Shepherd's Crook (11 page)

thirty-one

With a little encouragement
from me, Goldie decided to have the clinic's groomer do the clean up since she had the tools and the know-how and could do the job light-years faster than I could. “Good thing it's your late night,” I told Paul.

“We'd make it a late night for this one,” he said, and disappeared with Bonnie.

Goldie refused to go home, so we decided to slip a few doors down to Dom's Deli for a cup of tea. It was on the edge of chilly outside, so I put Jay in my van with a chewy toy and off we went. When the fragrance of Dom's signature eggplant Parmesan hit me, I remembered I hadn't had dinner.

“I'm too excited to eat,” said Goldie, “but you go ahead. I need to clean up a bit.” She looked like Bonnie must have ridden on her lap all the way to the vet.

I found a booth and started making calls. Tom didn't answer, and I figured he must be outside with Drake and Winnie. I left a message and moved on to Hutchinson. When he said he knew about Bonnie, I blurted, “Oh, of course, Giselle called you.” If a man's voice could blush, his would have when he said Goldie was the one who called him. I asked if there was any more news about the investigation, but he gave a completely irrelevant answer that told me he couldn't talk about it. I said I'd see him soon, hoping I'd be able to get more out of him then. If I couldn't, I knew Giselle would.

No one answered the Winslows' landline, and since Summer didn't like to give out her cell number, I left a message. I also called Marietta Santini, owner of Dog Dayz, and asked her to pass the word that Bonnie was safe and sound. Quite a few members had helped with the search and they'd want to know.

I was just finishing when Goldie sat down. Her clothes were still a mess, but her face and hands were clean and she had taken a
semi-successful
stab at tidying her hair. The food arrived and I dove in while Goldie sat and watched me with a beatific smile on her face. When I could do it without tomato teeth, I smiled back and said, “Well done, my friend.”

“I believe I've received a gift.”

“Are you thinking of keeping Bonnie? I mean permanently?”

“If she, I mean, did he, you know, Ray, did he have family, or someone who would, you know …”

“Someone who might want her? No idea.”

“Well, if not, I'd like to keep her.” Her eyes were wide and wet.

“From what I saw in the exam room, she'd like to keep you, too.”

“Imagine what that little soul went through.”

I
had
thought about that. A lot. I knew a little something about memories of violence. Bonnie would recover from her time on the loose, but if she had witnessed Ray's murder, who knew how long that vision would haunt her dreams. The man may have been surly to his fellow humans, but his dog clearly had loved him. So had my
dog, for that matter. Goldie looked as close to tears as I felt, so I ex
cused myself to get a
to-go
box and order some carryout lasagna for the next evening.

By the time I returned, Goldie was making a list. “I'll feed her some of Jay's food from that bag you gave me if that's okay until I can get to the store. Is that food okay for her? And she needs a bed, and a new collar and a leash and some toys although I guess Jay won't mind if she plays with the ones I keep for him … .” She caught me grinning at her and said, “What?”

“Jay will be happy to share his food and his toys, and I can loan you a leash. I probably even have a collar that will fit her to tide you over.” The bell over the door tinkled and the tinted mirror tiles behind Goldie offered a distorted impression of two people sliding into a booth across the room. Closing time was ten minutes away, and Dom's wife was gathering the cheese and
hot-pepper
shakers from the tables, but I heard her welcome the latecomers.

I was about to tell Goldie that I'd check with Summer about any claims on Bonnie when her expression changed and she leaned into the table. She spoke, keeping her voice low and looking at something behind me. “Let's go. Something about those guys over there gives me the creeps.”

Not much makes Goldie want to cut and run, so I had to fight the urge to turn around. Instead I told her to meet me outside. I went to the counter for my carryout order, figuring I would peek at the creepy guys on my way out. I was lifting the
to-go
box from the counter when a voice boomed next to my right ear. “Heard this is the best Italian in town. That right?”

It was the skinny goon, and he was well within my comfort zone. His pudgier buddy was jammed into a booth, nodding his head as he spoke into a cell phone.
Are they following me?

“I, uh … I don't know if it's the best, but it's good.”

“Yeah? Whaddya recommend?”

I recommend you back off, bozo
. “The eggplant is good.” I sidestepped away from him.

