by Traci DePree
Jack ignored her.
“Susan, do you know who owns the dog?” Paul asked her.
She shook her head no. “When I moved from St. Paul, Scout was already at the house.”
At hearing her name, Scout turned her head and opened her mouth in a sort of smile.
“I have no idea how they got her, and of course the boys aren’t exactly helpful in telling us that story, are they?” She leaned forward as if she’d just spoken a big secret. “She’s a good doggie, though, aren’t you, girl?” Susan’s voice dissolved into baby talk.
Jack rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. “Don’t you have something to do, Aunt Susan? In the kitchen?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. The hurt expression on Susan’s face was unmistakable. “I’m interrupting. You’re absolutely right, Jack. You boys need to have your talk.” She stood, cheesecake and cocoa in hand, and Scout stood with her. “I’ll make myself scarce.”
She left. The sound of Scout’s nails on the hardwood floor followed her to the back of the house.
“You didn’t need to send her away,” Paul said.
Jack made a hmmph sound and took another bite of his cheesecake. “You should be talking to Carl. That’s who you should be talking to. He’s the one who’s lying, not me.”
Paul thought of his conversation with Nehemiah the day before and offered up another prayer for wisdom, but no great burst of inspiration came to him. Thanks a lot, he thought.
Instead, a scratching sound near the front door sounded in his ears.
“Oh, that dumb dog,” Jack muttered. “Aunt Susan, can you take Scout out?” he hollered.
There was no reply.
“Why don’t we take her out?” Eli suggested. “It’ll give us a chance to get some fresh air.”
“Fresh air?” Jack repeated sarcastically.
The three men rose and walked to the entry closet to put on their coats. “Aunt Susan, we’re taking Scout for a walk,” Jack called.
She came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. Her eyes were ringed in red, and splotches on her cheeks told them she’d been crying. “That’s fine, dear,” she said, sniffling before returning to the kitchen.
When they opened the door, Scout ran out ahead of them. A blast of cold air bit at their cheeks. Paul tugged his Columbia jacket closer around himself, then he tucked his mittened hands into his pockets. Scout was nosing the ground in a frantic pace, sniffing here and there as if something exciting was under the snow.
“Get back here,” Jack called to her. The dog raised her head to look back at him, then returned to her sniffing. “I said get back here, you dumb mutt!”
Scout ignored him this time.
“You and Carl could share the earnings, you know,” Eli offered.
“Are you kidding? After all the work I do to take care of that dog? Why should I give Carl anything?”
“He is your brother,” Paul said.
“Brothers don’t steal from each other,” Jack said.
Scout had found something interesting across the street; she trotted toward the railroad tracks.
“Get back here!” Jack shouted. Scout only quickened her gait.
The men picked up their pace to try to catch up, but Scout must have thought they were playing tag, because she took off in a full-out run.
“Scout!” Jack shouted again. But within moments she had disappeared up the railroad tracks, headed north toward the Depot Inn, one of the fanciest restaurants in Copper Mill. They all called for her, to no avail.
“Let’s get the truck,” Paul suggested.
With Eli in the lead, they ran to Paul’s pickup, which was parked on Quarry Road next to Susan’s house. Jack squeezed into the middle, and Eli slammed the passenger door just as Paul squealed the tires and pulled out, headed toward Main Street. He sped north, careful to watch for traffic as his eyes searched for the small cocker spaniel. “Do you see her?” he asked.
“No,” Eli said. “Wait a minute...There she is.” He pointed ahead.
The dog darted across Quarry Road, causing a black Ford Focus to screech its brakes. The car just barely missed hitting her. But she was still on a tear. She flew across snow-covered lawns, making it difficult to track her from the truck’s street-side view. Paul took a quick right onto Main, only to have to stop at the intersection while a mother and three toddlers crossed the street in agonizing slowness. She looked at the men curiously, as if wondering why they were in such a hurry. Or perhaps she’d never seen three grown men crammed in the front seat of a pickup truck.
Once she was across, Paul hit the gas.
“Where did she go?” he asked.
