Toss Up (The Toss Trilogy) (3 page)

chapter three

No way she needed this. Not now.

Sally sat at the kitchen table with her head in her hands, the day’s s
econd mug of coffee cooling untouched, the laptop Jim had returned the day before sitting unopened before her. Tyler was off to school. She had half an hour before walking over to the shelter, and she was irrationally afraid to go.

Get your head on straight, Sal. You’ve handled this kind of thing before. Shake it off.
She had a research paper to work on for her Economics class, and instead she was sitting here wasting time, letting her thoughts spin in circles like water running down a drain. Like her plans were going down the drain.

If she was ever going to finish college, now was the time. She’d quit school a semester’s worth of credits shy of her degree, so she could ma
rry Trent before he went into basic training. She was supposed to finish up while he was deployed, but Tyler came along, so she put it off. Then, just when Tyler was ready to start school, Trent had been killed and she’d had to build a new life. Last January, she’d resolved to complete the blasted degree and found to her consternation that some of her credits would soon expire.

She began taking the last few classes, keeping an eye on the calendar. Her online Economics course would complete the program. She had to pass. If she didn’t, her science credits would expire, and she’d have to start re-taking things like Chemistry. She shuddered—Chemistry had nearly killed her the first time.

No. This paper was fifty percent of her grade. She had to get it done. She had to pass the class. It was now or never, and never wasn’t an option—it would set a bad example for Tyler.

Come on, brain. F
ocus!

But it was no use. Her fearful thoughts continued to circle around the stalker and the things Jim had said. Darn it! It was his fault she was so nervous about this. She’d always been able to handle it before.
Well, it’s time to go to the shelter. Put your game face on and let’s do this thing.

Sally dumped the cold coffee down the drain and rinsed the mug with numb fingers. Reluctantly, she prepared to go out into the cold. Parka, gloves, boots… it seemed that the more she bundled up, the safer she felt. She switched out the hip-skimming parka for a knee-length wool coat and added a long woolen scarf. Then, bringing the shelter’s laptop along, she pulled her van out of the garage and, contrary to her usual pattern,
drove
the two hundred yards from her drive to the shelter parking lot. She slid the van into the slot nearest the shelter entrance. The usual chorus of welcoming barks rang like alarm bells in her brain this morning. After a quick internal debate, she left the doors unlocked—ready for a quick retreat if needed.

Stop this. There’s no one here. It’s just like normal.

“Normal day, normal sounds, normal routine.” Repeating the words to herself like a mantra, she settled her shoulders and unlocked the entryway. Gloves into pockets, coat onto hook. She pushed open the heavy wooden door leading to the lobby.

“
Normal day, normal sounds, normal routine.”

She set the laptop on her desk and marched through the lobby and to the far end of the kennel wing to begin her morning chores. The racket
the dogs were making while waiting to be fed masked any other sounds in the building—she might as well be deaf—anyone could come into the shelter unheard. Slamming the door on that line of thought, she focused on her work.

“Normal day, normal sounds, normal routine.”

Her heart beat a rapid tattoo against her ribs as she bent to pet the mixed-breed pup in the first pen. But when half the raucous dogs had quieted—
food taking priority over the joy of raising a racket—time and routine had settled her anxiety.
More than half finished.
The next pen held an aging Airedale named Max. He was one of her favorites, a large handsome dog with a black saddle patterned on his dark tan all-weather coat. Giving him a parting pat as he began to eat, she turned to move on and caught a shadow of movement in the lobby.

She froze, staring. Heart pounding, she pulled off her scarf and looped it around the Airedale’s neck. It would do for a leash. Pulling the dog close to her side, she grabbed the metal scoop used for portioning out the dog food and held it like a weapon. Moving forward…one step, two… She tried to call out a challenge, but produced only a strangled croak. Swallowing hard, she pushed the words out with force. “Who’s there?”

The figure of a man, medium height and slim, appeared at the entrance to the kennel area. “Is that you, Sally?” He began to approach, but the Airedale stiffened, growling low in his throat. Looking warily at the dog, the man halted. “It’s me—Mark. Is that your van by the door?”

Mark Hunter volunteered at the shelter. Owner and manager of Mark’s Spot, a local bar, he wasn’t on the regular schedule, but dropped in to help
when he could. Sally found his slightly proprietary attitude toward Diana’s shelter annoying, but he was a strong advocate in the community, and one of their more frequent volunteers.

She
drew a relieved breath. “Mark, I’m so glad it’s you.” For once that was the truth. “You really spooked me.”

“I’m sorry. I got here early and saw the van parked close. I know you usually walk, so I thought maybe someone was in here that shouldn’t be
… The door was unlocked.”

Hearing the slight reprimand in his voice, Sally regretted her initial friendly response. He was still a pain.

“I came in to check that everything was okay,” he said.

“It is. I just decided to drive over today.”

“How about you? Can I give you a hand?”

“I’m fine now. I was finishing up feeding the dogs, but I haven’t cleaned the kennel runs yet. Could you do that?”

“Whatever I can do to help you.” He turned toward the back door, heading for the outdoor access to the runs.

Sally set the heavy scoop on the portable food bin and looked down at the dog by her side. Fondly, she stroked his back and scratched behind his ears. “Thanks for your support, Max.” She released him back into his pen, replaced the scarf around her neck, and rolled the bin to the next pen and its eager occupant. When the last dog was cared for, Sally r
eturned the food bin to its place and, grateful that Mark was taking care of the runs, returned to the lobby.

