Spring Forward

by Catherine Anderson

  Tanner slipped a fiver from his wallet and laid it on the counter. “I just dropped in to see if you’ve seen a dog around here.”

  Someone at the other end of the bar snorted. The bartender apparently saw no humor in the question and said, “Just ran out the back door. Maybe he heard you on the porch. You the owner of that little son bitch?”

  Tanner’s stomach clenched. “No, but it may belong to my friend. I know it’s a blue heeler, but does it have any special markings?”

  “Not that I’ve noticed. And if your friend owns the little bastard, he owes me money. Son bitch kept sneaking into my beer cooler and making free with my Pabst Blue Ribbon. Punctured the cans with a canine tooth and sucked ’em dry. One evenin’ he went through a half rack. I have to lock my cooler door now so I don’t go broke.”

  Pabst Blue Ribbon. It was Tuck’s preferred brand. Maybe over time it had become Rip’s as well. Tanner hadn’t wanted to believe Tuck gave his dog beer. But no matter how he circled the facts he’d gathered so far, his suspicions seemed to be correct.

  “If I leave you my cell number, will you call me if the dog comes back?”

  The bartender shook his head. “Nope. He’s gotten to be popular with my customers, kinda like a mascot. The boys buy his rounds now, so his drinkin’ habit isn’t on me. If I call you, I have a feelin’ we won’t be seein’ no more of the dog.”

  Tanner tried for patience. “What you don’t seem to understand, sir, is that beer is poisonous to dogs.”

  A fat guy who sat at the curved corner of the bar with a ball cap pulled low over his scraggly blond hair took exception to that. “Bullshit! He’s guzzled a shitload of beer at this bar. Ain’t hurt him none yet.”

  Another man of equal bulk shoved back his barstool and stood up. Tanner knew he could hold his own against any one fellow in the building, possibly against two, but the last thing he needed was to get arrested during his shift for engaging in a barroom brawl. Mac would fire him for sure. Tanner stood and held up his hands. “I didn’t come here for trouble, boys. Like I said, I think the dog belongs to my friend. I’m just trying to look out for it.”

  “Well,” the big guy said, “look out for it on the road. We watch each other’s backs in this place, and Guzzler is our friend. We cover him for a few beers when he pushes through the doors. We’re just being friendly, and now you’re saying we’re poisoning him. Next thing we know, you’ll have PETA breathing down our necks for animal abuse.”

  “I didn’t come here for trouble, either, Bobby,” another man said. “Just leave it alone. If I go home with another shiner, Cheryl will divorce me.”

  The bartender sent his regular customers a warning glare. “No more fightin’ in my joint. Last time you threw barstools through my windows, and not a damned one of you coughed up a dime to pay for damages.”

  “You got insurance!” Bobby cried.

  “With a high deductible.” The bartender stretched out a beefy arm. As Tanner shook hands with him, the older man said, “I don’t answer to sir. Name’s JJ. There’s no way of knowin’ if Guzzler is your friend’s pet. And I ain’t the dog police. You wanna park out there and watch for him, have at it. But I won’t turn the little beggar in, not to you or anybody. Unless, of course, he gets in my cooler again and shaves twenty bucks off my day’s profit by guzzlin’ my PBR. Then I might call the law, or shoot him, one.”

  “My name is Tanner Richards, JJ, and please, no matter what, don’t shoot the dog. I’ll personally cover any losses you have incurred because of him.”

  JJ’s eyes narrowed. “A hundred would make us even.”

  A hundred? Tanner drew out his wallet. How much beer could a dog possibly consume? He laid three twenties and a ten spot on the counter. “That’s all I’ve got on me. I’ll bring the other thirty tomorrow.” He met the bartender’s calculating gaze. “My friend’s old, and it’d break his heart if anything happened to that heeler. The dog’s name is Rip. He has a home, and he’s deeply loved.” Tanner grabbed a pen from his shirt pocket to dash down his name and number on a bar napkin. “Please, just call me.”

