Lia Farrell - Mae December 02 - Two Dogs Lie Sleeping

Camel Press

PO Box 70515

Seattle, WA 98127

For more information go to: www.camelpress.com

www.
liafarrell.net

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Cover design by Sabrina Sun

Two Dogs Lie Sleeping

Copyright © 2014 by Lia Farrell

ISBN: 978-1-60381-969-5 (Trade Paper)

ISBN:
978-1-60381-970-1 (eBook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014936370

Produced in the United States of America

From Lyn:

I
wish to acknowledge my family and my writing group for their support. My neighbor, Will, has helped enormously by serving as webmaster for the liafarrell.net site. I am deeply appreciative of our agent Dawn Dowdle, as well as Catherine Treadgold, Jennifer McCord, and their team at Camel Press. It has been a pleasure working with you guys. But most of all, I want to acknowledge my debt to my daughter and writing partner, Lisa. Honey, I couldn’t have done it without you.

From Lisa:

T
o Dawn Dowdle, Catherine Treadgold and Jennifer McCord; many thanks. To my mom and writing partner, Lyn; what a journey this has been. I am forever grateful to you. To everyone who read our first book; thank you so much! Thanks are also overdue to my wonderful, supportive family and friends for listening to me and keeping life interesting … Jim, for coffee in the a.m., wine in the p.m. and everything in between, I am always thankful for you.

T
he tall man stepped inside the tranquil nursery and looked around, swallowing the lump in his throat. The room was beautiful in the glow of a summer evening. For now, the 173-year-old Booth Mansion was quiet. All the designers and Junior League volunteers were gone for the day. Soon the historic home in the heart of Mont Blanc would be thronging with visitors, eagerly paying their twenty-five dollars to tour the house and grounds that artisans and interior and landscape designers had transformed over the past year. For tonight though, he could wander through and pretend he still belonged here.

He walked to the window and took a seat on the cushioned bench that hugged the inside of the bay. If he’d stayed, this house would have been his; this nursery would have sheltered his children just
it had sheltered him. He had been loved and cherished here. He didn’t know which designer had worked on this room, but it bore no traces of the years he’d spent here. Soft greens and yellows dominated the space, and tiny ducklings, amazingly lifelike, had been painted on the slanting wall above the antique cradle that stood where his bed had been.

Sighing, he looked out the window. The huge oak he had climbed so many times, sneaking out after curfew, hadn’t changed. The dark green leaves of late summer were almost black, backlit by the setting sun. Leaning his forehead against the cool glass, he closed his eyes, letting the memories come.

It’s so unfair to find the woman you’re meant to spend your life with in high school. What a cliché. He could picture her so clearly in this room—sitting in the beanbag chair in the corner, gesturing to make a point, her dark hair falling straight and smooth over her shoulders. Somehow her perfume still floated in the air. What was it called? He couldn’t remember, but he remembered the scent—like roses after rain.

He wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake, leaving fifteen years ago
. Not that he’d had a choice. That decision had changed the rest of his life—and probably her life too. He hoped the letter he had just mailed would be explanation enough; he couldn’t worry about it right now. He needed to search for the documents Bethany needed.

A small sound returned his mind to the present. He felt uneasy, as if
he were being watched. He only had time to turn his head before he heard a muffled shot and felt a searing pain. He fell slowly, crumpling to the floor as he silently called her name.

T
urning the iron knob of the Booth Mansion door, July Powell walked in through the back entryway of the historic home. Carefully closing the heavy door so that it wouldn’t slam, she kicked off her sandals. It was nearly four-thirty on August 2nd. The first day of public tours to raise money for needy families in Rose County would start tomorrow morning at ten.

She picked up the tote that held her cleaning supplies and began her final dusting and fluffing. She was glad the Junior League design committee had given her this space instead of the nursery, which was her first choice. After twelve years as a rental property,
the house hadn’t looked too impressive on her initial walk-through. She had re-purposed the dingy back hallway as a cubby room for the kids and the family’s dogs. Now it was lively and fun. The fresh caramel wall color contrasted nicely with the gleaming ivory trim on the chair rails and crown moldings. The black lacquer paint on the baseboards enhanced the tumbled travertine floor.

