“I just want to give you a heads up.” A twitch tugged at his left cheek, then stopped. “That guy, that Rasmussen, he came by the station this afternoon.”
I turned off the engine and stepped out of the van so Hutchinson wouldn’t have to keep leaning over. “Okay.” A half-dozen thoughts were spinning like dervishes in my brain, and I couldn’t get any of them to slow down enough to come into focus. “And I’m guessing that had something to do with what happened last night?”
Hutchinson cleared his throat. “Right. He lodged a couple of complaints. Against me, first. And you.”
“For …?”
“For not arresting you and Ms. Shofelter for trespassing.” Half of his mouth smiled at me. “My lieutenant told him not to waste his time.” The smile faded. “But I think the guy has some juice downtown.” He shrugged and said, “Whatever.”
“Wow, I’m so sorry. Such a big fuss over four little cats.”
Hutchinson’s smile was back with bells on. “Aren’t they great? Ms. Shofelter says I can come see the kitties whenever I want to. Aren’t they just the cutest little things?”
Every so often something like this—this lonely hulk of a man who had fallen for three newborn kittens—restores my hope for our species.
“Definitely the cutest little things, Hutchinson,” I agreed. I paused for a moment, then decided that I might as well reinforce Hutchinson’s position as an ally. “He wanted to kill them, you know.”
Hutchinson’s hands stopped moving and a deep furrow formed between his eyes. “Who?”
“Rasmussen. He wanted to kill the kittens.”
At first I thought Jay had gotten out of the van somehow, but then I realized that the growl was coming from Officer Hutchinson. It was hard to tell in the light coming from the porch and headlights, but his face seemed to have changed color, and his breath was coming out in audible puffs. Then there was a loud snap, and half of Hutchinson’s pen spun skyward, hit the hood of my van, and landed with a faint clatter.
I put my hand on Hutchinson’s jacketed forearm and said, “It’s okay. They’re safe now.”
He cleared his throat with what appeared to be some effort, then called Rasmussen a couple of spectacular names before he went on. “There’s more. He said he was reporting Jay to Animal Control as a vicious dog, and was considering a civil action.”
“Vicious dog?” The accusation was baseless, but I had been involved with dogs long enough to know that such an allegation can take on a life of its own. “Jay was nowhere near the guy.”
“Yeah, I know. But he said Jay growled at him.”
My heart was picking up speed. “Yeah, he did, when Rasmussen pushed me.”
Hutchinson’s face brightened. “He pushed you?”
“A little. He started to, and that’s when Jay growled at him.”
“Did he actually touch you?”
“Yes,” I said, and reflexively grabbed my own arm where Rasmussen had laid his hand.
“Okay. That’s good, actually,” said Hutchinson. “I mean, … He didn’t hurt you, did he?” I shook my head. “Good. But the touching is a good reason for your dog to defend you. Legal weight and all.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Look, I’m going to have someone get a statement from you in the next couple of days, just in case he tries to do something rotten. I don’t know that any of this will go anywhere, but as I said, the man has some friends in high places. Better to be ready for him.”
Something gurgled just beneath my sternum. “You mentioned complaints against me. Is there more, besides Jay?” I asked.
“I’m not sure exactly. Trespassing. Breaking and entering. Like that.”
“Oh, come on!” Now you’ve done it, whispered my prissy little Janet angel, while her alter ego hooted how stupid is that? Just stupid enough to be a royal pain in the patoot, I thought. “The door was open.”
“Unlocked. Right. It’s in my report, along with the open window.”
“No, I mean it was open. Unlatched. It opened when Jay pushed at the bottom.”
Hutchinson pulled out his ever-present pocket notebook, wrote something down, and said, “I’ll amend my report. I didn’t know the door was open.”
We stood in the quiet for a moment, and then Hutchinson picked up the fallen half of his pen and said, “Well, better go. I just wanted to let you know.”
“Thanks, Hutchinson. I appreciate it, and I hope you’re not in trouble.”
