Three More Dogs in a Row

by Neil Plakcy

  I reached for Rochester’s head, but he scooted away. “I was in a meeting with Peter Bobeaux this afternoon. And I sort of tried to get a rise out of him.” I stopped. “Oh, Christ. Lili told me that he used to hunt with a rifle when he was in the UAE.”

  Rick groaned. “What the hell are you doing meeting with this guy? Didn’t I tell you I was going to handle things?”

  “It wasn’t a one-on-one. A committee meeting. We were talking about the possibility of identity theft at Eastern. I hinted that a student could apply under a false name. And that there were academics out there with faked credentials.”

  “I can’t believe you were that stupid. You got to stop baiting suspects, Steve. You’ve had too many close calls already. Someday you’re going to get hurt.”

  “Come on, Bobeaux is a college administrator. Not some homicidal maniac.”

  “Experience has shown that somebody doesn’t need to be a gun nut to shoot at you, Brother Joe. You bring out the best in people.” He took a deep breath. “Listen, I’m finishing up here. I’ll get Rascal and come over. The dogs can play and you and I can talk.”

  While I waited for Rick, I called Lili. “I’m pretty shaken up,” I said. I told her about the incident.

  “But you’re all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. More worried about Rochester. He’s still freaked out.”

  “Who could want to shoot you?” she asked. “You’re not teaching this term, so we can eliminate disgruntled students from the mix.”

  “Ha, ha,” I said.

  “Don’t laugh. I read this article the other day – did you know there have been over fifty school shootings since 2010? I lock my classroom door five minutes into class and make anyone who’s late knock to be let in.”

  “I talked to Rick and we came up with two choices, but neither of them sound reasonable. Eben Hosford and Peter Bobeaux. An old hippie Quaker and a college administrator. Neither of them sound like the kind to cruise down Ferry Street taking pot shots.”

  “Don’t knock Peter out so quickly. He’s said several times that he’s a big NRA supporter.”

  “Yeah, I wish I had remembered what you’d said about his hunting habits before I baited him at the meeting.” I heard Rick’s truck pull up in my driveway, so I said goodbye to Lili and I left Rochester under the bed.

  “I stopped at Genuardi’s and got us both salads,” he said, handing me a grocery bag. “We’ve both been eating too much rich food.”

  “You just want to be slim and handsome for Tamsen,” I said, trying to lighten the mood despite the shivers I felt.

  “I told you, I’m not sure I want to get involved with her.” He sighed. “But she arranged for Justin to go home with one of the other kids after the game on Saturday so she and I can go out to dinner.”

  “Face it, you’re hooked,” I said, as Rascal shot past me and dashed up the stairs, following Rochester’s scent.

  “Moving on to the purpose of this visit,” Rick said, as we walked into the kitchen. “Tell me exactly what happened. Where were you when you first heard these shots?”

  I started with our walk back from the river, and noticed that my hands were shaking as I unpacked the food.

  “After dinner we’ll walk out there and you can show me where it happened. Tomorrow I’ll go out and look for shell casings.”

  “Will you talk to both of them?”

  “About what, Steve? I have no evidence to suggest that either of them had any motive to shoot at you. And honestly, knowing you, you could be snooping into a dozen other things without telling me.” He pulled his salad toward him. “When you go online, you camouflage your identity, don’t you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, have you done something online that would get somebody mad at you, somebody who could track you down in the real world?”

  “That’s not the kind of thing I do, and you know it,” I said. “All I ever do is look for information. And the only place I’ve been that I shouldn’t have was that reunion database. I doubt that one of Peter Breaux’s classmates has come after me.”

  He just shook his head. The dogs scrambled downstairs and began running around us in circles. Rick grabbed a piece of grilled chicken from one salad, broke it in half and fed a piece to each dog. “Now settle down, you vultures.”

  Rascal fell to the floor, looking up at his daddy, and Rochester did the same thing.

