Hit and Run

by Amy Shojai

  Shadow stiffened and stood at attention. His neck arched with interest. September glanced down at him and he woofed softly as he stared up into her face. His tail waved, eager.

  September nodded understanding, but tightened her grip on Shadow’s fur. Without taking her eyes off of the dog, she spoke quietly. “Detective Steele, my dog thinks he can find my bag. It’s still here somewhere. If not inside, then maybe dropped nearby. It could still have Chris’s evidence...”

  Steele crossed his arms, his eyebrows raised with mock surprise. “Your dog told you that? Read his mind, did you?” Sarcasm dripped, interspersed with impatience. “Sure, and my Barney and Milkdud will be the next big dog-and-cat winners on that big-assed TV talent show.” He called to the police officer in the doorway. “Put Ms. September here in a car.” His face tightened. “You can cool your heels until I’ve got time to debrief you. And, your dog damn well better not mess in the car.”

  When Steele turned away, September released her grip on Shadow’s ruff. “Find bag!”

  Steele yelled when Shadow leaped away. “What’s he doing?” He put one hand on his gun, but thankfully didn’t draw. “Call your dog. Dammit, I don’t have time for this!”

  September tried not to smile as she watched Shadow test the air for scent. “Shadow loves tracking games. If it’s here, he’ll find my bag. And maybe evidence about Angela’s murder.”

  Shadow made a beeline toward the house next door where looky-lous gathered on the porch. They squealed and backed away when he bulldozed through white drifts to reach the holly shrub on one side of the front steps. The dog stuck his head into the snow beneath the plant first on one side and then on the other. His front half disappeared, until only Shadow’s black haunches and wagging tail remained in sight. And then he backed out of the snowdrift, dragging the green canvas bag by the handle. Shadow dropped the handle momentarily, shook himself briskly, and then grabbed the strap once more and carried it proudly back to September.

  “Good dog, Shadow.” September motioned to Steele and watched as Shadow again picked up the bag, lugged it closer and deposited it at the detective’s feet.

  One of the porch gawkers, after a whispered conference with family members, called out to them. “We helped that other man collect the papers that spilled out. Was that okay?”

  “Well, I’ll be a swamp-toed nitpicker.” Steele hooked a thumb for one of the police officers to take the neighbor’s statement. He took off his glasses, polished them between the fingers of his gloves, but only managed to smear the lenses. He pocketed the glasses. “Neat trick. Don’t suppose you staged that little demonstration?”

  September bit back her retort. She’d be suspicious, too, given the circumstances. She fumed silently as he picked up her bag and fished inside to dig out the keys. Without a word, she allowed Steele to escort her to her car.

  Shadow stayed glued to her side, keeping his body between September and the detective. Steele watched closely when she opened the rear of the car, carefully unzipped her coat, and unhooked the cat’s claws from her sweater.

  “Good boy, Macy-cat. You’ve been through a lot. Chill, big guy, and I’ll be back soon.” She spilled some dry kibble into his bowl. September closed the car door, satisfied Macy would relax and sleep off his adventure after finishing his meal. She cocked one eyebrow at the detective and his look of surprise. “Need to search my car, too, I suppose? There’s a gun in the glove box. I’m licensed to carry.”

  “Good to know.” He eyed Shadow with suspicion. “You want to put up the dog, too, please.” When she would have objected, he held out his hands. “Granted, he’s well trained. I now remember your and Chris’s dog was too. But meet me halfway. Put him on a leash, so he doesn’t go dashing off and get himself shot.”

  She felt heat rise to her cheeks and nodded, accepting the short lead he found in her bag. Shadow happily slurped her cheek when she bent to hook him up.

  “Tell me what happened. Someone ambushed you, and killed Angela?” The green bag hung from his hand.

  “I don’t know if the same man attacked Angela. He wore a ski mask. He’ll have scald marks on his face where I threw hot coffee. And possibly cat bites through leather gloves. Macy tried to get him.”

  He smiled. “Resourceful. So noted.”

  “It bought me some time to get away. He called himself Mr. Bleak.” She remembered what he’d said, about her taking the blame. “Angela invited me to visit, but we kept missing each other. It’s all on the text messages on my phone. The cell phone’s in the bag, too.”

