Dogs Don't Lie (19 page)

“Great, another—”

“
Don’t
say it.” I held up my hand to stop him. “Yeah, I know, I’m becoming a stereotype. But, that’s the truth and—”

I was about to say something else. Something about sticking to my story that would allow me to be ever so slightly honest and yet give me deniability later, if I ever could tell him the truth. But just then something caught my eye. The restaurant was small; two rooms, maybe thirty tables tops. We were seated in the second room, away from the front door, but some movement, some flash of color, had caught my eye.

“What?” Mack turned around, but she was gone.

“Excuse me.” I pushed back my chair, suddenly aware of just how much I had drunk. “I’ve got to go talk to a woman about a cat.”

I threw down my napkin and stormed into the front room. Eleanor Shrift might blow me off, but she’d adopted an animal. She was responsible for that black Persian, and I was going to call her on her it. Only thing was, I no longer saw her.

“Excuse me.” I reached out to the young maitre’d. “Did a woman just come in here? Dark hair, a little older?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see anyone.”

I turned around, searching for another sight of Eleanor. She wasn’t among the diners. “Could she have gone back there?” I glanced toward the kitchen.

“Not if she doesn’t work here, and your description doesn’t sound like any of our staff.”

“Well, maybe she’s waiting outside.”

The maitre’d looked past me, and I had a nasty feeling that he was about ready to call for Mack. “That’s not likely, ma’am. We seated our last party forty minutes ago.”

Sure enough, most of the tables were empty. The radio in the kitchen had been turned up, signs of cleaning already beginning. I turned back toward Mack. He looked slightly puzzled. We were, I noticed finally, the only table still occupied in the second room.

“Sorry.” I slunk back to my seat. “I thought I saw someone. A client.”

“Not Charles, I hope?” He was smiling. Maybe it was the wine.

“No, Eleanor Shrift. I have her black cat over at my place.”

“She’s got a cat, too? Figures.”

I tried to read his face as he settled the bill. Was he having me on? If he was Eleanor’s secret lover, he not only knew about her cat, he’d basically broken its heart. I remembered the earring and wondered if I could get anything out of the big Persian when I got home.

“Hey, I should be getting on,” I said. I wasn’t getting anything out of him, and I had other business to take care of. “I’ve got a big day tomorrow.” For the second time, I stood up. This time, the wine didn’t make me sway. The maitre’d came over with our coats, the last two left.

“Jim Creighton?” Mack rose and reached for my arm as he helped me into my jacket. His arm lingered. “Don’t let him spoil our night.”

“Come on.” I pulled away, but softened the words with a smile. “You’ve already had your dessert.”

I couldn’t read his face after that, but put it up to disappointment. With only the barest thanks to the remaining restaurant staff, he ushered me out to the street.

“Well, that was delicious. Thanks for a great evening.” I knew we had a drive home, but I wanted to make my position clear.

“My pleasure.” His smile seemed forced now, his gaze distracted.

He was, in fact, looking over my shoulder. I turned and squinted. Down the street, someone was walking. A woman, with the clipped, sexy gait of high heels. It was Eleanor Shrift.

***

The college station had switched to jazz, and I cranked it. I was in no mood for conversation, and besides the DJ was playing Monk. Instead, I gazed out the window as the streets of our small town gave way to trees and hills. Beauville could be beautiful, especially this time of year. But there was too much that was strange going on, and in the headlights the foliage was all bleached to gray anyway.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He was trying, I gave him that.

“I was thinking about this dog I walk.” I was. That snippy little bichon hadn’t given me anything since he’d told me that Delia was pregnant.

“Come on, Pru. Tell me what’s really going on.”

I wanted to confide in somebody. Would he believe me? “I’m just thinking of all the animals in this town, Mack. If they ever told all they know, everything they see…”

“You’re thinking of Charles, aren’t you?” He glanced at me, but then turned back to the road. His voice seemed level and calm.

“Yeah, I am.”

“If his dog could talk, huh?” He kept driving. I kept my eyes on him. “What happened to that dog anyway?”

“I took her over to Charles’ mother.”

He mulled that one over. “So that’s what Creighton was on about.”

“Well, you know she was cleared.”

“The dog, you mean?”

“Of course, the dog. The coroner’s report cleared her: the wounds weren’t consistent with dog bite.”

“But still, does Charles’ old mom want it?” He kept going before I could respond. “I mean, I know Charles loved that dog, but, hey, it’s a pit bull.”

