Let Loose (10 page)

“You came on the trail that morning.” Our
eyes met and I wanted to bite off my tongue. “I mean, did you see
anyone?”

He shook his head. “No, but I came after you
did. Whoever shot Red was long gone, right?”

I wasn’t sure, but I thought he might be
asking me if I’d had anything to do with Red’s death. My ruff rose.
“He had to be, because I didn’t see him.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I
knew they didn’t make sense. Just because I hadn’t seen the killer
didn’t mean he hadn’t still been close by. Or worse yet. Maybe I
had seen him. Maybe he was standing in front of me right now.

Two hours later, the dogs and I were back in
my Jeep and rolling down my road. A barricade had been placed
across the bridge leading to the campground and two police cars and
a truck were parked on the side of the road.

I recognized the truck. Peter’s. I glanced as
casually as I could toward the campground, hoping for... I didn’t
know what. But there was no sign of my detective boyfriend or
anyone else for that matter. Whatever the police were doing at the
campground, it was fully hidden from prying casual eyes.

“Time for work, but no time for me,” I
muttered to Fluff who wagged her tail in complete
understanding.

Ethel was right. Peter had taken me for
granted. I was too good for that. Him seeing me with Martin was a
good thing. Maybe he’d learn he to appreciate me.

Righteous and ready for a fight, I pulled up
to my garage.

A package was propped in front of the door. A
big package.

Kiska shoved his body between my seat and
Fluff’s and stared out the windshield.

“You don’t know it’s from him,” I said.

Kiska seemed to think he did. He edged
forward.

“It might not even be for me. Mistakes
happen.”

Kiska had no reply to that.

Still filled with righteous indignation, I
hopped out of my Jeep and picked up the package. It was heavy, and
taped to its front was a note. “Sorry, I haven’t been around much.
Now you will look like a real Montanan.”

I looked at my Jeep and the malamute staring
out the windshield at me. “It could still be...”

No. Crap. It couldn’t. Kiska was right. And
more than that, I sucked.

o0o

The box, it turned out, contained boots.
Low-heeled red-leather cowboy boots. I had boots of my own, but
their high heels, in Peter’s mind, kept them from being “real.” It
was one of our ongoing arguments. I had secretly wanted a pair of
boots just like the ones in the box, but after Peter had made a
point of poking fun of the pair I owned, I’d stubbornly refused to
admit it.

Peter, though, had seen through my act.

Just like he seemed to see through all of my
acts.

It’s why I... liked him as much as I did.

Or had.

I walked up the hill to my house feeling more
than a little morose. Inside, the dogs milled around me. I plopped
down on my floor in the middle of them and stared at the boots.

They were plain and practical, like Peter,
with a bit of whimsy from the color, like me.

They were, damn him, perfect.

o0o

After swallowing a lot of pride, I tried
calling Peter. Just to thank him for the boots. My mother raised me
right. A person gives you a gift, you say thank you, or suffer the
nagging of said parent until you do.

His phone went to voice mail. I opened my
mouth to stutter out the required thank you, but no intelligible
sound came out.

I hung up.

I stared at the receiver for a minute,
wondering if I should call back.

Voice mail would be easier than talking to
him in person. But honestly, I had no idea what I was going to say
then either. Honestly, I had no idea what I wanted to say or where
I wanted things to go.

I wasn’t happy as things were, living my life
pretty much as I had before I had a boyfriend, with Rhonda as my
plus one and most nights spent with just Kiska and my TV for
company, but I also knew it was probably horribly selfish of me to
resent the time Peter spent doing his job, saving property and
lives, and God knew what other good deeds.

But there you had it. As I had already
established, I sucked.

At least I could admit it.

I set the phone on its stand and fell onto
the couch. Zef walked up and started to tug the cushion out from
under my butt.

Daisy jumped onto the couch beside me and
flopped onto her back. Inuk and Gent wandered into the room, each
with a pillow in his mouth.

I tilted my head back and stared at the
ceiling. As usual, my life was a mess.

