by Meg Muldoon
“Where’d you find her?” I said, looking up at Billy, my voice trembling with excitement.
He was grinning like a ventriloquist dummy.
“We got a report from a runner in the BrightStar trails area this morning,” Billy said. “Said he saw a dog wandering there that could have been one of the missing ones he saw on TV. So I went and checked it out and, well, it took me less than ten minutes to find Shasta after I got there.”
I grinned, rubbing my hands through her shiny brown coat. It smelled fresh and clean. She didn’t seem to be particularly bothered by all the attention, or particularly pleased either. She stared straight ahead, not looking at me. She was a police dog, through and through.
“I was coming down here to show you that I got her back, but you weren’t in your shop,” Billy said.
I gave Shasta one last pet on her soft flabby head and then stood up.
“So she was just wandering the woods?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “It sure is odd. But the only thing I care about right now is that she’s back and that she’s okay.”
A look of utter relief swept across his face.
“I was getting real worried there for a while.”
I dusted my hands free of dog hair.
“I’m glad too Billy.”
I inhaled sharply.
“You, uh, you get any other reports this morning?”
He looked down at Shasta. Then he shook his head.
“No,” he said. “But Mrs. Brightman, I’m sure that Huckleberry and that other little dog you were taking care of are out there somewhere. If Shasta can come back, then your dogs can too. I know it’s only a matter of time.”
I felt my throat shrivel up.
“Yeah,” I said in a quiet voice. “Why not?”
I forced a smile.
“Thanks for your help, Mrs. Brightman.”
“Aw, I didn’t do anything, Billy,” I said. “You’re the one who got her back.”
“You say that, but you know it’s not true.”
He gave me a warm look, like he wanted to hug me, but then he just looked down at the cold concrete instead.
“I know I’m not the best at what I do,” he said, fiddling with the leash. “But you and the sheriff, you guys make me want to try…”
He trailed off as his voice became wobbly, like a table with three legs.
He looked back up at me, squinting.
“Thanks, Cinnamon.”
He gave me a nod, then went on his way.
I watched him as he walked down the sidewalk, Shasta trotting out in front of him.
Just as if she had never been gone in the first place.
Chapter 42
The sun was going down, spilling a wintry crimson light over the snowy woods. Overhead, fluffy Cool Whip clouds rushed across the sky, forced ever onward by a stiff wind. Sometimes the clouds would part just long enough to see the small pale white moon, shining weakly from its place in the heavens.
I pulled up the collar on my coat and then dug my hands deeper into my pockets. I walked slowly down the BrightStar Trail, my eyes catching every shadow, every nook and cranny, every unusual feature of the landscape.
“Huckleberry!” I yelled, repeating his name every few minutes.
Every once and a while, I’d call Chadwick’s name, though I didn’t know why. The dog didn’t ever respond when I called his name before he was taken, stubborn as he was.
The only sound I heard back in response to my cries was a dull, muffled echo, and the occasional low hooting of an owl.
Deputies had scoured these woods earlier, looking for any trace of how Shasta might have disappeared and then miraculously reappeared in the same area a little over a week later. They had also questioned neighbors who lived in the nearby neighborhood to see if they’d seen anything that related to the case. But so far, they hadn’t found much. A set of tire prints in the snow at one end of the park that could have really belonged to anyone was their big takeaway from all those hours of searching.
Still, I felt a spark of hope that hadn’t been there before Shasta reappeared. A hope that had spurred me to search the woods again myself, even if deputies had already done so. A hope that maybe a break in the case was just around the corner.
Because Billy was right. If Shasta could vanish and then reappear just as easily, why couldn’t the other dogs do the same?
Shasta had looked to be in good condition, meaning that she hadn’t just wandered off on her own. If she had, she would have been muddy and dirty, especially after the storm we’d had. Her paws probably would have been damaged too by the cold if she’d been out in it. But I’d seen the dog myself, and there wasn’t a single thing wrong with her. It was clear that someone had been caring for her all this time.
And then that person gave her back.
That was the confusing part, though. Why steal a dog only to return it to the same area days later?
Maybe it had something to do with the newscast. Maybe whoever was doing this had gotten spooked, seeing their bad deeds on the news like that. Maybe the part about how the suspect could face charges of theft of police property, animal abuse, and animal neglect made the person who did this reconsider keeping Shasta around.
And if that was the case, then maybe the rest of the dogs’ release wouldn’t be far behind.
But as to what this person was doing stealing six dogs in the first place… that was still a mystery to me. If it wasn’t for the reward money, then what was it for? Was it like Daniel had said earlier, that an animal hoarder could have been doing this? Except instead of picking dogs and cats up on the side of the road, they were stealing them right from backyards and cars? That seemed possible. But it took money to feed and care for six dogs. It also took time to—
Suddenly, I heard heavy breathing coming from the path up ahead, where the trail curved around a stand of trees.
I stopped dead in my tracks, listening hard for a moment.
The breathing was getting louder.
