Fear on Four Paws

by Clea Simon

  “I thought I heard something.” I improvised, elaborating on the truth only a little. The cat stared at me, affronted. “And this close to the woods…”

  “Excuse me?” The dog walker had recovered from his shock. He pulled the lead in, causing the dog—who still seemed stunned—to back up.

  “I’m sorry.” I took a breath. That moment of fear, more than the quick dash, had drained me. “We’re training Bun— Spot to walk on a leash.”

  The man stared down his long nose, his mouth set in a disapproving frown. Not a cat man, clearly. The husky merely blinked those blue eyes, so much like Creighton’s and seemingly similarly thoughtful.

  “He wouldn’t have attacked,” I said, and the corners of that mouth twitched. I could see why—Bunbury would barely make up a mouthful to the big dog, but I wasn’t joking. Clearly this man wasn’t a regular cat person, either, or he’d have known how often cats go for dogs, especially if they view them as a threat. In fact, just to make sure we didn’t have an incident, I turned to make sure Susan was holding Bunbury close, and was pleased to realize that her fear, along with his displeasure with me, had dissipated. Instead, Bunbury was viewing the larger beast with curiosity.

  “That’s a beautiful animal,” I said. It never hurts to compliment someone’s dog. It also makes a good opening. The man only grunted, but the husky looked up with those soulful eyes and wagged his tail. I took that as invitation and held out my hand for him to sniff. “Bear.” The word as clear as if he’d spoken it in my ear.

  “He’s got a fine pedigree, although I’ve never shown him.” The man’s voice interrupted my question for the husky, as gruff as a bark and almost as distinctive. “Those eyes, you know.”

  “I see.” Blue eyes aren’t uncommon in huskies, but why burst this man’s bubble? Besides, something else was going on. The dog was curious. Too well behaved to strain at the leash, he had that husky urge to explore. I was getting a stream of thought that could only translate as questions: “Woods? Forest? Bear?” Beyond that, I was hearing—no, it was the man.

  “Excuse me.” I withdrew my hand, to the husky’s dismay. I needed to focus and held it out to the man instead. “I’m Pru, Pru Marlowe.”

  “Jack Walz.” He took my hand with his own. French cuffs, I noted, the nails buffed to a smooth glow. The city had come to Beauville.

  “Finally.” I nodded, more to myself than to him. I knew I’d recognized that voice. “I’m the woman from animal control. We spoke about your fishing license.”

  “Yeah, right.” He brought his hand to his mouth, almost as if he was registering my scent. His own was more cologne than dog, a faint spicy musk that might have confused an animal not used to it. It went with the gold bracelet and designer shades.

  “Did you ever finish the application?” I didn’t really care, and both Bunbury and Mrs. Felicidad were standing by, waiting.

  “No, not yet.” He turned from me to the woman by my side, and I realized how rude I was being, particularly in light of the dark-haired woman’s half-voiced request.

  “I’m sorry.” Sometimes human graces elude me. “Do you two know each other? You’re practically neighbors.”

  “Susan Felicidad.” My new client set her own pet back on the sidewalk and stretched out her flower-bedecked arm. He took it, and they eyed each other carefully. Well, every creature mates in its own way.

  While the two humans made their introductions—her background seemed to shift as she talked, and I wondered if she was modifying it to match his—I watched the two animals. Bunbury was still on alert, his muscular little body tense with excitement, but he was silent now. Watching. The husky—to whom I still had not been introduced—was typically low-key. Distracted, I would have said, which can be typical of a service dog bred for intense physical labor. Until he was called for—or hitched to a sled—he’d probably continue in this dreamy state, fantasizing about the tundra and, yes, the bears out there.

  Unless, it hit me, he was picking up a scent or, more likely, something from me. “You scenting that muzzle, big fella?” While the humans made small talk, I dropped into a squat and finally placed my hand on the thick, rich fur. Sure enough, I was rewarded with that strange musky scent, undeniably wild. But not, I thought, first-hand. The husky was curious, and some ancient memory had been triggered. But he was not sensing a bear this close to the new development.

