Death on a Short Leash (11 page)

“Something's upset them.”

“Probably a rat. I heard them barking when I was in the cow field.”

“You've been giving them those tranquilizers, haven't you?”

“Of course I have.”

“Let's have a quick look around.” The two of them started down the rows and Maggie, squeezed back as far as she could, felt the straw tickle her nose.
Oh God. Don't let me sneeze!
She peered cautiously around the bales to see where they were.
The tall one looks like the man we saw in the yard.

“Everything seems okay.”

“Must've been a rat. You know how high-strung these things are.”

“Put the lights out. That'll calm 'em.”

Maggie waited a good five minutes in the dark before venturing out of her hiding place. Now the only light in the barn was the bit of daylight seeping between the ill-fitting boards. It was going to be tricky getting back to the cages without falling over something and disturbing the dogs again. But she wasn't going to leave Rosie in that condition. Slowly, one foot at a time, she felt her way to the cages, uttering soft cooing noises to each occupant as she passed them. She reached Rosie's cage without mishap, but then came the task of undoing the wire holding the door shut.

The little dog, sensing rescue was near, kept pushing her nose against it, hampering Maggie's efforts.

“Easy, Rosie. Quiet.” She pushed the little nose back with her fingers. “Just let me open the door.” But Rosie couldn't wait, and started giving little yips of excitement, which started the others off again. Finally, with a few cuss words to help, the wire came away and the little dog struggled to get her fat little body through the door. “Quiet, quiet. I'll get you out.” Maggie reached in and lifted the dog out, stuffing her inside her coat before making for the door. She expected a shout from one of the men. But all was quiet.

The track back to the main road seemed much longer now, and it was all Maggie could do to hold the squirming, heavy little dog under her coat. She wanted to take to her heels and run as she emerged from the trees and out into the open, but knew she would fall headlong into the muddy ruts. “Please don't let anyone see me,” she muttered. Hearing the voice, the little dog became frantic to be put down. “Rosie, calm down. We're almost there.” Another fifty feet or so.

“Stop! Hey you, stop!” The voice came from behind her. Taking a quick look back, she could see the two men running out of the woods. “Stop or we'll shoot.”

She wasn't going to wait to find out if they were bluffing. Holding the dog tighter, she ran faster, though terrified she would land smack face-down in the mud as she jumped over the puddles and ruts. The dog seemed to get heavier by the minute and the boots looser, and she could feel them being sucked off her feet as she slid into a deep rut. Rosie went flying out of her arms as she fell. “Hell!” Wrenching her feet out of the boots, she grabbed the dog up out of the deep puddle into which it had fallen and ran the rest of the way in her stocking feet. It was hard to resist the urge to take a look over her shoulder, but she could tell by their shouts that the men were gaining.
Another few feet, just let me make it.
She reached the road and ran toward the car. “Oh, my God! Where did I put the key?”

Tucking the dog under her left arm, she fished into her right pocket. “It's not there. Where the hell did I put it?” She changed the dog over to her right arm, plunged her hand into the left pocket, and her fingers closed over the key. Glancing back, she saw that the men had reached the road, and she wrenched the car door open and fell headlong across the seat. Rosie sprawled onto the passenger's side. Ramming the key into the ignition, she started the engine, pushed the lever into gear, and slammed her foot hard on the gas pedal. By now the two men had almost reached the back of the car, and as she glanced through her rearview mirror, she had the great satisfaction of seeing them covered in the muddy water that spurted from beneath her wheels.

“Down, down, Rosie.” She didn't need a grateful dog licking her face as she tried to concentrate on driving in wet stocking feet. She had to find a turnoff! But she drove for several miles before she saw another muddy track and turned into it. It was even worse than Cowslip Lane, and her low-slung Morris scraped the hump between the ruts. When the track widened slightly, she stopped the car and fished under her seat for the piece of old towelling she kept there for polishing her car. It was a bit stiff with car wax, but she wiped her cold, wet feet, replaced her shoes and then turned her attention to drying the muddy, smelly dog. “Now to get out of here,” she muttered. The dog gave her another wet lick. “Kisses later. Sit!” To her surprise, the dog complied.