  As Tanner left the tavern he saw JJ toss the napkin in the trash. Once in the vehicle again, Tanner scanned the immediate area for Rip. Why he bothered, he didn’t know. If Rip had caught his scent or seen him pass by one of the windows, he was too smart to hang around. Tanner tried to think what he should do. He could go straight to Tuck, but he didn’t want to upset his elderly friend, and he’d also be circumventing Crystal’s authority as Rip’s caregiver. She deserved to be the first to know what Tanner suspected, and she could decide how to handle the situation.

  * * *

  Rip continued to escape from the fenced acreage for the rest of the week, and Crystal was once again pacing the floors on Friday night when Tanner showed up for their date. He arrived carrying two bottles of wine in the crook of one arm, and a six-pack of PBR was clutched in his other hand.

  “I’m wearing clothes this time,” he said when she opened the door, “but I did bring the beer. PBR just in case it’s your favorite, too.”

  As worried as she was about her grandfather’s missing dog, Crystal laughed and opened the door wider. “Just my luck to get the beer and not the naked guy.”

  He walked past her to place his burden on Tuck’s table. “Dinner’s in my pickup. I, um, had some unexpected expenses this week, so I cooked. We’ll need to reheat the meatballs. Extra-large Italian ones that simmered all day in homemade sauce. We’ll have to cook the pasta. It’s never as good heated up. I brought grated Parmesan and crusty bread, already buttered, that I hope we can brown in your oven. And a green salad I made from scratch.” He gave her a sheepish look. “I’m sorry, Crystal. A man appreciates it when a woman’s a cheap date, but I know the same isn’t true in reverse.”

  She’d dressed up, and so had he. He wore gray slacks and a black sport jacket over a pressed pinstripe shirt with an Ivy League collar. All she could think to say was “Does this mean I can take off the high heels? My little toe is killing me.”

  He laughed and turned to regard her shoes. “Please, take them off. They’re sexy, I have to admit, but they’re a little much for a casual dinner at home.”

  Crystal stowed the beer in the fridge while he ran back out to his truck for dinner. She set the red wine on the counter, opened one bottle to let it breathe, and was barefoot by the time he reappeared. He came up beside her to place their dinner on the bar. Then, without trying to pretend he wasn’t, he took in her little black dress with spaghetti straps, his gaze lingering everywhere that made a woman feel desirable.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  The compliment touched her. Being tall and slender with bright red hair and a face that didn’t make babies cry, she knew she was striking. But beautiful? She had a miniature version of Tuck’s sharply bridged nose; her grandmother’s complexion, given to freckles; and hazel eyes that could look green one moment and brown the next. But nothing about her was spectacular. And on top of that, she didn’t have big boobs.

  “Thank you.” She couldn’t think of a better way to respond. “Beer or wine?”

  “Wine. Believe it or not, I sprang for some nice merlot.”

  From the cupboard Crystal drew goblets, wide-mouthed with large bowls for a red. After she poured and offered him a glass, he rolled the goblet between his palms and stared through its curvature. “Nice legs.” Then he settled a twinkling blue gaze on her and said, “Yours, not the wine’s. Although it has nice legs, too.”

  He drew off his jacket and tossed it over the back of the chair that had brutalized her toe. Then he plugged in the Crock-Pot, found a large spoon to turn the sauce and meatballs, and joined her on the sofa. “I hope you like my recipe for Italian meatballs. I got it at an amazing Chicago restaurant. Little hole-in-the-wall place, tucked in between a bunch of small stores and delis. The owner jotted it down for me, and I’ve been making i
t ever since.” He kissed the tips of his fingers. “The secret is in the spices and simmering the sauce for hours. What a nice man. He and his wife didn’t offer a wide menu, but every dish was superb.”

  “What were you doing in Chicago?” Tuck had taken Crystal to Jamaica once when she was a teen, Hawaii another time, but otherwise she hadn’t traveled much. “I’ve never been there.”

  “Business trip,” he said. “Before Carolyn died, I owned a large accounting firm.” He grinned at her. “Large for southern Oregon, anyway. I had some important clients.” He sighed. “Those were the days. Plenty of money. Tailored suits. BMWs. A gorgeous house. And then Carolyn’s fancy little car went under a semitruck.”

