The Dog Thief Page 8

  Chapter 7

  KENZIE STAMPED INTO my room and yanked open the drapes. “Why the hell are we feeding yet another dog, Maddie? I thought the whole idea was to get ourselves out of debt.”

  I scooted up in bed. “Do you mean Zeus?”

  “If that’s what he’s called, then, yes, I mean Zeus, the Devil Dog. I came home last night, you’re gone, and there’s an empty Tanqueray bottle on the table. I check with Jaison, and he shows me Devil Dog, and then we got a call from Oliver Desjardins ordering you to turn yourself in before he issues a warrant.”

  My head throbbed and my mouth was dry. “Desjardins is an asshole. He was going to shoot Zeus even though I’d offered to deal with the situation. He wouldn’t even listen to an expert on canine behavior.”

  “Really? Do you think it could have been because you were falling down drunk and throwing a huge scene at Claire’s?”

  “Is that what he told you? Because what really happened was that I went for a bike ride. I needed to pee and I was near Claire’s house.” My sister was still scowling, so I said, “Okay, so maybe I had a drink or two before going out. Which is not a crime. As for Zeus, we’re fully booked for psychic readings, so I can more than earn back the temporary expenses of his keep.”

  “And Ghost’s. And the pups.”

  “They’re not going to stay, Kenz.” I flipped off the covers and saw new bruises on my legs. My sister saw them, too, and her expression softened.

  “Mad, you know we can’t place an attack dog.”

  “He’s a trained protection dog, not an attack dog.”

  My sister closed her eyes for several seconds.

  I saw the beginnings of lines on her face and I had a horrible feeling I was responsible for them. “I’m sorry, baby. I won’t bring home any more dogs. But there’s no way I could stand by and let Zeus be slaughtered when he was only doing his duty, guarding someone who didn’t even feed him, and...” My voice grew thick. “He didn’t deserve to die.”

  “You can’t save all of them.” Kenzie glanced at my clock. “You’ve got a Special coming in at ten, so do your chores and be back in time to dress nicely.”

  “Sure. I’ll wear whatever you want,” I said. “Where were you last night?”

  “Out with Christopher.”

  My stomach cramped. “You didn’t say anything.”

  “Because you’d use the opportunity to criticize him. Which he doesn’t deserve and you’d know if you’d meet him.”

  “I don’t need to. I already know everything about him. He’s a hydraulic engineer, which explains your sudden defense of fracking, and he hates pets.”

  “Stop twisting things. He doesn’t hate pets. He’s allergic to animal dander.”

  “If someone is allergic to animals, he’ll be conditioned to hate them. Oliver Desjardins is another animal hater.”

  “Tell him yourself when you turn yourself in today,” she said, as she left.

  When I stood, my head was heavy behind my eyes. The dark purple and crimson bruises on my knees could have been from the bike crash or when I fell into the sink at the crack house, or when I crashed down from the fence. My stomach was tender with jagged parallel scratches beginning to scab.

  I ran to the bathroom and felt better after I threw up.

  JAISON WAS HOSING THE kennels, all open except for the one at the end, where the center’s newest resident barked with a percussive rhythm making my head throb.

  “Hey, boss lady. I was at the Brewhouse last night and word is you were D&D, drunk and dog-napping.”

  “I liberated Zeus. What do you think?” I approached the kennel and Zeus stopped barking and came forward, his ears toward me.

  “I think he looks like he’d like to kill someone. Elegant snout. Resembles Bertie except for the tiger stripe fur.” He saw my expression and said, “Okay, brindle fur, but I would like me a dog with real stripes like a tiger and not messy brown and black swatches.”

  “I’m pretty sure he’s a Dutch Shepard, related to Belgian Malinois and GSDs, intelligent, hardworking breeds. They’re not common in this country, but a few are imported by police departments and for security work. He answers to German commands.”

  “A police dog from Germany owned by a white supremacist meth-head? You must be tripping if you don’t think that’s fucked up.”

  “Animals can’t be blamed for what people do or don’t do with them.” I glanced at Bertie. His tail thumped against the ground, but he didn’t look impressed with our new guest. “Where did you hear that the meth-head is a neo-Nazi?”

