Chapter 39
A
lison looks at me standing in the hallway and smiles. “Hello, Mattie.”
Hurley looks too, and I struggle to keep my expression impassive and not let on how badly I want to scratch Alison’s eyes out.
“Alison, what are you doing here?” I ask.
“I was with Stevie when Izzy called. I was interviewing him about the Heinrich case.” She hooks her arm around Hurley’s and leans into him. “When I heard there was something new in Shannon’s case, Stevie here was kind enough to let me tag along.”
Hurley turns back toward Izzy, forcing Alison to let go of his arm. If she feels at all slighted by his action, she doesn’t show it. “So what have you got for me?” Hurley asks.
Izzy fills him in on the blood evidence and then asks if Erik Tolliver had any injuries on his body when he was arrested.
Hurley, who is frowning, shakes his head. “Not a scratch,” he admits. He turns to look at me again and the smile he bestows on me makes my irritation with Alison evaporate. “Damn, Winston. It looks like you might have been right about Erik Tolliver after all.”
Seeing my chance to put Alison in her place, I smile back and say, “So I guess that means dinner is on you, correct?”
“Looks like it,” Hurley says.
Alison’s smile disappears faster than a Whack-A-Mole. “Dinner?” she squawks. “What dinner?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” I tell her with a dismissive wave of my hand. “Just a little bet Hurley and I had going.” I look back at Hurley and smile sweetly. “I’m thinking lobster rather than steak.”
“Ouch,” he says, smiling in a way that lets me know he doesn’t find the idea at all painful. He starts to say something more when his phone rings. He answers it, frowning as he listens. “Okay,” he says into the phone. “I’ll be right there.”
He hangs up looking chagrined. “I have to go. I’ll catch you guys later.”
Alison falls into step beside him. “Where are we going?” she asks.
Hurley pauses and holds a hand up to stop her. “I’m done for today, Alison. We can finish this up some other time, okay?”
Alison pouts and starts to say something back at him but Hurley doesn’t give her a chance. In seconds, he’s gone. Alison looks so stricken that for a brief second I feel sorry for her. But then she turns, gives me a flippant little smile, and says, “I guess I’ll just have to hook up with him again later.” Then she flounces out of the room in Hurley’s wake.
I spend the rest of the afternoon in an exceptionally good mood. Between the new evidence exonerating Erik and my pending dinner with Hurley, even sitting in the library and reading up on all the horrible ways people have found to kill one another doesn’t dampen my spirits. Nor does the prospect of talking to Lucien when he returns my call.
“What’s up, Sweet Cheeks?”
“I have some news for you. We found blood evidence at the scene of Shannon’s murder that isn’t hers. And it isn’t Erik’s either.”
“Seriously?” Lucien says. “You’re not just yanking my chain, are you? I mean, don’t get me wrong, there are things on me I’d love to have you yank, but my chain isn’t one of them. Unless it was hooked up to my—”
“I’m serious, Lucien,” I say, cutting him off. Then, before he has a chance to start up again, I explain what Arnie found with all its implications. When I’m done, I tell him I have to run and hang up, not giving him a chance to thank me in his uniquely sordid way.
I leave the office a little before five and on my way home I stop at the grocery store. Not wanting to attract any unneeded attention with the hearse, I pull into the far side lot where the employees park. Inside the store I grab some cans of tuna for Rubbish, and some fruit, rolls, and chicken salad for myself, managing to pass up the ice cream aisle.
Back outside I unlock the hearse and toss my bag onto the passenger seat. I’m about to get in when I hear a whimper behind me and pause, wondering if I imagined it. But then I hear it again, this time accompanied by an odd scratching sound. I turn to investigate and focus on the back area of the lot where two large Dumpsters sit. Sandwiched between the bins is a dirty, skinny dog that looks to be barely more than a pup. It’s standing on its hind legs, clawing at the side of one of the Dumpsters with paws much too big for the rest of him. Its color is a dingy, brownish yellow—though I can’t tell how much of that is natural and how much of it is dirt—and I can see ribs protruding through its fur. Its eyes are huge, round, chocolate brown, and the ears are flopped over like a lab’s.