“Yeah. I mean no, I don’t think so.” He turned to go, then turned back. “Hey, Janet, don’t, you know, I mean, I don’t talk about the kitties, you know …”
That broke right through all my little fears and I started to laugh. “Oh, big tough cops don’t go squishy with itty bitty kitties?” I play punched him. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”
The basic pet obedience class was just finishing up and the members who come for more advanced training just starting to arrive when I got to Dog Dayz. I walked Jay around the exercise area for a few minutes and used one of my own poop bags to pick up after some dog-owner who was apparently too busy or fastidious or just plain rude to do it. As Jay sniffed every square inch of the grass and marked over nine or ten other “messages,” I scanned the parking lot. Tom’s van wasn’t there yet, but Alberta’s SUV was parked near the back door. A blue minivan with bumper stickers that said “Parents of twins do it twice” and “I ❤ Cocker Spaniels” sat next to it. I smiled at that. I was having a lovely time watching the Eckhorn twins, Meggie and Lizzie, grow from babies into girls, and their mom, Sylvia, was something special.
I grabbed my training bag from the van, flicked the locks, and had Jay heel beside me as we entered through the back door and headed for the ring at the far front of the building. The pet owners were clumped together at one side of the back-most ring, their dogs sitting or lying or spinning in circles beside them while the instructor gave them their marching orders for the week. As I walked by, I heard her say, “You can’t expect your dog to be trained with one hour of class a week. So reinforce good behavior whenever you have the opportunity.” I’ve always thought that it’s too bad we can’t follow pet owners around and hand them cookies when they are good people and help their dogs learn.
Sylvia waved at me from the front ring, where she was working with Tippy, her sweet parti-colored Cocker. The puppy that Sylvia had kept from her spring litter was shaking the stuffing out of a toy in an exercise pen set near the wall. I staked out one of the folding metal chairs to use as home base for the evening, told Jay to lie down and stay, and started fishing around in my bag for his dumbbell, thinking we could warm up and get in a few retrieves before the group practice session started.
A teenaged boy slouched a few seats down fiddling with a cell phone. Texting or playing a game, I guessed. He glanced at me when my training bag thunked onto the metal chair and I said hello. He grunted and returned to his gadget. I was sure I had seen him before, but I couldn’t think where.
“Janet! Oh my! I’m so glad you’re here!”
The voice made me jump, not so much for its presence as its panicky tone. I looked up and said, “Alberta. What’s wrong?”
“Janet, I’m so worried.” She laid a hand on her chest. “About Louise. You know, Louise Rasmussen.”
I assumed her concern wasn’t based strictly on events of the night before. “Why? What’s happened?”
“Oh, my. I’m just so … Louise walks every morning. I always see her. Always. Even in bad weather. And I didn’t see her this morning, and I haven’t seen her all day.”
“Did you try to call her, or go over there?”
She shook her head. “Charles was home, at least his car was. And that was just weird. He’s never home on a week day.”
She stopped to wheeze, and I took advantage of the opening to reorient the conversation. “Do you know w
ho that young man behind me is?”
Alberta peered around me and said, “Rudy. Rudy Sweetwater.”
“Candace’s son?” I asked. Candace Sweetwater was in the practice ring with her Papillon, Butch. I didn’t know her well, but I loved that she had not given her dainty little dog a dainty little name.
“The very one.” Alberta’s tone caught me up short, and I looked a question at her. “He was probably one of the little snots in that car last night,” she said. “And I can’t prove it, but I think he egged my car and defaced my garage door.”
I wondered whether he might have been the creepy figure who watched me at the pond.
Alberta’s voice broke into my thoughts. “I think he’s done something to her. Again.”
“What?” I thought she was still talking about Rudy Sweetwater.
“Charles. I think he’s done something to Louise.”
I remembered the frightened look in Louise’s eye the night before, and wondered again about the change in her when she came back to the studio later. That looked like a change for the good, but I couldn’t help wondering if she had done something later to bring the wrath of her husband upon herself.
“Do you know her number?” I asked. “Let’s just call her now.”
Alberta frowned. “No. And I didn’t bring my cell,” she said, patting all her pockets. When she hit the side pocket of her jacket, she gasped and pulled out an open envelope and waved it in my face. “And this! This is wrong! That man, I could just kill him.” Figure of speech or not, her phrasing turned a few heads our way.