  “Please, bitch.”

  I laughed and said, “Kenzie doesn’t believe we have a bi-annual offsite. I’m offering you a choice: Great America or renting rowboats up at the lake.”

  “Great America, natch.”

  “There’s no way I’m going to a theme park, so I’ll give you two tickets after we do the progress report, yadda yadda. How are the pups?”

  “I gave them names: Thing One and Thing Two, like in The Cat in the Hat, because they’re full of hijinks and mayhem.”

  “Hijinks and Mayhem might be better names.” I laughed, making my head throb. “I’ll ask Georgie at the shelter for more adoptable names so we can place them. She has a list of market-tested names.”

  TIME ALWAYS WENT SO quickly when I was at the center. I brushed out dogs, gave them supplements, practiced recall with a recalcitrant Vizsla, and distributed flea, tick, and heartworm medication.

  Jaison stopped me as I as taking Heidi and Bertie for a swim at the pond. “Your sister wants you to call her. She says it’s important.

  “She’s reminding me to show up for a consult.”

  “It’s something else. It’s like the fifth time she called the office and the tenth time I’ve reminded you.”

  “The meeting isn’t for forty-five minutes, but whatever. I live to please.”

  When I entered the house, I heard Kenzie talking to someone in the living room, and I hurried in, already saying, “I apologize for mixing up the time...”

  I hadn’t expected a bored guy holding the video camera or the tiny overly-made-up young woman perched on the sofa. It took me a moment to recognize her as a reporter on the evening news. On the coffee table in front of her was a vase with a new bouquet of daisies.

  Kenzie said, “Here she is.”

  “I’m sorry I’m late. Kenzie, may I talk to you for a moment?”

  “Of course, Madeleine.” To the others, she said, “Dr. Whitney and I will be back in a minute.”

  As soon as we were out of the room, she tugged me down the hall, whispering, “You’ll have to change pronto.”

  “Why is Sasha Seabrook here with a cameraman?”

  “Lower your voice. Her producer heard about the way you ‘helped’ the sheriff last night and wants to ask you a few questions. I rescheduled the Special.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me I was being interviewed?”

  “Because you wouldn’t have come.”

  “So true. Do the interview yourself and tell me how it goes.”

  “Maddie, didn’t you promise to step out of your comfort zone to help our business?”

  “No, I said I’d take on additional appointments with Specials to compensate for any expenses incurred by the new dogs. I never agreed to go on television.”

  “You never said you wouldn’t. This is dream publicity that we could never afford.” Then her shoulders slumped. “But do whatever you want, Maddie. You always do anyway and I don’t feel like arguing with you.”

  “I’m not arguing... Fine, whatever. I’ll do the damn interview.”

  Kenzie had already laid out my clothes and I did a fast-change, trying to maneuver into my shirt while she messed with my hair. “Stick to our talking points and remember to smile.”

  Sasha wanted a dog in the piece, so I had Jaison bring Bertie to the house. When she saw his scars she frowned. “Do you have one who’ll look cute on-camera?”

  “Cute? Bertie is far beyond c
ute. He’s magnificent.”

  Kenzie said, “She means smaller and younger, Madeleine. Jaison, take Bertie back and fetch the pups, would you? Thanks!”

  While Jaison ran back to get Thing One and Thing Two, and Sasha told me Zeus’s owner was being treated at the hospital and would probably be transferred to prison for violating parole.

  Five minutes later, I was trying to keep the pups on my lap while the cameraman adjusted the equipment and Sasha rehearsed her introduction. I was told to pivot at the waist toward the camera, the lighting was set, sound levels checked, and she recited her introduction and asked me about rescuing the paramedics from a killer canine.

  “For anyone to be a killer, he has to have killed. Also, you shouldn’t ascribe human motivations to an animal.”

  Sasha was beautiful in the way professional performers are beautiful, as if she spent hours every day tending her body. If I slipped off her shoe, her foot would be smooth and lovely and her toenails painted and perfect. If I lifted her skirt, her panties would be like the wrapping on a gift. She was too precious: she was not Claire.