  “Not the story that I heard. Interesting. Don’t suppose you’ve got anything to support the invitation?”

  She pointed to her bag, and he allowed her to dig inside to find her phone. When prompted, she gave him the code to unlock it.

  He scrolled through the messages as she continued. “I’d left Macy—that’s my cat—in the guest bedroom. When we returned, I sent Shadow to check-it-out. That is, to clear the house of intruders.” The dog whined, his ears pricked, and he danced a jig, anticipating the action. She smiled, and put a calming hand on the white scar on his cheek.

  September watched Steele’s face as he perused the text messages. He poked a tongue into his cheek, and inhaled a long breath.

  “Shadow alerted that something was wrong, but he got shut outside in the back yard when the man ambushed me. He said he’d kill me, and make it look like Angela did it and then hung herself.” Tears finally threatened and she angrily dashed them away. “I didn’t know she’d been hurt, and was ... was dead ... until I ran to hide in the garage and found her.” She straightened her shoulders. “This Mr. Bleak ambushed me and shut off the power. I couldn’t get the garage door open. So when I found Angela’s car keys, I took the only way out.”

  “Drove a car through the garage.” Steele shook his head in amazement, and handed her back the phone. “That’s quite a story. But there’s no text messages on your phone, not from Angela or anyone else.”

  “What?” She grabbed it from his hands and quickly scrolled the history. Everything had been deleted. “That makes no sense. Wait. You could recover deleted text messages, right?” She grabbed at her bag and he watched her shuffle through the contents. “Damn! He took Chris’s files, too.” Her cell phone rang, but before she could answer, Steele took it back. His brow furrowed when he read the caller I.D. “How do you know Officer Teves?”

  “Tee? I helped train her police dog, Karma. Oh crap, I am supposed to pick her up at the airport.” She reached for her phone again, but Steele held it beyond her reach and answered.

  “Officer Teves, this is Detective Frank Steele of the South Bend P.D. I got a call from Detective Redford a little while ago, bringing me up to speed on your investigation.” He listened, raising one eyebrow at September. “Yes, I’m looking at her right now. Yep, she’s got a big ol’ black German Shepherd dog with her. And a cat.” He stifled a laugh. “So she’s not a nut-case after all? She’s legit? Wonders never cease.” He handed September her phone. “I want you at the station tomorrow morning. We’ll get your statement then.”

  She turned half away, whispered fiercely. “Tee? What’d you tell him? I’ve had a day from hell, and...”

  Tee cut her off. “You and me both. Did you get Macy from a breeder named Sissie Turpin?”

  September stopped, mouth open. What did that have to do with anything? “Macy was a gift from... Never mind.” The big Maine Coon was the only good thing to come out of those horror-filled years with Victor. “Yes, he came from that cattery. Why?”

  “Give your phone back to Detective Steele.”

  “C’mon, Tee, what’s going on? I planned to visit the cattery sometime during my visit here. Before everything went to hell, that is. So what should I know?”

  After a brief silence, Tee sighed loudly. “I think Turpin helped orchestrate a decades-long conspiracy. And the cats may hold the key.”

  Chapter 29

  SHADOW WAITED FOR SEPTEMBER to unhook the shor
t leash and stuff it in her pocket. He hopped into his usual backseat perch in September’s car, next to where he’d left bear-toy, but watched anxiously until she climbed behind the wheel. Only then did he begin to relax. He whined softly, still anxious about all of the strangers milling around the house. Shadow rarely had reason to threaten and even fewer occasions to bite. But scary people made indelible impressions. He knew the man’s scent, and the taste of his boot. Shadow swiveled his head, cocking his ears and huffing the cold air, ever watchful for the limping stranger.

  There! Far in the distance, quickly walking away. He could see movement far away much more clearly than things closer to him. Shadow growled again and pawed the window button. He stuck his nose out when the glass scrolled down. The man’s scent rode the wind, colored with anger and fear, and some murky emotion that spoke of dread. The man climbed into a distant car.

