Nick of Time (A Bug Man Novel) (20 page)

She unlocked the door to room 7 and waved the dogs inside. The room looked no more glamorous than the building’s exterior: particleboard dresser on the left, avocado lamp and bulky nineteen-inch television on top—no technological upgrades in this place—and on the opposite wall a king-size bed that seemed to dip toward the center.
Welcome to the Poconos
, she thought. She wondered where Nick was staying tonight; she wondered if his place was any better than this; she wondered if their honeymoon hotel was any better.
It better be
, she thought.
I didn’t wait my whole life to stay in a dump like this one
.

She changed and climbed into bed, even though it was still early. She thought about turning on the TV, but she had too much on her mind and she knew the sound would quickly become an annoyance.
Might as well get some sleep
, she thought.
Tomorrow’s a long day and I have to get started early
. She set the cell phone on the nightstand beside the clock where she could easily see both. She turned out the light, knowing that the phone was on full volume and Nick’s call would easily wake her up.

If he does call
.

She began to doze off, but the night was cold and the blanket and bedspread were flimsy and worn. She sat up in bed and snapped her fingers and pointed to Trygg; she wiggled her index finger and the three-legged dog bounded up onto the bed and curled up beside her. Alena cuddled up close to the dog and hooked one arm around her; she lay there in the darkness, feeling the warmth of the dog’s body against hers and sensing the slight movement of her rib cage as the dog breathed in and out. Alena closed her eyes and tried to imagine what Nick would feel like next to her. She remembered what Gunner told her— that Nick was not a dog and that she wouldn’t be able to just snap her fingers to get what she wanted. She wasn’t sure how to get what she wanted from Nick, because what she wanted most was to have Nick home with her in Virginia—but he had left.

She opened her eyes and looked at the clock. It was 10:45.

20

O
dell Throckmorton sat cross-legged in the middle of the warehouse floor, staring at the enormous black dog that blocked the exit. The dog wasn’t vicious— not now, anyway—but last night it was a different story. Now the dog just sat there, staring back at Odell with a bored look on its drooping face, looking as if it might drop off to sleep at any moment—but Odell knew better.

He had broken into the small-electronics warehouse about three in the morning—about the same time he did every week or two. Robbing Charlie Dorfman’s warehouse had become almost a regular job for him; he even left a party early once, telling his friends that he “had to go to work.” The warehouse was an easy mark for Odell because he used to work shipping and inventory there and he knew every inch of the place. Old man Dorfman was so cheap that he had never bothered installing a decent alarm system, and the padlocks he kept switching out on the front door were so basic that Odell could pick most of them—and whenever a lock was beyond his abilities, he knew all the places where the corrugated siding was loose and could be easily peeled back to allow him to squeeze through.

Last night he picked the lock—no problem at all. But when he slid the big door aside he saw something that almost made him turn tail and run: the biggest dog he had ever seen, sitting there in the doorway, staring up at him just like it was doing right now. Odell had frozen in his tracks and held his breath, terrified of what the dog might do to him the instant it realized that Odell didn’t belong there—but the dog never moved. It didn’t bark, or growl, or even blink an eye. It didn’t seem bothered to find Odell standing there; it didn’t seem to care at all.

So Odell began to relax a little. At first he figured that cheapskate Dorfman must have finally pried open that wallet of his and bought himself a guard dog, but he should have known better. This dog was probably just somebody’s pet, borrowed and left in the warehouse for effect. And it almost worked too, ’cause that was one scary-looking animal—but a man like Odell was not so easily fooled.

“Hey there, fella,” Odell said in his sweetest singsong voice. “You’re a big one, ain’t ya? But you’re not a mean ol’ doggy, are you? Nah—you just look like one.” He slowly held out the back of his hand, wishing that his pockets were stuffed with pork chops right now.

The dog didn’t seem interested in Odell’s hand; the dog didn’t even flinch.

“Why, you’re just an old softy.” For a split second it crossed Odell’s mind to reach out and pat the dog on the head, but he thought better of it. No sense taking a chance, and besides, he didn’t need to make friends with the beast—he just wanted into the warehouse without losing any major body parts. So Odell slowly eased past the dog into the warehouse, covering his crotch with both hands just in case, and rolled the big metal door shut behind him.

Three minutes later he had a Blu-ray player tucked under one arm and a TiVo under the other and he was ready to leave again. He returned to the doorway and said to the black behemoth, “Nice doggie. Uncle Odell has to go now, so if you’ll just—”

But the moment he took a step toward the doorway, the dog leaped to its feet and let out a growl so loud and so low that it seemed to rumble like thunder. The dog widened its stance and slung its head low with its hackles standing like a hedgehog’s quills and both ears plastered flat against its head. Those sagging jowls were gone now, pulled up into its face like hoisted curtains, baring a row of teeth that stood out against the dog’s black fur like the pickets of a fence.

Odell dropped both boxes and stumbled back from the doorway. The instant he did, the dog fell silent and resumed a sitting position.

Whoa!

Odell just stared for a moment, wondering what just happened. He looked at the dog sitting in the doorway so peacefully; he wasn’t even sure it was the same animal. “What’s the matter with you?” he said as pleasantly as possible. “It’s just me—your ol’ pal Uncle Odell. You know me—you just let me in a minute ago.”

