by Nora Roberts
He paused. “We’ve interviewed Perry, and will do so again. Because he knows. I know him, Fee, and I know he wasn’t pleased when I told him about the scarf that was sent to you. Not in his plans, not his style. Even less pleased when I let it slip, we’ll say, that Annette Kellworth had been beaten and her face, in particular, severely damaged. He’ll turn on this guy, he’ll turn because I’ll make him feel betrayed and disrespected. And that—you know—he won’t tolerate.”
“I appreciate you keeping me informed, coming here and making sure I understand the status and the situation.” She held temper under clipped words and a brisk tone. “I have a class starting very soon. I have to get ready.”
“All right.” Tawney laid a hand over hers in a gesture as fatherly as it was official. “I want that call, Fee, every day.”
“Yes. Could you leave that?” she asked Mantz when the agent started to refold the paper. “It’ll help remind me not to give even an inch.”
“No problem.” Mantz rose. “There’ll be others now that this story hit. I’d start screening all my calls, and you’d be smart to post some ‘No Trespassing’ signs around your property. You can tell your clients you’ve had some trouble with hikers cutting through, and you’re concerned for your dogs,” she added before Fiona could speak.
“Yes. Yes, that’s a good idea. I’ll take care of it.”
She walked them out, then waited for Simon to join her on the porch. “You want to give me grief for not mentioning the reporter. That’s fine, but you have to get in line. I’m first.”
“You already gave yourself grief on that.”
“No. I mean I have a few things to say to you, and I’m in a bind. You’re pissed at me, and pretty seriously, but you still stood up for me with Agent Mantz. I’d say the standing up wasn’t necessary, but that’s ungracious. Besides, standing up for someone isn’t ever necessary—it’s just what you do for someone you care about, or when somebody needs it. So I’m grateful for that, and I appreciate that. And at the same time I’m so angry with you for just taking over the way you did. For pushing my opinion and wants aside, and making it clear you’d see to it I’d do what I was told.”
“I’m clear on it, so I figured you and the feds should be.”
She swung around. “Don’t think for one minute you can—”
“You’d better shut it down, Fiona.” His eyes flared hot, singed gold. “You’d better shut it down fast.” He took a step toward her. Nearby, Peck let out a quiet warning. Simon responded by jerking his head, aiming a hard look, pointing a finger for silence.
The dog sat instantly but kept watchful.
“You want to go off on me, then you get in line. You can go on your I-can-take-care-of-myself routine all you want. I don’t give a rat’s rabid ass because you’re not doing it yourself this time, so just swallow that one down. You can tell me I’m stupid for not leaving my damn toothbrush in the bathroom, and I’ve got to give that to you. I’m telling you, you’re brain-dead if you think you can decide all the rest on your own. That’s not how it works.”
“I never said—”
“Shut up. This bullshit about not telling me some reporter came by to hassle you because you put it aside? Don’t pull that on me again. You don’t put things aside, not like this.”
“I didn’t—”
“I’m not fucking done. You don’t run this show. I don’t know how you worked it before with your cop, but this is now. You’re dealing with me now. You’d better think about that, and if you can’t deal with it, you let me know. We’ll leave it that we just fuck when we’re both in the mood, and move on.”
She felt her face go cold and stiff as the blood drained. “That’s harsh, Simon.”
“Damn right it is. You’ve got clients coming, and I’ve got work to do.” He strode away as a couple of cars drove across her bridge.
Jaws, obviously tuned in to his master’s mood, leaped quickly into the truck.
“I didn’t get my turn,” Fiona muttered, then tried some deep breathing to center herself before greeting her clients.
NINETEEN
Fiona deliberately scheduled a solo behavioral correction as her last client of the day. She often thought of those sessions as attitude adjustments—and not just for the dog.
The fluffy orange Pom, Chloe—all four pounds of her—ruled over her owners, reportedly wreaked havoc in her neighborhood, yipping, snarling and lunging hysterically at other dogs, cats, birds, kids, and occasionally tried to take a Pom-sized chunk out of whatever crossed her path when she wasn’t in the mood for it.
