The Case of the Invisible Dog
Read The Case of the Invisible Dog Online
Authors: Diane Stingley
The Case of the Invisible Dog
is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
An Alibi eBook Original
Copyright © 2015 by Diane Stingley
Excerpt from
The Case of the Purple Goldfish
by Diane Stingley copyright © 2015 by Diane Stingley
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Alibi, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, New York.
A
LIBI
is a registered trademark and the
A
LIBI
colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book
The Case of the Purple Goldfish
by Diane Stingley. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.
eBook ISBNâ9781101884553
Cover art and design: Scott Biel
v4.1
ep
Inside a manila file folder is a report that I typed up neatly for Shirley Homes. It has been labeled and filed and sits in the locked cabinet next to her desk at the office. I wrote the file based on the notes that Shirley Homes dictated. There were three drafts and numerous changes before she gave final approval.
This is my version, the way it actually happened: the Case of the Invisible Dog. It sits inside the desk at my apartment. And Shirley Homes will
not
be reading it.
I can hear Phil McGuire in my head as I write these words. He would ask why I am so sure that my version of events is more accurate than Shirley's. Isn't it possible that I bring the same blind spots and self-interest to the telling of this story? But trust me, if Phil McGuire had ever met Shirley Homes, there would be no more questions.
The minute I saw that ridiculous hat sitting on top of her bookcase, I should have bolted out of her office and never looked back. But I got caught up in all the strange events, one after another, all of them happening so fast that I couldn't catch my breath long enough to think clearly. The money was part of it. But the other part was that damn invisible dog. He got under my skin. I wanted to figure out how it was done. And why.
Phil McGuire would say two things. First he would commend me for taking ownership of the part I played in this story. But (there's always a “but” when it comes to Phil) he would also tell me that when I make no decision, then that
becomes
my decision. He has said that to me many, many times. It's annoyingâlike having a husband who constantly repeats himself. Only worse. I pay Phil McGuire to repeat himself.
Phil thinks I'm “stuck.” He tells me to be patient; it's part of the process. He's right; I am stuck. But not in the way that he thinks I am.
How did I end up working for Shirley Homes? One word: desperation.
Things didn't work out with Wayne. He'd seemed so normal when we metâa regular, simple guy. I thought he was my chance to get out of my cousin Anna's house and try on a regular, simple life. To see if I could make it work; see if I could fit in. Wayne had a good job with a cable company, upgrading systems for new dish receivers. Made a decent salary. Had a nice truck. At least I think it was nice. It was big and shiny and had a lot of legroom.
Wayne had health insurance and a cozy little house in Archerville out by Lake Gregory. Compared to the guys I had once dated in L.A., he was definitely a step down. But compared to the guys I had hooked up with since I came back to Springville, North Carolina, Wayne was a huge step up.
I wasn't looking for true love. I didn't want to invest my heart and soul. Been there; done that; lost just about everything. This time around I would settle for simple companionship and it would be fine. Just fine.
Phil McGuire: Where did you and Wayne meet?
Me: In a bar. Hey, don't give me that look. (Phil denies having given me a look; but I saw it very clearly.) You and Anna both kept telling me I needed to start getting out more. I went out more.
Phil McGuire: How long have you known him?
Me: Four or five weeks.
Phil McGuire: Do you think moving in together so soon is a good idea? Isn't that what you did with Mark?
(I have mentioned to Phil several times that I believe we have thoroughly exhausted the subject of Mark. But he continues to bring him up.)
Me: I know that's what I did with Mark, but the situation with Wayne is totally different.
Phil McGuire: Situation?
Me: I mean relationship.
Phil McGuire: In what way is it different?
I explained that this relationship wasn't based on passion that would fade, but on shared interests. (Not a total lie; we were both carbon-based life forms, weren't we?) It was steady and reliable, not like the volatile relationship I'd had with Mark. I listed all of Wayne's great qualities, such as being straight, unmarried, not in prison, and holding down a steady job. He has good teeth, too, although I didn't mention that, and a top-of-the-line barbecue grill on his back deck.
Me: And he can actually watch
Bridesmaids
without whining. He even laughed at some of the funny parts.
But then Wayne and I moved in together, and we never watched
Bridesmaids
together again. I moved in on a Saturday, and that night we watched the first three
Fast and Furious
movies. Or at least Wayne did. I started dozing off by the end of the second one. The weekend after, he wanted to watch the next two after grilling some steaks for dinner. I suggested a reasonable compromise: one Fast and Furious and then one movie picked by me. He agreed. I planned on finding something I thought we could both enjoy, like
Ocean's Eleven
or
Gravity
(if you're noting a common theme in those two
possibilitiesâthe
presence of George Clooneyâyou would be right on the money). But as soon as it was time for me to pick the movie Wayne hooked up his Xbox, put in his earbuds, and sat playing video games for the rest of the night.
