Biting the Moon (18 page)

“What's all this?” Her voice was languorous as her gaze drifted from Andi to Mary. “You don't look old enough to be holding down a job.” She nodded toward Mary.

“She's in training,” Andi said.

“That so?” said Mrs. Silverstone, with a wry lifting of the eyebrows. She put her hand on her hip and drank off the inch of liquor. Her two-piece blue dress pinched in at the waist and flared over the hips, and was so out of fashion that it had a certain poignance, like the high hairdo. Mrs. Silverstone had this fortress of a house, and the lady in gray and no doubt other servants, but she couldn't keep up. “I told him sooner or later one of you people would come.” She moved over to a table that served as a small bar. “Drink?” She raised her glass, jiggling what was left of the ice in invitation. When Andi and Mary said no, she went on. “I want you to know I've got four chips from AA; I'm a recovering alcoholic.” She held up her fresh drink. “This is helping me recover.”

Mary smiled. She liked Mrs. Silverstone, in spite of the dog. And Mary thought the woman might even have made some sort of weak protest about the way her husband was treating it. But the protest was probably only as strong as her last drink.

Andi asked her when Mr. Silverstone would get home and Mary was happy to find out maybe never.

“Who knows? With him you can't measure in terms of hours or even days. It's more what week will he be here? What month? Once he was gone for nearly a year and nobody noticed. The dog down there—the doghouse burned down; I'm ashamed to say it was my fault, my tossed-away cigarette that caused it. Anyway, he decided to chain it down the drive. The short rations? That's his work. What a sweetheart, eh?”

Mary asked, “But why? Why is he starving the dog?”

“Why? Because he's a bum. If he weren't a
rich
bum, I'd be outa here. But since he's gone most of the time, it's not so tough.” She moved toward the raw-silk champagne-colored sofa. From the marble coffee
table she held up a silver box. “Cigarette?” The heavy bracelets on her wrist slid back and forth as she picked up the box, then the lighter.

“Well, you don't drink, don't smoke. Probably read, too. He used to be a preacher, if you can believe it. Used to threaten his following with hellfire and damnation. He'd be up there on a stage yelling and holding all these folks in the palm of his hand. I can barely hold a damn glass there.” She motioned toward one of the twin sofas, said, “Come on, girls, sit down. I don't get much company.” Rather gingerly she lowered herself to the companion sofa. “Look. I tried to do something about the dog. You're wondering why I didn't just pick up the phone and call the ASPCA? Because he'd know, that's why. The servants—that Mrs. Danvers-type who let you in, the chauffeur, the cook—they're all in his ‘employ,' if you know what I mean. His spies. Buck, my hubby, he's even got the phones bugged—not because of me or what I might do, which is sweet nothing, but because so many people out there would like him to hang his hat on the old wooden cross permanently. I told him somebody'd be around one of these days to shut down his sicko operation—”

Andi leaned forward. “Operation?”

Mrs. Silverstone raised her well-tended eyebrows in surprise. “The fights, of course.”

When they both looked at her blankly, she said, “You mean you're not here about the damned
dogfights
?”

It was hard even for Andi to recover herself. So Mary said, “Yes, more or less, but specifically about the dog down there by your gate. You mean the dog at the gate has some connection with your husband's operation?”

Mrs. Silverstone gave a short bark of laughter. “Hey, I would've thought you gals too clever not to put that together. The dog's for the
fights,
for God's sake. That's my dear hubby's hobby.” Her smile widened. “And you didn't know this and now I've gone and given the whole thing away. That's rich. But of course I won't tell him if you won't.”

Mary looked at her in disbelief. Andi's face was a frozen mask, an ice sculpture.

Mrs. Silverstone shook her head. “Hard to believe the ASPCA doesn't know about the fights. By the time that poor benighted animal gets in the ring, Buck knows he'll lose and puts his money on the other dog.”

Mary said, “But he's so thin; he looks starved. Who would be stupid enough to bet on him?”

Mrs. Silverstone gave a bark of laughter. “Stupid
enough
? Honey, when it comes to the type likes those fights, there's no ceiling on stupidity.” She looked from Mary to Andi. “You know, for two gals working for the ASPCA, you don't know much.”

