Paws before dying (22 page)

At the end of class, plunked back down on some weedy grass with my four-footed memento of the divine, I found a small crowd of Novice handlers and dogs surrounding Bess Stein, who was sitting in the chair by the card table to dispense advice and answer questions. Jeff and Lance, Leah and Kimi, and Willie Johnson and Righteous were part of her throng. Some of Tony’s other people were leaving, but I remembered that, having arrived late, I hadn’t helped set up. I also wanted to know what Leah had done with Marcia’s photographs. With Rowdy on a down—and, as insurance, hitched to a giant tree, one of the few objects a determined malamute can’t budge—I helped someone haul the heavy old wooden high jump to a van someone had driven into the park.

Every dog training club, like every other club in the world, has some members who always pitch in and others who apparently believe themselves entitled to be waited on by the diligent. Heather Ross perhaps felt that her presence was a sufficient contribution, but Abbey usually did more than her fair share, especially since she didn’t even train a dog. In any case, when I got to the crowd around Bess, Abbey was trying to worm her way to the table so she could fold it and carry it off. I offered to help her. When we’d finally squeezed through the people and dogs, as we were folding the legs of the table, I took the opportunity to ask her about the shock collar, not by that name, of course.

“You remember a while ago, you mentioned something about using a remote trainer? For squirming on sits and downs.”

“Works like a charm,” she said.

“I was wondering. Do you have one?”

“You want to borrow it?”

“Just as an experiment,” I said truthfully.

“Sure, I guess so. I’ll bring it next time.”

As we were lifting the table, Willie Johnson, whom I hadn't noticed, stepped in and put a hand on it. “I’ll do it,” he said nicely. “Where does it go?”

“In that maroon van,” I told him. “Thanks.”

When he got back, I thanked him again and refrained from asking whether the police had questioned him yet and, if so, what he’d said. Leah finally approached Bess to ask some question I didn’t hear, and when Bess had answered her and was turning to Willie, I pushed my way toward Leah and said, “What happened to the pictures?”

“You gave them to me,” she said.

Then we started leading the dogs out of the park and toward the street. “I know. But what did you do with them?”

“Put them in the Bronco. I have a key, remember?”

Jeff had crated Lance in the back of his family’s big white Oldsmobile wagon, and Leah begged to take Kimi with her, too. I gave in. She and Jeff hauled Kimi’s crate from my car to Jeffs, and while I waited for them to finish, I said hello to Monica, who’d shown up to get a ride to Emma’s with Jeff and Leah.

Monica was wearing a short-sleeved navy-blue summer-Weight cotton sweater that looked brand-new.

“Pretty sweater,” I told her as I stood holding the dogs’ leashes and waiting for Leah to get Kimi. “In fact, I ordered one just like it from L. L. Bean.”

“Thanks,” Monica said. “Actually, it’s Leah’s.”

Oh, was I slow. Was I trusting.

Leah and Jeff finally finished fitting the crate into the station wagon. Then Jeff got into the driver’s seat, Monica opened the front passenger door, and Leah came to get Kimi. I handed her the leash.

“Leah,” I whispered. “That sweater. The sweater Monica’s wearing? That is
my
new sweater, isn’t it? The one that just came today? From L. L. Bean?”

“I was going to tell you,” Leah said blithely, “but I thought you might say something.”

“Like what? ‘You’re wearing my sweater’? Leah, I want it back,” I said childishly. “I haven’t even worn it yet. As a matter of fact, this is the first time I’ve actually even seen it. And you’ve let someone else borrow it? Without even asking me?”

“I’m sorry. Holly, really, I
am
sorry.”

“I want it back,” I repeated.

“Well, I can’t ask for it now,” Leah said reasonably. “What’s she supposed to wear? Nothing?”

“No,” I conceded. “I guess not. But I don’t like this at all. And remember, eleven-thirty. At the latest.”

Chapter 24

“SO all I thought was, huh, Monica’s got a sweater exactly like mine,” I told Steve. “It didn’t even occur to me that it was a strange coincidence.”