“Hey, ya know, our conversation got cut off earlier.” He made “conversation” sound sinister. He squinted at me, and when he spoke again, his voice was fringed with threat. “You get a lot of pictures at that dog thing?” He put all the emphasis on
pictures.

At that, his buddy shifted his bulk and stared at me, the groan of the bench under him sounding like I felt. Skinny stepped in closer and I half expected him to poke me the way he had poked Evan on Sunday.

My brain jumped into gear, trying to remember if I had pointed my camera at him and his buddy. I didn't think so. In fact, I was pretty sure I hadn't had my camera with me when I saw them with Evan. I knew I hadn't downloaded any photos of them—I would have remembered—but I didn't see any reason to discuss my work with this guy. As I turned away, the fat man's Porky Pig voice followed me.

“Hey, where can we find your friend Summer? She ain't answerin' her phone.”

Summer? They want Summer, not Evan?
I stepped past Skinny and said, “I can't help you.”

“Yeah, sure,” came the cartoon voice. “Catch ya later.”

I almost knocked Goldie over as I bolted out the door.

thirty-two

By the time I
was halfway home, a vise had attached itself to the base of my skull and begun to squeeze. I hadn't had a migraine in months, but once you've had one, you don't ignore the prelude. I pulled into the first drug store I spotted and fished around in my tote bag for my meds. The bottle finally emerged from under the spare kennel lead I always carry “just in case,” and I shook it hopefully. Not a single rattle from within. I looked at the glare of the store's name over the door and looked away as the light twisted the vice tighter around my temples. It was not the chain I use for prescriptions.

Despite the pain, I couldn't get my
after-dinner
encounter out of my head. What was up with that goon in Dom's Deli?
I'll catch you later?
Was that some kind of threat, or was I overreacting? Why were they looking for Summer? And why had the guy mentioned photographs? I was sure I hadn't had my camera when I saw him poking Evan in the chest. Had he and his pal been up to something when I
was
taking photos over the weekend? If so, I didn't remember seeing them, but maybe I had caught something by accident. Or maybe they just thought I had.

I leaned my throbbing skull against the headrest and debated whether to tough it out with an
over-the
-counter dose of something or drive to my regular drug store. On a normal evening, the drive would be no big deal, but all I wanted to do was escape the lights and traffic and banging in my head. Maybe I had something in my tote bag. To speed things up, I dumped the contents onto the passenger seat. My phone bounced once and played a tune, making me wonder whether the pain was making me hallucinate. It played again. The Beatles “From Me to You.” Tom's ring.

“How's the dog?”

“She's fine, mostly. A few cuts, a sunburned nose,” I said. “And she's filthy and full of burrs.”

“That should take you a while.”

“The clinic's groomer is doing the job. Goldie's waiting there. She won't go home without Bonnie.” I closed my eyes and massaged the back of my neck with my free hand, then grabbed my billfold and got out of my van. “How are Drake and Winnie getting along?”

“Drake's not keen on having his head jumped on,” Tom chuckled, “but he seems a little cheerier than he did in the car.” He paused, then asked, “Something wrong?”

The last thing I wanted to do right then was tell Tom about the two goons, so I skipped our encounter at the deli and focused on the result. “Migraine coming on. I forgot to refill my prescription and I don't want to drive anywhere but home. Which I'm going to do as soon as I get a box of caffeine.” I figured some
stay-awake
pills would do for now.

Tom offered to pick up my refill and come over to nurse me, but I said I'd be fine and see him the next day. It was all I could do to navigate the fluorescent nightmare of drugstore lighting, but I found the caffeine tabs and a bottle of iced coffee. When I got back to my van I washed down a double dose of pills and chugged the coffee. Twenty minutes later I pulled into my garage feeling a little less pain and a lot more buzz.

Jay hit the ground bouncing and spinning, and when I opened the service door into the house, he blasted into the kitchen and, crouched to brake, slid
bang!
into the cupboards. Pixel ran in from the other doorway and dropped a felt mouse on my foot. She rubbed her cheek against my jeans, then bounced across the vinyl and rubbed her cheek against Jay's muzzle. A long
mmrrrooowwwllll
sounded behind me, and I turned. Leo sat in the doorway, tail wrapped around his front feet, ears pulled partway back, eyes squinted.

“You're right, Leo
mio
. Too much racket.”