  Sasha’s face was unreadable and I began watching her arched eyebrows, fascinated by their stillness. Her bright shiny lips moved, but nothing else on her face did. At some point, I realized she was quiet. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  Even when she smiled, there was no change from her hairline to her plump upper lip. “An eyewitness claimed the dog, Zeus, ‘communicated with you’ that he was protecting his owner, who’d suffered from an overdose of opiates. Where you able to communicate any messages back to the dog?”

  I couldn’t decipher if Sasha believed this nonsense, or if she was testing me, or if she was just doing her job. Kenzie stood behind the cameraman and held up crossed fingers.

  “Communicate is generally interpreted as linguistic,” I said, petting the puppies to ease my fingers. “What I do is more akin to sensing what an animal is thinking and feeling. I thought everyone felt this way, but eventually came to realize it was a...gift.” I remembered the shuddering of the front door as Zeus threw his body against it. “Zeus was one lone brave dog doing all he could to care for an incapacitated person even though that person had never cared for him.”

  Sasha tilted her head attentively and I almost forgave her misguided assessment of Bertie. “Sasha, what’s the difference between a dog and a spouse?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “After a year together, a dog is still happy to see you every time you come home.” I glanced at the cameraman, who grinned. “It’s funny because it’s true: a dog’s loyalty is unwavering.” I thought of the way Bertie looked up at me, the way he walked by my side, the way he pranced and frolicked when we played. “The incredible thing about dogs is their tremendous hearts. They have courage and constancy. They are affectionate and consoling. They love you no matter what you look like or say, how much money you have or don’t have, or how the rest of your life is going.”

  “But you said dogs don’t have human emotions.”

  “No, they don’t. Human emotions are complicated by our history, our mixed motivations, our personal agendas, all the ways we’re fu...by all our baggage. Dogs live in the now. Canine emotions are pure. Some people say dogs don’t feel love and don’t have souls, but you can look into their eyes and see their souls glowing out. A dog’s devotion is as beautiful as anything I’ve seen.”

  Sasha was silent for a second and then her bright smile returned. “So your telepathic abilities saved Sheriff’s Captain Oliver Desjardins and the paramedics from a potentially deadly situation?”

  “I was glad to do what I could to help the captain and emergency medical team.” Thing Two was gnawing on my finger and I scratched its belly.

  “Your psychic communication with animals also helped you locate a missing, still unidentified murder victim here in Coyote Run. Are you working regularly with law enforcement and other authorities to solve crimes?”

  I looked toward Kenzie and she nodded. “Sheriff’s Captain Desjardins and I will be coordinating efforts to augment his department with an elite team of search and rescue dogs. In fact, these puppies are in the initial stages of training right now.”

  Sasha faced the camera. “There you have it from Dr. Madeleine Whitney, the modest animal psychic. Criminals better watch out—because there’s a new sheriff’s consultant in town—and she can find out what you’re doing and sic her killer dogs on you!”

  I was still watching Sasha’s eyebrows and she reached to her handbag saying, “Do I have something here?” She sorted through her things and brought out a compact. “Because if I do, we’ll have to reshoot the whole thing.” She flipped open the compact and peered into it.

  Kenzie said, “No, no, you look perfect. You’re even prettier in real life! Thank you so much for coming.”

  “It was a pleasure meeting you. The feature will run on our six and ten p.m. broadcasts. Please call us with updates on any crimes you investigate, Dr. Whitney, because I’d love to do a follow-up.” Sasha held a business card toward me.

  I hesitated, suspecting Sasha’s hands would be as light and clinging as a spider’s web.

  Kenzie plucked away the card. “You’ll absolutely be the first to know,” and she began leading the TV crew out of the house.

  When Kenzie returned, I said, “Did I screw up?”

  “You were fine except, well, you didn’t take your eyes off her face.”

  “Her eyebrows and forehead were motionless. She was so tiny and precisely groomed. Did I say anything wrong?”

  “No, you were great. She said you did a good job.” Kenzie came close and took off my earrings. “I’m proud of you, Maddie.”