Pulling off the scarf and tossing it on her desk, she dropped into a chair. What was wrong with her? She was jumping at shadows. Why was she having such a hard time setting her unease aside? The battle to behave normally was wearing her out.
Don’t be absurd, Johnston. It’s only nerves. Deal with it.

All right, she would. She straightened in her chair. Taking a few deep breaths, yoga style, she plugged the computer into its power source, a
ttached the internet cable, and got to work.

Lunchtime, at last.
Sally needed a break. It had been a busy morning. Five new dogs had been surrendered. She leaned back in her chair, finally finished with the paperwork, and sighed. It was odd how dogs were usually surrendered during the early part of the day, and those fortunate enough to be adopted generally went home with their new owners in the afternoon. She supposed once a family decided a pet could no longer stay in the home, it was easiest to take care of matters early and be done with it.

Most dogs brought in were large breeds, and that had been the case this morning as well. People always seemed surprised at how big their cute little puppy actually got—she sometimes wondered if people ever bothered to look at an adult dog, or ask about the size of a puppy’s pa
rents. But she felt no animosity toward the owners. Each of them had taken the trouble to drive out to a private shelter where dogs were cared for until a forever home was found for them. This morning all five had brought dog food, beds and toys along, and three cried when they said goodbye.

It had been emotionally draining, and she’d been running on empty to start. She pushed the surrender forms into the file. Mark had gone, but Ginny
Carstairs was capable, and Jamal Wolcott would be along before three. She could drive home, eat lunch, and maybe even sneak in a power-nap before coming back to the shelter.

“You just go right along and don’t worry about a thing.” The striking fifty-something
brunette pulled a cup of yogurt and a can of green tea from the mini-refrigerator below the counter in the lobby. “And take your time. You know things will be slow until about three. And if anything interesting
does
happen, I’ll give you a call.”

“Thanks, Ginny. I appreciate it.”

A brisk North wind hurried Sally into her van. She stopped at the end of the driveway and got out to pick up her mail. It usually came shortly before noon. When she opened the box, her breath caught in her throat. A folded sheet of notebook paper lay atop the bills and junk mail, its ragged edge toward her. Every instinct told her to shut the box and run. Instead she took the stack of mail in her gloved hand and, slipping quickly back into her car, flung it onto the passenger seat. Her head bowed, she stared at the steering wheel for a moment, then reached for the note.

‘You did well to send Donovan away last night. I was proud of you. I know that it is me that you want, my Sally, but that would be wrong, too. You belong to Trent. Remember that, be strong, and stay true. Semper fi.’

She flung the note away. ‘
My Sally.’
Her stomach rolled. She bent her head, eyes closed, and concentrated on breathing through her mouth. Then fear tore her eyes open and she peered at the thick line of pine trees edging the west side of the drive. The click of her door lock was muffled by the roar of the engine as Sally backed out of the driveway and turned back to the shelter. Whipping the van into the shelter parking lot, she stopped in the middle of the open area. Still scanning her surroundings, she pulled out her cell phone.

“Jim…” Clearing her throat she tried again, but could not keep the quiver out of her voice
. “Jim, can you pick Tyler up after school and keep him busy until I call you? I’m going to call the police.”

“Absolutely. Don’t worry about Tyler.
Are you all right? Sally, what’s—”

Sally
disconnected, cutting off Jim’s question, and dialed 911.

Half an hour later, a patrol car pulled into the shelter parking lot with lights flashing.
A small man in his mid-fifties got out and approached Sally’s car, reaching inside his uniform jacket to pull out a black covered notepad. She sat behind the wheel, not turning her face to his until he tapped gently on the window. The van’s engine was running; the note still lying on the passenger side floor where it had landed when she threw it from her.

“Ma’am, I’m Officer
Billings. Will you open your car door, please?”

He had
salt and pepper hair beneath his uniform hat. For some reason that comforted Sally, and she opened the door.

“Are you all right? Can you stand?”

“No, not all right.” She took a deep breath. “But I can stand.”

As she moved to get out of the car, Officer Billings held out his hand. “Let me help. You look a little pale.” He led her to the bench outside the shelter door.

“There’s a note on the floor in the van,” she said.

“Fine. You sit here. I’ll get it.”

After collecting the note, he gently escorted Sally from the car into the shelter. Ginny hurried to open the door to the back office and ushered them inside. Billings dismissed the volunteer, and seated Sally in one of the chairs facing the desk. “I’ll just be a moment,” he said and left the room.

Returning almost immediately,
he set a cup of hot coffee in front of her, and settled himself in the desk chair. “Have a sip or two, please. Then tell me all about this.” He raised the note, now in a plastic envelope.

Sally raised the cup to her lips. The coffee was strong and sweet—not really to her taste, but it did make her feel better. She took another, lar
ger sip and began to speak.

An hour later, Billings had drawn
the whole story out of her, from college to the present. He set down his pen and leaned back in the chair. “Now, Mrs. Johnston. Do you know anyone who might have a reason to do this?”

She shook her head. “No one.”

“Have you seen anyone hanging around the house or shelter lately?”

“Well, there are volunteers around the shelter all the time, but no one without a reason to be there, no.”
It can’t be someone I know.

“All right then. You said the notes began again about six months ago. How many have there been?”

Sally thought for a moment, counting. “Eight.”

“I’d like to see the rest, please.”

“Well…” Sally looked away, feeling foolish. “I threw them all away.”

“I see.” Officer Billings sounded disapproving.

Sally felt stupid, then remembered. “No, wait. I have the first one. I didn’t realize what it was. I thought it was just a nice bit of encouragement from someone, so I stuck it in my desk drawer—the top drawer.” There. She wasn’t a complete idiot.