“Try left,” Jack said as his eyes scanned the neighborhood. “I saw a movement over there.” He pointed toward the Baptist church on Hamilton Road. Paul turned that direction, but when they neared the church and slowed down for a closer look, it was obvious that what Jack had seen was a poodle wearing a thick orange-wool doggie sweater. His owner glanced at them and gave a wave.
Paul pulled a U-turn and stopped the truck across from Carl and Jack’s home, which was right next to the Chronicle building. “What now?” he asked.
“Let’s just drive the streets,” Eli said. “She’s got to turn up.”
Jack merely crossed his arms over his chest and grunted. “Dumb dog,” he muttered under his breath.
They drove for well over an hour, combing the streets of Copper Mill. They even went so far as to head north on Smith Street toward Joe Tucker’s backwoods cabin, but there was no sign of Scout. She had simply disappeared.
Heading back toward town, Paul made a left onto Mountain Laurel Road and drove east toward the high school. Still no Scout.
“We’ll have to call the vet, see if anyone turns her in to the Humane Society,” Eli finally said.
The Humane Society in Copper Mill was actually a part of the local veterinary clinic. A few cages for stray cats and dogs were kept in the back of the clinic, where the animals were well taken care of until either their owners showed up or kindhearted citizens came to adopt them.
Eli pulled out his cell phone and searched for the number, then relayed the information on the lost dog. “We last saw her on Hamilton—” he began.
“No,” Jack interrupted. “That was the poodle. We last saw Scout headed east toward the Town Green.”
“Oh, the Town Green,” Eli corrected himself. “Yes, she’s a cocker spaniel, orangish in color, female.” He placed a hand over the mouthpiece. “Did she have a collar?”
Jack nodded. “A prissy blue one that Aunt Susan bought her, and a jingle bell.”
“Did you get all that?” Eli asked the person on the other end. The person on the other end of the line must have heard because Eli didn’t need to repeat the information. He pressed the End button and said, “They said they’ll call if she turns up.”
“Great,” Jack said. “Now I’ll never get my prize money.”
“I don’t get it,” Paul said. “Why do you need to have the dog to collect the prize?”
“Part of the prize is a photo shoot of me with the dog. You know, one of those ads for dog food or whatever.”
The thought crossed Paul’s mind that Jack could simply find another cocker spaniel for the shoot, but then he decided not to mention it. The last thing he needed to do was encourage more deceit on the part of the two Wilson brothers.
In the few minutes it took for them to get back to Susan’s house, Eli’s phone rang with news.
“She’s been spotted,” Eli relayed the news. “Over on Sweetwater Street down by the old quarry. We’ll meet you there,” he said to the person on the line. “She can be hard to catch, that’s for sure.”
Paul hit the gas, heading south out of town toward the strip mall, where the old quarry was located. Before they even reached the spot, however, they saw Jim Hepburn’s rusty white pickup truck parked along a wooded section of the road just before the entrance to the parking lot. Paul pulled his pickup t
o a stop behind it, and the three men got out. Sounds of barking and shouting emanated from the woods, so Paul, Eli, and Jack took off, following the noise. They darted around tall pines and into a stand of deciduous trees, where the undergrowth was quite thick. The snow grew deeper, slowing their movement and filling their shoes.
“Where are you?” Paul called out to the volunteer dogcatcher he’d met only once before.
“I’m up here,” a voice returned.
They followed the sound up the ridge. It was steep going, and the dog’s barking was incessant as they approached the spot. Paul wondered what was causing her such stress, but when they came into a clearing, the answer to that question was all too evident.
Scout had cornered a skunk.
Chapter Nine
The hair on the ridge of Scout’s back was standing up as she snarled at the terrified skunk, who was backed against a thick log. Scout crouched low with teeth bared. Jim Hepburn stood at the edge of the small clearing with Eli, Paul, and Jack. He was a grizzled-looking man with ruddy features and a creased, wrinkled face. He held a muzzle and chain leash in one hand and what looked like a cattle prod in the other. He turned to the group, “Whose dog is she?”
Jack raised his hand and said, “Mine.”