In one liquid motion, he glided from floor to chair to table and held a paw toward me. I bent toward him for a nose bump and ran my hand over his head and down his silky back. It was a mistake. Leaning over revived the timpani in my head and made me a tad nauseated. I considered popping another caffeine tablet, but decided to give the two I had taken a little more time.

A light from the living room made me turn. Headlights. But I wasn't expecting anyone. I started toward the picture window, but caution caught up with me halfway across the room, and I turned down the hall and into my dark office. The curtains were open, and I had a clear view of the driveway, where a gray sedan sat idling.

thirty-three

Something made a little
skipping motion in my chest, and I ran to the front door and checked the locks. I checked the kitchen door as well, and relaxed a tad when I saw Jay stretched out on the floor with Pixel straddling his head. If he saw no reason to worry, I probably shouldn't either.

I went back to my office and peered out again. The sedan was still there. I thought there were two people in the front seat, but I couldn't discern more than that with the headlights in my eyes. Mr. Hostetler's porch light was on across the street, and for a second I considered calling him, but I let that go in a hurry. He wouldn't be satisfied to keep an eye out and call for help if necessary, and at
ninety-two
, he didn't need to confront any thugs from Reno.
Should I call the police?

I moved to my bedroom, phone in hand, to see whether the angle from there would soften the effect of the car's headlights. The curtains were open and I was afraid to attract attention to the room by closing them, so I crawled under the sill to the farthest corner and slowly peeked past the window frame. The glare wasn't as bad, but I still couldn't see inside the car. At least I hoped they were still in the car.
Find a weapon,
whispered my guardian troublemaker.
But what?
Jay would protect me, of course, but I needed to protect myself, too. And my dog. I crawled under the window again and went to the closet. I fished around in the dark and finally felt cool, hard wood in my hand. I could clobber at least one of them with my old softball bat.

When I peeked out the window again, the sedan's interior light was on, and a
gray-haired
couple appeared to be studying a map. As I watched, the dome light went out and the car backed away, crept past two more houses, and turned the corner. I leaned against the wall and slid to the floor and sat there laughing until I thought I might be sick.

You're overwrought
.

I was also glad I hadn't embarrassed myself with a call to the police, but I still checked all the locks again. When everyone was fed and cuddled and calmed down, I grabbed an ice pack from the freezer, ran a hot bath fragrant with lavender bubbles, and sank in to warm my body and chill my head. As I lay there feeling the muscles in my neck loosen and the pain dribble from my head, I tried not to think, but questions and images filled it back up.

How could a dozen sheep just disappear? Especially with their owners—and their owners' dog—sleeping close by? The Winslows' camper trailer had been parked just past the end of the holding pen. As far as I knew, the sheep hadn't been delivered to any area slaughterhouses. The police had put out an alert, and I was sure Giselle would have told me if she'd heard anything like that. Could they have been stolen for their value as wool producers? At four hundred a head, the tiny flock could go for nearly five thousand dollars. If Ray really did have a gambling problem, as Giselle had surmised from overhearing Hutchinson on the phone, he could also have had a debt problem. Did he steal the sheep to pay a gambling debt? Possible, I supposed.

And what about the Winslows' money problems? The argument I had overheard suggested they could use five grand, but they could have just sold the sheep. What would they gain by staging a theft, especially away from their own farm? Insurance money? Could the sheep be insured for more than their value on the open market? That might be something to check out, if I were playing amateur detective, which I reminded myself I was not.

Besides, I had enough on my plate. If the
pet-limit
bill passed and Tom couldn't move in with me, we would have to figure out an alternative
lickety-split
. Plus my mother's wedding was less than two weeks off. I smiled at the memory of dress shopping with Goldie, and was grateful once again that I hadn't been the one to take Mom shopping for
her
dress. My brother's partner, Norm, had far more fashion sense and patience than I had, and he had virtually taken over as wedding planner and bridal consultant.

The white noise of the exhaust fan quieted the drumming in my head, and I realized that most of the pain was gone. Happy that I'd stopped the migraine before it took over, I drew in some deep, slow,
lavender-heavy
breaths and tried to decide whether to add some hot water to the tub, or get out. A lovely, deep muzziness enveloped me.
Hot chocolate.
I pictured myself snuggled on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate, a fleece blankie, a good book, and my animals. I was still relaxed, in the
thinking-about
-it phase, when something
wham wham whammed
against the wall behind my head.