Authors: Laurien Berenson

Tags: #Suspense

Hot Dog (28 page)

BOOK: Hot Dog

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I probably should have thought harder about that.

Instead I carefully closed the door behind me and reset the lock. As it clicked into place, I turned and surveyed the kitchen. No Poodles in sight.

Images imprinted themselves on my brain in an instant. The pantry door was standing open. The basement door was shut. I heard the sound of a muffled whine come from behind it. Nails scratched against the wood, sending a shiver up my spine.

Then the lights went out.

T
he disorientation was immediate.

I blinked, adjusted. Not every light in the house was out, just those in the kitchen. As my eyes accustomed themselves to the gloom, I pressed my back against the closed door behind me, waiting and listening.

Wondering what would happen next. Wishing Faith would read my mind and stop making noise. I didn't need the distraction.

A minute passed. It felt like an eternity. For now, whoever was in the house with me was remaining as still as I was. I wondered what he had in mind.

I'd put the flashlight down on the counter. When I reached for it, a voice snarled, “Don't move.”

Not a man's voice, I realized. Surprise made me drop my hand. A woman's voice. Marian's? Maybe Pam's?

I exhaled slowly. Flexed my fingers, moved my shoulders, braced my feet. A woman didn't seem as threatening, as frightening in the dark. Maybe I had a chance.

“I have a gun,” she said, and I recognized Pam's voice. “You're going to do everything I say.”

“Why?”

She stepped into the doorway between kitchen and hall. She was back-lit by the lamps in the front of the house; I saw her only in silhouette. But the weapon she held in her hand glinted even in the half-light.

“Because if you don't, I'll shoot you.”

The pronouncement was meant to frighten me. But now that I'd finally put a name to the faceless intruder who'd haunted my nights, my fear was beginning to ebb. Even though the gun was pointing in my direction, I couldn't make my brain accept the idea that Pam might actually use it. What could she possibly hope to gain?

“Why?” I asked again.

“You're in my way. You're a problem. And you keep messing things up for me. After tonight, problem solved.”

I shook my head slightly, baffled, disbelieving. Nobody could think things were that simple, not even a twenty-something pony trainer with a history of problem relationships and access to artillery. I'd thought Pam wasn't the best choice Bob might have made, but I'd never seen this coming. Not even close.

“This has
all
been about Bob?” I didn't even try to hide my incredulity.

“Your ex-husband,” Pam said sharply. “Emphasis on ex.”

Under other circumstances, I might have had Terry give Pam his “lots of fish in the sea” lecture. Not that Bob wasn't a catch of sorts but nobody merited this kind of obsession. Threatening the perceived competition with a gun? That was way over the top.

“Take him,” I said. “You've got my blessing. Bob's all yours.”

“It isn't as easy as that,” Pam snapped. “You always think everything's up to you. Well, it's not. This time I'm the one making the decisions. Bobby loves me. The only thing that's holding him back is you. Once you're out of the wayâ”

“I
am
out of the way!” It was like talking to a blank wall. Pam didn't seem to be registering anything I said. “Bob and I are divorced. He's free to do anything he wants.”

“Legally, yes. But not emotionally. He thinks he's still tied to you. And to Davey.”

A chill of dread wrapped itself around my heart. “Where is Davey?”

“How should I know?” Pam didn't look concerned. The icy bands that had constricted my breathing loosened just a little. “Bobby told me we couldn't get together anymore while the kid was there. That was your doing. You kept me away from Bobby, so I figured it was only right that I should come here instead.

“You made me come here tonight, get it? I know what happened. You saw how much Bobby was beginning to care for me, and you couldn't stand it. You had to try to drive a wedge between us.”

“That's not true.” My tone was vehement; my voice rising. Somehow I had to find a way to get through to her. “Bob makes his own decisions. And his own mistakes.”

First rule of negotiation: never anger the person holding the weapon.

Pam's hand shook. Her finger twitched, bracing against the trigger. The room exploded in sound. A brief flash of light stunned my eyes. The cabinet beside me splintered.

Reflex made me jump sideways. I landed wrong, and my ankle twisted beneath me. I stumbled to the floor, my elbow and shoulder hitting hard.