The red hue of the sunset had drained from the woods around me, and darkness was rapidly taking its place.
I shivered, a strange fear suddenly tightening around my chest, as I realized I was all alone out here.
My heart fluttered out of control.
A moment later, I was face to face with her.
Chapter 43
“You scared the living daylights out of me,” she said, leaning forward and placing her hands on her knees while gasping for air.
She placed a hand over her heart, and closed her eyes.
A long, ragged sigh of relief escaped my mouth.
“You gave me quite the scare too,” I said.
I didn’t know exactly what I had been expecting to find around the bend. All I knew was that I was more relieved than a hungry mountain man on the first day of spring to find Deidre, the manager of the humane society shelter, there, instead of some crazy animal hoarder or a wolf.
After a moment, her mouth turned up, and the wrinkles at the edges of her eyes creased with the effort.
“I was, uh, I was just out here for a run,” she said, her voice inflecting a little higher than normal. “I’m so busy at the shelter lately that I don’t have much time for exercise. I have to go out at these hours.”
She shifted her weight nervously between her feet. Or maybe she was just trying to keep moving. Then she cleared her throat, looking around the woods, as if she was afraid someone was listening out there.
“Have you heard anything more about those missing dogs?” she said. “I, uh, I saw on the news that a few of them have gone missing around these parts.”
I peered back at her. The expression on her face was hard to read in the dimming light.
“Yes, actually,” I said. “They found Shasta the police dog out here this morning.”
“Oh, that’s great news,” Deirdre said, gripping my arms suddenly. Great news! Was she okay?”
“Yeah.As good as new, actually.”
I suddenly noticed that Deirdre’s left hand was wrapped in a large white bandage that hadn’t been there the last time I saw her at the shelter.
“What happened to your hand?” I asked.
She glanced down at it, then pulled it back quickly.
She smiled nervously.
“Hazard of the job,” she said, sticking her hand deep into the pocket of her North Face fleece jacket. “One of those new dogs from the shelter in Redmond got into a fight with Hazelnut, you know, that yippy Border Collie that we haven’t been able to find a home for? I was trying to break it up and, well, my hand…”
She trailed off.
“I’m okay, though.”
I started saying something, but she interrupted me before I could finish, as if some urgency had suddenly gripped her.
“Well, it’s good seeing you out here, Cinnamon,” she said. “But I better get back before it gets much darker. You know, these woods give me the creeps at night. Don’t want to be caught here when it gets dark.”
She squeezed my arm with her good hand.
“I really hope you find the rest of those dogs,” she said. “I really, really do.”
She gave me a strange little smile.
A moment later, she was briskly walking down the path behind me, heading back toward the parking lot.
I stood there a while, thinking, watching the night take the woods under its black wings.
Something scratching at the inside of my skull like the way a tree branch scrapes against a window in a storm.
Deirdre had referred to Shasta the police dog as a she.
That wouldn’t have been so strange, except for the fact that all the news accounts had referred to Shasta incorrectly as a he.
And as far as I knew, Deirdre had never met Shasta.
I turned around, thinking about going after her. Asking her how she knew that. Asking her what she was really doing out in these woods at this hour.
I had never known Deirdre to be much of a fitness fanatic.
But as I looked down the dark path, I realized it’d be no use running after her.
Deirdre was gone. Vanishing almost as quickly as those dogs had.
Chapter 44
A sudden blizzard descended upon Christmas River that night with absolutely no warning.
A bank of dark clouds rolled in, obliterating the moon and stars. A punishing wind howled and ripped through the forest. The trees bent like soft seaweed in an ocean current.
I watched from the pie shop kitchen, looking out at the wall of white swirling just past the back deck.
There was a loud groaning noise, loud enough to hear above the wind. It was soon followed by a crash.
The trees were snapping like twigs out there.
I took a sip of my pomegranate tea, feeling glad to be inside where it was warm and cozy and safe.
I thought of the baby-faced weatherman on the news channel who looked like he’d just graduated high school. He hadn’t said one thing about this storm in this morning’s forecast. Storms like this didn’t just appear out of nowhere. Yet last I’d seen the news, the weatherman had sun and blue skies for the next ten days.
There was another crash from out in the storm, and I felt my insides tremble slightly.
I wondered if the news station didn’t need to find itself a replacement meteorologist.
This storm was going to create a mess. Come tomorrow morning, the roads would be impassable. It’d take days before anybody would be able to walk from their front door to the sidewalk. It was going to be a real pain in the behind, this storm. A real bad—
“Awhoooooo…”
I nearly dropped my mug of tea as a ghostly noise sounded over the screaming wind.
“Yiiiippppp…”
Louder this time.
My skin broke out in goose bumps.
That sound…
It was…
I placed my mug on the counter, opened the back door, and stepped out into the storm. A torrent of icy flakes blew into my face as I walked toward the sound, growing louder with each passing moment.