Steve had a big smirk on his face. It had been plastered there ever since I’d outlined the story. The heat and humidity had defeated my rattling old air conditioners and driven us outdoors to the back steps. The dogs and I supposedly share the fenced-in yard, which has a park bench, an iron table, and a pair of cheap white resin chairs as well as a collection of canine furnishings. Unfortunately, though, despite my diligent daily cleanups, the Cambridge midsummer steam bath defeats even the ordinarily effective application of Odormute, Odo Kill, and Outright. In short, the yard stinks.

“And then I actually told her I’d ordered the same one from L- L. Bean,” I confessed. “I can’t believe I was such a naive jerk. I actually complimented her on
my
sweater.”

He thought that was pretty funny, too.

“Which was when she said it was Leah’s,” I added. “And then I finally caught on. It’s probably amazing that I managed to do that.”

“But you missed the next step,” he said.

“And what was that?” I asked, unmollified.

“Ask her whether you could borrow it. She’d probably’ve said yes.” And he laughed some more and patted Rowdy, who was half asleep on the concrete at the bottom of the steps.

“Sure. Why not? And then Leah was so casual. And practical. It was completely maddening. Was I going to tell this girl to take off the sweater and go naked? And it wasn’t her fault. It’s not as if she’d stolen it.”

“If you’d entered into the spirit of it, it would’ve been no problem,” he said. “You could’ve traded, right there on the spot.”

“Right. On the sidewalk. And the worst of it was, I was just seething, and at the same time, I still didn’t want to make a scene. I don’t believe in humiliating kids in front of their friends, plus I ended up with this ridiculous feeling that I was being sort of stingy and unreasonable, and if I made a scene, I’d just be making a fool of myself. I mean, there they are, open and generous and free, and I’m constricted and selfish.”

“It was right not to say anything,” he said.

“Well, I did sort of hiss at Leah, and when she gets home, I’m not going to yell at her, but this is really too much. I know you think it’s funny, but it’s not as if I had a million new sweaters. Damn it, the dogs wouldn’t give away my new sweater. And I know you think it’s cute, but I’m waiting up for her, and the second she gets in, we are going to have a serious talk about it.”

I leaned down, took Rowdy’s muzzle between my hands, and gently ran my fingers over his hot, unhappy nose. I didn’t say anything, but he knew what I meant: Summer is not forever. Snow will fall. You will be back in harness.

“At the risk of sounding like Rita,” Steve said, “uh...”

“Uh, what?”

“It, uh... Well, you have been, uh, real willing to turn Kimi over to her.”

“Yes,” I said rather loudly. “I have. I’m glad you noticed. The Alaskan malamute is not a one-person dog, remember?” Actually, the breed standard needs updating; it says
one-man
dog. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Eleven twenty-four.”

“So she has exactly six minutes,” I said.

“So why’d you change the subject?”

“I didn’t. Kimi’s with her.”

“Relax,” Steve said. “So’s Jeff.”

At quarter of twelve, Steve was mouthing excuses. At midnight, we started in on flat tires. At twelve-fifteen, we finally got to accidents. I hadn’t been so angry since the moment that Danny, one of my goldens, had danced out of the woods at Owls Head with a fat porcupine in his mouth. He kept tossing the damned thing up in the air and catching it, driving more and more quills deeper and deeper into his head, muzzle, mouth, and throat. In spite of the pain, he was delighted with himself. I was furious: How could he hurt himself like that when I loved him so much? What if we missed a quill and infection set in? What if one penetrated his brain? What if he died? Damn him for it. Damn Leah.

“Okay, I’ve had it,” I said. “Now I get on the phone.”

Leah and I had agreed that, within reason, she could go pretty much where she pleased. But she had to let me know where it was. And, I should add, we had both kept our parts of the bargain. That evening, for instance, she had dutifully left Emma’s phone number and address on the message pad by the kitchen phone. If I’d been less worried, I’d have hesitated to wake up Emma’s family in the middle of the night, but, in any case, it was Emma who answered. Leah and Jeff had left at ten-fifteen, she said solemnly.

I believed her. “Did they, um, did they say anything about going somewhere else? McDonald’s or somewhere? Someone’s house?”