Now, here's the sad part: I really didn't mind. Just like I didn't mind that all Wayne did was work, take care of the yard, go out for beers with some of his work buddies a couple nights a week, watch action movies, and play video games. We hardly ever talked, and we never went out.
And I didn't mind.
Unfortunately, Wayne believed there was one certain exact way of doing every single thing. I mean
every single thing.
He was always correcting me. How to load the dishwasher. How to unload the dishwasher. How to fold the laundry. What time to turn on the porch light. When the kitchen wastebasket needed to be emptied; and not a minute sooner, or, God forbid, a minute later. Which glass is used for iced tea, which glass is used for water, and which glass is used for juice. How to separate the mail into piles based on a system I never did figure out. Andâmost
importantlyâhow
the toilet paper roll should operate (paper rolling
over
not under; apparently it's what separates us from the animal kingdom).
Wayne never got angry. He never raised his voice. He just quietly made it clear from his measured tone, the glint in his eyes, and the way he crossed his arms rigidly over his chest, that there was no room for discussion. First he would demonstrate what I had done wrong; which unwritten rules of the universe I had violated. Then he would redo it the correct way. And the next time I tried to do whatever it was, he
watched.
One morning, after a month of this, I went to the bathroom and used up the last of the toilet paper. As I went to change the roll I realized that I was finding it hard to breathe. Literally.
Phil McGuire: So how are things going with Wayne?
Me: I'm moving out.
Phil McGuire: Oh? (For just a second or two he looks startled, and maybe a tiny bit smug, as if he's dying to say
If only you'd listened to me,
but he quickly recovers his neutral expression. Phil is nothing if not a professional.) But I thought you said things were going so great with the two of you.
Me: Erâ¦(this is true; that's exactly what I've been saying for the last month) wellâ¦no. Anyway, I found this really cheap apartment over in Springville. That's where I should be anyway since that's where my aunt lives and she's getting older. Not that she'd ever admit she needed any help. She's very independent. But I'll feel better being nearby. My cousin, Anna, and her husband, Paul, are going to move me out on Monday while Wayne's at work.
Phil McGuire: He doesn't know you're leaving?
Me: God, no. He'd probably tell me that I wasn't following the correct procedure to break up with him.
Phil McGuire: I see. (That is therapist code for
What you just said is kind of crazy and, although I will exhibit no visible dismay or concern, I will make a note of it in your file for future reference.)
Me (offended that Phil doesn't see what a healthy decision this is): I know what you're thinking.
First she moves in with him too fast. And now she's moving back out and doesn't even have the courtesy to tell Wayne that she's leaving.
But Wayne isn't someone you can talk to. And, okay, I should have known that since I'm still kind of shut down emotionally I'd attract someone who is also shut down. Maybe that's even what I liked about him. That probably
was
what attracted me. And I shouldn't have moved in with him so fast. I'll give you that. That's probably why I kept trying to pretend everything was fine, because deep down I knew that I should have listened to you (every once in a while I like to throw Phil a bone). But Wayne is a control freak. Every little thing has to be done a certain way. Stupid little things that don't even matter. It's exhausting.
And he isn't going to understand why I'm leaving. So that whole conversation would be long and drawn out, and no matter how long it went on it would be pointless. He won't get it. Also, and unfortunately, for some weird reason the sex is still really good.
(Actually, the reason wasn't all that weird. Sex was the one area where Wayne's insane attention to detail and obsession with doing everything in precisely the right way actually worked in my favor. By the time he got through with his end of things there was little or nothing that I needed to contribute to the effort. It was a real win-win.)
Me (on a roll now): So I'd end up feeling guilty and we'd have sex. And then he'd try to talk me out of leaving, and I'd get exhausted trying to explain myself. And then we'd have sex again. And it would just go on and on and on. But I'm going to call him as soon as my stuff is out. I'm not going to have him walk inside his house and find out I'm gone. And I will tell him I'm sorry and that it's not himâit's me. I'm just too much of a mess right now to be in a relationship. Wayne will totally buy that as the only logical explanation.
Phil McGuire did not say that my reasoning was well thought out, sound, and in the best interest of everyone involved. He just kind of nodded and wished me luck and said our time was up. He also didn't say, “I told you so.” I'll give him that. But he did miss a valuable clue. He didn't ask me why I didn't need to be at work on Monday.
