Laying Down the Paw

by Diane Kelly

  “Crowley.”

  “That’s awfully far, isn’t it?”

  “We’ll see. I can probably get more for my money if I’m willing to sacrifice a little convenience.”

  Seth drove to the I-20 entrance ramp and took it, heading east until exiting on I-35 south. Thirty minutes later we headed past an elementary school and drove slowly down a suburban street, careful to avoid the abundance of children taking advantage of the unseasonably warm weather to ride their bikes or skateboards. Or perhaps their mothers had forced them out of the house, needing a break. Brigit let out a woof and wagged her tail when she spotted a golden retriever lying in a driveway. The dog stood and wagged its tail in return as it watched us drive by.

  We pulled up in front of a house made of red brick and ivory siding. An orange and black FOR RENT sign was stuck in the center of the yard. Though bigger than the house on Wabash, this house was nonetheless a relatively modest starter home. The structure appeared to be only about twenty years old and in good shape.

  “Not bad,” I said.

  A middle-aged couple stood in the open garage, waiting. Seth and I climbed out of the car, retrieved the dogs from the backseat, and met the couple in the garage. After we’d introduced ourselves, I again explained that my dog and I would be the only tenants.

  The woman bent down and scratched Brigit under the chin. “Dogs are always welcome. A house isn’t a home unless it’s got a dog in it.” She cupped her hands under Brigit’s chin. “Ain’t that right, girl?”

  Brigit wagged her tail as if in agreement.

  “Jack and I lived here when we first married,” the woman said as she led us inside. “We outgrew it when we had our second child and moved to a bigger place in Burleson. It’s been a great investment property. We’ve never had any problem finding tenants.”

  I could see why. Despite being modestly sized for a suburban house, the place was open and clean and bright, with three bedrooms and two bathrooms. The living room had a nice brick fireplace, the backyard a swing set and built-in sandbox, as well as plenty of shade provided by two mature Bradford pear trees.

  “What do you think?” the woman asked as we stood on the back porch.

  Brigit rolled on her back on the grass. It was clear that my partner liked the place.

  “It’s very nice,” I told the woman. The couple seemed like they’d be easy landlords, too. But I wasn’t quite convinced yet. “Mind if I t-take a second look?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Seth and the husband stayed out back talking sports as the wife and I went back inside so I could make a more thorough assessment. The bathrooms had decent counter space and the closets, though not walk-ins, had more than enough room for my limited wardrobe. You don’t need much in the way of work clothes when you wear a uniform every day.

  Ding-dong.

  “Excuse me a moment.” The woman stepped away to answer the door.

  I puttered in the kitchen, marveling at the cabinet space which, though certainly not excessive, put to shame the miniscule storage at my apartment. As I stood there, a young couple ventured into the house. The wife, who was only a few years older than me, had a gender-indeterminate tow-headed toddler on her hip. The toddler, in turn, had his/her thumb in his/her mouth, and his/her finger up his/her nose. Multitasking.

  The young woman’s mouth fell open. “Just look at this kitchen!” she called back to her husband. “It’s got twice as much counter space as we have now.” Her eyes went to the back windows. “There’s a swing set out back, too! How great is that!”

  The husband stepped to the back window. “There’s room for my grill back there. And our picnic table.”

  Their interest cinched it for me. As nice as the house would be, it was both at the outer end of my geographic range and the upper end of my price range. What’s more, given that I was currently single and childless, I’d have little in common with the young families living in the neighborhood. Besides, I could tell this couple loved the place and would fit in here much better than me. I’d let them have it.

  “Thanks,” I told the older woman, motioning for Seth to bring the dogs back inside when he looked through the window. “But I think this house is better suited for a family like them.”

  The woman nodded and gave me a smile and a wink. “Someday, hon,” she said, casting a knowing glance at Seth.

  Sheesh. She was getting way ahead of herself. Heck, Seth and I had only been an official couple for a matter of hours. Still, I knew she meant well so I returned her smile.

  Seth and I returned to his car once again, stopping at the elementary school to let the dogs take a quick tinkle at the edge of the playground. We continued on to the last place, which was a duplex in the South Hemphill area.

