Plain Jane (9 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Plain Jane
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The dog strained at the leash being held by two patrol officers. A third officer entered the station with two cardboard cartons on a dolly. “This is his gear, Sarge.”
“His gear?” Trixie squeaked.
“Yeah, his gear,” Jake said. “Bulletproof vest, special leashes, special food, special vitamins, some toys, his toothbrush, hairbrush, nail clippers, eyedrops, his badge, and a bunch of other stuff. He has a bed, blanket, and special towels. You know, Trixie, gear.”
The dog started to whine even as he continued to strain at his leash.
Trixie was no dog expert, but Flash did not look like a happy dog. “What's wrong with him? He seems agitated.”
“He's been locked up ever since Bob left. I imagine he's feeling abandoned. Bob was the only one Flash bonded with. And he's probably bored. He likes patrol work, loves the siren and all the excitement. I imagine he doesn't know what to think or feel right now.”
“I see,” Trixie said, studying the dog from a distance.
“By the way, Trixie, Bob said he doesn't like women. Guess I should have told you that straight out, but I forgot until just now.”
Trixie's eyebrow peaked. “Are you going to tell me why, Jake?”
“Some whacko broad took a blowtorch to him. Good thing he was wearing his vest. Aside from a little scorched fur, he was fine. You need to start thinking about taking him home, Trixie.”
“I'm thinking, I'm thinking,” she muttered. She'd never been afraid of anything in her life and she wasn't about to let a dog scare the hell out of her, even if he was a hundred ten pounds and looked like a timber wolf.
Fred had once accused her of being nastier than cat shit. Maybe this was one of those times when being mean and nasty would do more good than harm. With a calm she was far from feeling, she looked at each of the officers. “Let him go.”
“This is not by the book, Trixie.”
“You got that right, Jake, but that's the way it's got to be. I'm going to sit down here on the bench, and I'm not going to move. Let's just see what happens.”
“Let him go,” Jake said.
A moment later the huge dog raced around the room, going from person to person, sniffing. Waiting her turn, Trixie bit down on her lower lip. Suddenly the dog's tail settled between his legs and his ears flattened against his head. He charged toward her and skidded to a stop in front of her. Trixie didn't blink. “I don't have a blowtorch, Flash,” she said in a low voice. “I don't have anything in my hands.” She turned her hands over for him to see. “Yeah, you're almost as big as I am, and you sure as hell weigh more than I do, but I'm not afraid of you,” she said, smiling. She watched as the big dog cocked his head, listening. Still, his tail remained between his legs, and his ears stayed flat against his head.
“I need a few minutes alone with him. Everybody take a hike and give me five.”
“Are you sure, Trixie?” Jake looked worried.
“Outta here, all of you,” she ordered. Once they were gone she looked Flash in the eye. “I'm sorry you lost your handler, but you have to get on with your life. I can give you a wonderful home with a big backyard with lots of trees to lift your leg on and a nice patio to sun yourself on in the summer. Fred and me, we'll take good care of you, and we'll love you the way you deserve to be loved. And you've got my word that I won't give you that food that looks like rabbit poop. But right now you need to know who's the boss. It's me, big boy. Trixie. I'm in charge,” she whispered.
The dog inched closer, his fangs bared. She could tell he wasn't buying any of her little speech and that he was probably planning on sinking his teeth into her at the very least. Thinking quickly, she slid off the bench and got down on her hands and knees so she would be eye level with the huge Malinois. She was so close she could smell his breath. Mint. Probably his doggy toothpaste. His head moved imperceptibly, at which point Trixie moved her head and simultaneously clicked her dentures together. “So there!” she said, then worked her dentures back into place with her tongue. “You bite, I bite back. You got that? You wouldn't like me, I'm old and stringy, not good chewing material.” The Malinois made a noise that was somewhere between a whine and a whimper. “Now come here, you big
wuss,
and let Trixie give you some loving.” She reached out and scratched him behind his ears, which were by then standing at attention. He leaned toward her and licked her face. “Good boy, Flash,” she said, letting him lick her again. “What do you say we bug out of this place and head for Burger King? Three Whoppers coming up! Fetch your leash. We can't go out in public without it. You could give someone a heart attack.” She stood up. “We're leaving, Jake!”
Jake and several other officers came out of the back. Their worried expressions turned to amazement when they saw Flash sitting in front of Trixie with his leash in his mouth.
Trixie winked and grinned as she fastened the leash onto Flash's collar. “I think he already loves me. How about bringing all his gear out to the truck? I'll send you a check tonight, okay?”