  Still, I reminded myself, Beauville was not the city, and Bunbury could be at risk. His fearlessness combined with his size could get him in bigger trouble out here than it ever would have back wherever Susan Felicidad used to garden. That would be reason enough for leash training.

  “Excuse me,” I murmured to the two pets, and stood to broach the subject. They weren’t focused on us anymore, however. Instead, they were both looking toward the street, where a familiar truck—dark green with a pine tree logo—was cruising slowly. Ronnie.

  “Hey, there.” Ronnie, uncouth as always, pointing to the far side of the hedge. “Is this your house?”

  “No, I’m sorry.” Susan, her voice polite, appeared puzzled. “May I help you?”

  “Get out of here.” Walz was less so, his cultured voice growing gruff. “Quit bothering the lady.”

  Ronnie blinked but drove on.

  “The temerity of those hucksters.” Walz sniffed. “Shilling on the street.”

  “I think he’s simply offering lawn services.” I couldn’t believe I was defending such a loser, especially as Ronnie was quite openly using his employer’s truck. Then again, what I was doing wasn’t that different. Sure, I’d lived in the city once, but to these people, I was another Beauville hick.

  “No, it wasn’t that.” Susan shook her head, an unlikely champion of the man in the truck. “I have no problem explaining that I enjoy yard upkeep. It’s just that—that truck. The young man who found Spot for me.” She turned to me. “I thought he was in a truck like that. Maybe it was simply parked up the road.”

  “Ronnie and his friends are doing a fair amount of lawns in the area.” I wasn’t convinced. “Maybe it was one of them?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Another shake. “I’ve never seen that man.”

  “You lost your cat?” Walz’s voice softened.

  “He likes to explore, I’ve discovered.” Susan glanced down and shook her head, as if the cat were a stranger. Well, animals will exhibit different behavior in new circumstances.

  “I was thinking we should talk about that.” I was suddenly a bit reluctant to discuss my services. “Whether or not you stick with the leash, I would advise training him not to bolt and to stay inside unless you’re with him.”

  “You can do that?” Her voice lifted, and I smiled in return.

  “I can, and Spot can too. He’s a smart cat.” At our feet, the cat began to purr. I didn’t add that my special sensitivity gave me an edge when it came to feline behavior. Or that I was consciously buttering him up. “He only wants to learn what rules to follow.”

  “Yes!” His eyes closed at the compliment. “That’s my job!” The spotted cat wasn’t going to need much training at all, and I almost felt guilty. Well, I couldn’t exactly call what I did translation services, even if that would be more accurate.

  “You work with animals?” Walz’s gaze was coolly appraising, but, I thought, interested.

  “Yes, I do.” I stood up straight, shoulders back, and did my best to look him in the eye. So much of communication is nonverbal, no matter what we humans try to tell ourselves. “Although I consult with the Beauville animal control office, and often help them out with routine matters, I also have private clients.”

  “The nice vet in charge of the animal hospital recommended her.” Susan Felicidad had picked up on our dynamic as well.

  Walz took this in, along with a sniff of our green and grassy air.

  “Are you having issues with your hu
sky?” I wasn’t going to suggest anything. Not until he let me know what he wanted. I could read men, too. But I would bet that any problems came from boredom. Huskies, like so many of the larger breeds, are fundamentally working animals. That made them even-tempered, but it also opened them up for behavioral issues if they weren’t properly engaged.

  “Not exactly.” He sounded taken aback, as if I’d insulted his dog. “But I may need some help from time to time.”

  “Of course.” I don’t have a card, and he didn’t seem to have a cell phone with him. “You can reach me through the animal control office, at any time. Mrs. Felicidad?”

  We made our way back toward her garden, pausing every few feet to wait for Bunbury—Spot—to catch up. He was an intelligent animal, but as intent on cataloguing the area as if he were in fact a sentry. Still, he seemed content to follow after his person.

  “Of course.” The thought reached me on a chuff. “She’s my person, and I’ll protect her. I’d protect you, too, if you’d let me.”