  “When I spoke to Tamsen today, she said that Eben Hosford has been acting weird. There was a meeting of the renovation committee, and he’s changed his tune—instead of arguing that they should leave the Meeting House as it is, now he says the building is cursed, and it ought to be torn down as soon as possible.”

  “You think our finding the body changed his attitude?” I asked.

  “That would imply that he knew the body was there,” Rick said.

  “Which would imply that he put the body there,” I said. Somehow, going back to the original crime and applying a logical analysis to it made me feel better. As we ate, we talked about ordinary stuff—where Rick might take Tamsen for another date, how I was going to manage getting Lili’s furniture to my place and so on.

  When we were finished, he packed up the containers and dumped them into my trash. “Let’s take the dogs and go for a walk,” he said. “You can show me where you were.”

  “I don’t think Rochester will want to go back there,” I said.

  “He’s a dog. He has an attention span of about sixty seconds, unless there’s food involved.”

  I disagreed; I’d seen evidence that Rochester knew a lot more of what was going on than most people would give him credit for. We leashed the dogs and started walking toward Ferry Road.

  It was completely dark, just the occasional house light or passing headlight. I’d always enjoyed walking Rochester at night, the two of us in our own little world, but after being shot at I felt differently. Every movement in a hedge, every door opening, every distant car horn made me jumpy.

  We walked past the gate at the entrance to River Bend and I waved at the guard. A few feet farther ahead, Rochester planted his paws on the ground and wouldn’t go any further.

  “I told you so,” I said to Rick. I tugged on Rochester’s leash. “Come on, puppy, it’s all right.”

  “You and your wacky dog,” Rick said. “Give him to me.”

  We switched leashes, and Rascal took off toward Ferry Road, dragging me behind him. A moment later Rochester was rushing to catch up with his friend. Rascal and I stopped at the corner of Ferry Road. “This is where I was when I heard the shots,” I said.

  “And you say they came from behind you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He handed me Rochester’s leash. “Stay here.” He left me with the two dogs and then, when there was a break in traffic on Ferry Road, he hurried across to the far side.

  My heart beat faster though I wasn’t sure why. I doubted that the shooter had been in the woods beside the road, and was sure he wouldn’t still be there. Across from me, I saw Rick assume a shooting stance, raise his right arm and aim his flashlight at me, and I felt like a very exposed target.

  “Don’t shoot!” I yelled, only half in jest.

  “Not going to!” he called back. I watched as he walked a few feet toward the river, repeated his stance with the flashlight, then back to where he was, then a few feet farther ahead and another repeat. Then when traffic broke he hurried back to me.

  “I wanted to get a sense of the trajectory,” he said. “It’s too dark to waste time looking for bullets or shell casings but now at least I know what to tell the crime scene guys tomorrow.”

  I could tell Rochester was eager to get away from there. I was, too. We walked quickly back to the townhouse, and as we approached I saw Lili’s car pull into my driveway.

  “Hey, sweetie,” I said, when I reached her. We kissed. “What are you doing here?”

  “You sounded upset, so I thought I ought to come down.”

 
I kissed her again as the dogs circled around us. “That was so nice of you,” I said.

  Rick and Rascal left a short while later, and Lili and I went up to the bedroom. Rochester got up on the bed and snuggled between us, and I stroked his gold flank and thanked him for pushing me down and out of the way of the bullets.

  33 – Tough Situations

  The summer heat suddenly returned the next morning, and by the time Rochester and I finished our walk I was soaked with sweat and he was panting like mad. I hurried through a shower while Lili poured granola for us.

  “Even though I’m working at Friar Lake, it seems like I have so spend an awful lot of time on campus,” I grumbled as I slid across from her at the kitchen table. “Joe Capodilupo needs to meet with me but he’s too busy to come up to Friar Lake. Now that his son is the superintendent he never shows up.”

  “Don’t worry, Rochester always has a home in my office,” she said.

  As if he knew Lili was talking about him, he rolled over on his belly beside her so she could scratch him while drinking her coffee. The domestic bliss hit me – soon, this would be our regular routine, with Lili living in my townhouse.