  Some people like Steele naturally commanded authority, never needing more than tall posture and direct stares. Others, like the departing man, used words to mean one thing while their body said something else. Bad people demanded obedience with sticks, fists, and guns, lying to themselves about their worthiness.

  Good-dogs could always tell the difference. Even when the tall detective pointed a gun at him, Shadow knew Steele didn’t want to shoot. He just used the gun like a dog’s warning snarl to say, back off! Shadow could tell Steele had no heart for blood-letting. Oh, he’d shoot, but only if necessary.

  Not like the burn-faced man. Shadow whimpered under his breath. That bad-man didn’t bluff the way dogs did, to avoid hurtful confrontations. No, he delivered on every threat. The scent of intent didn’t lie.

  “Shadow, you’ll let out all the warm air.” September sharpened her voice into a command. “Window.” His ears drooped but he pawed the button again at her direction, so the glass closed. September fiddled with something on her own door. “I wish the child locks were set-and-forget, so I don’t have to remember each time. You’re too smart.”

  He sighed. He learned from an early age to obey people, even if it made no sense to a good-dog. September knew much more than Shadow and could do wonderful, exciting things like make cars go fast, and create warm air gusts to thaw a dog’s cold paws.

  But sometimes dogs knew better than people, even than September. So Shadow paid careful attention to what September asked of him. He mostly did as she asked, because they loved each other and he trusted her. But sometimes he had to ignore her requests when it meant keeping her safe. He’d made a mistake today when he got locked in the yard away from her. He wouldn’t let that happen again.

  Crippled with a blind nose, and deaf to all but the loudest noises, September—really, most all humans—couldn’t tell bad people from good ones, scary situations from safe. For a long time, to compensate for these deficits, September kept everyone at a cautious distance, even him. But the more she learned to trust Shadow, and special friends like Combs, the happier she became. Shadow wanted September happy, so she didn’t suffer from any more terrifying gone-times. But the more she relaxed, the more Shadow’s responsibility grew to keep them both safe.

  His tummy growled.

  “I heard that. We missed dinner, didn’t we?” September half-turned in her seat, to reach back and gently rub his ear. “I think we all deserve some treats.”

  He thumped his tail and licked his lips. Macy, in the carrier in the rear cargo area, meerowed loud agreement at the treat word. Shadow leaned hard against her hand, grateful to have September’s attention all to himself. He almost didn’t care about the missed meal. Almost.

  His paws ached from the snow. He licked and nibbled away the ice that crusted fur between his pads. Shadow enjoyed snow, but he’d been out in the weather far longer than usual.

  “Detective Steele won’t let us back into the house to get our stuff, at least not for a while. We’ll figure something out for food.”

  Shadow tipped his head at the word, and licked his lips.

  “Drive-through on the way to the dog park it is. We need to meet some old friends. You remember Karma?” She fiddled with something and the hot air rushed louder.

  Arching his neck, Shadow leaped to his feet. He stared through first one side window and then the other, tail waving. Karma! Where? A burbled whine turned into a frustrated bark.

  September laughed. “I guess you do remember your girlfriend. Settle down, Shadow.” Her voice turned somber. “You and Karma can have a play date, while Tee explains what she means by a feline conspiracy.”

  Chapter 30

  SOUTHGATE PULLED UP to his house in the exclusive neighborhood, grateful the snow had abated. Bright lights streamed from the windows and tasteful white sparkle lights in the shrubs and front trees created a holiday picture worthy of Hallmark.

  He drove past his in-laws’ sedan parked to one side on the massive driveway. Southgate punched the opener and the garage door rolled upwards, revealing his wife’s car on one side. His son’s sporty coupe fit neatly into the third slot, right next to the small sailboat temporarily in storage for the winter. He sat for a long quiet moment behind the wheel, listening to the tick-tick-tick of the engine cooling and the grating as the garage door closed. Already over an hour late, he’d need a good story.

  “You can do this.” He looked in the mirror, smoothed his hair and tested a couple of smiles. Roxanne would expect him to be pleasant, at the very least. Her parents wouldn’t care, their mutual dislike set aside only for holiday appearances, but he couldn’t disappoint Paul. He’d never seen his son in a bad mood. The young man’s mere presence made others smile in delight. Southgate loved his daughter Sharon dearly, but Paul held his heart.