He eased closer and held out the back of his hand . . .

The dog exploded again, snapping at Odell’s hand like a crocodile and missing the soft pink flesh by mere inches.

Odell backed away and reconsidered his strategy. Maybe he was coming at the dog too head-on; maybe the dog took it as a threat; maybe he needed to ease around to the side and squeeze by that way.

He tried—with the same result.

He knew he had to find another way out—he’d have to find one of the loose spots in the corrugated walls and squeeze out that way. He turned and started walking toward the back wall of the warehouse—but when he did, the dog trotted past him and took a sitting position between Odell and the back wall.

What the—

Odell started toward the left wall; the dog moved with him. He looked up at one of the windows, high on the wall almost to the ceiling—the dog trotted over and sat down under it, daring him to try. He considered the front door again, estimating the distance and wondering what the odds were that he could beat the dog to the door at a dead run. He glanced over at the dog . . .

He could have sworn the dog was smiling.

Three hours later Odell Throckmorton sat cross-legged in the middle of the warehouse floor, staring at the enormous black dog that blocked the exit door. The dog wasn’t vicious— not now, anyway. The dog just sat there, staring back at Odell with a bored look on its drooping face, looking as if it might drop off to sleep at any moment.

Odell heard the rattling sound of the metal door rolling on its track and he jumped to his feet. A woman with long black hair and shining green eyes stepped into the doorway and patted the big dog on the head.

“Is that your dog?” Odell demanded.

“Is this your warehouse?” she replied.

“As a matter of fact, it is.”

“As a matter of fact, you’re a liar. Sit down, Odell—we need to talk.”

“You know me?”

“I know about you. You’re the town thief—every little town like this has one.”

“I suppose Charlie Dorfman told you that.”

“He sure did.”

Odell slumped down on the warehouse floor; the woman hitched up her dress and knelt, hooking one arm around the dog’s thick neck.

“Who’re you?” Odell asked.

“My name’s Alena, if it matters.”

“You working for old man Dorfman?”

“Nope. Just passing through.”

“Then what’re you doing here—you and your stupid dog?”

“You got a problem with my dog?”

“The dumb thing let me in but wouldn’t let me out again.”

“That’s what I trained him to do.”

“What for? Why not just keep me out in the first place?”

“What’s the good in that? You’d just keep coming back.

Besides, I didn’t want to run you off—I need to ask you some questions.”

“Me? Why me?”

“Because a guy like you knows everything going on in a town like this. You have to—that’s how you make your living.”

“Why should I answer your questions?”

“’Cause if you do, I’ll let you go.”

Odell perked up. “How do I know you’ll let me go?”

“You don’t. Want me to leave you here until Charlie Dorfman finds you?”

He shook his head.

“I’m looking for my fiancé. His name is Nick Polchak.”

“He’s gone missing?”

“Sort of.”

“Why not go to the police?”

“Because he’s not that kind of ‘missing.’ I just . . . can’t find him.”

“You mean he ran off.”

“He didn’t
run off
, I just can’t find him—that’s different. He told me he was headed up this way and then I didn’t hear from him again. That’s why I’m looking for him.”

Odell paused. “When’s the wedding?”

Alena glared at him. “Why do you want to know that?”

“Just wondering.”

“Well, stop wondering. Nick’s a tall guy with dark hair and big glasses—North Carolina plates on his car. Seen anybody like that in town lately?”

“Nope—I’d remember the out-of-town plates.”

“I’ll bet you would. He got here day before yesterday.”

“Sorry. Spotted a couple other new faces around here lately, though.”

“Oh?”

“Two of ’em—one’s a woman. Nice-looking woman too— good figure. Dark hair—too short for my taste.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re real choosy.”

“Sweet ride too—New York plates. Seems to be here by herself—that’s what caught my attention. Good-looking women don’t tend to travel alone.”

“Thanks. Who’s the other new face?”

“Another New Yorker. Middle-aged guy, ex-military type— Ray-Bans, the whole bit. I figure he’s a hunter.”

“Why’s that?”

“He brought a rifle with him. Probably scopin’ out the place before the next deer season. We get a lot of hunters from out east.”

“When’s deer season?”

“Buck season starts in December.”

“He’s a little early, isn’t he?”

“Now that you mention it.”

“Maybe he’s not looking for deer.”

“Can’t shoot much of anything ’til fall—not with a rifle anyway. Raccoon and fox aren’t ’til October; black bear and elk ’til November.”

“Why bring a rifle if you can’t shoot anything?”

“Beats me. Nice-looking weapon, though—caught a glimpse of it when he took it out of his trunk. I was hoping he might leave it there, but no such luck. He took it into the hotel with him.”

“Hotel? Then he’s staying at the Paradise Motor Lodge?”

“That dump? Nobody stays there.”

Alena frowned. “I heard it was the only hotel in town.”

“Who told you that? No, the Mountain View Lodge up on the north end of town, that’s where the better people stay— people with money. That’s why I keep an eye on the place; that’s where I noticed that hunter.”

“But you didn’t notice my fiancé there?”

“Does he look like he has money?”