Andi and Mary exchanged a glance. After a few seconds' pause, Andi said, “We're not. That story was just a cover so you'd see us.”

Stubbing out her cigarette, Mrs. Silverstone rose, saying, “Now I wonder how I guessed that?” She yanked down the tight-waisted jacket of her dress, picked up her glass, and went over to the bar again. She poured in scotch and a little water, added ice cubes.

Mary said, “We had to see you about the Labrador out there. I'm sorry we tried to fool you.”

Returning, Mrs. Silverstone said. “For God's sakes, don't apologize. I don't know anyone half as resourceful as you two.”

Andi ran her hand through her hair, as if she hoped its rearrangement might provide her with a better disguise. “I guess we don't look the part, much.”

“Oh, it's not
that.
It's my name. I'm not Mrs. Silverstone.” Her eyes glittered with the humor of this. “My name's Follett.”

Andi was so puzzled by this she mentioned the letters on the foyer table. “That's the name on the envelopes.”

“Mail was delivered here by mistake. I'm Marie Follett.” She smiled and winked as if she were in on the charade. “So why
are
you here?”

“The dog,” said Mary, looking at Andi, who nodded. “We were just driving by. We want to take the dog to a vet.”

“All this trouble over a
dog
?” Marie Follett shook her head, dismayed.

Andi said, “But I guess you can't give us the key?”

“I don't have it. Don't know where he keeps it. Wait a minute, though.” Marie Follett stood and made her rather irregular way to the French door leading onto a patio. She went out and in a few seconds
was coming back in holding some kind of gardening tool, heavy and long-handled. She snipped it a couple of times. “Shears. The fellow that does the garden can cut through anything with these. It's worth a try. There's usually a weak link. Buck sure is one.” She smiled. “Now, how do we get this past Danvers?”

Andi rose and took the shears. She stuffed the tool under her coat, lengthwise, and held on to it by pressing it to her body. “Is that okay?” She looked from one to the other.

Marie said, “See if you can hold your arm a little less stiff. Maybe you could shove that hand into the pocket—there. Looks fine if no one tries to strip-search you.”

Andi said, “This is really nice of you, Mrs. Follett.”

“Marie, call me Marie; after all, we're in a dog heist together. If you want a vet, there's one off Route Ninety-three called Peaceable Kingdom.”

Mary was a little worried about Marie's fate at the hands of her husband. “But what excuse will you give your husband if we do manage to cut the chain?”

Marie waved a hand in dismissal. “Him? Time he gets home, I'll think up a dozen excuses, don't worry.” Marie shrugged. “Maybe I'll just tell him the story you told me. There were a couple of people here from the ASPCA and they must've taken the dog.” She paused. “And that they're going to slap him with a lawsuit. You can't get away scot-free with animal abuse anymore. That the ASPCA had his number for a long time. It might even get him to stop starving dogs.”

Andi smiled. “Thanks, Mrs. Follett. Marie.”

“I'll walk you to the door; I'll say something for Danvers's benefit.”

The three of them walked across the marble foyer, where the housekeeper stood guard before another door across from them. Marie Follett said, loud enough for the housekeeper to hear, “Look, you just be sure you tell your office this is none of my doing or my responsibility. It's his, Mr. Follett's. Here, I'll open the gate for you.” Marie pressed a button set in a mechanism on the wall.

The housekeeper, looking as if she'd love to slap Marie's hand down from the device, stood rigid, her eyes stamping each of them with
disapproval. Had she inspected Andi more closely, she would have noticed the stiff posture, the arm held straight against her side.

No one shook hands. They said good-bye. Out on the porch, they looked behind them, but the door had closed. Then, Mary saw Marie at the window, drink in hand, waving and her mouth forming words Mary couldn't decipher: “Good-bye,” perhaps, or “Good luck.”

There
was
a weak link and it was at the collar where the joining had been done.

“Jesus,” whispered Mary. “Did he sodder this on while the poor dog was
in
it?”

Grimly, Andi had managed to lever the shears around the weak join without any danger of cutting into the dog's neck. “At least the collar isn't very tight.”

Mary looked back up the gravel drive. At some distance she saw a man who appeared to be walking their way. “Hurry up, there's someone coming.”