“She’s going to give it a shot.” The more I thought about the old lady, the more I admired her. She was tough. “And, besides, they both loved Charles.”

He nodded a little thoughtful. “I guess it’s just as well that dog can’t talk then. If she could, she’d be a witness to murder. Someone might try to kill her, too.”

Chapter Twenty

It wasn’t what Mack had said. I didn’t really think Lily was in danger. After all, nobody had believed her story except me. The combination of his casual reference and the sight of Eleanor Shrift had gotten to me. I didn’t know what was wrong with these people. But the animals were suffering for it, and that I wasn’t going to stand for.

By the time Mack pulled up to my place, I was steaming.

“Don’t bother,” I said, reaching for the door. I’d noticed he’d turned off his car engine, and I didn’t think he was only planning on walking me to my door. “I’m going out again.”

“Oh?” My declaration seemed to put him off balance. “Something I did? I mean, if you want to keep on drinking…”

“No.” I was halfway out the door. “I’m going over to Eleanor Shrift’s. She never called me back about her Persian.”

“Can’t it wait? I mean, it’s just a—”

“
Don’t
say it.” Something of my mood must have carried in my tone because finally he seemed to get it. He still got out of the car, and with his long strides caught up with me before I reached my own front door.

“Want some company?”

“No.” I fumbled with my key for a moment, but managed to let myself in. Before Mack could follow, I turned back to him. “Thank you for the lovely dinner,” I said, and closed the door.

***

I didn’t mean to listen to him drive away, but as I stood there in the dark I couldn’t help but notice how dark and lonely my house was. That is, until I felt the brush of fur against my skin.

“Wallis?”

“You were expecting someone else?” I reached down for the hefty tabby, and, probably sensing my mood, she allowed me to lift her. “Your mind is full of that Persian—and that
dog
.”

“I know, Wallis. I’m sorry. Life has gotten complicated.”

She snorted, a small delicate sniff. “You always had a choice.” I felt the pinprick of claws through my shirt. “You still do.”

Wallis must have sensed my intentions, but I was having second thoughts. “How do you feel about letting the Persian stay the night? I mean, I want to talk to Eleanor, but maybe bringing him into it—”

“Wouldn’t be the smartest idea?” Wallis drew back to look at me. I had the unnerving sense that those green eyes saw more than she let on. “You getting all heroic on us now? Does that mean you might be getting brave enough to return to the city soon?”

I sighed and put her down on the floor. “It’s just, well, I feel responsible.”

“For everyone but yourself.” Wallis began neatening the fur I had disturbed. “But in answer to your questions, plural. No, I wouldn’t mind. That flat face has the personality of an ottoman, but he knows his place.” She kept washing, clearly avoiding my eyes. “And, no, he couldn’t tell me any more about his person’s man. Some big guy. Very hands on. It seems the human had the good sense to prefer fur.”

“Oh?” Wallis had more to tell, but she likes to know her audience is listening. “Into bestiality, was he?”

“Please.” She twisted around to work on her back. To anyone else, it would seem like she was ignoring me. I knew better. Wallis liked her dramatic pauses. “It was a rebound affair. Burned out quickly.” She moved on to her tail. “I gather everything was hot and heavy for a few months, then, well, then he turned his attention to the cat. Sensible human.”

I knew better than to take everything Wallis said at face value. Cats, for example, have a very different sense of time. But the rebound factor was something new. I thought of Mack, and of Delia’s perfume. If he had been Eleanor’s summer fling, maybe he’d ended it because the younger woman had taken him back. Which left me—where? Were Chris Moore and I both serving as beards, while Charles’ supposed fiancé and his business partner carried on? Or was the Persian’s petter someone else entirely?

I had questions for Eleanor, but I wasn’t going to submit that cat to humiliation and rejection—or an unnecessary car trip. I grabbed my keys and, with a nod to Wallis, headed out.

By the time I found that college station, the jazz DJ was winding up. Close to midnight, he’d said, and I wondered for a moment if I was going too far. Sane animal behaviorists don’t storm over to their clients’ houses at this hour. But, hell, I’d seen Eleanor Shrift up and about not that long before. Besides, my messages had asked her to call me whatever the time. She was back in town. She hadn’t called. She had this coming.

***

Eleanor’s house was dark when I pulled up into her driveway, but the closed garage door kept me from speculating whether she was home or still out. For a minute, I hesitated. Then, sitting in my car, I dialed her number.