  “This location would be convenient.” Seth cut me a smoldering look. “You know, for those sleepovers.”

  I wagged a finger at him. “Don’t push your luck, buddy.”

  As Seth slowed, my eyes spotted a man standing in the driveway, fooling around on his cell phone. Ugh. I recognized the face immediately. Richard Cuthbert. A grade-A number-one colossal A-hole if ever there was one. After warning him multiple times about violating the city’s water rationing ordinance, he’d threatened to take my badge when I’d issued him a citation for breaking the law. No way would I ever rent a place from this guy.

  “K-keep going,” I spat.

  Seth’s brows angled in puzzlement. “Don’t even want to take a look?”

  “I know the landlord. He’s a condescending jerk.” Thus, I would not bother to give him the courtesy of a call to let him know I was no longer interested. He could stand in that driveway until Jesus came back for all I cared.

  Seth punched the gas and we drove past. I cast one last glare in Cuthbert’s direction. Kiss my butt, jerkwad.

  We returned to my apartment where Seth left me with a contented heart and pair of fully-kissed lips. After he’d gone, I checked my cell phone. Richard Cuthbert had left two voicemails. In the first, which he’d left a mere two minutes after our scheduled appointment, he simply said I’m waiting. Where are you? in a short-tempered voice. In the second, which he’d left an hour after the time I’d arranged to meet him, he’d barked, Don’t bother calling me back. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I rent to someone who’s wasted my time like this!

  Ah, justice.

  It’s a bitch, no?

  FIVE

  A HOWLING GOOD TIME

  Brigit

  Brigit wasn’t quite sure why Seth and Megan had driven the dogs all over town today, but she always enjoyed spending time with Blast, whether it was running around with their friends at the dog park or even just riding around in a car. The only thing she hadn’t liked was the darn train. The rumble of its wheels and the sound of its horn had been downright deafening. If she’d had opposable thumbs she would’ve unlocked the gate, run after the damn thing, and sunk her teeth into its caboose.

  Brigit hoped she’d get to see more of Blast in the upcoming days. He was a fun and sweet companion. Neutered, so he didn’t act like a jackass like some of those male dogs who still had their balls. Really, that Great Dane with the pendulous testicles at the dog park who kept trying to pick fights? What a dumbass.

  If Brigit had to guess, she’d say the chances of seeing Blast more often were likely. She’d noticed Megan and Seth putting their mouths together, a sign of affection in both dogs and humans. She’d also smelled the sexual pheromones the two had released when Seth backed Megan against the door. Each of them was hot for the other, that much was aromatically clear.

  Now if they could only manage not to screw it up this time …

  SIX

  PANTS ON FIRE

  Dub

  At six o’clock, Dub rounded up his backpack. He slipped something for protection into the outside pocket. He wasn’t sure he’d need it tonight, but a person could never be too careful.

  He left his bedroom and went to the den. Trent and Wes were flopped down in their
recliners to watch the Bulls/Spurs game on the big-screen television. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. I’m going to see a friend.”

  Wes raised a hand to stop him. “Hold up a second. What’s this friend’s name?”

  “Mark.” The lie slid easily off Dub’s tongue. Years of practice had made him an expert. “We’re going to study for our history test.”

  “Mark?” Wes said. “Mark who?”

  “Stallworth.” His gut clenched with guilt. But no way could he tell them where he was really going tonight.

  Trent sat up in his chair. “He live around here?”

  Dub hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “Lilac Street.” That part was true. Mark Stallworth sat beside him in history class and lived on Lilac. He and Dub rode the same school bus. But friends? No.

  Wes flopped around like a fish on a dock before managing to get himself out of the chair. “You won’t be able to study on an empty stomach.” He went to the kitchen, pulled a foil-covered dish from the fridge, and placed it on the granite countertop. “Eat some of this leftover vegetable lasagna before you go.”

  Trent stepped up behind Wes, made a face, and mouthed the word “sorry.” Wes thought he was a gourmet cook. Wes was wrong. The guy must have defective taste buds. Still, Dub appreciated Wes’s efforts. Hell, Dub couldn’t remember his own mother ever doing more for him than heating a frozen pizza.