And when you had a mess, you could either
clean it up, or let yourself get buried deeper.

After careful consideration, I’d decided to
take my messes in the order they had been created. Or at least in
the order that they had peaked.

Which meant addressing the dogs first.

Martin had mentioned that Red had an ex-wife,
and while what he’d said about her hadn’t been particularly
encouraging, I wasn’t one to judge a person without at least
meeting them. Especially if it meant the possibility of relieving
my current over-dogged situation.

Finding her was easy enough. A quick Internet
search turned up her name and a number of photos. She was, it
appeared, quite a few years younger than Red. She also, it seemed,
had started a new career since leaving him... snowmobile model of
the push-up bra type, straddling whatever the latest, most powered
up machine was. A little further investigation revealed she also
sold the sleds.

I packed the dogs, with the exception of
Kiska, into my Jeep and headed into town.

I found Linda, last name Prescott now, at a
local snowmobile dealership. She had aged a bit since the pictures
I’d seen online, or they had been “enhanced,” or both... But she
was still blonde and buxom and determined to sell me a
snowmobile.

“Where do you live?” she asked, after just
the most rudimentary of introductions.

When I told her, she clapped her hands
together. “Great trails near there! Let me show you...” She led me
to a red snowmobile with what looked like a giant chainsaw chain on
its rear end and cross-country skis on its front end. Then she
started babbling about engines, chassis, and finally... “This
security system is top of the line, and with what’s been going on
around here.” She shook her head. “I wouldn’t own a sled without
it.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Really?” I, of course,
had no interest in the area snowmobile thefts except as a tool to
gain her trust and turn the conversation to Red. “I’d heard
something about that. I’d also heard there was talk the thefts
might be tied to...” I let the words fade and shook my head as if I
didn’t want to be caught gossiping.

“What?” she asked, tilting her head in what
appeared to be real interest.

“Well, you know where I live. There’s been
talk that the sled dog race that was moved there might be
connected.” I had, of course, heard nothing of the sort.

“Really?” There was skepticism in her eyes,
but she kept her game, aka “I’m going to sell this woman
something,” face on.

I nodded my head and tried to look earnest.
“I heard the race got a trail banned to snowmobilers.”

“Well, that is true.” Annoyance flickered
across her face before she remembered why she was talking to me.
“But only for a couple of weeks and not near you, I don’t think.
What do you think of this one?” She gestured to the snowmobile.

I put my hands on the handlebars as if
considering it. “How much did you say this one is?”

“Retails at $13,000, but this weekend only
it’s on sale for only $11,500.”

I jerked my hands back. Maybe a little too
quickly. A furrow formed between her brows. “Maybe something more
in the starter category?” she suggested.

I nodded and stepped away from the snowmobile
as carefully as I could. I didn’t see any signs that said “you
break it, you bought it,” but I didn’t want to take any
chances.

She led me outside to the used, and by the
looks of the machines, abused area.

“I can sell you this one for $4,000,” she
said.

Still twice what Martin had said Fluff would
bring. And without the benefit of providing a little extra warmth
in bed on a cold night.

I really didn’t see the appeal.

From the street where I’d left my Jeep, howls
erupted.

I’d been spotted. I threw my leg over the
snowmobile’s seat and grabbed the handle bars like a demented
five-year-old on his first Big Wheel, but my efforts were too late;
Linda’s attention had already been diverted.

“Is that? That’s Fluff.” She frowned and took
a step toward the street. Then she stopped and looked at me. “Is
that your car?”

“Uh.” I quickly weighed the cost/benefit of
truth vs. lie. At some point I was going to have to leave the lot,
and there’d be no way to keep her from seeing me jostle my way into
my Jeep-full-o’-husky. Plus, I was actually, unknown to her,
interviewing her as a possible husky-foster-mom replacement. So, I
went with the truth. Or my version of the truth.

“Yes, I’m a foster for the Humane
Society.”

“A foster?” She took a couple of steps toward
my rig. “Do you know where they came from?”