  “I’m sure you would.” I spoke softly as I crouched down. His silky fur was eminently pet-able, but after I gave his ears a good rubbing, I reached for the lead and unclipped it. Now we would see if he’d stay by his person—or bolt.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Susan spoke softly, but her eyes were on the hedge, which once again hid Walz and his dog from view.

  “I believe he’s ready,” I said. What I didn’t tell her was that her cat had already assessed the big husky and dismissed him as a threat. And that the husky was dreaming of much larger game.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  I would’ve done more. Bunbury—and Susan—were quick learners, and it was gratifying to teach them both how to better communicate. Not that I called it that, of course. Susan Felicidad might be a little more hands-on than your average Beauville newcomer, but I still wouldn’t go that far. Instead, I called it training. Bunbury and I knew that his person was really simply learning how to clarify what she wanted the spotted cat to do and what not.

  Besides, I could still feel Jack Walz watching, staring down his patrician nose like a judgmental hound. They can be quite proud, you know—it comes from knowing they have the best sense of smell in the woods. I didn’t give a damn if he approved of me. I was used to his type from when I lived in the city and, truth be told, tended to play up my rougher aspects, just to get their goat. But I had liked his dog, even as I wondered what was going on beneath that thick fur, and I thought he loved the shaggy beast, too, which spoke well of him. In truth, I might have been looking for a redeeming feature in Walz. I could sure use his money, if the snooty New Yorker would ever come around to admitting that the big husky needed more time and attention than he was willing to give. At least I could meet him halfway on the dog.

  The first time my phone buzzed, I ignored it. Creighton could wait, especially at this point. And if it were any of my clients, well, it didn’t do anybody any harm to think that a service provider was busy.

  “Now, you try it.” I waited while Susan walked off. Bunbury squirmed a bit, flicking his tail as a sign of impatience, but he waited too, aware all the while of my eyes on him. Aware of Walz, too, who had come back around the hedge with his magnificent dog and stood silent, his mouth set in a serious line. Bunbury glanced at him, his dark-ringed ears up to catch any movement from the man. Had the husky done anything, he might have tuned into him as well, but the big dog was dreaming again, his sky-blue eyes gazing off in the distance. Maybe it was this disconnect that had piqued the cat’s interest.

  “Spot.” The cat sprang to attention, every fiber of his being focused on the woman before him. “Come.”

  The cat took his time, strolling like a proper boulevardier. But he did make it up to his person without trying to run or pull at the leash, or other untoward behavior.

  “Very good.” Susan reached to stroke the cat, from those alert ears to the sensitive base of the tail.

  “You’re impressive,” said Walz. From him, this was probably high praise.

  “Thank you.” I turned away. Susan was my client, and besides, men like that need to be reminded that they’re not always the priority. That’s when my phone began ringing again.

  “Do you mind?” My question was for Susan. She looked up at me and nodded her permission. I didn’t have to see Walz to feel him recoil, slightly, in response. And so, in a rare conciliatory moment, I turned and offered him a small smile as well. Hell, I’ve dealt with worse in my day, and I’d be happy to work with that husky.

  “Pru Marlowe.” I didn’t recognize the number, but it was local.

  “Pru, thank God.” Albert, sounding like he’d just run a four-minute mile.

  “Albert, catch your breath.” No matter what I thought about replacing him. I didn’t want it to be because he’d keeled over from a coronary.

  “Pru, no— ” If anything, he was breathing heavier. “You can’t let anyone know it’s me.”

  I opened my mouth to respond to that one and then gave up. Calling from the cop shop, I gathered. Or a burner phone. “Okay,” I drew it out, letting my hesitation ask the question for me. The heavy breathing the followed had me both worried and annoyed. “So?”

  “Pru, Jim is saying there are other people who want to speak with me. He said, like it could be serious.” His voice was still worryingly wheezy. “And what I want to know is—can they make me?”