It was shock, though, more than pain, that held me immobile. Terror nipped at the edges of my control. I'd seen the gun in Pam's hand; I'd assumed it was loaded. But even so I'd never imaginedâI hadn't been able to imagineâthat she might actually shoot at me.

Even after the fact, the thought was simply inconceivable.

“Don't be such a baby,” said Pam. “If I'd intended to hit you, you'd be dead now. I just wanted you to know that I was serious. Now get up.”

I did. Slowly and painfully, I hauled myself to my feet.

I wondered how loud that gunshot might have sounded outside the house. I hoped the noise had carried; I hoped my neighbors had been listening. Down in the basement, Faith and Eve were barking now, a ferocious racket that filled the kitchen but was probably undetectable from the sidewalk. It was too early in the year for people to have their windows open. Maybe no one had heard a thing.

“Now what?” I asked.

“Now we go upstairs.” Pam beckoned in my direction with the barrel of the gun. “Come on.”

“What's upstairs?”

“Has anyone ever told you you ask too damn many questions?”

Funny the things that will make you laugh in a semi-hysterical way when your life seems to hang in the balance. “Yes. Lots of people, unfortunately.”

Pam stepped aside and I edged past her, through the doorway and into the hall. The Poodles began to howl. The gunshot had upset them; my leaving magnified their distress.

She cast a withering glance toward the cellar door. “I thought Poodles were supposed to be smart. If you're going to have a dog that barks all the time you might as well get a Jack Russell.”

Slowly I started down the hallway. No point in hurrying. If Pam wanted me upstairs, I was pretty sure I wanted to be down.

Besides, the first floor had doors that could serve as an escape route if I got the chance. Not that I'd be making any hasty exits; every door and window in the house was locked up tight. I'd seen to that myself.

I'd hoped to keep the menace out; instead I'd barred it in with me.

Keep her talking, I thought. Stall for time. It was all I could think to do.

“Speaking of dogs,” I said, “how's Dox doing?”

“Fine,” Pam answered readily enough. Like we were two friends engaged in a casual conversation. Like maybe I'd comment on the weather next. “That puppy's pretty cute. It wasn't part of the plan, but I'm thinking maybe I'll keep him for myself.”

I nodded as if that made sense. Why not? She was the one holding the gun. Reaching the foot of the stairs, I paused. “If you don't mind my asking, what
was
your plan?”

Pam kept right on talking. She wanted me to know what she'd done. “In the beginning, it was just a game. You were annoying me, it seemed like I ought to annoy you back.”

“So you tried out a couple of things,” I suggested. “Turning on my lights? Fiddling with my TV in the middle of the night?”

“Yeah, silly stuff like that. I figured maybe I'd throw a scare into you. Give you something besides Bobby to concentrate on. Security around here isn't too tight, you know? You ought to think about fixing that.” Her lips curved upward in a creepy pantomime of a smile. “Not that you'll have to worry about it much in the future.”

I ignored the implication and kept going. “When did you take my wallet?”

“That was so easy it was a joke. You left your purse sitting in the kitchen when you and Bobby went upstairs at his house. It wasn't something I'd thought about in advance, but let's just say I wasn't thrilled with the idea of you dragging my guy on a tour of the bedrooms.”

I could have argued that I hadn't dragged Bob anywhere. Or that Davey had been with us. Or that our days of making use of bedrooms together were well behind us. But it didn't seem as though logic was going to make a big impression on Pam.

“I'll give you one thing,” she said. “You're pretty damn resilient. I figured it would take you at least a couple of days to replace all the stuff you'd lost. I was congratulating myself on what a brilliant, spur-of-the-moment idea that was for getting you out of the way. Except that then you didn't friggin'
get out of the way
, did you?”

Charting Pam's mood swings would have made a veteran sailor seasick. Suddenly she was remembering why she was so angry again. The barrel of the gun motioned up the stairs.

“Enough talk,” she said. “Get moving.”

Not if I could help it.

“I have to turn off the outside lights,” I said in a sudden flash of dubious, not to mention transparently desperate inspiration. “If I don't, my neighbor Mrs. Silano will come and check on me. With all that's been happening around here, I asked her to keep an eye on things. If the lights stay on too late, she'll know something's wrong.”