  ALL OF THE DOGS IN the center were amped because of Zeus. I pushed a chunk of deer antler through the chain link for him to gnaw and told Jaison, “I’d like to evaluate his interaction with the others. I’m going to wait until he’s neutered though because I don’t want a bloodbath.”

  Jaison picked up a tennis ball that one of the dogs had dropped at his feet and threw it with fluid grace, sending most of the pack running to fetch it. “You got permission?”

  “I can’t keep an intact male with my pack. Males are healthier and more stable when they’re neutered.”

  “Sometimes you talk scary. You can’t keep him at all because he isn’t your dog.”

  “There’s what’s legal and then there’s what’s right. But I have to go in and talk to Sherriff Dickhead anyway.”

  As I drove to the gate, I saw my bicycle leaning against a tree. A ticket was taped on the handlebars. Dickhead. Instead of going to the sheriff’s substation, I decided to visit my pal Georgia Maguire and catch up on things.

  Coyote Run had a small branch of the county animal shelter, but when most people talked about animal services, they meant the big shelter out by the lake. The 30-minute drive gave me lots of time to listen to my engine’s new clinking sound and elevated temperature. I rolled down the windows and turned on my music loud enough to cover the clinking as I sang at the top of my lungs.

  The gentle winding highway took me through foothills planted with grapes, the few remaining pear orchards, and a sprawling golf course. Swaths of lupine colored entire fields lilac. Colorful flowers spilled out of new wine barrel planters at the entrance to the Lakeview Cabins Motel. The empty parking lot would fill up at noon with married cheaters, and at nightfall dealers and stealers would crowd the rooms.

  Rancho Vista Animal Services was the largest branch in a county with far more pets than pet owners. It was placed exactly in the middle-of-nowhere, so the constant barking of death-row inmates wouldn’t disturb locals, many of whom believed it was a good idea to let a bitch breed and keep a male’s “manhood.” I parked in the nearly empty lot and went through the front entrance. The girl at the volunteer desk said, “Good afternoon. Can I help you?”

  “I dropped by to visit Georgia. Is she in her office?”

  “Georgie’s in the exercise yard. I’ll buz
z you through.” She pushed a button, and the big metal doors to the hallway swung open.

  “I know the way. Thanks.” Although the shelter had been renovated only the year before, it had the heartbreaking smell all shelters have: of the oily secretions made by panicked animals. The caged and forlorn pets barked, howled, yipped, and whined as I blinked by tears and walked by. Most would be euthanized by the end of the month and their cages would be filled by other abandoned animals.

  The window to the cat haven showed a dozen animals playing and resting on the multitier climbing structures. Kenzie preferred cats to dogs, but she’d never replaced our last house cat.

  Georgie Maguire was in the sunny exercise yard with half-a-dozen dogs, a clipboard, a DSLR camera, and a clipboard. She was an earth mama with full breasts and hips, and her skin was weathered from a lifetime spent outdoors. She had strands of silver in her long blond braid and she wore lots of silver jewelry set with chunky turquoise.

  “Hey, Georgie!”

  “Mad Girl! Whatcha doing here?”

  “Just came to say hey. Do you want any help?”

  “Please!” Georgie handed me the clipboard. “You get them to pose cute and jot down a description, and I’ll snap the shots.”

  I knew a few tricks to make a dog to perk its ears, tilt its head, or crouch in a let’s play position. We put bows on the pit bulls, little hats on the small dogs, and I managed to make a beagle mix howl when I sang “Blue Moon.”

  Finally Georgie said, “Thanks! I’ve got plenty of good shots, and you know how much photos help adoptions. Want a drink? You can have water or herb tea.”

  “Water’s good.”

  The five-gallon jug in the cooler was from a local spring, and Georgie said, “We may as well drink this while we can. If fracking comes through, it will be contaminated and flammable, and if the drought continues, the spring will go dry. The bottling company shouldn’t even be pumping. The ground water won’t last forever. It’s all so complicated and all I see are disastrous outcomes. Of course, my husband says I’m paranoid.”