I pulled my mouth down. “Their owner was
killed earlier this week.”

“Red,” she murmured.

I tilted my head as if just putting elements
of our conversation together. “Did you know him?”

She snorted. “I was married to him.” She
caught herself, remembering perhaps that Red was dead, and frowned.
“I hadn’t talked to him in a while.”

“Still... it must have been a shock.”

“Yes.” She looked around as if checking for
an escape.

I turned back to the snowmobile, hoping that
would keep her with me. It worked.

“It’s not fancy, but still serviceable,” she
said.

“And probably less likely to get stolen,” I
replied, with what I hoped was an acceptable level of smile,
considering our recent discussion of Red’s death.

In the process of placing her hand on the
sled, she paused. “So, why does the Humane Society have Red’s
dogs?”

I shrugged. “The police say they are
evidence.”

“Oh...” She stared at my car.

“I don’t know what will happen to them after
though. Did Red have family?”

“Just me.”

“Oh, so maybe you...” I glanced at my Jeep,
trying not to let on that I’d like nothing more than to race to the
vehicle and reunite her with Red’s team.

She laughed. “No. Not me.”

My eyes must have widened. She changed her
expression to something more conciliatory. “I asked for the dogs in
the divorce, and Red was adamant I would never get them.”

I widened my eyes again, this time in
innocence. “So you don’t want them now? I mean I’m sure Red would
prefer someone he knew—”

“Not me he wouldn’t.” She paused and looked
at the dogs again. “I’m sure someone will want them though...”

There was a new light in her eyes, one I
recognized. I saw it at every auction I attended, either in the
mirror or on another dealer’s face. Calculating potential
profit.

“I could make some calls...” she offered.
“I’m sure I could find homes for all of them. Fluff for sure.”

I twisted my lips. I wanted to get rid of the
dogs, but... “Would you want them now?”

Her eyes widened. “Now? But I thought they
were evidence.”

“They are, but since you’re a
relative...”

She held up one manicured hand. “Ex. Besides
I wouldn’t want to cause trouble.”

“Oh. Okay.” I nodded like I understood and I
did, way too well.

“But... I’d have to make some calls.”

Calls. Right. My lips thinned, but she didn’t
seem to notice. She stared at my Jeep for another couple of minutes
before turning back to the snowmobile. “So, are you
interested?”

For a minute, I didn’t realize what she was
talking about. I was too caught up worrying that she was going to
try and take Fluff and sell her away from her pack. Fluff wouldn’t
like that. The others wouldn’t like that. What had I done?

Linda cleared her throat.

I snapped back to attention, stared at the
snowmobile and stuttered something out about needing to think about
it and having a lot on my plate at the moment.

She eyeballed me for a good thirty
seconds.

I was pretty sure she was onto me and my
original motivations, which quite honestly had now completely
changed. I just wanted to get out of here
with
the
huskies, every single obnoxious one of them.

“Whatever. You change your mind, you let me
know.” She pulled out a business card and shoved it into my hand.
Then after one more quick glance at my Jeep, she beelined to a 4x4
that had just pulled into the lot towing an empty trailer.

o0o

The next morning, I tripped over Peter’s
cowboy boots, or my cowboy boots gifted to me by Peter. I was
pretty sure I’d left them tucked inside their box, safely stashed
against the wall where I would be able to ignore them for a few
days or weeks, or if needed, forever. But someone, some dog, had
apparently decided on a different plan.

I gave Fluff an accusing stare. She claimed
ignorance. Kiska did too, along with the rest of the team.

I put the boots back in their box and shoved
it in the coat closet. For good measure I put a chair in front of
the door and then turned to give my housemates a stern glare. As
one they stared back, unblinking and unrepentant. Actually, as if
they expected me to pull a squeaky toy out of my robe or a T-bone
or something else that would turn their morning into a joy-filled
brawl, at least for them.

Dogs. The world’s best example of hope
springing eternal.

I, however, was an example of something else.
Something a lot less springy.