He must have assumed that I had some sick time or vacation coming. I did not. The morning that I woke up and realized I couldn't take it anymoreâthat I had to leave WayneâI also realized that regular life wasn't simple or easy. Even with extremely diminished expectations, it was still hard. Maybe too hard. Maybe I wouldn't be able to adjust. Maybe I wouldn't have the courage. I'd lost all those years that other people spent working on their careers and their relationships. Then I remembered that I had three days of sick time built up. It was just sitting there going to waste. And getting out of bed seemed like a lot of trouble for nothing.
When I was on day five of calling inâ
I know, I'm sorry, but the doctor said this flu bug is a killer
âI made the mistake of going over to Redbox to rent a couple of DVDs. In my mind this was a great step forwardâ
Hey! I am out of bed and it's not even noon!
Unfortunately, the coworker on an early lunch break who spotted me as she came out from CVS had a completely different take on the situation. So did my boss, who called me shortly thereafter to terminate my employment.
I didn't tell Phil or anyone else that I had been fired but was choosing to move into an apartment on my own anyway. I didn't want to explain about not getting out of bed or how most days I feel as if I have twenty-pound weights on my back every time I take a step. Or how painful it would be to move back in with my cousin, Anna, who works full time, raises two children, has a stable marriage, and thinks sleeping in means letting the sun come over the horizon before brewing your coffee. I imagined whispered conversations late at night between her and her husband, Paul.
That's what you said when she first came back, that it would just be for a while, until she got on her feet. But she can't even hang on to a receptionist job, for God's sake.
But even if my cousin's family had been delighted to have me back in their house because I was a ray of sunshine that brightened up all their lives, I still wouldn't have moved in with them. I needed to be alone; I needed time to think. I always had big dreams to carry me through the rough spots, and now they were gone. I didn't know if I had the energy to start over; or the endurance for ordinary life.
I haven't told Phil McGuire how I really feel or how hard I am struggling. The last thing I want is for Phil McGuire to become
concerned
.
I found a job at Endless Refills, an all-you-can-eat buffet-style restaurant, after I moved to my own place. I had been waiting tables there for a couple of months when I finally decided to answer Shirley Homes' ad in the newspaper. I told everyone that I'd left my receptionist job because I liked working with people, not being stuck sitting behind a desk all day staring at a computer. I think Anna believed meâshe's always been a trusting personâbut Phil seemed a bit skeptical. I don't believe he thinks “people skills” are my strong suit.
Since I was the newest server at Endless Refills, I got the worst shifts and the worst stations, and I was the first person cut when business was slow. The only things keeping me together were Anna's handouts (
I made way too much spaghetti sauce; we'll never use it all
) and my Rainy Day Fund.
That Rainy Day Fund was all I had left from the settlement check I received from the insurance company when my parents were killed. Aunt Ilene kept the money safely entrusted to the bank until the day I turned eighteen. That settlement got me out of Springville, and into college, and then out to L.A. It got me started on my life there, and kept me going in between jobs while I waited for my “big break.” It also kept Mark going, too, for a couple of years while he waited for
his
big break.
I did one smart thing
. I guess one smart thing in twenty-eight years isn't exactly a record to brag about
. But still. I took five thousand dollars from the settlement money and put it aside at the Aquesta Bank in Springville before I left for L.A. That was my Rainy Day Fund; my safety net. I never touched it the entire time I was in California, although I did dip into it when I first moved home. I didn't want Anna or Aunt Ilene paying for anything.
Only now I was having to use it to live. And it was almost gone. I had to get another job, and my prospects weren't exactly bright. The economy was still struggling. My last job wouldn't give me a reference. I had no other experience that mattered. I had to put my alarm clock in the hallway so that I was forced to get out of bed in the morning to turn it off. Employee-of-the-Month material I was not.
Shirley's ad ran in the
Springville Voice
, the local newspaper. I usually nabbed a copy at Dunk 'n Go, the little coffee shop I went to most mornings. The donuts were consistently verging on stale by the time I got there, and the coffee was old. But there was almost always a copy of the
Springville Voice
lying around. The coffee-donut combination cost $1.50, but the free paper saved me seventy-five cents a day plus a trip to the market to buy a copy. I thought about getting a subscription, but I wasn't ready for that kind of commitment. I could have read the online version, but reading the newspaper together over breakfast had been a ritual for my aunt and me and I still found it comforting.
I looked at the help-wanted ads almost every single morning. Not that there were many. And most of them were for jobs that I was completely unqualified for: driving a truck, some construction, nursing positions. Reading those ads was more of a habit than anything. I had also put in a lot of applications online for jobs in Archerville and Charlotte. I had not had a single response.