“Sure,” Jake said. His eyes narrowed when he looked at Trixie. “One of these days you're going to tell me what you did, aren't you?”
“I didn't do anything but talk to him.” She patted Flash's head. “I think this is going to work out just fine. I like this dog. I mean I really like him. I bet you five bucks in two weeks time he'll forget all about Bob Henry.”
“That's a sucker bet.”
Trixie started for the door. “You guys need to get some air fresheners for the station. It stinks in there. How many times do I have to tell you that? Some days I hate coming here.”
Jake rolled his eyes as he wheeled the dolly out to Trixie's truck. As soon as he'd loaded the boxes up, Flash jumped in and immediately started pawing through his stuff.
“Are you sure I have everything?”
“It's all there. Bob packed it up himself. His new address and phone number are on the booklet. He wants you to call him to let him know how Flash is doing. Will you do that, Trixie?”
“You bet. See ya, Jake.”
All the way home, Trixie kept one eye on the road and the other on the big dog in the back. Flash didn't seem to care one way or another when she pulled up to the drive-through window of Burger King. He was much more interested in what was in the boxes than what was going on outside the windows. Even when the clerk handed over the bag of burgers, he made no move to check it out.
“I'll park, and you can eat,” Trixie told him as she wheeled the car into a parking space. “I know this is all strange to you, but Fred and I will give you a really good life. I lied when I told Jake that our last dog died of old age. The truth is we never had any animals because we traveled so much. But we've always wanted one. We adore Olive. She's a springer spaniel. I'll bet you'll like her, too.” She took the paper off the first burger. “Look, here's a Whopper without all that junk, just good old ground beef.” Flash only looked at her. “No, huh?” She shrugged. “Okay, maybe later. Let's go home so you can meet Fred.” When he still didn't move, Trixie got out of the car, walked around to the back, opened the tailgate, and climbed in next to him. Tears blurred her eyes as she stroked his massive head. “It's going to be all right, Flash. That's a promise.” She continued to croon to the dog, then cupped his snout in her hands and planted a kiss on his nose. “I know just how you feel, big guy. How about I turn on the radio and we listen to Dr. Jane Lewis dispense her invaluable advice?”
Trixie locked the tailgate and stood staring at the dog through the tinted windows. A lump formed in her throat. Had she made a mistake taking on the police dog? Would Fred be upset with her? Yes, but only for a minute. Then he would fall in love with Flash and fret over him the way she was doing now. Together they'd work it out. They always had.
4
Jane groaned as she rolled over and crunched her face into the soft down pillow. Every bone and muscle in her body ached from her run the previous day. She moaned again, knowing she had to wake up. Something exciting was supposed to happen today. What was it? She tried to home in on it as she burrowed deeper into the bedclothes. Whatever it was, it could wait, she thought a moment later. She needed to sleep some more. Besides, it wasn't even light out yet. No one in her right mind got up when it was still dark, especially on a Saturday morning.
She moved her leg sideways under the covers, searching for Olive. There she was, in her usual position, sleeping soundly. One more reason not to get up. Sighing with satisfaction, she rolled onto her side, raised her knees, and heard a yelp followed by a loud thump.
Jane sat bolt upright, thinking she'd pushed Olive off the bed. “Oh, Ollie, I'm—” Olive sat up and looked at her. “I thought—What—?” Her eyebrows arched as she peeked over the side of the bed. Nothing. She threw the covers back, swung her legs over the side, and . . . felt a furry body beneath her feet.
She let out a strangled sound as she hopped across whatever it was.
“What's your hurry, Miss Jane?”
an amused voice asked.
Jane whirled around to see the same young boy she'd seen in her last dream sitting in her rocking chair. “I—You—What the hell did I step on?”
“It was Jeeter. You pushed him off the bed.”
Jane looked down but didn't see the dog. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. “I hope I didn't hurt him,” she said, heading back to bed.
“What are you doing?”
“What's it look like I'm doing? I'm going back to bed. It isn't time to wake up.”
The boy jumped out of the chair and blocked her path.
“You can't go back to bed. You've got company coming.”
“Beat it, will you? I'm tired. I've had a rough week, and I need all the sleep I can get.
Dreamless
sleep, if you don't mind.”
“This is not a dream. Jeeter and me—we're spirits,”
the boy said, wrinkling his face into a grimace at the word
spirit.
“I know, and I'm Madonna. Outta here!” She dodged to the right and went around him.
“If you go back to sleep, you
will
dream,”
he warned.
“You'll dream about all the old stuff. It's been bothering you a lot lately. I wish you wouldn't worry so much, Miss Jane.”