As I get closer it sees me and drops down to all fours. I expect it to run away but instead it plops down into an awkward sitting position, hind legs akimbo, revealing that it’s a he.
“What’s the matter, boy?” I say, slowly moving closer. “You hungry?” He cocks his head at me and whines, his tail thumping a few times. I stop and squat down about ten feet away from him. “Come here, boy.”
He thumps his tail a few more times and stands, but doesn’t approach. I try coaxing him again and though he looks like he wants to come, he stays put. Deciding I need more of an enticement, I get up, go back to my car, grab the chicken salad I bought, and begin another slow approach. When I pass the point I was at before, he stands and backs up a few steps, so I stop and squat. He stops, too, and wags his tail in a steady rhythm. I can tell he’s both hungry and curious so I pop the top on my container of chicken salad and set it on the ground in front of me.
“Come on. Come get a bite. You look like you could use it.”
He wags his tail so hard his butt wiggles from side to side. He takes a tentative step forward, ducks his head, pauses, then another step. A minute or two of this and he is only an arm’s length away. His nostrils are flaring wildly as he sniffs the chicken salad. I reach for him and he cowers but holds his ground and lets me give him a little scratch behind the ears. I slide the chicken salad an inch or two closer and it’s enough to overpower his fear. He closes the last little distance and starts sucking up the food with amazing speed. His efforts inch the container closer to me. By the time it’s empty it’s nearly touching my feet and the pup’s head is between my knees. I stroke the top of his head, and though he flinches, he doesn’t back away.
“Good boy,” I say softly, petting him gently. He lifts his head from the empty dish, looks at me briefly, and then glances away. He plops his butt down and lets me continue to pet him, but he avoids making eye contact, clearly letting me take on the role of alpha dog.
After a few minutes I stop petting him and he looks at me again, his tail stepping up its rhythm. I pick up the empty container and stand, expecting him to run off, but he stays at my feet. I walk over to the Dumpster and toss the empty container inside. I’m surprised to see the pup has followed and when I turn to head back to my car, he stays on my tail.
When I reach the door to the hearse, the pup sits down at my feet and looks up at me with those huge, chocolate-brown eyes, his rump wiggling with excitement.
“What?” I say, and the rump wiggles faster. “Don’t you have a home?” Judging from his condition and the lack of a collar, I doubt he does, and those beseeching eyes are starting to tug at my heartstrings. I consider trying to take him to a nearby shelter but in the back of my mind I worry that if I do, it will be a death sentence for him.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” I tell him. His butt wiggles with tail-wagging delight. “If you want to come home with me for tonight, you can.” His butt moves even faster, as if he understands me. “But it’s only temporary, just until I can find you a home, okay?” He bobs his head and pants happily and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear he just nodded his agreement.
I turn to open the door to the hearse and faster than I can say “okay,” the pup is sitting in the front passenger seat, tongue lolling, his face showing the first light of real happiness.
I slide in behind the wheel and the pup’s excitement reaches a tail-wagging crescendo. “Settle down,” I tell him, and amazingly he does. “Remember, this is only temporary.”
He leans over, nuzzles my ear with his warm, wet nose, and then licks my cheek. It’s the most affectionate, nonsexual gesture anyone has shown me in a very long time and it totally melts my heart.
“Crap,” I mutter as I start up the engine. “I really need to stay away from garbage Dumpsters.”
Chapter 40
I
’m a little worried about how Rubbish is going to deal with the addition of this new boarder so I make the pup stay in the car while I carry my groceries inside. Rubbish greets me at the door as usual, winding his way around my feet and purring up a storm. As soon as I set my purchases on the kitchen counter, I scoop Rubbish up, nuzzle him for a few seconds, and then promptly shut him inside my bedroom. Then I go back to the car.
I wonder if the pup will try to run once I let him out but he stays dutifully at my heels and follows me inside without hesitation. I lead him out to the kitchen and give him a bowl of water, which he makes disappear in about five seconds flat. After giving him a refill, I put my groceries away and rummage through the cupboards and fridge for something else to feed him. I figure as hungry as the little guy obviously is, it will be better if I fill him up before he meets Rubbish, lest he try to eat him.
