to reach the next room. This time, Nick reached up above the sink, pushing away the cheerful flowered fabric. I was prepared to find the same empty windowsill we’d encountered in the living room. This time, we weren’t as lucky.

  The cry that escaped my lips sounded primal, a sound of deep and unchecked fear.

  Max’s collar. Sliced to shreds.

  “It’s gonna be okay, Jess,” I heard Nick say. But he sounded far away as I reached up and grabbed hold of the revolting little surprise that had been left behind, just for me. I was also dimly aware of Lou, his barking now persistent and shrill.

  I grasped the strip of red leather, just staring. Trying to process the fact that some despicable person had put a great deal of effort into slicing the thick piece of leather into ribbons—and trying not to think about what else that person might be capable of.

  I was vaguely aware of the sound of heavy footsteps on the front porch.

  “Hey, did you guys find anything? Or was that sick phone call just—whoa.” Shawn stopped in his tracks. He leaned over to get a closer look at the mutilated remains of Max’s collar that I still clutched in my hand. “Boy, somebody really got off on this!” he marveled. “Looks like they used a razor. Wow, it’s like they’re deranged!”

  “You’re not being very helpful,” Nick told him sharply. “And Lou, be quiet!”

  “It’s okay,” I insisted, my voice a hoarse whisper. “Shawn’s right.” I reached down to soothe Lou with my free hand, stroking his velvety ears the way he liked and pulling his head close so that it rested against my thigh. The motion seemed to calm him. I glanced down and saw him gazing up at me, looking mournful and confused.

  “This is really creeping me out,” Shawn continued. “I mean, this is my property. What if all this has something to do with me?”

  “I don’t think it has anything to do with you,” I said in a low, even voice. “I think it’s all about Devon Barnett’s murder—and the fact that I’ve been trying to find out who’s responsible.”

  “I get it,” Shawn said, more to himself than to Nick or me. “Like somebody wants you to butt out.”

  “Exactly,” Nick replied with surprising patience. “Somebody like the murderer.”

  Shawn nodded solemnly, as if he had developed new respect for the seriousness of the situation. “Listen, Jessie, if you want, I can put you in touch with a great bodyguard. A couple of them, in fact. I use them from time to time, like if I’m going to a premiere or a highprofile party. Believe me, there’s nothing like some six-foot-three guy who weighs in at two-eighty and knows a few karate moves to keep things nice and peaceful. Just say the word.”

  “Thanks, Shawn,” I said, and I meant it. It wasn’t a bad suggestion. “I don’t think I’m quite at that point yet, but—”

  “Jess,” Nick interjected, “I think that—maybe for the first time in his life—this guy’s got a good idea.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” I assured them both. “But for now, I just want to...” I laughed hollowly. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to begin, where to start looking—”

  “Look, we’ve got to call the police again,” Nick insisted. “It’s one thing to dial nine-one-one to report that you can’t find your dog. But it’s something else entirely when somebody starts making anonymous phone calls— and leaving behind little ‘gifts’ designed to scare the shit out of you.”

  I simply nodded.

  “In the meantime, I’ll drive around the neighborhood. Max could still turn up.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. “Thanks.”

  I made the call to the East Brompton Police, then waited an eternity until a uniformed cop showed up to take my statement. He looked a lot more impressed by the fact that Shawn Elliot was with me than he was by my claim that my dog had been kidnapped. Nick came home an hour later, reporting that he’d seen no sign of Max.

  For the moment, at least, there was nothing else to be done.

  I slept fitfully that night, enduring an endless stream of nightmares. In each one, I chased Max through various locations, ranging from endless stretches of barren land to East Brompton’s chic downtown. I would catch a glimpse of him every now and then, just long enough to realize that no matter how fast I ran, the distance between us kept growing larger and larger.

  I was actually glad when the shrill ringing of my cell phone dragged me out of my restless state of unconsciousness. But I was immediately swamped by anxiety—and the memory of what had happened the night before.

  “Hello?” I gasped, my heart pounding at a sickening speed. I hoped against hope it was good news.

  “Hey, Popper. It’s the Marc Man.”

  My spirits plummeted. “Marcus?” I croaked. I glanced over at Nick, who was still snoring. Like me, he’d spent most of the night tossing and turning, and I didn’t want to deprive him of whatever sleep he could grab. Then I checked Lou. Not only was he awake; he was watching me anxiously. A feeling of horror descended upon me with such force I was finding it difficult to breathe.

  “Just calling to say thanks,” he went on smoothly. “You know, Popper, you really did me a favor. Fixing me up with Foxy Suzanne was one of the best things anyone’s ever done for me.”

  Given the fact that my Max was missing, celebrating my success as a matchmaker wasn’t a very high priority. The fact that I’d regretted getting involved in the role of social director from the instant I’d first uttered his name only made the whole thing seem more irrelevant.

  “Marcus, I didn’t ‘fix you up,’ ” I mumbled, rolling out of bed and moving into the living room. Lou padded after me, clearly not about to let me out of his sight. “I just happened to mention you to Suzanne in passing,
and she—”

  “Oh-h-h, Su-san-nah...” he began to croon. “I can’t believe I’m going out with a fox!”

  I sank onto the couch. “Marcus—”

  “Der der der! Der der der!” Much to my horror, he’d started making weird sounds, doing a pathetic imitation of the late Jimi Hendrix’s electric guitar. Lou’s ears twitched, moving back and forth as he tried to process the odd noises coming through the phone. “Fox-y ladeee...”

  “That’s Dr. Fox!” I corrected him sharply. By this point, I was wide-awake. While Max’s disappearance was first and foremost on my mind, I was starting to remember that there were other individuals I cared about—and that I was just as concerned about their well-being. “Listen to me, Marcus. Suzanne happens to be a very good friend of mine. She also happens to be at an extremely vulnerable point in her life right now. If I find out you’ve treated her badly—”

  “The Marc Man—treat a foxy lady badly?” Marcus cried indignantly.

  “You’re not exactly Mr. Sensitive when it comes to the opposite sex,” I pointed out.

  “I’m a new man, Popper! I’ve changed!” Marcus sighed. “I never thought the day would come, but I believe that foxy lady has turned me into a one-woman man!”

  At least, for this week, I thought grimly.

  After he’d hung up—certain that the annoying beep that kept interrupting us was a call from Suzanne—I lay on the couch, the phone still in my hand as I stared at the ceiling, thinking. Even in the midst of everything else that was going on, I definitely had to make time for a woman-to-woman talk with Suzannne—the sooner, the better.

  The opportunity arose more quickly than I expected.

  “Jessie?” Suzanne asked in a squeaky voice after my cell phone rang a second time. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

  Thanks, Marcus already took care of that, I thought. “Nope. I’m awake.”

  “Jessie, how can I ever thank you for introducing me to Marcus?” she cooed. “You never let on what a sweet guy he is!”