Dogs Don't Lie (16 page)

“
The cold fish? In the cave.”
I got a sudden flash of a denim pocket, a man’s hand, and an enticing flash of sparkle. I’d been right, up to a point.

“
The face? The person?”
Nothing. Lily had seen a squirrel outside, and I felt her lean against the leash. She was too well trained to pull, a necessity with a bundle of muscle like hers. But she wanted to go out. She’d earned it. I stepped forward, but that only made her pull a little harder.
“What about the keychain drive?”

Nothing. Frank had seen the movement outside and sensed the dog’s impatience. He was getting a little nervous, and I struggled to to rephrase my question.
“The dangler, metal…”
I did my best to picture the small, flat oblong.

“The dog…”
Frank was too focused on Lily. I wasn’t going to get an answer.

“Please?”
I didn’t know how that would translate. Frank wasn’t Wallis. I visualized the drive, the open metal end that fit so neatly into my computer.

“The dog…but there was a cap. Red. Tasteless.”
I got an image of color, some kind of protective covering and, in a flash, a literal interpretation of the last comment as small teeth bit into the bright plastic. And in Frank’s question, I saw how the cap had attached to a metal ring—and from there to a dog’s collar. Lily was panting to go out, her body taut and eager. It had been too long since our last run. Only my training and her innate good nature kept her from dragging me out the glass doors. I looked from the ferret, who now regarded me quizzically, to Albert, who was now cowering, and back to Lily. Against her snow white fur, the dark leather collar stood out like badge. I’d noticed the lack of tags. That had been why I’d had to dig up her rabies certificate. And now I remembered that recurring image. Charles reaching for Lily’s collar, fixing something to it. Hanging a plastic and metal drive the one place where nobody was likely to steal it. The tags, along with the drive, must have broken off in transit—I didn’t like to think of how Albert and his thugs might have handled her—but another question remained. What was it about that drive that made Charles put it on Lily? What about it was he so set on keeping safe?

Chapter Seventeen

I wanted to let Lily run the moment we were outside, but I didn’t dare risk being seen. Instead, I trotted with her down to the river and then gave her a length of lead, trying to imprint on her the necessity of staying close to me—and away from any strangers. She’d been cooped up too long to deprive her of this, and the vivid images I got in return—a quail rousted from its bed of leaves, turtles buried in the mud, field mice under the leaves, and a hawk casting its shadow on some trout—hit me like one of those cheesy three-dimensional greeting cards. I’m not sentimental, far from it, but that dog’s sheer joy could have brought me to tears, if I didn’t have so much else on my mind.

“What was Charles thinking?” I was asking myself, as much as Lily, when she came back to me with a birch branch. I threw it and watched her lope off, happy for the moment. “Was he hiding something, or just trying to keep his records safe?”

“Command!”
The thought sprang into my mind so quickly, I turned around, expecting to hear someone. Lily was waiting in front me, though, a dry, forked branch in her mouth. “
Loud, loud. Now!”

I took it and poised to throw. “So someone was shouting?”

But her attention had shifted.

“
Stick, stick. Stick
.” I threw the branch. She’d waited long enough. But as she came bounding back, the piece of wood in her mouth, she rewarded me with an image, what I now recognized as an important memory. Charles, seen through the bars of Lily’s cage, his voice loud.
“Home.
” The thought wasn’t from Charles, and it filled me with sadness.
“Home. Home. Home.
”

The rest of the words were incomprehensible, but Lily—and I—picked up on the tension, the shouting. Then, once again, the longing, and Charles was leaning over Lily, cooing at her, and fixing something to her collar. It was the keychain drive, it had to be. Who had Charles been fighting with?

Another round of toss and fetch, but Lily wasn’t any closer. Charles shouting. Charles tense. Charles with his hands on her velvet ears, on her neck, on her collar. I’d heard it said that to a dog only one person ever really exists. Right now, I wished that loyalty was a little less literal. Still, I’d found out a lot. Forty-five minutes later, when Lily had finally collapsed on a bed of fallen leaves, I felt I’d put another piece of the puzzle in place. Now to try to find Lily what she really wanted: a home.

***

Lily pressed her nose to the car window until we left town. Then she lay down to sleep on my Toyota’s back seat. I guessed she’d seen enough new sights to last her a lifetime. Me, I enjoyed the ride out to Raynbourne. All those years in the city had inured me to lots of things, but overnight the cold air had worked its magic. The mosaic of color as the trees turned on the hillsides was something else again. In truth, it reminded me of a bad shag carpet we’d had once, when I was a kid. Ragged patches of orange, yellow, and improbable red, next to a few stands of evergreen. On the carpet, it had probably been described as avocado. I don’t know. I was taking a dog to her new owner—to what I hoped would be a new home. I was in a good mood.

Nora Harris must have been, too. Despite the chill in the air, the sun was beating down, and she was out front, on her knees on some kind of kneeling pad.

“Hey, Mrs. Harris.” I motioned for Lily to stay and let myself out, walking up the path to meet the older woman.