“Where's the switch?”

Instead of answering, I started toward the door. Pam wasn't stupid. She moved quickly to angle her body and head me off. I turned and went to the light switch near the front window instead.

“It's right here,” I said innocently.

Cupping my hand around the switch, I used my fingers to raise and lower it. Up and down quickly, then more slowly, then fast again. The universal signal for SOS. Dot, dot, dot. Dash, dash, dash. Dot, dot, dot.

Inside the well-lit hallway, the exterior lights weren't that obvious. I didn't think Pam could see what I was up to. Still, a distraction wouldn't hurt.

“Tell me about Dox,” I said. “Why did you take him?”

“Because he was little and cute.” Pam snorted. “Like I said, it's not as though a lot of planning went into this.”

Just what I wanted to hear. The woman holding a gun on me was prone to impulsive behavior. Still, the fact that she wasn't big on making plans might be made to work in my favor.

“What were you after? Why did you break into my house in the first place?”

“I was just upping the ante, okay? Playing the game for higher stakes. When snitching your wallet didn't get your attention, I decided to go for something bigger. Bobby told me your dogs were really important to you, and I knew how upset I'd be if one of my animals went missing. I figured looking for Dox would take your mind off me and Bobby. Give you something else to do so you'd stop hounding us.”

I'd asked Bob to stop broadcasting every detail about my life. Now maybe he'd listen to me. Now maybe he'd understand why. If I ever got the chance to tell him.

“I was going to take one of the Poodles,” said Pam. “But it's not like they come when they're called.” She gave me an accusing look. “Hasn't anyone ever told you that dogs ought to wear collars? Where are their tags? What if they got lost?”

I could have told her that Faith and Eve were microchipped, but what would be the point? I suspected the irony of this whole topic was going right over Pam's head.

“And then I saw the Dachshund, all crated up and ready to go. I've never liked big dogs much anyway. Little dogs are more my style. So I picked him up and off we went.”

Just like that. As though breaking in and stealing something was the most natural thing in the world. The reasonable next step.

In Pam's mind, every time I hadn't responded the way she'd wanted me to, I'd goaded her into taking more drastic action. I supposed, in a demented way, that explained why we were now standing in my hallway with a gun pointed at my heart. Have you noticed how many times I've mentioned that a gun was pointing at me? Yeah, so have I.

“Lights out.” Pam chuckled snidely. “You're done.”

My hand slipped away from the switch, my last chance gone.

“Get it?” she asked, amusing herself.

I got it all right.

“W
hy are we going upstairs?” I asked.

“More questions.” Pam heaved a dramatic sigh. “Don't you ever stop asking questions?”

“No.” Right now, the questions were what was keeping me alive.

“First you're going to write a nice long letter,” Pam said, “saying how depressed you are about the breakup of your marriage and the loss of your dog. Not to mention that other guy who dumped you last year. You've been having a real run of bad luck lately, haven't you?”

If and when I saw Bob again, I was going to strangle him. I couldn't believe he'd told Pam about my problems with Sam, too.

“Bob and I broke up years ago,” I pointed out. “And the dog you took wasn't even mine.”

Doubt flickered ever so briefly in Pam's eyes. I liked that. I kept talking.

“And that guy who dumped me? He's back. Or didn't Bob mention that? So if you think anyone's going to believe that I was unhappy enough to want to kill myself, you're nuts.”

“It won't matter what they want to believe,” Pam said determinedly. “Because you'll be dead and they won't have any choice.”

You'll be dead
. The words were all the more chilling for the matter-of-fact tone in which they'd been spoken.

I was not going to let that happen. I was
not
going to be defeated by Pam. I just had to figure out how to prevent it.

“Go on,” she said. The muzzle of the gun nudged against my side. “Up the stairs.”

The Poodles were still barking frantically. I've always known that Faith and I were attuned on a level that transcended mere physical communication. She knew something was wrong and she wanted to help. If only I could come up with a way to let her.

A loud thump came from the direction of the kitchen. Several moments later, the bruising sound was repeated. It sounded as though the big Poodle was throwing herself against the basement door. What a good girl. Faith wasn't going to give up and neither was I.

