We drove in silence to our next client’s house. Seth had his earbuds screwed into his ears, but the corners of his mouth kept twitching upward. Baxter flopped his chin on my shoulder from the backseat, and I felt the warm wetness ooze down my arm.
I took my eyes off the road long enough to roll them skyward and wonder how I had ended up back in Crystal Haven with an enormous slobbering dog and an adolescent nephew who was either not speaking at all or talking so much it made my head hurt. When will you teach me to shoot? Did you keep your flak jacket? How fast can you run? Do you think Baxter would make a good K-9 officer? Much like with every other problem in my life, I blamed my mother. After my “incident” on the police force in Ann Arbor, I had called Mom in a moment of weakness. She had talked me into moving home for the summer. She made sense at the time, the way mothers sometimes do. Come home, rest, take time to figure out your life. My administrative leave morphed into a summer at home. I’d arrived in mid-June and it was already mid-July. At some point I’d have to decide what I was going to do come September. Within days of my return, Aunt Vi had used her connections to line up some “clients” for me. Many of her pet clients needed extra attention during the day. Even though I tried to argue with Vi on principle, her idea gave me a flexible schedule, a few extra bucks, and allowed me to spend the days walking other people’s dogs.
The one good part about the summer was that I was spending it in western Michigan, mostly outside. Beautiful beaches and lush forests were all within a short drive. The tourist season guaranteed festivals and farmers markets and, after Ann Arbor, I needed a more relaxed pace. As we drove to Tuffy’s house, I tried to focus on how much I loved it here.
It was close to eleven by the time I parked in the driveway of a small brick ranch on the outskirts of town. Tuffy’s owner, Sara, was a part-time lawyer and often worked from home. I hadn’t seen the dog in over a week. He was moody and spoiled and didn’t like anyone but Sara. Plus, he’s a shih tzu and wears one of those ridiculous ponytails on top of his head.
I nudged Seth. “Get your gear.”
“What?”
“The pooper-scooper.”
“Oh, man . . .” He slouched out of his seat, his bony shoulders sagging, and moved toward the back of the Jeep. As assistant dog walker, Seth was in charge of cleanup. He frequently pretended not to remember this aspect of the job description.
I stopped in front of the house and foraged under one of the spindly bushes flanking the front steps. I extracted the key from the fake rock Sara had hidden there and listened for noises inside the house. Usually Tuffy would be flinging himself at the door by now and barking furiously, as if I were an intruder he had never seen before, but all was quiet this morning.
“Just leave it by the steps and we’ll go get him,” I said to Seth, who was holding the scooper at arm’s length.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside, bracing myself for Tuffy’s attack. It didn’t come.
“Tuffy?”
“Here, puppy,” Seth said from behind me, and got down on one knee. He whistled. “Come on, boy.”
Still nothing.
“This is weird, Seth. Stay here.”
The shades were still down, and I threaded my way through the dimly lit living room, which was crowded with a sectional sofa that must have been purchased for a larger room, and a coffee table piled with books on spiritualism and séances. On the mantel, pictures of two college-age girls flanked a photo of the elusive dog. Sara’s divorce had turned nasty over custody of the shih tzu. Had I been in her shoes, I would have walked away from the sectional and the dog.
Something definitely wasn’t right. With a growing sense of dread, I headed toward the dining room. I wouldn’t have noticed the dog, but Seth, who was following like a stealth ninja, did.
“There he is!”
I jumped and backed into Seth, almost knocking both of us to the ground.
“I told you to stay put.” My voice edged toward drill sergeant, but Seth didn’t seem to notice.
“Sorry.” He was already on his knees, looking under the table. “Is that Tuffy?”
I bent down to get a better look. A small ball of fluff was sitting under the dining room table shivering, its brown eyes shining. I nodded and kneeled next to Seth.
“What’s the matter with him?” Seth asked, leaning toward the dog.
“Maybe he’s afraid of you. I’ve never brought anyone with me before. I hadn’t thought about it, but he could be . . .” I stopped as Tuffy came out from under the table, crawled into Seth’s lap, and continued trembling.
“He doesn’t seem afraid of me.” Seth said, and stroked Tuffy’s head.
“No, I guess not. But something’s wrong.” I reached out to pet Tuffy, who usually was against all physical contact unless food was involved. He licked my hand and leaned closer in to Seth.