  Dub yanked open the silverware drawer, grabbed a knife and fork, and cut a square of lasagna from the pan, scooping it onto a plate. He stuck the lasagna in the microwave, punched the buttons to heat it for three minutes—beep-beep-beep—and, when it was ready, stood at the counter and wolfed the food down.

  Wes handed him a napkin. “Slow down. You’ll get a tummy ache.”

  Dub rolled his eyes. “I’m fifteen, dude. I don’t get ‘tummy’ aches.”

  “You better not talk back,” Trent whispered as he grabbed another beer from the fridge, “or he’ll punish you by making you eat more of it.”

  When Dub finished the lasagna, he washed it down with a glass of tap water, rinsed his plate and glass, and stuck them in the dishwasher. He went to his bathroom and brushed his teeth. After having shared a bathroom with a dozen other boys, the luxury of having his very own bathroom was not lost on him. He slung his backpack over his shoulder once again, and headed to the door a second time.

  Wes raised a hand again. “Hang on, Dub. I’ll drive you.”

  Shit. Dub should have seen this coming. “It’s only three blocks.”

  “I know.” Wes grabbed his keys from the hook on the wall. “But it’s dark outside. I’ll worry about you.”

  That was funny, really. The rest of the neighborhood worried about Dub, too, but in a totally different way. Trent and Wes hadn’t told their neighbors about Dub’s past. They’d wanted to give him a fresh start. But one of the girls in Dub’s math class knew someone who knew someone else who had known Dub at the junior high he’d attended briefly in east Fort Worth before being arrested and shipped off to the Gainesville State School for boys. So, yeah, the secret was out.

  Wes grabbed Dub’s coat from the hook and held it out. “Put this on.”

  “I’ll be fine. It’s ten steps from the door to the car.”

  Wes jabbed the coat at him. “Put. The coat. On.”

  Dub offered another eye roll but took the coat and put it on. It was nice to have someone who gave a shit about him. That was a new thing that wasn’t yet lost on him, either.

  They climbed into Wes’s Civic and Wes drove the three blocks south to Lilac. “Which house is it?”

  Dub pointed. “That one.”

  Wes pulled to a stop at the curb.

  “Thanks,” Dub said as he climbed out.

  “Text me when you’re ready to come home.”

  Damn! “Okay.”

  Dub got out of the car and walked slowly up to the porch, silently willing Wes to drive off. No such luck. Dub was forced to ring the bell. A moment later there was movement behind the frosted glass in the door. A dark-haired woman answered, a leery look on her face as she gave Dub the once-over.

  “Hi.” Dub’s breath made a cloud in the cold air. “Is Mark home?”

  The woman didn’t invite him in. Instead, she turned and called back over her shoulder. “Mark? There’s someone at the door for you.”

  Mark came down the hall. He was short, skinny, and still waiting for his visit from the puberty fairy. By the looks of him, she’d been out on a long cigarette break.

  “Uh … hi.” Mark’s face was confused, like his mother’s, and his eyes were wide. Looked like he’d heard about Dub’s sketchy past, too.

  Mark didn’t invite Dub in. Neither did his mother. Poor manners, Wes would say. Dub guessed neither of them had attended cotillion. Behind Dub, Wes still waited at the curb, the engine idling. Shit.

  “It’s cold out here,” Dub said. “Could I come in for just a second? I have a quick question about our history homework.”

  “I guess so.”

  Mark moved back and Dub stepped inside. Mark closed the door enough to block out the cold outside air, but he didn’t push it enough for the latch to click. It was as if he wanted to allow himself a way to escape if Dub suddenly whipped out a weapon. Luckily, it was enough for Wes. Dub heard the Civic’s engine rev as it pulled away from the curb.

  “Can you remind me what chapter we were supposed to read?” Dub asked.

  “Twenty-seven,” Mark said.

  “Twenty-seven,” Dub repeated, buying himself a few seconds of time as he input the information into the notes app on his phone. He looked back up. “Great. Thanks, Mark. That’s all I needed to know.”