Don December,
her father and a professional photographer, had given her several black and white photos of family-owned dogs that he’d taken over the years. She’d created an elegant keepsake board out of ivory fabric and black ribbon, with the photos tucked in behind the ribbons. Hanging above the bench, its seat upholstered in a crisp poppy print, the keepsake board looked like a family heirloom. Working on the mansion carried a lot of prestige, but each designer paid for the transformation of their own space or did it themselves. After three months of work, she hoped the publicity would translate into new clients for Seasons Interiors, her design firm.

Two red towels hung on the hooks above the dog washing station, along with leather leashes and a black dog collar. A wall of built-in cabinets and cubbyholes stood on the opposite side
, ready to hold backpacks and sports gear for the family she imagined living here. The large rug had been a lucky find. Its red, black, ivory, and caramel threads tied all the elements of the room together. If you looked closely, what appeared to be a pattern of leopard spots was actually comprised of miniature dog footprints.

She gave a satisfied sigh.
I nailed it
.

There was a sudden loud bang from upstairs and she flinched. Then she heard a faint sound from the front of the house. She waited, but heard no other noises. Thinking that a picture or mirror must have fallen, she went up the stairs to check the upper level and peek at the nursery one last time before tomorrow’s crowds arrived.

Running quickly up the stairs, July remembered the night when she and Tommy were together in this house for the last time. It was after a party and they were both giggly with beer. Climbing the squeaky back stairs, they covered each other’s mouths, trying not to laugh.

“Are you sure?” Tommy asked her.

July nodded. They had successfully skirted the spot on the fourth stair with its inevitable creak. Opening the door to his room that night, she saw moonlight falling on the oval braided rug. The dark heart pine floor looked almost black, and the moonlight fell in squares as it sliced through the window mullions. She remembered their closeness as they stepped into the room, hand in hand.

It was their last night
together before she and Tommy went back to their respective colleges. Christmas break was almost over. Tommy smoothed the covers on the bed, gestured to her to sit down and then knelt to remove her shoes. She leaned over and pulled him to her. Slowly she began to unbutton his shirt. Running her hands up his chest, she smiled and stood up in the moonlight.

Looking down at him, she pulled her sweater up over her head and shimmied out of her jeans.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered and stood to embrace her. Pulling back, he put his finger to his lips and went to the door. He turned the lock silently and returned to hold her. They swayed together as he hummed Van Morrison’s “Moondance”
in her ear. It was their favorite song, and he continued to hum it as they made love that night. It was the first time for them both.

July turned the handle on the door to Tommy’s old room. It was a nursery now, decorated in soft greens and yellows. She looked across the room at the crib, standing where his bed used to be. The light was almost gone, but there was a dark spot on the floor. July stopped. It was a person—face down and very still.

Hesitantly she called out; “Are you okay?” but there was no answer. Slowly, as if she were wading through waist deep water, she moved toward the dark shape. Kneeling b
eside him, she touched his face. It was cool but not cold. He was barely breathing. There was blood around his body, darkening the floor. She shook all over and turned away, shuddering, but something drew her eyes back.

“Oh my God, Tommy, is it you?”

With shaking hands, she scrambled for the cellphone in her pocket and dialed 911. Picking up his hand, she held it and began to cry. Counting the minutes until she heard the ambulance siren, she whispered, “Hang in there. Don’t you leave me again, Tommy. I have so many questions I need to ask.” As his breathing continued to slow, she prayed, “Please God, don’t let Tommy die.”

His lips parted and his hand reached toward her, then fell back beside his face. Collapsing beside him, she put her ear close to his mouth to hear his whispered message.

U
sually Mae enjoyed Ben Bradley’s intense gaze, but this time he didn’t look as if he wanted to ravish her. Oh, no. Sheriff Ben, her very own boyfriend, was staring at her in a distinctly unfriendly way.

“Is that
another
dog?” His eyebrows went up and the corners of his mouth went down.

As she had tried to explain to Ben many times, her house tended to be a bit over-run with dogs. It was an occupational hazard; she ran a kennel out of her home. She boarded, bathed, and taught dogs to behave better—mostly for other people.

Mae also bred the “porgi,” a cross between her male corgi, Titan, and her female pug, Tallulah. In addition, she still had Thoreau, a beautiful old Rottweiler. She became his owner after her former fiancé, Noah, died in a car accident.

Ben and Mae had been a couple for three months and he was generally quite tolerant of all the commotion. Her handsome, blue-eyed boyfriend served as the
sheriff of Rose County. They had met during a murder investigation on Mae’s street. A three-pound puppy should not be enough to disturb his equanimity, so she was surprised to see him looking quite thoroughly peeved.