  I told him what I knew—fast and sweet. There was a limit to how long Creighton could hold him without charging him, and he should lawyer up. He seemed unclear about whether he was going to be arrested, and even why Creighton had been holding him.

  “I think he’s worried about me,” he confessed. “He keeps asking me to talk to him. But, Pru, I can’t.”

  All I could do was repeat my advice, and I made my exit after that, promising to get back to him with whatever I could find out. This was not the kind of conversation I wanted to have in front of a client and a potential client, never mind their pets. As it was, Bunbury was on alert. His sensitive ears had picked up the tension in my voice before he even tried to make sense of the words. The husky, meanwhile, had woken up a bit. Maybe the company—and the cat’s lesson—had sparked something for him. At any rate, he now regarded me with those strange blue eyes, his head cocked at an inquisitive angle.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized to the two humans, whose expressions were frankly just as curious as their animals’. “I’m afraid a colleague is in a situation.” That was as vague as I could be. “Anyway, I need to help him out.”

  “It sounds like you’re the person to know.” Susan made it sound like a compliment, though I suspected she had her own needs in mind. “I’m glad we met.”

  “I am, too,” I almost meant it. She would be an interesting client, at the very least. “I’m glad that Bun— Spot was found, and I look forward to working together again soon.”

  Walz, meanwhile, was watching me. I don’t like to kid myself, but I felt that I’d made an impression. At any rate, he nodded slowly and held out his hand to me. “I may be in touch as well.” He almost sounded impressed.

  We shook, and I ducked down. In part, I wanted to take my leave of his dog, but I’ll confess, I also wanted to hide my own satisfied smile. Men like that, once they realize you’re competent, they start seeing you as an equal.

  “Hey, big guy.” I held out my hand once more.

  “Bear,” said the husky once more, sniffing my palm, and I realized what I had missed before. The sled dog was gifting me with his name. “Bear,” I repeated quietly, my voice intended for only those fuzzy ears. As I stood, I saw Jack Walz regarding me curiously. One eyebrow rose in question and his thin lips pursed.

  “Something about your dog,” I said. I’m used to covering. “He made me think of a bear.”

  “That’s his name.” Walz nodded slowly. “I don’t believe that I told you, but we call
him Urso.”

  My smile felt a bit tight as I drove away. It’s not that surprising clients is a bad thing, not usually. But I have reason to be protective of my secrets. When I first developed my sensitivity—or, as Wallis would have it, discovered the latent ability all of us have—I’d been sure my mind was shot. I’d been feverish for days, when I first heard Wallis, telling me I had to drink some water if I wanted to live. That’s when I’d checked myself into the hospital, hoping the voices would go away.

  They never did, and Wallis had been furious that I’d run out on her, leaving her to fend for herself locked in a city apartment for three days. What I did learn, however, was that I never wanted to be locked up again, for any reason. And I could not see any way in which having my sensitivity made public would not lead to—at the very least—a court-ordered evaluation. No, I needed to keep this part of my life private. And something about the way Jack Walz checked me out made me think that he was smart enough to see that something else was going on.

  Wallis, of course, thought I was worrying needlessly.

  “He’s a man.” She purred as she made figure-eights around my legs. It had been a long day and, while she would never admit it, I believe she missed me.

  “It wasn’t that kind of look, Wallis.” Granted, the fact that I was opening a can of tuna—the good stuff, packed in oil—probably helped. “Besides, he’s at least twenty years older than me.”

  “One-track mind.” The purr didn’t let up, giving her words a kind of rolling rhythm. “Maybe you need to get out more?”

  I didn’t respond, other than to empty the can into a saucer for her. She jumped neatly and nearly silently to the counter and began to eat, as I opened a second can for myself. “Well, what did you mean, then?”

  “Oh, please.” I couldn’t tell if her expostulation was in response to my dim-wittedness or because I was spooning mayo into my bowl. “It’s you.” The answer was immediate, and tinged with the sharp fishy taste of the oil. “What you should know is that the male of the species is always a bit slower on the uptake. They think ‘We’re the hunters; we’re the ones who call the shots.’”