Inching perilously close to the water-filled ditches running each side of the lane, she manoeuvred backward and forward until she was in a position to drive back to the main road. As she neared the turnoff to the dog barn, she was relieved to see that there was no sign of the two men.
I wonder if they tried to follow me in that old truck? And how far would they have driven before realizing they'd lost me?
She put her foot down on the accelerator and the little car leapt forward. Though Nat always said that her car ran on air, the gas gauge was hovering very close to E, and she knew she had to find a gas station soon.

Her fears were not alleviated even after she had gassed up in Clearbrook. By now the sky had clouded over again and the day had turned dark. She was very cold, very wet, and very tired. And decidedly worried. Suppose the men managed to find her? What was she going to do with the dog when she reached home? How was she going to explain everything to Nat? She knew he was going to be absolutely furious with her.

When she drew up in front of her house, Rosie, happy to be out of the car, staggered up the path, only stopping long enough to pee on the scraggly lawn, and when Maggie opened the front door, the dog walked straight in as if she owned the place. Emily was not overjoyed to see her mistress' new companion, and by the time Maggie arrived in the kitchen, the cat was standing on the dining room table, hissing, back arched and fur puffed out so that she was three times her normal size. Rosie, not having encountered a cat before, was brought up short, and then pandemonium broke loose as she instinctively realized that dogs were supposed to chase cats. It was in the middle of the hisses, yaps and flying fur that the telephone rang.

Maggie made a grab for it.

“Mother, I must talk to you.” It was Barbara.

“I've just come in. Can I call you back?”

“What's all that racket? It sounds like a dog!”

“It
is
a dog. What do you want? Ow!” Emily had dug her claws into Maggie's arm on her way to making a flying leap to the top of the bookcase that held the few fragile pieces of china Maggie owned. “I'll have to call you back!” Dropping the phone in its cradle, she made a grab for the cat and a Dresden figurine that was teetering dangerously close to the edge. She missed both cat and figurine and watched helplessly as the china hit the floor and smashed into pieces. Emily, now beside herself with rage, jumped onto Maggie's shoulder and dug in her claws. “Ow! You little brat . . .” Yanking the cat free, she flung open the back door, pushed the animal out and then sat down to catch her breath and watch as Rosie devoured Emily's food.

“Damn! I forgot to buy dog food.” Wearily, she reached for the telephone and dialed her elder daughter's number. “Sorry about that, Barbara. What's the matter?” She knew something had to be the matter for Barbara to call so late in the afternoon.

“You surely haven't got a dog, Mother?”

“No. I'm looking after it for a friend,” Maggie lied. “Now what's up?”

“It's Father.”

Maggie waited.

“I'm so humiliated.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I'm trying to tell you. It's bad enough with you dating that . . . that man.” Barbara's voice wavered. “And it had to be my best friend that saw him.”

“Saw him do what?”

“He was having dinner with another woman, Mother. Daphne saw them in Oscar's Steak House. Of course, she couldn't wait to tell me.”

“But that's wonderful, Barbara. You should be pleased he's not staying home and feeling sorry for himself.”

“It's not wonderful. It's too humiliating. There's you with that awful detective and now Daddy with another woman. And it's . . . it's all your fault.”

“For God's sake, Barbara, grow up.” She couldn't help but give vent to her exasperation. “I've just come in and I'm wet and tired.”

“But what are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing. I'll call you tomorrow.” She replaced the receiver with a bang and looked down at the little dog, now curled up in Emily's basket and already fast asleep. It was going to be a long night.

• • •

WHEN SHE PHONED
Nat the next morning, he demanded,“Where have you been? I tried to get you all yesterday afternoon . . .”

“Nat,” she interrupted, “I think you better come over here and bring some dog food with you.”

He paused for a moment. “Why do you want dog food?”

“It's a long story that I really don't think you want to hear over the phone,” she said wearily. “Just come over. I'll explain when you get here.”