“Who?” I asked. Who are you kidding, Janet? You know who she means. Still, I had to ask. “What are you talking about?”
“Charles! Charles Rasmussen, that’s who!” She shook folds from the paper and wheezed. “Just look at this!”
So I did. I didn’t read it closely, just scanned it, but that was enough to make my whole body go cold.
eleven
Tuesday morning found me cranky. Before I could get up, I had to unwind the sheet that had me swaddled into my bed, and Leo and Jay didn’t make the task any easier. Jay thought it was all a great new game and flopped on top of me to add to the fun while Leo grabbed my toes through the covers. “Oww! Get off!” Sadly for me, I couldn’t help laughing at the pair of them, which made Jay wriggle and Leo pounce all the more. “Come on, you big oaf! Let me up! I need to go! Oww, my toes!” When that didn’t work, I forced my voice into command mode and said, “Off!” Leo leaped from the bed and raced out the door. Jay stilled himself and looked at me as if he couldn’t believe I wanted to stop all the fun. I looked into his eyes, trying to make myself all alpha bitch, but he knows better and slurped my face. I hate to made my dog feel bad, but I really needed to get to the bathroom. I softened my voice and said, “Come on, Bubby. Please get off.”
He hopped off the bed.
I freed myself, stumble-slid over a couple of magazines I’d dropped off the side of the bed as I finished them, and staggered out of the bedroom. My watch said eight-twenty. I hadn’t slept that late in months, maybe years. Not that I wouldn’t love to sleep late most days, but between Jay and Leo, and friends who call at obscene hours (because hey, don’t photographers get up to catch the early light?), it rarely happens. Even so, I hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours. Alberta’s letter and Hutchinson’s warning kept me tossing until the late wee hours, and then they infiltrated my dreams. I couldn’t decide whether the queasiness I felt was prompted by apprehension or last night’s leftovers.
I glanced in the mirror and restored a modicum of sanity to my hair with a jaw clip. I decided to load up on caffeine before I attempted any other repairs, and felt even grumpier as I reached for the doorknob. A movement near my feet made me look down.
When I replaced the carpet in the hallway with pet-friendly vinyl, the bathroom door was left with a two-inch clearance. I looked down at the toes of two white paws poked into the bathroom and a smaller orange paw and forearm feeling around the tile floor. Leave it to the critters to make me feel better.
My cell phone played the Beatles’ “From Me To You” just as I started the morning kitchen routine. I decided this was a full-pot morning and set the coffee maker to work, fed Jay, fed Leo, let Jay out, toasted a bagel, let Jay in, and picked up the message. Tom said he was going to take Drake to Twisted Lake for a run and swim after his morning classes and offered to pick me and Jay up if we wanted to go along. According to the microwave clock, I might just catch him before his nine thirty class. I did, and declined.
“Come on. You’ll feel better if you get out in the gray November light.”
“I would, but I really have to go see Mom. I’m not likely to get there Friday, and Thursday’s iffy.” I didn’t have to add that I didn’t like to let too much time go between visits for fear that I would miss what was left of my mother’s cognitive presence. Every visit was different and I never knew what I might walk into. Sometimes she knew me and Bill and even Tom. She was always happy to see Jay when I took him along, although more often than not she called him Laddie, the dog of her young heart. But there were more and more of the other days now, and I was terrified that soon there would be none of the good ones.
We agreed that there was no reason for Jay to miss the fun of a lake visit, so Tom said he’d drop by my house, pick him up, and bring him back later in the afternoon.
“And, Janet, don’t worry about that jerk what’s-his-name. No one’s going to take him seriously.”
I wasn’t so sure, especially if Hutchinson was right and Rasmussen really did have friends in high places. I sat staring at my bagel crumbs while I considered my next move. The letter Alberta showed me the night before mentioned my name, sort of. It said “Jane McFall,” but they would correct that boo-boo if Rasmussen went through with his threat. He couldn’t get the police to arrest Alberta and me for criminal trespass, so he had already filed in civil court, citing “civil trespass.” I didn’t even know there was such a thing. I considered whether to call my lawyer, meaning my brother-in-law, Norm, now or after I was served. That might not even happen, I reminded myself, and I decided that the call could wait, at least until I’d had my shower.
