I Kissed a Dog

chapter 23

“Get the hell off my property!” Mr. Johnson yelled from the front porch. He gripped a hunting rifle in both hands. The muzzle was lowered — for now anyway. His wife huddled behind him. She appeared more worried than hostile.

“We’re sick of reporters. Don’t you have someone else to harass?” he raged. The rifle vibrated in time to his trembling hands. His frustration laced with anxiety could easily escalate a tense situation into a tragic one if we weren’t careful.

I prayed they would hear me out. “Please, I’m so sorry for your loss. Seth was a great guy. He helped my dad pick out some gear last year. We’re not reporters,” I hurried to get the words out, “but I think we might be able to help. Zane,” I nodded his direction, “is a part time private investigator. He believes the police have missed vital information that could help lead to your son’s killer.”

They spoke in hushed tones. Mr. Johnson gestured and paced, his position not influenced by my plea.

Occupied with their debate, they didn’t notice when a golden retriever trotted out of the garage, his tail wagging. He sidled right up to Zane and gazed up at him with a puppy-in-love expression.

I’ll pet; you have a little chat with him. Zane sent the mind message and kneeled to face his canine admirer. I was again grateful for our private communication option, something I’d resented a few days ago.

I targeted my energy on Seth’s former companion. Making eye contact or maintaining touch was no longer necessary. The range had been expanding all week, right along with the other advances.

Can you show me what happened to your master?

The retriever’s markings were exquisite and he appeared to be well cared for. Only one thing detracted from his perfection, a shaved area above his right leg. I could see evidence of fresh stitches. The wound seemed to be healing well.

I took a breath, preparing myself for the bloody vision he’d undoubtedly reveal. Instead, the dog whimpered, hesitant. Zane whispered something I couldn’t understand and rumpled his fur, calming him for me.

Please, we want to catch the people who did this to Seth. You can help us. I made myself pause, careful to remain calm.

The dog’s sad eyes found mine, and his mind opened like a book. The visions came on with a vengeance. What I observed sent my stomach reeling.

As with Will, a gorgeous redhead was the gruesome show’s star. She approached Seth leisurely licking her pouty lips. He lurched sideways and braced himself against a pool table. They were in an average-sized bedroom turned entertainment room. A Werewolf in London played across the big screen, sound blaring.

Where Will had been enthralled by the wicked woman, Seth looked appalled by her overt sexuality. Back pressed against the pool table, he jerked his head sideways and raised both hands to push her way. Ignoring his rejection, she shimmied closer. Before he could protest further, the vibrating thing happened, and she shifted into the frightening werewolf I’d come to abhor.

It was then I noticed the retriever. He sprang from a nearby chair, sinking his fangs into the creature’s arm. He stayed latched to the beast for a few short seconds before she disengaged him with a vicious swipe.

He hit the floor with a yelp, but maintained consciousness. His eyes remained half open as the horror escalated. Helpless, he whimpered while his master was brutalized beyond recognition.

I had to give Seth credit. He didn’t go down easily. It helped that he hadn’t been engaged in the same pre-murder activities that had distracted and debilitated Will.

Grabbing a pool stick, Seth jabbed at her chest. She ripped it from his hands and snapped it in half. The same stick-snapping-routine had been repeated hundreds of times by every big-screen karate-hero to date, reminding me of an action movie rerun.

What followed in the next two minutes wouldn’t survive any movie rating system. It would sicken even the most avid blood and gore connoisseur.

Looking for another opening, Seth spun to the side and launched a swift kick at his attacker’s midsection. This time he connected before she retaliated.

Bored with the foreplay, she lunged for the jugular.

When Seth’s head toppled from his shoulders, landing with an ominous thud, I gagged, but managed to stay attached to the vision.

Mercifully, other, less horrific scenes now played through the dog’s mind — police swarming through the house; people crying and consoling one another; a cleanup team scrubbing blood splatters off the big screen; more police searching for clues; Agent Green and Detective Davis walking through the home; reporters crowding the street; a hideous cloaked man …?

Talk about a coincidence. The same wrinkled creature we’d seen back at the Smart’s place was creeping unnoticed through Seth Johnson’s house. Could things get any stranger?

Good dog. Slow down. Show me this man, I instructed, eager to get a clearer look at the final intruder.

The rate slowed and I watched in disbelief as the mysterious supe roamed from room to room. He stopped in the master bedroom — a room untouched by the crime. There he entered the attached bathroom and knelt by a wicker laundry basket. Rotating it sideways, he slipped what I guessed was another coin, in between the weaved-slats. It fit snuggly inside its new hiding spot.

Thank you! I patted the dog.

“Kelsey, come here!” Seth’s father hollered.

I wondered how long we’d been standing there. When I was listening telepathically, I lost track of time. In most cases, it lasted just a few minutes, but it always seemed longer.