Struggling to crochet—her newest hobby—Sylvia sat on the porch with a pitcher of fresh lemonade and butter cookies while Fiona listened to the client repeat the gist of their phone consult.
“My husband and I had to cancel our vacation this winter.” Lissy Childs stroked the ball of fur in her arms while that ball eyed Fiona suspiciously. “We couldn’t get anyone to take her for the week—or house-sit, if she was in it. She’s so sweet, really, and so adorable, but, well, she is incorrigible.”
Lissy made kissy noises, and Chloe responded by shivering all over and lapping at Lissy’s face.
Chloe, Fiona noted, wore a silver collar studded with multicolored rhinestones—at least she hoped they were just rhinestones—and pink booties, open at the toe to show off matching pink toenails.
Both she and her human smelled of Vera Wang’s Princess.
“She’s a year?”
“Yes, she just had her very first birthday, didn’t you, baby doll?”
“Do you remember when she started showing unsociable behavior?”
“Well.” Lissy cuddled Chloe. The eye-popping square-cut diamond on her hand flared like fired ice, and Chloe made a point of showing Fiona her sharp, scissorlike teeth. “She’s really never liked other dogs, or cats. She thinks she’s a person, ’cause she’s my baby.”
“She sleeps in your bed, doesn’t she?”
“Well . . . yes. She has a sweet bed of her own, but she likes to use it as a toy box. She just loves squeaky toys.”
“How many does she have?”
“Oh . . . well.” Lissy had the grace to look sheepish as she flipped back her long blond mane. “I buy them for her all the time. I just can’t resist. And little outfits. She loves to dress up. I know I spoil her. Harry does, too. We just can’t resist. And really, she is a sweetheart. She’s just a little jealous and excitable.”
“Why don’t you put her down?”
“She doesn’t like me to put her down outside. Especially when . . .” She glanced over her shoulder where Oreo and Fiona’s dogs sprawled. “When other d-o-g-s are around.”
“Lissy, you’re paying me to help Chloe become a happier, better-adjusted dog. What you’re telling me, and what I’m seeing, is that Chloe’s not only pack leader, she’s a four-pound dictator. Everything you’ve told me indicates she has a classic case of Small Dog Syndrome.”
“Oh, my goodness! Does she need medication?”
“She needs you to stop allowing her to lead, fostering the idea that because she’s little she’s permitted to engage in bad behavior you wouldn’t permit in a larger dog.”
“Well, but, she is little.”
“Size doesn’t change the behavior, or the reason a dog displays it.” Owners, Fiona thought, were all too often the biggest obstacle. “Listen, you can’t take her for a walk without stress, or have people over to your house. You told me you and Harry love to entertain, but haven’t been able to have a dinner party in months.”
“It’s just that the last time we tried, it was so stressful with Chloe so upset that we had to put her in the bedroom.”
“Where she destroyed your new duvet, among other things.”
“It was awful.”
“You can’t leave her to have an evening away without her having a tantrum, so you and your husband have stopped going out to dinner, to parties, to the theater. You said she bit your mother.”
“Yes,
it was just a nip really. She—”
“Lissy, let me ask you something. I bet you’ve been on planes, or in the shops, a restaurant where a child’s been running wild, disturbing everyone, kicking the seat, arguing with his parents, creating a nuisance, whining, complaining and so on.”
“God, yes.” She rolled her eyes as she spoke. “It’s so annoying. I don’t understand why . . . Oh.” Cluing in, Lissy blew out a breath. “I’m not being a responsible mommy.”
“Exactly.” Or close enough. “Put her down.”
The minute Chloe’s pink booties hit the ground, she leaped onto her hind legs, yipping, scrabbling at Lissy’s lovely linen pants.
“Come on now, baby, don’t—”
“No,” Fiona said. “Don’t give her that kind of attention when she’s misbehaving. You need to dominate. Show her who’s in charge.”
“Stop that right now, Chloe, or no yummies on the way home.”
“Not like that. First, stop thinking, But she’s so little and cute. Stop thinking about her size and think of her as a misbehaving dog. Here.” Fiona took the leash.