Two hours later I sat at a sun-drenched table across from my mother, who had been paging through Fine Gardening when I arrived. She was fully present, at least for the moment, and was gushing and blushing by turns about one Anthony Marconi.
Tony Marconi? whispered Janet Demon. Really? But Mom was so buoyantly smitten with the guy that I held my tongue.
Mom leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “He’s so sexy!” The corners of her lips, her eyebrows, and her shoulders all flicked up and back down in unison.
“So when do I get to meet him, Mom?” And exactly when did these tables get turned? I was thrilled to see my mother so happy, but a little concerned that Anthony Marconi might not be entirely real for anyone but her.
“Right now.” She was looking past me and smiling. A dapper elderly man stepped up to the table, took her hand in his, and kissed it, sending her into a giggling fit. Still bending toward her, he smiled into my mother’s face and her eyes glowed with a light I hadn’t seen in them since my father got sick.
Marconi turned to me and bowed slightly. “You must be Janet.” Although he appeared to be in his mid-eighties, his skin was smooth except for a looseness along the jowl. His eyes were a warm blue ringed with laugh lines, and his salt-and-pepper hair was thick and curly. “I’ve heard all about you and that lovely dog of yours. Jay, if I’m not mistaken?”
I looked at my mother. She hadn’t remembered Jay’s name in at least a year. Not within my hearing, at any rate. She didn’t remember my name half the time. That’s why she was living here in the first place. I wondered if Anthony Marconi had flipped some switch in her brain that would hold off the evil force of dementia a bit longer.
Marconi pulled up a cha
ir and the three of us talked for another half hour or so. Somewhere around the ten-minute mark I realized that Mom and Marconi were holding hands. Twenty minutes in, I noticed something in their body language that bespoke an intimacy beyond casual acquaintance. When I left, I glanced back at them from the exit and knew it for sure.
Fine by me, I thought, and smiled all the way home.
twelve
I had just linked my camera to my laptop when Leo strolled in, scratched his ear, hopped onto the table, and sprawled across my keyboard.
“Leo mio,” I said, slipping the backs of my fingers across his cheek and down the length of his silky orange back. “Quiet around here, huh, buddy?” I glanced at the clock on my laptop. “They’ll be back any time now.”
Leo narrowed his eyes and chirp-meowed at me.
“Really, they will, although I hate to tell you, they’ll smell of lake water.”
Leo yawned and turned belly up, rolling several commands onto the keys and sending my photo management program into flashing seizures. I gently but quickly scooped his orange furry highness off the keyboard and onto the floor, where he feigned indifference, swiping a paw twice with his tongue and then strolling off with his tail crooked like an orange candy cane. The images on my computer screen were still dancing when I looked at it. They quickly ran through all the commands Leo had rolled out and I let out a long breath as the screen went still. Everything is backed up, but I still didn’t relish having to redo my newly edited files.
“Okay, then,” I said to the image on the screen. Leo’s rollover had opened a new file, and I was looking at a stunning rooster, his feathers shimmery blue-black, his comb a proud scarlet. It was one of many photos I had taken in July at the county fair. I smiled at the handsome bird and was closing the file when the phone rang, the kitchen door banged open, and Jay and Drake rushed me, all wriggle and wag, doggy grins and damp fur.
“Whoa, guys!” I pleaded as my chair rolled backward across my dining-room-cum-office. It came to rest against the wall and Jay popped his paws onto my shoulders and stared into my eyes, his whole being vibrating from his two-inch tail to his grinning face. Drake wormed his head into the space between me and Jay and wham wham whammed his tail against the wall. I lifted Jay’s paws off my shoulders, pushed him back, and let him down gently. “Come on, boys, give me a break! Off!” I tried to sound stern, but was laughing too hard to make it work. Still, both dogs obeyed and kept their feet on the floor. Leo watched from a corner of the counter, eyes half closed, nose and tail both twitching.
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