“No,” I said.

“What you mean, no?”

Let her figure it out. The statement sounded self-explanatory to me. Not only that, but I was damn sick and tired of that gun poking me in the ribs. Without her stupid weapon, Pam was nothing. With it, she thought she owned the world. Well, not my world. Not that day. It was time to make a stand.

“What are you going to do?” I said, my voice as hard as I could make it. “Shoot me right here? That'll mess up your suicide scenario, won't it?”

Pam backed away a step, eyeing me warily. “It will still work. I'll just have to change things a bit, that's all.”

“And I'm not writing any letter either.”

Her lips pursed. Pam growled under her breath. “Then I'll just have to type one. There must be a computer around here somewhere.”

There was, but I wasn't about to help her by pointing that out. Now that there was space between us, I was feeling better. At least I could take a deep breath. I forced myself to draw oxygen, lots of it, into my lungs.

“Let me think a minute,” said Pam.

Another thump came from the back of the house. Her eyes shifted briefly in that direction. It wasn't much, but it might be the only chance I was going to get.

Back braced against the newel post, I kicked upward hard. Too late, Pam looked back. Her eyes widened as my foot connected with her outstretched wrist. As if in slow motion, I saw her fingers open, release. Her index finger was twined around the trigger, caught there even as the gun began to fall. The weapon wobbled briefly in midair, then fired.

For a moment, I couldn't do anything but stare. Sound was suspended, time as well. My shirt seemed to part magically as a streak of crimson appeared across my upper arm. The bullet punched me like a blow. I stumbled backward, but felt no pain.

Crumpled on the steps, I watched the gun skitter across the hardwood floor. Vaguely, I heard another crash. It sounded like breaking glass, but I couldn't be sure. Black spots were dancing in front of my eyes; maybe I was hearing things too.

Pam dropped to her knees, scrambling to get to the gun, determined to finish what she'd started. Some part of my brain was yelling at me to get up, to reach the weapon first, but I couldn't seem to make it happen.

A stream of dark red blood ran down my arm, soaking into my shirt, dripping over my fingertips. I stared at it in fascination. Every move I made seemed to take forever. There was a rushing sound in my ears; it pulsed with the beating of my heart.

It occurred to me that this was an incredibly stupid way to die. I thought about Davey and I wanted to cry. But it was too late for that now . . . too late for anything. When Pam came up with the gun a second time, there was nothing I could do to stop her.

“Now look what you made me do,” she snapped.

There was blood around me on the stairs, on the floor. Pam's fake suicide was turning out to be messier than she'd intended. I clutched my arm to my side. The wound was beginning to sting as if someone had applied a burning brand to my flesh.

“You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?” She didn't bother to train the gun on me now. Her hand hung down at her side; she was holding all the cards and we both knew it. “All you do is cause trouble. I can't imagine what Bobby ever saw in you.”

“I can,” said a quiet voice from the doorway.

Sam was holding a shovel he must have picked up outside. His shirt was torn; his jeans, streaked with mud. His eyes swept around the hallway, narrowing at the sight of blood. He swung the shovel with more anger than finesse, and when it connected with Pam's gun arm, we both heard the bone crack.

Under the circumstances, it was an enormously satisfying sound.

Pam shrieked and grasped her hurt wrist with her other hand, holding it to her chest. The weapon fell. Quickly Sam retrieved it. I heard the wail of sirens drawing near. The Poodles began to howl anew.

“Don't move,” Sam said to Pam. He pointed the shovel for emphasis. “Just stay right there.”

He crossed the room and sat, with infinite care, beside me on the steps. He looked like he wanted to put his arms around me, but didn't dare. “You're going to be all right. Help will be here in just a minute.”

“I think it's just a flesh wound.” In truth, I wasn't sure, but I was trying to sound brave. My voice quivered.

“Don't talk.” Sam reached up and brushed the hair back off my brow. His fingers were cool and strong. “Don't worry about a thing. Everything's going to be fine.”

A wave of dizziness washed over me. My head spun. My eyelids fluttered.

“I think I'm going to faint,” I whispered.

Sam held out his arms and caught me.

BOOK: Hot Dog

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