  She wasn’t sure how to respond. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah.” He turned his wine and gazed into the burgundy depths. “But I grew as a person. I realized I couldn’t be a good father when I was stretched so thin professionally. I sold my firm and downsized so I could focus on my kids. I don’t look back with any regrets. I think I made the right choice.”

  “I’m sure you did.”

  “Except that I’m broke.” He winked at her. “Not really, of course, but living on a budget. Life is strange. Back then I worried about where to get my suits made. Now I worry about which baseball cleats will support my son’s feet, give him good traction, and wear the longest.”

  Crystal nodded. In simple ways, Tanner was trying to convey to her who he was: no longer a successful businessman, but a single dad juggling expenses to provide his kids with the best life he could.

  He reached over and touched his glass against hers. “No sailing on a catamaran with me. It’s rowing all the way upstream.”

  A few minutes later Crystal helped him finish preparing dinner and was impressed by how easily they worked in tandem. “Hey, we may not be on a catamaran, but we sail right along in a kitchen.”

  He laughed and held a spoon to her lips. “The sauce. Don’t be nice. Tell me the truth.”

  Crystal closed her eyes as she savored the taste. “Oh, my goodness. That is amazing.”

  When they sat down to eat, Crystal decided dinner was beyond fabulous. The meatballs practically melted in her mouth. The sauce had a perfect blend of spices and just a touch of sweetness that held at bay the acidic taste she disliked in many marinara sauces. “Oh, Tanner. I want this recipe. Please?”

  “Sorry. It’s a family recipe. Top secret.”

  “Nuh-uh! You said it came from Chicago.”

  “I lied. My last name, Richards, is an Americanized version of Riccardo.”

  Crystal studied his handsome face. “Your eyes are turning brown.”

  He burst out laughing. “Of course I’ll share the recipe with you.”

  Together they tidied the kitchen and packed up all his dishes. After refilling their wineglasses, they headed toward the love seat. Once reclined beside each other, they leaned back and elevated their feet on her coffee table.

  “Where’s Rip?” he asked.

  “Gone again. I know it’s mean of me, but I think he particularly enjoys interrupting my sleep on Friday night. Saturday is my longest day.”

  “Crystal, I need to tell you something about Rip.”

  She felt the sudden tension in him. “Okay, go ahead.”

  He sighed. “I don’t think Rip’s deliberately trying to make you lose sleep tonight. A lot of people have Saturdays off and party until the bars close on Friday nights.”

  Crystal stared at him. “What does that have to do with Rip?”

  “I think he may be at a bar.”

  * * *

  Tanner wished, not for the first time, that he knew how to ease his way into difficult conversations. Crystal looked like someone who’d just been shocked with a stun gun, her eyes wide with startled incredulity, her lips slightly parted, and no discernible expression on the rest of her face.

  “Pardon me?” she finally said. “Run that by me again.”

  Tanner launched into an account of seeing a blue heeler he believed to be Rip running along the shoulder of Dew Drop Lane. “I went inside the Witch’s Brew to inquire about the dog. Back when Tuck still lived in Crystal Falls, he referred to Rip as his drinking buddy a few times when I stopped to chat with him.”

  “He’s only joking when he says that! Tuck would never give that dog beer. I’m offended that you’re suggesting he would.”

  “I’m not trying to offend anybody. But listen. Tuck was a rancher. He lived out in the back of beyond. He’s told me stories about going to some bar called Smokey’s, if I remember right. Before Tuck got hurt, he took Rip everywhere with him. Do you honestly think he never took Rip to Smokey’s?”

  “It’s a country bar. Of course he may have taken Rip there. But that doesn’t mean he ever let Rip have beer. The lady who owns the place is a nice woman, an animal lover. I’ve known her over half my life. Nora would never allow Tuck or anyone else to give a dog alcohol.”

  “Last call for drinks in Oregon bars is around two o’clock. If Rip leaves the Witch’s Brew when the drinks stop flowing, he could get back home in an hour. You’ve told me he gets back here at around three. Do the math.”

  Crystal pushed to her feet and raked a slender hand through her long hair. Tanner had been hoping that he might get a chance to run his fingers through it tonight. But now she was pissed. “There could be other explanations.”