“There!” said Andi, as the chain dropped away. But the cut in the collar still didn't leave enough room to take it off. “Let's go.” She looked around. The man was still at a distance. Between them they carried the dog, who seemed disoriented by its freedom, or its new captors, but when it saw the food on the floor of the car that Mary had put there, it gladly went into the backseat. Andi plucked up the camera she'd left on the seat and took a picture.

Mary said, in a tone of exasperation, “You only got my back. At least wait till I stand up.”

“Who said it was of you?” Andi shoved the camera in one of the coat's pockets and asked, “Who's driving? I'll do it.” They piled into the car, Mary and the dog in a heap on the backseat.

The figure on the drive was now less than twenty feet from the gate and nearly through it as Andi accelerated. Whoever he was, he was yelling and taking swings at the air with his fist.

•   •   •

Peaceable Kingdom was down a side road off Route 93. Mary wondered why veterinarians had to reach so far for names to convince pet
owners that their cats and dogs were tended by people who answered to a higher calling.

They had managed to work the metal collar from the dog's neck, since it would certainly invite comment, especially put together with its weight loss. Mary inspected the neck, rubbed raw in places. She shook her head. It amazed her the dog could be in such good spirits. “Wait a minute, I have a leash in the back somewhere.”

As Mary went to get it, Andi called, “For what?”

“Sunny.” Mary rooted inside the trunk in the place where the tools were kept. She went back to the dog.

“
Sunny
? He's a coyote; you can't walk a coyote around with a leash on it.”

“I know. That's why it's not on him.” Mary put the choke collar with the leash attached over the Labrador's head. She was impeded by his licking her face and hands. “I got it on him once and then he went off. Later, just by accident, I found it buried along with some other things. Sunny likes to save things for later use. Even the leash. Okay, let's go. Wait,” Mary put her hand on Andi's arm. “Shouldn't we have a name for him?”

“I was thinking Jules.”

“Who chased badminton birds.” Mary smiled. “What're we going to tell the vet about Jules's condition?” When Andi shrugged, Mary said, “I'm sure you'll think of something.”

Inside, the woman behind the counter looked up from whatever work she wanted to appear had been interrupted by mere caprice on the part of the client. Her “yes?” was so weighted with dislike that it cast a pall over the whole room—over the tabby cat, the Pekinese, the spaniel, the rabbit. They all stopped moving for a few seconds and the Pekinese, which had been sending forth a salvo of barks to drown the silence, stopped barking.

Andi said, “This dog needs attention. We found him along the road.”

Miss Abrahams (the name on a little plaque) rose just far enough to glance down at the dog. She put her fingers on the edge of the counter as if to balance herself. Her hands were the smallest Mary had ever seen, small as a raccoon's. “Do you have an appointment?”

Mary opened her mouth to answer this ridiculous question, but Andi beat her to it. “We don't have an appointment. We didn't have an appointment to find him, either.”

The receptionist threw Andi a glance of pure vitriol. “Doctor is a very busy man.”

“I bet he can find ten minutes to look at this dog. Or maybe”—she looked at Mary—“maybe we should just take him to the ASPCA and tell them Miss”—Andi looked pointedly at the nameplate—“Miss Abrahams wouldn't let the doctor see him.”

Miss Abrahams rose from her stool with a sigh. “Sit down,” she commanded them. “I'll ask Doctor.”

Andi nodded and she and Mary sat on a long bench, the Lab sniffing bench and floor and rabbit cage. Several of the room's occupants were smiling at them; a couple gave them a thumb's-up sign and one man saluted. Clearly, they had all suffered at Miss Abrahams's raccoon hands. Beside her, a boy who must have been waiting for his cat or dog, for he hadn't anything with him, had his head down, looking at the floor. Mary asked, “Is your dog sick, or something?”

“No. He's dead,” the boy said to the floor.

“I'm really sorry.”

Miss Abrahams was back, looking disappointed that “Doctor” had agreed to see Jules right away. Andi was trying to make the Labrador sit, but he preferred to stand and wag his tail. For him, the day was a dazzlement of new experiences. He'd probably even like the doctor with his shots.