Ignoring the senior Johnson’s request, the dog flopped on Zane’s shoes, his tail wagging faster than a windshield wiper on high-speed.

“I’ll be. If the dog likes them that much, shouldn’t we at least see what they want?” Mrs. Johnson chimed in not a moment too soon. “The police haven’t helped, and that high and mighty FBI agent is just plain creepy.”

Smart lady. She’d used the same word to describe him as I had. I now determined that Agent Green was cruel and calculating. I suspected he’d prove me right.

Zane tapped my arm, his scowl evidence of his annoyance. Chloe, help me out here. Say something, please.

“Uh, really Mr. Johnson, Mrs. Johnson, all we want to do is help,” I said, hoping I sounded sincere. What I wanted was to get my hands on that blasted coin.

“Edward, what do you think? They seem nice enough.”

“Ah, come on in. Anyone willing to help us find some damn justice around here is welcome. My son deserved better than what he got,” Edward said, lowering the gun.

Relieved, I followed Zane and Kelsey through the door. We sat a respectful distant from each other on the couch, and listened to the Johnsons tell stories about their son. They pointed out memories captured in a jumbo-sized photo album. Kelsey lounged across Zane’s lap. I was reluctant to interrupt their story telling, but could barely contain my anxious energy.

Noticing my apprehension, he nudged Kelsey off his lap and stood, feigning a stretch. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we’re on a tight schedule and I’d like to look around. I know it’s hard to believe, but sometimes the cops miss things. Plum Beach has never had a major murder investigation, let alone a serial case. Even with a few outside agents, there’s a chance we might find something new.”

“Now I remember!” Mrs. Johnson replied; her attention fixed on my face. “You’re the animal whisperer. I overheard Officer Tate talking about you to that FBI agent. He suggested they contact you to listen to Kelsey, but the agent declined. He wasn’t real impressed by the suggestion.”

Not sure how to respond, I glanced at Zane.

“I don’t think you’d call her an animal whisperer, but Chloe can catch mental impressions or pictures from animals. She’s already provided valuable information on this case. Officer Tate is very open to her talent”

Eager to counter their skepticism, I offered, “Your dog tried to save Seth and was hurt, wasn’t he?” I reached down to pet the retriever, who’d decided to snuggle up to me. “He showed me what happened.”

Mrs. Johnson pressed her hand to her chest. “The news didn’t report that! No one but the police knew about Kelsey’s injuries.” She shot an anxious glance at Kelsey.

I’ll stay and entertain them with my animal stories. I messaged Zane the coin’s location. Whatever this creature is, he prefers wicker containers, I added. Maybe it was a fluke; maybe not.

After Zane’s phony search was completed, close to an hour later, we excused ourselves with the promise of keeping them apprised of anything new, if they in turn agreed to keep our impromptu visit to themselves. I made a point to play on our mutual dislike of Agent Green.

It worked.

They shared a laundry list of reasons why the out-of-town agent was incompetent and uncaring. I listened, careful to affirm their observations. Knowing the agent was spreading his suspicions about me to anyone who’d listen; it seemed fair I return the favor.

Another twenty minutes later, and we were back in the car, with Zane behind the wheel, brooding. I had my first opportunity to examine the coins. They hummed in my hands, and were warm, hot even. Adding to the mystery, the engraved symbols didn’t make any sense. Hopefully, someone sympathetic to our cause could decipher them.

We still had to meet with Alcuin and the M’s back at Zane’s before returning to the trailer park and checking out Will’s place. If the pattern persisted, we’d have two more coins to add to our collection.

Zane broke the silence. “I need to talk with Logan. He needs to know about the mutants. Their ability to shift without a full moon changes everything. Our pack’s protection policy is built around a now faulty belief system. Where there’s a fault line, you can expect an earthquake. The earthquake is already shaking our foundation.”

His words sent a spike of fear through my chest. It was hard for me to remain confident when Zane, a werewolf enforcer, was troubled.

“What about the coins? They represent something important. They have to. Why else would everyone want them? I think someone is trying to tell us something.”

“Maybe they’re for the police? Serial killers often have their own signatures.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond. What he said made sense. Why us and not the police or the mutants?

“Promise you won’t laugh,” I paused.

“Chloe, you’re a trooper and you’re damn smart. Laughing at you isn’t in my best interest. I’m still trying to get on your good side, remember?” He patted my thigh.

Just the casual touch sent a familiar wave of longing crashing over me, while in the same moment providing enough assurance to finish explaining my theory.

“Keep in mind, I’m speculating, but I keep thinking that the coins, if we could figure out what’s engraved on them, will provide a road map of some sort. Directions. Clues. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just desperate for answers and have seen too many mystery movies.”

“You’re not the only one feeling desperate. I’ve got a bad feeling about all this. It’s going to get worse …”

“Before it gets better,” I finished.