  “Sure, there could. But I think we need to check this out.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s still fairly early. I could visit the bar to see if Rip is there.”

  “If I agreed to let you do that, I’d be accepting your slant on everything—namely that my grandfather, a wonderful man who’s never been cruel to an animal his entire life, has abused his dog!” Ice coated her every word.

  Tanner sat forward on the cushion and put his wineglass on the coffee table. “Okay. It’s still early enough for Tuck to be awake. How about we drive to the center and just ask him if he ever let Rip taste beer?” He held her gaze. “Asking him that isn’t the same as asking if he let Rip drink a whole beer or even part of one. You’re taking this all wrong. I’m not saying I think Tuck deliberately did something to hurt his dog. What I’m saying is that Tuck may not know beer is bad for Rip.”

  “How could he not know? I know it. You know it. Nadine knows it.” An odd expression crept over her face. “Oh, my God, Nadine. She went barhopping last Friday night and they ended the evening at the Witch’s Brew. She told me about some crazy guy who had his dog sitting at the bar as if it were a human, and men were buying it beer.”

  Tanner swallowed. “Was Rip gone last Friday night?”

  Her arm jerked and she slopped wine over the edge of her glass onto the floor. “Damn it.” She hurried to the kitchen to get a wet cloth. “That’ll stain the wood.”

  Tanner waited until she’d cleaned up the mess. Then he repeated the question. She remained hunkered down, supporting her posterior on the heels of her bare feet. “Yes,” she admitted.

  “Did he come home around three?”

  She bent her head so her hair formed a long curtain at each side of her face. “Yes. Are you satisfied? Yes.”

  “Please don’t make me the bad guy in this, Crystal. You know how fond I am of your grandfather. He’s a great guy. All I’m saying is, he’s old. What’s common knowledge to people of our generation may not be common knowledge to everyone in his. Maybe Tuck has no idea beer is bad for dogs. I’ll bet if we took a survey, some people, regardless of age, would know and some people wouldn’t.”

  She finally lifted her head. “You’re right. I need to talk with Tuck.”

  “You mind if I go along?”

  She sighed and finally smiled. “No, of course not.”

  Chapter Eleven

  They decided to take Crystal’s car. She was so upset that Tanner drove, and she said not a word. Tanner suspected tha
t they were each occupied with their own thoughts.

  The first thing they saw when they entered the retirement center was the large form of Patricia Flintlock at the front desk, looming over Marsha and chewing her out about something. When the old biddy saw Crystal, her mouth drew into a tight line.

  “You’re arriving rather late for a visit,” she said.

  “It’s only eight,” Crystal reminded her, her voice cool but polite.

  “Be gone by ten.” Her tone was the same as she might have used to order a stray dog away from a trash can.

  Tanner didn’t know if he wanted Crystal to stand her ground or run like a scalded cat. She was already upset, and another round of verbal sparring would only unsettle her more.

  “I’m sorry?” Crystal said. “Your rules say visiting hours in the community areas end at ten, but Tuck and any other resident can have guests later than that in an apartment. Someone can even stay all night.”

  “I’ve changed the rules.”

  Crystal straightened her shoulders. Tanner felt proud of her, although when he considered that, it seemed silly. He’d played no part in raising Crystal to become a strong woman who would dig in and fight for her grandfather’s rights. Yet he still wanted to pat her on the back. She’d make a wonderful mother, the kind who would go to bat for her kids without hesitation.

  “If so, I haven’t seen that in writing. You can change the rules anytime you wish as long as you abide by Oregon law,” Crystal replied. “Shall I call Tuck’s attorney to see if you’ve a right to change the in-apartment visiting hours?”

  Patricia pivoted on her heel and all but stomped away. Tanner suspected the woman was trying to look regal, but instead she came off as pathetic. He whispered to Crystal, “What’s she do, swallow an ugly pill every morning?”

  Crystal grimaced. “Maybe she was just born with a nasty disposition. The corporation that owns this facility should screen their employees better.”

  They walked up the hall to Tuck’s apartment. Crystal tapped on the door, then cracked it open. “You at home, Tuck?”