  Would it someday be “our” townhouse? Would we get married, maybe buy a bigger house somewhere, with a yard for Rochester? I looked fondly down at my dog, who had a line of white spittle hanging from his mouth. I wiped it with a napkin and stood up to clear the table.

  Lili suggested that Rochester ride up to Leighville in her car, since he was going to her office, and I agreed. After they left, I went up to my bedroom and dug out my father’s handgun. If there was any chance that someone was shooting at me or my dog, I wanted to be prepared to defend us. I checked to make sure that it was loaded, and that the safety was on. Then I put it back in its zippered leather case, and stowed it in the bottom of my messenger bag.

  I wasn’t about to tell Lili or Rick. Both of them would worry, and I didn’t have a carry permit for the gun, so I had to keep it in its case. I’d never felt I had to have it with me before.

  It was odd driving up River Road without Rochester by my side. I had become so accustomed to having him near me – what I called his Velcro behavior. He loved Lili, and she spoiled him almost as much as I did, but there were times when I looked around for him and realized he was with her instead of with me.

  Sometimes I was grateful for the ability to back my chair up without worrying about running him over, to lie in bed and read without having him nuzzle me for playtime. But then there were times, like that morning, that I missed his company. I worried about that. He was a strong, healthy dog, but big dogs don’t last as long as the little yappy ones. Goldens had a high rate of death due to cancer; they were prone to hip dysplasia, elbow problems, heart defects and eye problems.

  I didn’t know his exact birthday, because he’d been a rescue dog when Caroline got him, but I figured he was about two years old. How long would I have him in my life? Another ten years, twelve maybe? What would I do when he was gone? At least I hoped I’d have Lili with me. Despite all the affection I had for Rochester, I was coming to realize that I loved Lili more. Rochester’s devotion was endearing and unconditional; but sometimes the love you have to work for, or deserve, matters even more.

  I shook off those maudlin thoughts as I pulled up at the renovated carriage house where Joe Capodilupo’s office was located. It was at the back of the Eastern campus, near the road that led down to Friar Lake. The quaint stone and shingle exterior was a contrast to the bland efficiency of the inside. To the left, beyond a receptionist’s desk, was a series of cubicles and one big office, where I found Joe.

  “How’s my boy doing up there?” he asked, as we sat down. “Keeping everything going?”

  “Yeah, he’s very sharp,” I said.

  “I’m glad to see he’s settling down. He had a rough time in his twenties – got married because he thought he ought to. Didn’t think we’d love him if we knew who he really was.” He shook his bald head. “Can you imagine that? That I wouldn’t love my own son for something as dumb as who he wanted to sleep with?”

  “He’s lucky to have you,” I said. “I’ve known guys with families that were a lot less accepting.”

  “Maybe it’s working on a campus,” Joe said. “You see all kinds of kids here, right? At least he doesn’t have purple hair and a ring through his nose. Though I’d love him even if he did.”

  He pulled a manila folder over to him. “Now, about the fire at the stable,” he said. “We have an opportunity to do something different with that part of the property, and the architect came up with some sketches. Let’s see what you think.”

  We went over the ideas and then I left to walk to Harrow Hall. As I reached the front door, I spotted Peter Bobeaux in the wide, glassy lobby, but hurried up the curving staircase to Lili’s office before he could say anything to me.

  Rochester jumped up from his place beside Lili when I opened the door, and I ruffled him around the neck. “How’s my boy?” I asked him, kneeling down to rub my face against his fur.

  “I want to know what you meant by your comments yesterday.”

  I looked up to see Peter Bobeaux in the door of Lili’s office. He was dressed in what I assumed was his regular uniform – another pressed white shirt, yellow power tie, and suit pants. All that was missing was the unlit cigar.

  I stood up beside Lili, my left hand on the back of her chair. “About what?” With my right hand I reached into my messenger bag and unzipped the pouch containing my father’s gun. I hoped I would have the courage to use it if I had to.

  “You know what I’m talking about.” Bobeaux stood there with his hands on his hips. “My credentials are completely valid.”