“Step away,” she told Lissy, and positioned herself between them. Chloe yipped and snarled, attempted a quick lunge and nip.
“Stop!” Voice firm, Fiona kept eye contact and shot a finger toward the dog. Chloe made grumbling sounds, but subsided.
“She’s sulking,” Lissy said with indulgence.
“If she was a Lab or a German shepherd sitting there growling, would it be cute?”
Lissy cleared her throat. “No. You’re right.”
“Spoiling her isn’t making her happy. It’s making her a bully, and bullies aren’t happy.”
She began to walk the dog. Chloe struggled, trying to turn back to Lissy. Fiona simply shortened the leash, forcing Chloe to fall in line. “Once she understands there’s no reward, no affection shown for bad behavior, and that you’re in charge, she’ll stop. And be happier.”
“I don’t want her to be a bully or unhappy. Honestly, that’s why I’m here. I’m just terrible at discipline.”
“Then get better,” Fiona said flatly. “She depends on you. When she’s already excited and heading out of control, speak to her firmly, correct her quickly, don’t placate her in that high baby-talk voice. That only increases her level of stress. She wants you to take control, and you’ll all be happier once you do.”
For the next ten minutes, Fiona worked with the dog, correcting and rewarding.
“She listens to you.”
“Because she understands I’m in charge, and she respects that. Her behavior problems are a result of how she’s been treated by the people around her, how she’s come to believe she should be treated and now demands to be treated.”
“Spoiled.”
“It’s not the squeaky toys, the yummies, the outfits. Why not indulge yourselves there if it makes all of you happy? It goes back to allowing, even encouraging, unacceptable behavior and giving her the controls. She goes on the attack with big dogs, right?”
“All the time. And it was funny at first. You just had to laugh. Now it’s gotten a little scary every time we take her for a walk.”
“She does it because you’ve made her pack leader. She has to defend that position every time she comes in contact with another dog, human, animal. It stresses her out.”
“Is that why she goes on those barking jags? Because she’s stressed?”
“That, and because she’s telling you what to do. People think of Poms as yappy dogs because their owners often allow them to become yappy dogs.”
Not yapping now, Fiona thought as she stopped and Chloe sat and watched her with those almond-shaped eyes. “She’s relaxed now. I want you to do the same thing with her. Walk her back and forth. Stay in control.”
Fiona led Chloe to Lissy, and the dog rose up to paw the air, to scrabble at Lissy’s legs.
“Lissy,” Fiona said firmly.
“Okay. Chloe, stop.”
“Mean it!” Fiona ordered.
“Chloe, stop!”
Chloe sat, tipped her head from side to side as if evaluating.
“Now walk her. Insist that she heel. She’s not walking you.”
Fiona stepped back to watch. She was, she knew, training the human every bit as much as—possibly more than—the dog. Progress, and a satisfied client, would depend on the human’s willingness to adhere to the training at home.
“She’s listening!”
“You’re doing great.” And both of you are relaxed, Fiona thought. “I’m going to walk toward you. If she exhibits unacceptable behavior, I want you to correct. And don’t tense up. You’re walking your cute little dog. Your cute, polite, happy little dog.”
At Fiona’s approach, Chloe barked and pulled on the leash. Fiona wasn’t sure who was more surprised, Pom or master, when Lissy hissed out a no-nonsense Stop and brought Chloe to heel.
“Excellent. Again.”
She repeated, repeated until at her approach, Chloe simply continued to walk politely at Lissy’s heel.
“Well done. Syl, would you mind? Syl’s going to walk by now. Syl, stop and chat, okay?”
“Sure.” Sylvia strolled up, crossed paths. “Nice to see you.”
“Okay. Gosh.” Lissy stopped, blinking when the pretty little Pom did the same without snarling or yipping. “Look what she did.”
“Isn’t that great? What a pretty dog.” Sylvia bent over to stroke Chloe’s fluffy head. “What a well-behaved dog. Good girl, Chloe.”