Emma didn’t know. She had no idea. Next I tried Jeff’s number. An answering machine picked up. I left a message. Then I rang the number again a couple of times in the hope that the ringing would awaken or irk the Cohens, but they evidently slept through or ignored it, if they were home at all.

Then I yelled at Steve. “Damn it all! This is my fault. She looks older than she is, and he seemed like such a responsible kid.”

“He is a responsible kid,” said Steve. “That’s what’s frightening. He isn’t careless. It isn’t like either of them to do this for no good reason.”

“Oh, shit. I keep imagining... Oh, hell. I mean, nightmares happen. Do you remember—when was it?—a car went into the Charles, and someone drowned? Someone was trapped. Steve, they would
call.
If they had a flat tire or the car broke down, they would call.”

“Too much beer?”

“Possibly,” I said. “I wouldn’t swear they don’t drink. But you know, I’d swear they wouldn’t drink and drive. I had a long, long talk with Leah about that, and I
know
she’d call me. Rita gave me this thing from Students Against Drunk Driving. It was when I first knew Leah was coming, and I was talking it over with Rita, about Leah using the car. And it’s sort of corny, but there’s this pledge you both sign. Anyway, Leah thought it was corny, and I thought it was corny, and we both signed it. And we joked about it, but we both meant it. Whatever it is, it isn’t that. But some drunk could’ve been driving another car. I feel sick.”

“You would’ve heard. This number’s in her purse or something?”

“Yes.”

“You would’ve been called. Let’s not get so alarmed just yet.”

“Christ! They could’ve gone anywhere.”

“Holly, come on. Calm down.”

“She’s not your niece!” She wasn’t mine, either, but Steve was kind enough not to .remind me that she was only a cousin.

“I know,” he said. “Look, it’s been a long, hot day. It’s possible they fell asleep somewhere. Not at Emma’s, obviously. At Jeff's? In the car?”

“Why would they...? I mean, they could come here.”

“They wouldn’t be alone,” he said.

“I wouldn’t care.”

“They don’t necessarily know that. Do they?”

“Maybe not. I can’t believe I was upset about the stupid sweater. I mean, here she is. She’s a wonderful kid. She’s cheerful. She has a beautiful disposition. She’s friendly, smart, sensitive. She reads Jane Austen. She studies for her SATs. She doesn’t do drugs. She’s a genius with dogs. And what do I do? I get livid because she’s generous, basically. You thought it was funny, but did I lighten up? No, not me. Steve, you don’t think I scared her away? That I made her afraid to come home?”

“Not a chance,” he said. “There are kids who’d be afraid to come home after something like that, and there are people who’d make them afraid. But she’s not like that, and you aren’t-Forget it.”

“So what do we do? Call the police?”

“To report she’s an hour late?”

“There is that.”

What we did was a little hard on Rita, who’d gone to sleep hours earlier and had clients scheduled for the next morning, but who wrapped herself in a flowered silk robe and settled on the couch in my hot living room to listen for Leah herself, we hoped, or for the phone. Then Steve and I put Rowdy in the

Bronco and drove to Newton. We followed the river, the route Leah and I always used, but we took it very slowly. The Charles looked oily-dark under the black sky, but nowhere between Cambridge and Newton were there the ambulances I feared. No Oldsmobile station wagon was being hauled out of the water. Officers of the Metropolitan District Commission were not blocking traffic on Storrow Drive to make way for tow trucks and rescue vans. On Soldiers Field Road across from Martignet-ti’s, a cruiser idled peacefully, a speed trap catching nothing. I pulled over, and Steve awoke the dozing trooper. Maybe no news should’ve felt like good news, but it didn’t. It felt like no news.

In Newton Corner, I found a phone booth. Rita had heard nothing. The Cohens’ answering machine was still operating efficiently. Their street, Beechcliffe, appeared on the Newton map in my dog-show-tattered guide to the communities of eastern Massachusetts. It was only eight or ten blocks from Eliot Park and the Eliot Woods, but, as it turned out, close only on foot. Park Street was one-way the wrong way, and so were what seemed like the next ten turns we tried to make. We eventually ended up on a street I knew, the one that led past the park entrance. According to the map, that street led to another that led to Beechcliffe.