“Oh, hi. Prudence, isn’t it?” The gray-haired woman blinked up at me, holding one gloved hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun. I smiled back, and she put down her trowel on a neat plastic mat, lining it up with a hoe and a weeding fork. “Would you mind? I’m not as steady as I once was.”

She reached up and I took her forearms to help her to her feet. She was wiry, with enough corded muscle to pull herself up easily once I gave her a hand. The gardening, I guessed. But she wasn’t a large woman, and clearly the events of the last two weeks had taken their toll. Bad enough to lose a child. To lose a child to murder…I couldn’t imagine what she was going through.

“Lovely garden.” I had no idea what I was seeing, but the bushes looked healthy. What wasn’t already autumnal red was glossy evergreen, with lots of berries.

Whatever I said, it was the right thing. She nodded as she looked over her handiwork. “It keeps me going. I’ve finally finished up the last of the bulbs for next spring. Hyacinth. Crocus. I’d already put in a bunch of tulips over at—” She caught herself and swayed a bit before straightening up. “Over at my son’s house. He never cared for planting much, and it gave me pleasure.”

“I’m sure it gave him pleasure, too.” I tried to conjure up the landscaping at my former client’s and failed. I guess I was as oblivious as Charles. “He was a good, gentle man.” That much was true.

“Gentle, yes.” She seemed lost in thought for a moment, her mouth set, and I let her be, ready to catch her if necessary. “He— well, it’s all past, isn’t it? He took good care of me.” She looked up at the neat little house and I followed her gaze. Had this been Charles’ family home? The McMansion next door was already casting a shadow toward us, costing the side yard its afternoon sun. But the little house, dwarfed by the newer building, looked more solid than its pricey neighbor. Whatever its age, it had been well cared for. The windows were double glazed, the paint job new, and the shingles on the roof neat and complete. In fact, the whole building had the spic and span look that said no corners were cut in its upkeep. I wondered how Nora Harris would fare with her son gone, how ready she had been to move in with him. She stood to inherit his business, but what did that really mean? Thirtysomething software nerds probably weren’t the best at estate planning.

“Well, maybe you might have a chance to return the favor.” It was an awkward transition, but I was feeling a bit lost.

“Oh?” Clearly, she’d been distracted, too, and with more reason. For a moment, I wondered about the legality of what I was about to do. Nora Harris was the legal beneficiary, but should I have gotten her consent before bringing over this particular bit of the estate?

Nothing for it now. I walked over to my car and opened the door. Lily still had her lead attached to her collar and jumped up when I said her name. In a moment, she was on alert, and I was struck again by the amount of muscle packed into that small body.
Dig! Stick!
She was quivering with excitement, her whip of a tail thumping against the door. Good, she wanted to play.

“You remember Lily, don’t you?” I wasn’t going to continue that “Tetris” nonsense. This was a fresh start for everyone. A chance to begin anew on the right foot. I held the lead close, but Lily was doing her best to impress. At attention, head up, she looked at the old woman with curiosity and sniffed, whining a bit to be petted. “She was Charles’ dog and she’s gotten a clean bill of health, so I thought—”

A soft thud made me look up. Nora Harris had collapsed on the grass.

***

“What the hell were you thinking?” A denim-clad sprite dashed out of the front door and over to the fallen woman. I was still frozen to the spot, holding the leash of the now audibly whining dog. “Put that animal away.”

“Come on, Lily.” With those words, the white pit jumped back into the car, the low, high whine contrasting with the tail that still wagged hopefully. “Delia, what happened?”

I’d recognized the younger woman after half a second and come over as she helped Nora Harris lie flat, with her knees up. She was awake, her eyelids fluttering, but seemed beyond speech.

“You don’t just spring something like that on someone.” Delia was whispering, a tight, angry whisper. I didn’t think Mrs. Harris could hear us, but what did I know? “A pit bull. Christ.”

“I’m sorry.” I was on my knees beside them, and I took Nora Harris’ hand automatically. It was cold and smooth, and made me think of my own mother’s before the end. “I wasn’t thinking. I just thought, well, the dog needed a home and it was her son’s. She’s a very gentle dog, you know. Very loyal. Gentle as—” I almost said “a kitten,” but caught myself. Another time.

Delia nodded anyway, her attention on the older woman. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry I snapped. Don’t worry, she’ll be okay.” She looked over at the prone woman. “Won’t you, Mrs. Harris?”

“If I could just get some water, dear?” The voice was weak and reedy, but those blue eyes were clear.

Delia gave me a look, and I got up. She’d left the front door open, and it was easy enough to find a glass and fill it. By the time I came back out, Nora Harris was sitting up, Delia beside her for support.

“Here you go.” I knelt in the grass beside them. “I’m so sorry.” I glanced over at my car. Lily had wedged her nose into the narrow window opening.

“It wasn’t you. It was just a shock.” Nora made to rise, and Delia supported her. “Seeing that animal again. Charles’ animal. Probably too long in the sun, as well.” She gave a small chuckle. “Would you come inside?”