She stopped short of the bed and looked over her shoulder. “Who says I'm worried?”
“You worry about
everything.
You have to stop. You're taking the joy out of living. If you want me to be specific, you worry about Connie Bryan and Todd Prentice. And you worry about Mrs. Ramsey.”
Jane raked her hands through her frizzy hair. “How do you know that?” she asked, her voice ringing with a desperation she didn't like.
“I know all kinds of things.”
He looked toward the door leading to the hall.
“Your doorbell is going to ring in a couple of minutes. You better get dressed.”
Jane sat down on the edge of the bed and covered her face with her hands. These dreams of hers were starting to take a toll on her. Where most people could get along with eight hours of sleep, Jane needed a minimum of nine. Any less and she was a grouchy grump the rest of the day.
The doorbell rang. The opening notes of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” pealed through the house. Why she'd bought a doorbell that played thirteen different tunes instead of the old-fashioned dingdong was a mystery. She must have been having one of those nuttier days when she ordered it from the one-of-a-kind catalog.
Jane snorted as she pulled on her old bathrobe. Who would be ringing her doorbell at—she glanced at the clock—6:45 on a Saturday morning? She hoped whoever it was had a good excuse, or they would be the recipient of her early-morning wrath. “Come on, Olive.” She snatched a flowered headband off the dresser, skinned back her curly hair, and ran downstairs as fast as her still-sore legs would carry her.
The doorbell rang again.
“All right already. I'm coming,” she yelled. Didn't the boy in her dream just get through telling her that the doorbell was going to ring?
She skidded across the foyer to the front door and fumbled with the dead bolt. “Whoever's there, you got a helluva lot of nerve coming here at this hour!” She bared her teeth and pulled the door open, ready to do battle with the rude intruder.
“Jane. Did I wake you up? I'm sorry,” Mike said, a grin plastered from one ear to the other.
“Mike? Sorenson? It's still dark outside. Aren't you early?”
“You're not a morning person, I take it,” he said, a bemused smile lifting one side of his mouth. He pulled back the screen door and stepped inside.
“No, I'm not a morning person,” Jane shot back as she eyed her handsome colleague. He was wearing khaki cargo pants and a pale yellow Polo T-shirt. His clothes had been
ironed.
She could see the creases in his pants and on the sleeves of his shirt. His Docksiders were worn in and comfortable-looking. “What's that smell?” she asked, twitching her nose. “Alpine something, right?”
“Christmas gift from my mother. Look, I brought breakfast.” He held up a white bakery bag. “Fresh
beignets
, juice, and coffee.”
“I thought we were going to have a picnic brunch around ten or so?”
“We were, but ever since I left here I've thought about nothing except what happened at the well, and I couldn't wait to get back. I hope you don't mind. . . .”
Jane threw her hands up in the air. “No! No problem. C'mon, let's eat,” she said, turning and heading for the kitchen. “Since you brought breakfast, you should do the serving. I think you should know I like my juice in a fragile wineglass and my coffee in bone china and my
beignets
on a matching plate. Paper napkins will do nicely. Everything is in the cabinet over the sink.”
“Bossy, aren't you?”
Jane grimaced. She didn't bother to respond. “It's not even seven o'clock yet, Mike. You woke me up out of a sound sleep. What do you expect, full makeup and ironed linen?” Miss Congeniality she wasn't. He was seeing her at her absolute worst. If he could put up with her until she had her coffee and turned into a human being, it would be a miracle. It would also tell what kind of man he was.
“I really am sorry, Jane. I should have called. For some reason I thought you were an early riser.” He followed her into the kitchen and pulled out a chair for her. “You just sit down, and I'll take care of everything.”
Jane marveled at how efficient he was, even in a kitchen he didn't know.
Momentarily, he sat down across from her. “I hate eating breakfast alone. How about you?”
Jane shrugged. “I'm not much on breakfast actually. Pop-Tarts on the run most of the time. An apple in the car. That kind of thing. So, what do you want to do today? After I turn into a human being that is,” she asked, sipping her coffee. “I'd like to explore the property and the entire house. Did the Larouxs leave anything behind? People usually do if they consider it junk. When I was here with the realtor, he showed me the attic. I remember there was all kinds of stuff, old clothes, toys, boxes . . .”
“It's all still up there. I've never gone through it, but it's been on my ‘to do' list. I guess today is as good a time as any to get it cleaned out. I'll take some trash bags up there with us. Are we going to have time to talk about my patient?”
“Sure,” Mike said. “Anytime you want.”