“Yiiippppp…”
My legs fought through the thick snow, which seemed to be deeper with each step. The vicious wind cut through my sweater, and my body started to shake violently with chills. The entire world was a snow globe, walls of white flakes in every direction I looked.
“Huckleberry!?” I shouted. “I’m here Hucks!”
The noise sounded again. I was getting closer. Then there was a second yip.
They were together: Huckleberry and Chadwick. They were alive, and they were out here together.
“Come here, pooches!” I cried, my voice hoarse and cracking. “Come here!”
They were close by. I could feel them out there, just beyond the white. I could sense them.
“I’m here!” I cried out, desperation squeezing hard around my throat. “I’m right here, pooches!”
There was another yip.
The dogs were alive. It was going to be okay. Soon enough, they’d be back at home, curled up by the fireplace in the living room. Warm and safe and sound. Like they’d never been stolen in the first place.
“Huckleberry, I’m right—”
Suddenly, something changed.
The yipping stopped. There was a low guttural noise. A growl.
And then I saw them, their coats glistening against the white.
It wasn’t Huckleberry. It wasn’t Chadwick out here, howling in the storm.
They weren’t dogs at all.
But by the time I realized that, it was too late.
Three black wolves stared back at me with soulless, beady eyes. Eyes with a hunger that could have devoured the whole world.
One of them began licking its chops. The others smiled.
“No,” I said, backing away. “No!”
But the dinner bell had already rung.
One of them pounced on me, its forceful strength knocking me into the cold, snowy ground. I tried to fight back, but one of them had grabbed a hold of my leg, thrashing me like I was a chew toy.
“Help!” I cried, my pleads vanishing into the wind.
The wolves started dragging me through the blizzard to their den, my blood staining the pure white snow behind me. And just before I lost consciousness, I heard a woman’s voice, wailing from somewhere in those dark woods.
“You deserve it!” the voice cried. “All of you deserve it!”
Then the world turned red.
Chapter 45
“Cin.Cin!”
My eyes flipped open. I looked up through a blurry film, not knowing who I was, where I was, or what was going on.
I was in a room. Soft light flickered around the walls. A stranger was looking down at me, his eyebrows knit together in an expression of deep concern. He had his hands on my shoulders. He’d been shaking me.
Then my memory came back to me.
I was at home, in my bed. The light on the walls was from the fireplace.
“Daniel? What’s happening?” I said, my voice cracking.
“You were shouting in your sleep,” he rasped, concern still on his face. “You were having a nightmare.”
I closed my eyes for a second, the vividness of the dream coming back to me with the force of an avalanche. I could almost taste the snowflakes; almost hear the sound of the trees snapping in the wind.
Almost see those hungry black wolf eyes, leering at me.
And the red on the snow.
“I thought I heard Huckleberry,” I said, gripping his arm. “Both dogs. They were out there in the storm. But it wasn’t them, Daniel. It wasn’t them.”
I started trembling. A chill worthy of the blizzard in the dream caught hold of me and started shaking.
“They were wolves,” I said. “They were…”
The trembling got worse. So bad that I couldn’t speak because my teeth were chattering so much.
I wasn’t sure if I was still in the dream. If I was fully awake. I could still hear t
hose wolves howling.
“Oh, Cin,” Daniel said.
He sat up, pulling a wool throw from the bottom of the bed. He led me over to the fireplace, wrapping me up in the blanket.
He rubbed my shoulders until the shaking started to subside.
“It was just a nightmare, Cin,” he said. “Everything’s okay. We’re okay.”
I sank into his arms, the warmth from his body enveloping me. My eyes drifted over to the bedroom window.
Dark clouds had rolled in and light flakes were coming down from the sky.
“She said we deserved it,” I muttered.
He peered down into my face.
“Who?” he finally said.
“The woman,” I said. “The woman in the dream.”
“I thought you said there were wolves,” he said.
“There was a woman too,” I said. “Somewhere, out there.”
I looked back over at the window.
“It was just a dream,” he said again, pulling me close to him. “Just a dream.”
It was a long time before I believed that.
Chapter 46
I lay on the sofa flipping channels, holding the wool blanket close to my body.
Though I had stopped shaking, the chill of the nightmare was still there, deep in my bones. As if I’d somehow absorbed the cold into my very cells.
After the wolf dream, it’d taken me hours to get back to sleep. And when I did, I fell into a restless, half-awake kind of sleep that left me feeling more exhausted than if I had stayed up all night.
There were corpses that were more alive than me right now.
Maybe somebody else in my shoes would have been able to carry on, and have shown up to the Gingerbread Junction this morning.
But that person wasn’t me.
Not today. Not in the weak emotional and mental state I found myself in.
For the second year in a row, Cinnamon Peters would be a no-show at the annual Gingerbread Junction.
I just couldn’t stand there, surrounded by meaningless cookie houses, smiling at the judges and pretending that everything was okay. That my dog hadn’t been stolen. That business at the shop wasn’t tanking. That Pepper wasn’t a better gingerbread artist than me.