  He turned and opened the door. “See you on the bus tomorrow.”

  As the door swung shut behind him, Dub heard Mark’s mother say, “Maybe I should start driving you to school.”

  Dub stopped on the porch, the heat of rage and shame radiating from his core to the tips of his fingers and toes. It was all he could do not to turn around and put a fist through that frosted glass on the door.

  At least he’d soon have a release from the rage.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Dub was back in front of the Stallworths’ house. His hand shook so bad as he texted Wes that it took him forever to type just five words. I’m ready to come home.

  He hadn’t meant to do what he’d done. Things had gotten out of control, gone too far.

  And he’d been unable to stop himself.

  Oh, God! The trouble he’d been in before would be nothing compared to the deep shit he could be in now …

  SEVEN

  NO BOYS ALOUD

  Megan

  Monday morning I showered, dressed, and ate my standard breakfast of organic oatmeal and fair-trade coffee. Brigit gobbled a bowl of canned beef by-products, probably mostly ears and feet and icky innards, not exactly gourmet fare but she didn’t seem to mind.

  We stepped out of the apartment to find that yesterday’s pleasant weather had moved on, leaving north Texas cold and miserable once again. Blah.

  Thanks to budget cuts, officers were not allowed to drive their patrol cars home and Brigit and I were forced to make our commute crowded into my metallic blue Smart Car. Thankfully, our drive was a relatively short one. At five till eight, my partner and I rolled into the lot at the W1 station. I lifted a hand to wave to Summer, a bubbly, curly-haired blonde officer who, like me, had joined the force right out of college. She had three years’ experience on me, though. She and I had gone out for drinks a time or two after the Fort Worth Police Officers’ Association meetings. She responded to my wave by aiming two finger guns at me and pretending to squeeze off a couple of shots. Bang-bang.

  As my partner and I climbed out of my car, Derek “The Big Dick” Mackey, my former partner, slid down from his black pickup a couple of spots down. Derek wore his flaming red hair in a short buzz cut, and sported a larger than average build. He also had excrement for brains and a personality that stunk just
as bad.

  He snorted derisively as Brigit and I walked past. “’Mornin’, bitches.”

  As was my morning ritual, I whipped out my baton, extended it with a flick of my wrist—Snap!—and gave the rubber testicles hanging from his truck’s trailer hitch a solid whack.

  Derek snorted again, this time with laughter. “I can see that anger management class did you a world of good.”

  Okay, yes, I’d been forced to take an anger management class after Tasering Derek in the testicles a while back. And, okay, yes, I had an Irish temper, courtesy of my mother, whose maiden name was O’Keefe. But who among us doesn’t have some type of flaw? At least I’d decided to put my anger to good use as a cop. Not that I harassed people, mind you. I was more than fair. But when push came to shove and some jackass needed to be brought down to size, I could summon the ire to do it. Anger was like a source of fuel for me.

  I reached my specially equipped K-9 cruiser and opened the back door, reaching in to unlock the door to the metal mesh enclosure for Brigit. “In you go, girl. Another day, another dog biscuit.”

  My partner’s tags jingled as she hopped up onto the platform that had been installed where the backseat would be in regular cruisers. She wagged her tail and woofed once, ready to go out on patrol.

  My furry partner now situated, I climbed into the front and turned on the car’s radio, the laptop mounted to the dash, and the shoulder-mounted radio affixed to my uniform. I cranked the engine and headed out, turning west out of the lot. Another day, another dollar. Also, another day, another day closer to making detective.

  I’d studied criminal justice and become a cop for a number of reasons. My stutter had rendered me a quiet yet observant child, and I’d realized early on that the world could be a harsh, unfair, and dangerous place. If there was anything I could do to make it less harsh, more just, and safer, I wanted to do it. Around the same time, I’d stumbled upon mystery books in the elementary school library. I’d devoured them like candy, making notes and puzzling out the clues, thrilled when I could solve the mystery before the author’s big reveal. I hoped one day to make detective so I could put my investigative skills to work to solve crimes.