There’s not much to offer but I manage to find a couple of hot dogs and some peanut butter. I cut each of the hot dogs into four pieces and then mix them in a bowl with some peanut butter, figuring the gooey consistency will force the pup to eat a little slower. But it has no such effect. The bowl is emptied in ten seconds flat.
“Wow,” I say to him as he looks up at me gratefully, licking his chops. “That’s impressive. Even I can’t suck food up that fast. You’re like a vacuum cleaner.”
A faint mewing sound emanates from the other room—Rubbish letting me know he wants out. The pup hears it too, and cocks his head from side to side a few times before heading into the living room to investigate. I follow him, watching him track his way to the bedroom door with his nose to the floor. When he reaches it, he sniffs at the crack beneath it, then suddenly jumps back, scared by something.
From beneath the door I see one long furry paw extending into the living room. It feels around a bit, then disappears. It returns seconds later—with the claws pointed upward this time—and wraps itself around the door.
The pup makes a leaping lunge toward the paw and then quickly backs away from it, letting out a yippy bark. His tail is wagging, his ears are pricked, and his eyes are totally focused. Rubbish, clearly not intimidated by the action and noise on the other side of the door, extends his paw even more. I watch the two of them play at this game for a minute or so and then decide it’s time for introductions.
I tell the pup, “Sit.” I move toward him, expecting I will need to push him into a sitting position so he learns what the word means, but to my amazement, he takes a step back, sits, and looks at me.
Rubbish is still feeling around with his paw, but as soon as I crack the door, he withdraws it and appears at the opening. He looks out at the pup, who looks back at him and then at me. The pup whimpers a little, wags his tail, and starts to get up, but when I tell him to stay, he does. Clearly, judging from his knowledge of basic commands, the dog isn’t just a stray. I realize I’ll need to do a lost-and-found ad and surprisingly, the idea depresses me. The little furball has already wormed his way into my heart.
Shoving the ad thought aside, I open the bedroom door wider and let Rubbish out. He stands his ground for a minute, studying the new intruder, and even tries a tentative hiss, turning sideways and arching his back. The pup looks from Rubbish to me several times, whimpering in an excited but friendly manner. I repeat the stay command and he does, but it’s obvious it’s killing him to do so.
Rubbish is curious, too, but seems determined not to show it. He ventures a little closer and then turns away and heads for the kitchen as if he couldn’t care less that another furry, four-legged critter is in the house. As soon as Rubbish disappears into the kitchen, I follow, calling the pup to come along with me. This time I let him approach Rubbish, who tolerates a brief butt sniff before turning and smacking the pup across the nose with his paw. Can’t say I blame him. I’d probably smack anyone who tried to sniff my butt, too.
Rubbish takes off running and the pup follows. The two of them race into the bathroom, where I hear a familiar
thump-ump
sound. It’s Rubbish entering his favorite hiding place: the floor cabinet beneath my sink. I find the pup sitting in front of the cabinet door, his head cocked sideways, staring at it and whining.
I figure that as long as I have the pup in the bathroom, I might as well take advantage of the fact to bathe him. I shut the door to the room, closing all of us inside. Then I start filling the tub.
Fifteen minutes later, both the pup and I are soaked and Rubbish is sitting on top of the sink cabinet rather than in it, looking at us both with disdain. The pup’s true color, which is a nice shade of blond that nearly matches my own, is revealed. I towel the dog off and as I’m starting to clean up the water mess, he walks over to the bathroom door and whines. I open it, thinking he just wants out, but he heads for the front door and repeats his behavior. Finally catching on, I walk over and let him out to do his business.
I make a mental note to pick up a collar and leash for him in the morning, though he makes no attempt to wander and returns to the house as soon as he’s done. I spend the next fifteen minutes blowing him dry and then shower myself.
Less than an hour later I am in bed, with a furry body cuddled on either side of me. And I have to confess, it feels nice to be sharing my bed again, even if it is with creatures who have four legs instead of three.