“We’re going to add Newman in,” Fiona announced.
“Oh my God.”
“Lissy, don’t tense up. Stay relaxed. Newman won’t react to her until I allow it. You’re in charge. She depends on you. Correct firmly, quickly and as necessary.”
With Newman by her side, Fiona walked across Chloe’s eye line. The Pom went ballistic.
“Correct,” Fiona ordered. “Firmly, Lissy,” she added when her flustered client faltered. “No, don’t pick her up. Like this. Chloe, stop! Stop!” Fiona repeated, making eye contact, pointing sharply.
Chloe subsided with a few grumbles.
“Newman’s no threat. Obviously,” Fiona added as the Lab sat placidly. “You need to keep relaxed and remain in charge—and be firm when she’s exhibiting unsocial behavior.”
“He’s so much bigger. She’s scared.”
“Yes, she’s scared and she’s stressed—and so are you. You have to relax, let her relax. She’ll see there’s nothing to be afraid of.” At Fiona’s hand signal, Newman lay down, sighed a little.
“You said there was a park near you, and several people take their dogs there.”
“Yes. I stopped taking Chloe because she’d just get upset.”
“It’d be nice to be able to take her, so she could have playmates, make friends.”
“Nobody likes her,” Lissy whispered. “It hurts her feelings.”
“Nobody likes a bully, Lissy. But people, especially dog people, generally enjoy a well-behaved dog. And one as pretty and smart as Chloe could make a lot of friends. You’d like that for her?”
“I really would.”
“When’s the last time you took her to the park?”
“Oh gosh, it’s been three or four months. There was this little incident. Really she barely broke the skin—barely—but Harry and I felt it best not to take her back.”
“I think you can give it another try.”
“Really? But—”
“Take a look.” Fiona held a finger up first. “Don’t overreact. Stay calm—keep your voice calm.”
Lissy glanced down, then pressed her free hand to her mouth as she watched Chloe sniff curiously at Newman.
“She’s checking him out,” Fiona said. “Her tail’s wagging, her ears are up. She’s not afraid. She’s interested. Stay calm,” she added, then signaled Newman.
When he stood, Chloe retreated, then froze as he lowered his head to sniff her in turn. Her tail wagged again.
“He g
ave her a kiss!”
“Newman likes pretty girls.”
“She’s making a friend.” Lissy’s eyes filled. “It’s silly. I know it’s silly to get so emotional.”
“No it’s not. Not a bit. You love her.”
“She’s never had a friend. It’s my fault.”
Mostly, Fiona thought, but things were never quite that simple. “Lissy, you brought her here because you love her and you want her to be happy. She has a friend now. How about we let her make a few more?”
“Are you sure?”
“Trust me.”
Lissy reached out, a bit dramatically, to clutch Fiona’s hand. “I really, really do.”
“Correct if necessary. Otherwise, just relax and let her deal.”
Fiona called the dogs off the porch, one at a time, to give Chloe a chance to acclimate. There were a few corrections, some retreat and advance, but before long they had what Fiona thought of as a sniff-and-wag party going on.
“I’ve never seen her like this. She’s not scared or being mean or trying to claw up my leg so I’ll pick her up.”
“Let’s give her a reward. Let her off the leash so she can run around with the boys and Oreo.”
Lissy bit her lip but obeyed.
“Go play,” Fiona ordered.
As the others ran off, bumping bodies, Chloe stood, shivering.
“She’s—”
“Wait,” Fiona interrupted. “Give her some time.”
Bogart raced back, gave Chloe a few swipes with his tongue. This time when he ran toward the pack, Chloe raced after him on her little designer booties.
“She’s playing.” Lissy murmured it as Chloe leaped to latch onto the frayed end of the mangled rope Bogart snagged. “She’s really playing with friends.”
Fiona draped an arm around Lissy’s shoulders. “Let’s sit on the porch and have some lemonade. You can watch her from there.”
“I—I should’ve brought my camera. I never thought . . .”
“Tell you what. Sit with Sylvia. I’ll go get mine and take some shots. I’ll e-mail them to you.”