“We don’t want to provoke that skunk any more than the dog already has,” the man said, “or we’re going to have a much worse situation on our hands. Let’s just sit tight for a bit.”
They watched as dog and skunk faced each other. Neither seemed ready to relent, and the dog’s barking only seemed to increase. Finally Scout snarled and took a step forward. That must have been the end of the line as far as the skunk was concerned, because it suddenly bit the dog on the snout, then turned and unleashed its nasty smell straight in the dog’s face.
“No!” Jack yelled as Scout yelped in pain and the skunk waddled off.
Paul had never heard a more pitiful cry of agony, either from the dog or its supposed owner. When Scout turned toward them, he could see that her eyes were closed and tearing badly. The smell of skunk was overwhelming. Paul had to fight to keep his stomach from turning on him. He clutched a hand over his face. Eli held a handkerchief over his nose and mouth, while Jack muttered something unintelligible under his breath.
“I’ll get her,” the dogcatcher said.
She was rolling on the ground now, pressing her face into the snow as if to wipe out the agitation and swiping her paws across her eyes. The old man moved forward cautiously, the hand with the muzzle held out to the side. “Good doggie,” he crooned.
When Jim was a few feet from her, Scout raised her head and growled loudly. “No no. You don’t want to do that.”
Finally Scout’s rescuer squatted down. “It’s okay,” he said.
Scout kept growling, her teeth a menacing warning as she pawed at her eyes, trying to remove the irritant. Letting the stick fall to the ground, the dogcatcher reached toward the dog. He leaned forward, his attention on the dog’s collar. He was within inches of his prize.
Then Scout turned on him.
She attacked full force, biting the old man first on his outstretched hand and then on his leg. She held the limb in her teeth and shook her head back and forth. Finally Jim grabbed her in his hands, practically hanging her by the collar, and pulled her off his bleeding leg.
Quickly he pulled the muzzle over her mouth and tightened it under her jaw and around her neck. Paul and Eli rushed forward to help hold the dog.
The man sat back in the snow in obvious pain. “I hate this job,” he said through gritted teeth. Then he looked over at Jack. “You need to keep your dog under control!” He lifted the hand that covered the wound on his leg. “Man, that hurts!”
Knowing Eli had Scout in hand, Paul moved forward to have a look. The cut was visible through the hole in the dogcatcher’s pants. The laceration was jagged, a good three inches long, dark purple in color, and deep.
“You’re going to need stitches, Jim,” Paul said. He reached into his coat pocket for a handkerchief and pressed it over the open wound. “This will help the blood clot. Hold it tight.”
The old man obliged.
“She wouldn’t have bit you if it hadn’t been for the skunk,” Jack said.
Paul was amazed at Jack’s lack of concern for the injured man.
Jim raised his hands. “Hey, I don’t care how we got here. All I know is I have a bleeding leg from your mutt! She better be up on her rabies shots.”
“She’s up on her rabies shots.” Jack rolled his eyes.
Paul sent Jack a look that told him to be quiet. Then Paul turned to the volunteer dogcatcher. “Are you up to walking down to your truck?”
Jim nodded and said, “I’m not going to sit up here all day smelling this way.”
Paul reached around the man’s thin shoulders and helped him stand. Jim gingerly placed some of his weight on the leg and winced with the pain, but then he straightened and released his grip on Paul. “I’ll be fine.” He waved Paul away.
Eli led the way down the steep embankment with a now-docile Scout in his arms. The dog whimpered and nuzzled into the crook of one arm. Paul and the old man slowly worked their way down the hillside together behind him. Paul wanted to be near the man in case his bleeding leg gave way, but the dogcatcher toughed it out despite the pain that arced across his eyes.
Brooding and sullen, Jack was last to return to the truck. Paul felt like spanking him, if he could have done such a thing to a boy who was no relation to him.
When they reached their vehicles, the dogcatcher said to Jack, “You’ll need to get that dog to the vet right away. The skunk bit her good on the nose.”
“I can take care of my own dog,” Jack snapped.