“You’ve reached 413-” Great. All that told me was that Eleanor still wasn’t answering her phone. I hung up. No reason to let her think I was stalking her. But after one more tune—something by ‘Trane—and the DJ’s signoff, I decided to stop wasting gas and try her door.

I knocked. There was no answer. I rang the bell and heard it chime inside, these new houses lacking the solid doors and walls of Beauville’s older houses. I tried Eleanor’s number again, and once again hung up on her voicemail. At least I hadn’t heard it ringing inside the house. Wherever she was, Eleanor likely had her phone with her, and she was choosing not to answer it. With a childish, and yet very satisfying, kick at her door, I gave up and returned to my car. Five minutes later, I couldn’t stand the wait. The next show was some kind of ambient techno, and I tuned into an all-night news station as I drove more slowly back to my own home.

***

What was going on with that woman? What was the deal with Mack? And what was I going to do with the big black Persian? Wallis and I had something special, I knew that, but I also knew that animals were my soft spot. Was I going to end up taking in every unloved cat in the Berkshires?

“Pru Marlowe, crazy cat lady.” As I pulled up in front of my own house once again, I tried that out for size. “Pru Marlowe. Hoarder.” Yeah, it could fit. I pushed open my front door. “Hey, Wallis! What do you think—” But before I could finish my question, the oddity of my own action had hit me. I’d
pushed open
the door. Hadn’t I locked it before I’d left? Beauville might be a small town, but I still had a city dweller’s instincts, didn’t I?

“Wallis?” My voice had dropped to a dry whisper. I stepped into the front hall and felt the broken glass crackle beneath my shoes. Great, second time this week. I reached for the light when it hit me. Maybe I shouldn’t be walking in here. Maybe I should step back, get out. Call Creighton or one of his colleagues. I hadn’t last time. But Wallis had been there, reassuring me. Filling me in.

“Wallis?” Where was she? I’d left her here. Alone, except for Eleanor Shrift’s long-suffering Persian. The moment of fear vanished, evaporating into sheer rage.

“Who the hell is here?” It wasn’t my smartest move, but I was pissed. “I said—” Before I could go any further, two strong hands grabbed me from behind, clenching down on my upper arms. “No!” I yelled, twisting to my left. The arms pulled me backward, and I let myself start to fall, the movement giving me enough slack to reach into my jeans pocket. Thumb on the button, and my blade was out. It was in the wrong hand, and I didn’t have the leeway for a good strike, but using my wrist I stabbed down hard. My knife has a sharp blade, and I felt it connect with the leg behind me. Not deep, but deep enough. I waited for the smack I knew would come. Most men don’t like being stabbed. But instead of pulling me around, the stranger threw me away, toward the couch. I stumbled, trying to keep my balance, and came down hard on one knee. That knee gave out, and I found myself falling onto the glass.

“No!” I yelled out, as much at the glittering floor as at my attacker, and forced myself to roll to the side. I didn’t need a face full of glass, and I did want to see who had invaded my home. But even as I landed, rolling up against my worn-out sofa, he—or she—was gone. I sensed as much as saw the movement: a body, a flash of dark, a leg heading out the open door. I reached to push myself up and had to fight back tears. Despite my best efforts, a sliver of glass had wedged itself into the heel of my hand, and something had gone wrong with my knee. By the time I was up, the intruder was gone. Down on the street, an engine started. A car must have been waiting there, in the dark, but I’d been too distracted to notice a strange vehicle. The sound of the car faded away, and I was left standing, in pain, alone.

“Would you mind closing the door?”

I whipped around. “Wallis!” My tabby was standing at the far side of the glittering mess, highlighted by the weak moonlight coming through the remains of yet another of my front windows. The broken glass, I could now see, had been one of the panes, and I found myself feeling absurdly grateful for small favors. At least the intruder had only smashed one pane and used the access to lift the window open. I turned to the plump tabby. I could’ve hugged her.

She saw my outstretched arms and drew back. “You’re bleeding.”

She was right. I looked at my open hand and even in the dim light I could see the shard that had gotten me, an angry sliver sticking out of the base of my thumb. “Wow, for a moment I’d forgotten about that.” I started to pick at it.

“That’s the adrenaline talking, Pru. You’ve been attacked.”

“And now my pet is telling me I’m not in my right mind?” I gave her a look, but I couldn’t stop the smile that was spreading across my face. She stared back. “You’re right, Wallis. I’ve got to take care of this.” I got up and started toward the bathroom. The knee hurt, but it worked. “But, hey, Wallis, watch out.”