  Now, as his world crumbled around him, Southgate struggled how to salvage the situation. He’d risked everything to keep his secrets hidden. He’d been careful, dammit! No matter what the voice on the phone insinuated, nothing but speculation and circumstantial evidence linked him to Angela’s death. Southgate straightened his shoulders, unlatched the seatbelt, and climbed out of the car. He knew the law. And if worst came to worst, he had the resources to fund a legal battle, and the backing of respected people of power. He’d be fine. Hell, a little scandal these days gave one’s reputation a certain patina.

  Southgate limped through the garage door into the kitchen, still angry about his encounter with September’s dog, and called with forced cheerfulness to announce his arrival. “Something smells marvelous, Roxanne! Hey Paul, what’s new with you?” He congratulated himself on his jovial tone as he shrugged off his soaked overcoat and wiped his shoes on the mat.

  His cell announced a text and he quickly scanned the message from Sharon.

  >Running late with the storm.

  The drive from Chicago could be treacherous. He quickly texted back, encouraging his daughter to find a hotel rather than risk driving.

  >No, I’m already past the worst. C U in 20 min.

  Argumentative. Always had to have the last word. Just like a lawyer. Yep, his daughter, all right.

  The white floor tile and pale yellow walls shined in the overhead lights. Roxanne liked bright colors, and the matching yellow counter-top, edged with blue paisley tiles, could have been the cover of a high-dollar home decorating magazine. A number of liquor bottles, including Roxanne’s favorite wine and Southgate’s preferred sipping Haitian rum, shone on the kitchen island. He filled a squat glass with ice and poured a generous serving of Barbencourt, downing half the amber drink before topping it off once more.

  A keening trill echoed in the room. An enormous black and white longhaired cat sidled into the kitchen, fur a-bristle and eyes dilated. She hissed and growled.

  Southgate froze. What was wrong with the beast?

  “Paul, come get your cat. Kahlua’s gone nuts.” The animal, usually quite friendly, would sometimes ignore everyone but Paul. Maybe the cat smelled the dog on him. “Paul? Something’s wrong with your cat.”

  Paul didn’t answer. For the first time, Southgate noticed the oppressiv
e quiet of the house, not even the clink of cutlery breaking the silence. “Roxanne? Where is everyone?”

  He edged around the room, pressing his back to the wall. Southgate clutched his drink like a talisman, but kept his focus on the Maine Coon cat that continued her low ululating whine. She rubbed against the yellow wall and her fur painted a red smear.

  “Paul? Roxanne!” He ran from the kitchen into the adjoining formal dining room. And skidded to a stop.

  The celebratory dinner still cooled on holiday serving platters. Southgate’s family—Roxanne, her parents, a girl he didn’t recognize, and Paul—oh dear God in heaven, Paul!—sat vacant-eyed and slack-jawed around the table, as if awaiting the guest of honor to take the last empty seat at the head of the table. None moved. Not a breath stirred the pine-scented candles burning in the centerpiece.

  “Took you long enough. Take your seat. Yes, right there, next to your daughter.” The stranger entered from the living room. Tall, nondescript. Red inflamed skin covered half his face. He wore a black knit watch cap that hid his hair, and large aviator sunglasses that covered most of his expression. A gun in one gloved hand leveled at George.

  George looked around blindly, tears clouding his vision. His chin quivered. “Why?”

  But he knew. He hadn’t been able to clean up the mess. Kaliko Wong sent this man to finish the job. Southgate recognized his own gun in the man’s grip and understood the story to be told—every murder–suicide demanded a narrative. This scalded-face puppet-master, the voice on his phone, forced his return to Angela’s house. Detective Steele would find concrete evidence of Southgate’s guilt. And that would be enough for the police, and the public, to buy into what came next.

  “I said, sit down. Right there, by Sharon.” He motioned with the gun.

  George fell into his chair, the drink clunking on the table beside his plate. His hands clutched the pristine holiday tablecloth in front of him. He eyed the sterling place settings, used only during holidays, leaving his right hand near the knife. He couldn’t catch his breath. The shock weighed his limbs, he moved through molasses.