  I wrapped my hand around the pistol’s grip. “If your real name is Peter Bobeaux,” I said. “Not Peter Breaux.”

  It was like I’d stuck a pin into him, and he deflated.

  “You’d better sit down, Peter,” Lili said.

  He sank into the chair across from her desk. I released my grip on the gun and pulled my hand out of the bag. “How did you know?” he asked me.

  I pulled up Lili’s other visitor chair, a spindle-back with the Eastern rising sun logo on it. “I’ll get to that,” I said as I sat, with the messenger bag on my lap. “Why don’t you start. say, back in 1969?”

  “I didn’t want to go to Vietnam,” he said. “Four boys from my high school had already come back in coffins. I just wanted to go to college, but my parents were dirt poor and it wasn’t so easy to get scholarships back then.”

  “Were you a Quaker?” Lili asked.

  He shook his head. “I was about as far from being a Quaker as you could be. I was in the color guard in high school. I used to go deer-hunting with my father in the fall. There was no way I could convince someone I was a pacifist. But one of my teachers was a Quaker, and I asked her for help. She connected me with a network that could smuggle me to Canada.”

  “Through Stewart’s Crossing,” I said.

  “Yes. I didn’t even know the name of the town back then, though. I got off the bus in Philadelphia and this man picked me up and drove me to the Meeting House.”

  “John Brannigan?” I asked.

  “That was his name. He’s not still alive, is he?”

  “Passed away a few years ago. But a few members of his network are still alive.”

  “I should thank them,” he said. “Once this is all behind me.”

  I considered him. He appeared to be relieved more than anything else. I couldn’t see a weapon on him, and he didn’t seem tense or angry.

  “It had to be fate that brought me back here, though I didn’t realize it at first. I was stunned when the college where I was teaching in Dubai closed its doors. I knew we were in the red, but….” He shook his head. “I assumed there would always be oil money to keep us going. But then one day there wasn’t, and I was out of a job.”

  He turned to me. “It’s tough to be unemployed at my age. I have another five
years until I can collect Social Security. And who wants to hire someone for five years? I was lucky to find this opportunity. I’d have taken it even if I knew what I was coming back to.”

  I understood how he felt. I’d been in a similar situation myself when I left prison. Luck had brought me to Bucks County as well. I smiled at him and tried to look relaxed. “Why don’t you tell us what happened when you got to the Meeting House?”

  “There were two of us on the bus from Pittsburgh. Me and this other boy about my age.”

  “Don Lamprey,” I said.

  “I never knew his last name. We hardly spoke all the way across the state, both of us scared and caught up in our own heads. And he had a funny smell. At first I thought it was that he hadn’t bathed in a couple of days, but then at a rest stop he pulled a joint out of his bag and offered to share it with me.”

  Bobeaux stood up and flexed his back muscles. “I’d never smoked it and I wasn’t going to start. I changed seats for the rest of the trip. When we got to the Meeting House it was late at night. John let us into the building, and showed us the space between the walls. He told us to get some rest, and he’d be back for us the next morning.”

  He began to pace around Lili’s office, dodging the student canvases against one wall and the pile of art books on the floor. “This girl came over to talk to us, but Don wasn’t interested. He said that he was going out for a walk.”

  He was quiet for a moment, and I assumed he was remembering that night. “I don’t remember the girl’s name, just that she was kind of silly. We talked for a couple of hours, and then she had to leave to be home by her curfew. Don still wasn’t back by then, and I started to wonder if he’d changed his mind.”

  He toyed with the watch around his wrist. “I sat up for a while longer and then dozed off. He didn’t come back until the middle of the night. He said he had a bad headache and he went to sleep.” He stopped by the door to her office, looked out the hallway up and down, then turned back to us.

  “He stunk of the dope, and I guess I got a bit of a contact high. I slept, too, and when I woke up in the morning I climbed out of the closet to use the bathroom. When I got back I tried to wake him up, but he didn’t answer me, and his body was cold.”