“Don’t worry.” She sidestepped the broken glass delicately. “I’m not a kitten. Speaking of, I trust that the little redhead got settled in all right?”

“I hope so, Wallis.” I sensed rather than heard her follow me to the bathroom. She jumped up on the closed toilet seat and watched as I used a tweezer to pull out the slice of offending glass. “Opposable thumbs,” I bragged.

“Useful,” she agreed. She was humoring me, but the adrenaline had already started to wear off. I washed the wound and slumped to the floor. “So, you probably want to know what happened.” She jumped down and walked up to me. I extended my legs, and she climbed into my lap, warm and soft.

“Yeah.” My eyes started to close. “Who—” With a start, I sprang awake. Wallis stopped kneading and looked into my face.

“There’s nobody else here, Pru. Relax.” I closed my eyes once more. “It was a single human, male. I’m not sure who. Once I heard the noise, I decided it would be prudent to stay undercover.”

“What did he want?” I was drifting off. It had been a long night. But a thought broke in. “The Persian?”

“He’s fine. Slept through it all. I gather that so-called shelter is not the most restful place for a feline.”

“No.” I thought of the other animals that came in and out. The staff—Pammy—talking all through the day. The bright lights, the institutional smells. “It wouldn’t be.” My knee was throbbing, and I wondered it some glass had gotten into it as well. I should take my jeans off, check. But Wallis was settling in, so cozy. “So, it— he— wasn’t looking for that cat?” The idea didn’t make much sense. Neither did I at this point.

“No, he didn’t come upstairs at all.”

Good. I had few personal treasures. A brooch from my grandmother. My mother’s rings. But Wallis was still talking.

“He seemed to know exactly what he wanted. As far as I could hear, he came straight in the window and headed toward your office. He was on his way out when you came in. I tried to warn you, but you weren’t listening.”

I hadn’t been. My mind had been on my incipient future as a cat hoarder. To Wallis, it must have seemed like I’d been absorbed by thoughts of other cats. “I wasn’t serious, Wal.”

“I was. I’m not entirely sure who this fellow was, but I didn’t like him coming in like that. He could have waited till you invited him.”

“Excuse me?” I was too sleepy. Wallis wasn’t making sense.

“Well, I didn’t catch the details, but one thing I can tell you with all certainty, there’s no new scent here—in the house, or on you. Whoever he was, you’ve had contact with him before.”

***

Great. I sat there for a while longer and then finally pulled myself upright, taking Wallis with me as I climbed the interminable stairway up to my bedroom. Whoever had broken into my home was someone I had invited over at some point. Who could that be? Compared to my recent past, I’d been positively nun-like since moving back to Beauville. Still, even counting the casual guests, there was a sizable list. Detective Creighton came to mind, though I couldn’t see the straight-laced cop making a midnight raid. Albert had been by, early on, when I was first establishing my bona fides—and I didn’t yet realize how obnoxious he could be. Doc Sharp, too, for that matter. Mack had swung by, and dropped me off not—I checked my watch—two hours before. And earlier Chris Moore had come by, accompanying the always-mysterious Delia. My mind flashed on Eleanor. No, Wallis had definitely said “he,” and the arms that had thrown me to the floor did not belong to a fortysomething woman, no matter what gym she belonged to. Still, if her secret lover were out and around…No, there were too many possibilities to sort through tonight.

I was about to open my bedroom door when I remembered why I’d closed it. I looked at Wallis.

“It’s fine, you know.” She blinked twice. “I’ve let him know how things are run around here. As long as this is temporary…”

Still, I wasn’t sure. I turned back to the guest bedroom. Wallis squirmed, and I let her jump down. In response, she reached up with both paws and deftly turned the doorknob, leaning against the door at the same time to push it open. “See?” With a flick of her tail she led the way in.

I should have been asleep as soon as I hit the bed. Maybe it was the adrenaline runoff, but something was wrong.

“Hang on, Wallis.” I took a deep breath and headed for the stairs.

“He’s gone, you know.” She remained on the bed. “It’s just the three of us now.”

“Three?” I felt myself tense. The pain in my knee didn’t help, and I was startled to feel a familiar pressure against my shin. When I saw the thick midnight fur of the black Persian, I made myself relax. “Sorry, big guy.” I was very tempted to pick him up, but Wallis was watching. Besides, I needed to check out the first floor myself. “This isn’t the refuge I was planning.”