“How's your battery guy doing?”
His face split into a wide grin. “He called last night to tell me he's ordering a case of those big D batteries. I asked him why, and he said he liked the curly wire on the top and you can never have enough batteries. By the way, Duracell went up two points. He faxed me a printout.”
“It doesn't sound to me like he's unhappy with his life,” Jane observed, sipping her coffee from the delicate cup.
“As far as I can tell, he isn't the least bit unhappy. He's just obsessed, and he wants to overcome the obsession. If the rest of my patients were as happy as he is, I'd be delighted.”
“And out of a job,” she added.
“Well, that's true. But you know, other than him, I don't know anyone who is truly happy. Everyone I know who got married right after college is either already divorced or headed for the divorce court. No one wants to work at marriage anymore. When I was a college student, I decided I wanted to settle into a career before getting married, and I stuck to it. Now I know exactly what kind of woman I want. How about you, Jane?”
“I—How about me?” she stuttered, wondering what kind of woman he was talking about. “I wanted a career first, too.” Tomorrow she was going to run ten miles even if she got shin splints all the way up to her neck. “As for the kind of man I want . . . I don't know. I've been so busy I haven't thought about it. I have a very full and rewarding life.”
He regarded her with a knowing look. “That's what everyone says when they don't have anyone in their life. I say it, too.” His expression lightened. “So, what do you think of my breakfast?” he asked, changing topics.
“For takeout, it ain't bad,” Jane said, finishing off the last of her
beignet.
Mike leaned back against his chair. “Tell you what, I'll clean up here while you shower and dress. Do you wash these cups and glasses by hand or put them in the dishwasher ?” He sat forward and rested his arms on the table. “Did you really have a crush on me way back when?”
Jane almost choked on her coffee. “Do you always speak so erratically? It makes it hard to keep up.” His eyes flickered with amusement. She put her cup down. “First of all, yes, you need to wash them by hand. Second, no, I do not have a dishwasher. And third, yes, I was joking about having a crush on you. I just said that to flatter your ego.” Jane pushed her chair back and got up. On her way out of the kitchen, she said, “By the way, I picked something up for you yesterday. It's T. F. Dingle's new book. It's on the foyer table.”
“No kidding! I didn't know the new one was out. Thanks, Jane. I could kiss you for that.”
She grabbed on to the doorjamb and looked over her shoulder. “So what's stopping you?”
His coffee cup stopped midway to his mouth. “Huh?”
Jane had meant for her answer to be taken in the same vein as his offer, but she could see by his expression that she'd caught him off guard. All she could do now was brazen it out and hope for the best. “You said you could kiss me for getting you the book. And I said, ‘what's stopping you?' ”
“You want me to kiss you?”
“Forget I said anything,” she said, shooting him a withering look. “The moment is gone, and now you can just kiss my ass, you . . . you shrink!” Jane snarled as she flounced away from him.
Mike stood up and started after her only to have Olive come from out of nowhere and latch on to his pant leg.
“Call her off, Jane!”
“She'll let go when she's sure you don't intend me any harm. I wouldn't move if I were you. I'll be down in an hour or so.”
“An hour! C'mon, Jane, give me a break!” Mike bellowed. When there was no response other than Jane's laughter, Mike sat back down in his chair. Olive let go of his pant leg and sat down and stared at him.
“It's good that she's got you for protection, Olive. I'll bet she pisses a lot of people off. Tell me, is she hell on wheels to live with?”
Olive cocked her head to the side and made a noise that was somewhere between a growl and a whine. To Mike it sounded like a definite yes.
“I think I might have ticked her off, but I thought she was joking. Hell, I would love to have kissed her. She even had sugar on her lips. Mighty tasty, I'd say,” he said, licking his lips for Olive's benefit. “Maybe I'll give it a try later on.” Olive cocked her head to the other side. “You know what I like about her? She's one of those what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of people. Nothing phony or pretentious about Jane. I wonder if she really did have a crush on me. Stop staring at me for God's sake! I'm not going anywhere.”
A half hour later, Jane found Mike still in the kitchen where she'd left him, with Olive at his feet, watching his every move.
“Okay, Olive, good girl. Shake hands and make nice.” The dog obediently held out one long-haired paw. Mike reached for it and shook it manfully. “Olive, show Dr. Sorenson there are no hard feelings on your part. Do it like a lady now.” She grinned when the spaniel stood up on her hind legs, put her paws on Mike's knees, and lightly licked his chin. “Ah, that's my good girl,” Jane crooned. “Now you need to do your part, Mike. She's waiting for you to kiss her.”

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