“This is not
just
another
dog,” Mae told him, firmly. “This is December’s Sweet Potato. She is the future mother of the strawberry blond strain of porgis I intend to breed. I’m going to call her the Tater.”

“But she’s a
corgi,” Ben said.

“Yes,” Mae answered,
duh.

“That means you need a male
pug,” Ben’s look of irritation deepened.

She laughed. “Don’t worry. I have a friend who studs out her apricot male
pug. I’m not getting
another
puppy. I wish my vet had told me before her fourth litter, but it’s not safe for pugs to have more than three litters. We got lucky on the last one, but it’s definitely time for Titan and Tallulah to retire.”

“That’s good for them. But where did this puppy come from?”
He still sounded irked. “I was only gone a few hours. Did you tell me she was coming?”

She felt a faint twinge of guilt, which must have shown on her face.

“You didn’t, did you? I knew I wouldn’t forget a little detail like that.”

Her guilt was evaporating, replaced by annoyance.

“I’ve been looking for a new female for a while, for my business.”

Cradling the puppy in her arms, Mae left the kitchen. Tallulah, her black pug, was in her bed in the laundry room. She needed to meet the Tater right away. Mae put the puppy on the floor. The pug gazed up at Mae with wide eyes and then looked down at the puppy. Her lip curled, and a low growl rumbled in her chest.

Ben followed them into the laundry room.

“Tallulah doesn’t look too happy about it either,” he pointed out, sounding more cheerful. “Did you forget to tell
her
that the Tater was coming?”

Mae started to laugh and picked the puppy up before Tallulah became too irate.

“I guess no one else was in the loop on this one.” She turned to face him. “I should have told you. I’m sorry. Here, hold her for a minute.”

She put the puppy in his arms and stood back. He lifted her near his face and smelled her soft puppy fur. The Tater
raised her foxy little face with oversized ears and licked Ben’s nose. Looking back at Mae, he grinned and shook his head.

“You’re good, December.”

“Just need to get the merchandise in the customer’s hand, that’s all. She’s a cutie, isn’t she?”

“Oh, yeah, she’s cute al
l right,” he sighed. “Is she going to cry all night?”

“She’s twelve weeks old, so I hope not.”

“Good.” He handed the puppy back. “You’re going to need your rest.”

He was staring at her again—the way she liked this time. He leaned over to kiss her just as the wall phone started to ring. Ben grabbed the phone and handed it to Mae.

“Mae’s Place. What? Slow down.”

“Who is it?” Ben asked.

“It’s my sister. She wants to talk to you.”

Ben took the receiver from her hand but held it
between both their ears so Mae could hear the conversation.

“July, Ben here. What can I do to help? What charge?” His eyes widened, and she clearly heard her big sister say
, “Murder.”

“You sit tight,” he told her quietly. “We’ll be right there.”

Mae ran to put the Tater back in her crate, grabbed her cellphone, keys, and purse and followed Ben out the door, her head in a whirl.

“Can I drive your car?” Ben asked. “I don’t want to show up over there in a patrol car like I’m looking for a fight.”

She nodded and tossed him her keys.

“Where is she?”

“The Mont Blanc Police Station, I guess she was working at the mansion when the police arrived. I wonder why she called you instead of her husband.”

“He’s at a conference in California. She probably couldn’t reach him.”

“I think you better call your parents, honey.”

Nodding, she hit number three on her speed dial.

“Hi, baby girl!” Daddy’s voice boomed.

“Oh, Daddy, I don’t know what’s going on, but July’s at the Mont Blanc Police Station. Can you and Mama meet us there?”

“Why is she there? Has there been an accident?” her father asked, in a much quieter voice.

Mae closed her eyes for a second. “No accident. She said something about a murder.”

The line went dead. Mae looked at Ben, driving so calmly. As she looked at her own shaking hands, Mae was grateful for his steady nerves.

“There must be some mix-up. July wouldn’t hurt anyone, unless they threatened one of her children.”

She hoped for Ben’s agreement, but he just shrugged and looked away.

“Are your parents on their way?”

“They’ll probably beat us there.” Mae gave a nervous laugh. “You know how they are.”

Ben
knew from experience just how protective the Decembers could be of their girls. Meeting Mae and her family in the middle of a murder investigation the previous spring had demonstrated that pretty clearly.

“You’re right,” he nodded. “I better step on it.”