“Sure, thank you.” I looked back at Lily, her broad snout quivering and quizzical. I’d confused her by bringing her here, and now, thanks to my lousy timing, the odds of finding a home for her here were nearly nil, but I’d make the case if I could. I turned to follow the older woman and her aide, very aware of the looks Delia continued to shoot at me.

***

“Have a seat, Mrs. H.” Delia hovered like a mother hen, and Nora accepted the attention without comment. I took the seat opposite and studied her. She hadn’t seemed particularly frail when she was digging in the dirt, but I remembered Delia’s comments about her “spells.” Maybe there was something I was missing. Delia filled a tumbler from a pitcher. Lemonade, by the looks of it. I nodded at her questioning glance, and it was probably just my imagination that she slammed it down on the formica table.

“Won’t you join us, dear?” Nora looked up at the younger woman. Did she see her as an employee, or as the daughter-in-law who would never be? I wasn’t to find out.

“If I don’t get that laundry folded, it’ll dry all wrinkly.” Delia wrinkled up her own pert nose in illustration and left us alone.

“Mrs. Harris,” I began again, “I really am sorry to have barged in like that.” Even as I apologized, trying to work my way around to making my case, I was thinking about rescue groups. Who would take a two-time loser like Lily?

“Young lady, you’re not listening. I won’t have that.”

I stopped. She was right, and for a moment I saw the steel that had kept her going. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Harris. What did you say?”

“I said, I would try to take the dog. If you think it would be happy with me. Charles loved it, you see, and, well, I feel so bad.” She started to mist up, and I froze. I didn’t want her to collapse—or to back down. “Excuse me.” She left the room, and I sat there more than a little stunned.

I was still sitting there when Delia walked back in a few minutes later and poured herself a glass of the lemonade

“Hey, I really mean it. I’m sorry.” I was in apology mode. “I didn’t mean to make your job harder.”

Delia took a healthy swig of the sweet-tart drink and leaned against the wall, giving me her first real smile of the day. “Don’t sweat it. Nora’s pretty easy lifting. She had a minor stroke about a year ago, and the agency sent me over to help with the heavy stuff. She fades in and out, occasionally. She forgets things, and it frustrates the hell out of her. To be honest, I think I’m company more than anything else most days. I mean, I keep an eye on her and do the errands, but she keeps saying she wants to drive again. Gets pretty pissed when I tell her she shouldn’t,” Delia shrugged. “What the hell, she’s got the healthiest perennials in the Berkshires.”

“So, the dog?” I didn’t know how to phrase it.

“Yeah, I’ll end up taking care of her. But that’s cool, I love animals.”

Despite myself, I was beginning to like this woman. And then I realized, if I was ever going to confess, now was the time. “Speaking of animals, Delia, I think I have your kitten.”

“Tulip?” Delia set her glass on the window ledge. “How—”

I raised my hands to cut her off. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize she was yours. You see, I found her at Charles’, and I thought, well, she had been left there.” How could I explain being there after the murder? Maybe I didn’t have to. “Alone. Anyway, I took her home and then I heard from the city pound that you had lost a kitten, and it all came together.”

Delia pulled out one of the spindle-back kitchen chairs and sat down with a thud. “Oh, thank God. I thought she’d gotten out. Or, maybe even, Charles’ dog…” She swallowed hard.

“No. No way.” She didn’t have to finish. Some trainers bring out the killer instincts in fighting dogs by giving them cats. Any other dog, I’d worry. But Lily, I knew, would never willingly hurt another animal, never again. Delia couldn’t know how I knew that, which raised another question. “But if you were scared, then how—” I paused to collect my thoughts. “Why was your kitten at Charles’ place?”

She shook her head, the relief still sinking in. I felt guilty for having kept the truth—and her pet—from her so long. I still wanted an answer.

“I couldn’t—” She stopped herself. “I had a friend, who—” She tried again. “It was Charles, you see. He was such a softie, and he needed a pet more than I did. Needed something to hold, and that dog…” She looked toward the front window. She was talking at least, so I kept my questions to myself. “That dog was always in her crate. Charles needed a real pet.”

“But Charles loved Lily.” And Lily was only crated at night, or for training purposes. Wouldn’t Delia have known that? More important was what she’d started to say. “Never mind, you were saying, something about a friend?”

“Oh, here you go.” Nora Harris had shuffled back in and was blinking at both of us in a slightly unfocused way. Delia jumped up to help her to a chair. “Why don’t you sit down, Mrs. H, and I’ll go with Pru to see about the dog.”

She settled the older woman in with a fresh glass of lemonade and waited for me to proceed, but I had my doubts. The day had clearly worn on Nora Harris, and Lily was a young and active dog. Still, as we stepped outside Delia seemed genuinely pleased to see the white pit bull. Lily, in turn, heeled on command, only pausing to sniff at the newly turned earth, and I, trying to be generous, swallowed my questions.