The man raised his hands, then clapped them in an “I’ve said my piece, the rest is on you” sort of gesture. He climbed into his rusty pickup, turned the key, and drove toward town. Eli and Jack were already in Paul’s pickup by the time he got there. Scout was on Eli’s lap, near the passenger-side door, the smell of skunk in her fur unbearable. A low growl lingered in her throat as she looked toward Jack.
“Knock it off,” Jack whispered, though not loud enough that the dog seemed threatened. She stared at him for a long moment, then stopped growling.
Paul took his seat behind the wheel and started the pickup. As they made their way back into town, Paul realized he was getting a headache. He never got headaches.
He pulled up to the vet clinic on the corner of Smoky Mountain Road and Ashland and glanced over at his partners in crime. Both men looked exhausted—their eyes were red, and neither of them could drag a smile out of a pocket.
They climbed out and made their way into the squat brick building. The receptionist raised her dark curly head. She was younger than Paul had first thought, probably in her early twenties, though she still had braces on her teeth. And her nametag bore the name Ashley.
“Can I help you?” A look crossed her face as the scent of the men followed them in. “Ewww!” she said, waving her hand in front of her nose. “What in the world?”
“Skunk,” the three said in unison.
“I can tell that!” She plugged her nose. “That is so nasty!”
“Imagine how we feel,” Eli added.
The vet came around the corner from a long hall of examination rooms. He was a short bald man with sharp black eyes. “What in the—? Oh!” he said, pinching his nose. “Which one of you got sprayed?”
All three pointed to the dog.
Paul said, “Dr. Milt, she got it right in the eyes, and the skunk bit her nose. See.” He pointed to the small tear on the dog’s nose. The vet reached for the stinky pooch and lifted the dog up to eye level. She bared her teeth at him. “She bit the dogcatcher too,” Paul added while the vet sized up the growling dog.
“Oh,” Dr. Milt said to Scout. “So that’s how it’s going to be, is it, girl?” Then he turned to Jack. “When was her last rabies shot?”
Jack shrugged. “You’d know b
etter than I would.”
“I’ll look it up in her file. If she isn’t up to date, we might need to keep her for a while. You didn’t happen to bring the skunk along too, did you?”
The men exchanged incredulous looks.
“If her shots aren’t up-to-date, it could be quite a stay,” he explained. “At least without the skunk to test.” He waved a hand across his nose as the smell intensified. “Getting that smell out will take some work. Seems you’ll have plenty to do just to get the smell off your own bodies. I’ll take care of this one.” He raised an eyebrow and looked at Jack.
“She’s all yours,” Jack said. “When should I pick her up?”
“I’ll give you a call after I look in her file.” Then he took Scout down the narrow hallway to one of the exam rooms, disappearing from view.
When they climbed back into the pickup, the odor of skunk on their clothes was overpowering. Paul and Eli rolled down their windows despite the cold and drove the short distance to Eli’s and then to Susan’s house to drop Jack off.
“Tomato juice is supposed to take the smell away,” Paul said.
Jack nodded, his expression dour.
“What’s wrong?” Paul asked.
“I sure didn’t need a vet bill right now.” He shook his head.
“It’ll be okay,” Paul assured him. “Besides, the prize money will more than cover that, right?”
Instead of easing the stress in his face, as Paul intended, the statement twisted Jack’s brow even more. It made Paul wonder if he’d been taken for a ride, again.
THE TABLE WAS SET for a romantic dinner. The savory scent of roast chicken and wild-rice stuffing filled the Hanlon home. Kate had just finished transferring the mashed potatoes to a serving dish and placing it on the table, when the sound of Paul’s pickup in the driveway reached her ears.
“Perfect timing, Kate,” she said. She pulled a matchbook from her apron pocket and lit the two white tapers at the center of the table. They quickly caught, creating the intoxicating atmosphere Kate wanted. Lately she and Paul had been so busy with their various tasks—she with the Harrises and her stained-glass project, he with church work and those Wilson brothers—that they hadn’t taken time to be a couple. They liked to go on date nights often, either to a movie or dinner, or on some creative adventure that Kate enjoyed planning. But they hadn’t been out in several weeks. Tonight that was going to change, even if it meant enjoying a simple chicken meal at home by candlelight.