Her explanation did not go well. “I told you to wait,” he said. “It was a dangerous and silly thing to do.” Rosie was sitting at Nat's feet, looking forlornly up at him. “Not only have you been trespassing,” he continued relentlessly, “but you've kidnapped this dog that doesn't belong to you.”

“But if you'd only seen the place, Nat. It was terrible. It was one of those puppy mills I've been reading about.” The tears came unbidden. “I couldn't just leave her there.”

“And that's another thing,” Nat went on. “You don't even know if this dog belongs to Prudence Williams.”

“Prudence will know.”

“For God's sake, Maggie, you can't just waltz over there and say, ‘I've brought your dog back.' Especially if her husband's mixed up in the scam. And what are you going to do with the dog for now?”

Maggie was silent. She had to admit that Nat was right. She hadn't thought it out properly. She looked down at the smelly little dog. “First I'm going to give her a good bath and some of that dog food.” She smiled tremulously at Nat. “And while I'm doing that, perhaps you could rustle up something for us to eat. I was too tired to eat last night.”

“Oh, Maggie,” he replied, “what am I going to do with you?”

Bathing a dog was a new experience for Maggie and Emily. The cat loved the sound of running water and was always present, sitting on the toilet, when Maggie bathed. Rosie, on the other hand, balked at the sight of the warm, soapy water, and by the time Maggie had managed to get the dog's fat little body over the edge of the deep bath and into the suds, she was as soaked as the dog was. Emily sat on the toilet seat and watched the fun, but ran out of the bathroom and downstairs to Nat once Maggie had lifted the dog out to be dried.

But later in the day, Emily was in for another shock. She found Nat, her third favourite person—Maggie and Harry came first and second—in an armchair reading the newspaper and the dog lying on the floor beside him, her nose on his foot. Emily hissed and Rosie opened one eye and got to her feet.

“No, you don't,” Nat said in a firm voice. “Sit.” And the dog did.

Maggie came into the living room and scooped up the unhappy cat. “Sorry, Emily, but she's here for today. You'll just have to get used to it.” She turned to Nat. “Perhaps you should take Rosie home. She seems to have taken to you.”

“No way,” he answered. “You brought the animal home, now you have to decide what to do with her.” He grinned. “Anyway, my place is far too small to hold me and a dog.”

Maggie had to agree. His pad was a typical, one-bedroom bachelor apartment, four blocks from his office on Broadway. Sparse, no pictures or ornaments of any kind in the living or bedroom, a spotlessly clean kitchen with a fridge that was usually empty except for a carton of milk, a slab of butter and some stale cheese—he ate out most of the time. The tidy state of that kitchen always surprised Maggie, as the love of her life could look quite unkempt at times.

“I'll take her to Emily's vet in the morning. He'll be able to tell me when the puppies are due.”

“Okay. Henny can manage the office until you come in. But you know that taking the animal to the vet is not going to solve the problem.” He bent down and scratched the dog's ears.

Maggie sat in the other armchair and stroked the cat until she calmed down. “Perhaps we should call George Sawasky.”

“I hate to phone him on his day off,” Nat answered.

“I'm sure he wouldn't mind. At least he can advise us.”

George's wife had him cleaning out the garage, and he was only too pleased to have an excuse to stop. “What's up?” he asked.

“George,” Nat answered, “Maggie has got herself into a tricky situation.”

“What again?” he asked, laughing. “So what's she been up to this time?”

“For starters, she's kidnapped a dog.”

“Kidnapped a dog?” George laughed again. “I bet Emily just loves that. What's the rest of the story.”

“I'll hand you over to the kidnapper and she can explain.”

“And this was yesterday, Maggie?” George asked when she'd finished telling him.

“Yes. George, you should've seen the state of those poor little dogs.”

“And you said that this girl . . . Jasmine . . . called you?”

“Yes. We met her on our first visit to the commune, and she knew we were looking for some kennels.”

“But why did you kidnap one of the dogs?”

“Oh!” Maggie answered slowly. “It's sort of mixed up in one of our cases.”