Baad Dog

by Sal Conte

  “There you are girl. I was worried about you. Looks like that tree just missed both of us.”

  Queenie leapt into his arms and began licking his face. That was a surprise.

  “I’m all right. It didn’t get me. I’m fine, girl.”

  He held her at arms-length and examined her. She seemed fine as well—a little dirty from the brush, but nothing a wipe down with a damp cloth couldn’t fix. She gazed at him, her tongue lolling; her breath panting.

  Harry all but laughed out loud. “There you are. I missed you.” He hugged her, pulling her close to his chest, ignoring the caustic odor. “This near tragedy awakened something in you, didn’t it, girl? You’re back. I missed you.”

  He set her down and got to his feet. Queenie danced around just like she used to do. This time he did laugh out loud. He felt like rejoicing. Queenie was back; his Queenie had returned to him. “Come on, girl.”

  Harry moved to the tree. He rummaged in the branches near where he thought his head had been. After a few moments, a huge crow emerged and flew away. Harry laughed again. “Thank you for not pecking my eyes out,” he hollered after the bird.

  Next, Harry examined the fallen tree. “We had a bunch of these several years ago,” he said to Queenie. “Some of these tall trees are urban transplants and have short roots. They can go toppling over like a drunken sailor.”

  Harry arrived at the base of the tree and looked in the hole. “Yep. Short roots,” he said to Queenie, who was staring quizzically up at him. “Don’t know what brought this one down, but we’d better call it in. Come on, girl.”

  Queenie stared curiously at the fallen tree and then up at Harry.

  “It’s over now. We’re safe. Come on.”

  He stepped back onto the road and began moving downhill toward the cabin. As relieved as he was that he’d escaped near disaster, he was more excited for his family to see the change in Queenie, who trotted along behind him, darting between his legs. That was the real miracle.

  When Harry got back inside, he found them all in the kitchen. The children were helping Pam put things away.

  “Look at Queenie, everyone. She’s acting normal again,” he said, pointing at Queenie, who sat at his feet, eagerly looking up at him.

  “Wonderful,” was Pam’s response in a tone that suggested she didn’t share Harry’s enthusiasm. She didn’t even notice that Harry’s clothes were rumpled, or the small scratches on his arms and face.

  Ariel and Jackson were excited. They whisked Queenie away, up the short flight of stairs to play in the room they were sharing, leaving Harry alone with Pam who continued looking for places to store the groceries they’d brought with them.

  With the children and Queenie out of the room, a palpable silence sprang up between them. The click and then smack of the opening and shutting of cabinet doors every few seconds was the only intrusion on the silence.

  Harry wanted to tell Pam that he nearly died out there, victim of a fallen tree. That ought to win him some sympathy. But he reasoned that a tree nearly falling on him would not bode well when he brought up the idea of them moving their children to the mountains. He decided to keep the near disaster to himself.

  “I’m sorry,” Harry said. He’d been standing for several minutes. Pam hadn’t cast a glance in his direction the entire time. His words were soft, yet seemed to explode in the stillness.

  “For what?” Pam asked, still not looking at him. Click… smack.

  “Umm… I’m not exactly sure. And I’m not trying to make light of it. I know I really hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

  A near smile appeared on Pam’s lips as she finally cast her gaze in his direction. She stopped what she was doing.

  “I know it has something to do with Queenie,” he said.

  Pam heaved a deep sigh. “Why did you tell the children Queenie could come up here to the mountains with us without talking to me about it first?”

  Harry stiffened. The smile had led him to believe his apology was working. Now he wasn’t sure. “I… didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “Bullshit. You knew I’d mind, which is why you didn’t consult me.” Pam’s eyes were on him, accusing eyes.

  “Okay. All right, maybe I did. But she’s our dog, a family member. We couldn’t just abandon her.” It was as if he’d been immersed in deep water and was paddling as fast as he could.

  “She killed a squirrel, Harry,” Pam said in a low, even tone.

  “We don’t know that,” he responded quickly.

  “You’re right. We don’t know which is exactly why she shouldn’t be up here with us. And now she’s alone with our children.”

  Scratch that, he wasn’t paddling in deep water, he was drowning in it. They were in the mountains, a magical place where they’d fallen more deeply in love. Being there was supposed to fix things.

  “She’s better now,” he said. “Practically back to normal. You saw her,” he said, trying to stay afloat.

  “Right,” Pam replied. Click… smack, louder this time as she went back to putting things away.

  “What do you want me to do, get rid of her?” Harry blurted.

  “Yes!” Pam blurted back. She again stopped what she was doing and fixed him with a penetrating gaze. “I want you to get rid of Queenie, and I don’t want you telling the children it was my idea. I want them to hear that it came from you. She’s here now, so there’s nothing we can do about it, but once we’re back in LA, I want Queenie gone.” Her searing gaze was fixed on him, her gaze so hot it almost burned.

  “But… she’s all better now,” Harry spluttered weakly.

  “You said that already,” was Pam’s curt reply. Click… smack. She went back to putting things away.

  *

  Ariel and Jackson were playing with Jackson’s trucks. The hard wooden floor made the trucks roll easier than they did on the carpet back at home—better for Jackson to crash them.

  Ariel didn’t like playing Crash. She thought it would be more fun to use the trucks to transport food to feed Princess Anna and Princess Elsa, her dolls, but Crash was Jackson’s favorite game, and he got pouty when she didn’t want to play. He started crashing the trucks into her dolls, and after a while she gave in. Sometimes it was hard being a big sister.

  “Next time we play my way,” she said sternly as Jackson crashed the dump truck into the tractor-trailer.

  “Okay,” he said, and then he crashed the trucks again.

  Queenie had been romping back and forth between them, but Ariel thought she was only pretending to play. Queenie had been spending an awful lot of time near the partially open bedroom door, and Ariel thought she was near the door because she was trying to listen in on what her parents were saying downstairs.

  Ariel couldn’t hear a word of what Mommy and Daddy were saying; they were too far away, but dogs had really good ears, and she figured computer dogs had even better ears. She’d been wondering about Queenie ever since the night she heard voices in Jackson’s room.

  What Queenie didn’t know is that Ariel could play pretend, too. She was really good at it. Right now she was pretending not to notice how much time Queenie was spending near the bedroom door.

  “Queenie, lookout!” Jackson called as he zipped the pickup truck across the floor. It barreled along and went crashing into the door. Queenie hopped over the truck just in time, and Jackson burst into laughter. “Just missed you,” he called.

  Queenie trotted over and licked him on the face. Minutes later, Jackson was back to crashing trucks, and Queenie was again playing near the bedroom door. Ariel pretended not to notice.

  Chapter Nine

  At exactly six forty-five a.m., Harry’s cell phone started vibrating.

  Catherine, he thought, waking from a restless sleep. An ice cube emerged in the pit of his stomach. This is it—the kiss off.

  The family’s first evening in the mountains had not gone as Harry had hoped. Ariel and Jackson didn’t want to roast marshmallows in the fireplace to make s’mores. T
hey were afraid lighting the fireplace would set the house on fire. Harry assured them that he and Pam had roasted marshmallows in that very same fireplace on many occasion. He told them how much fun they’d had, eating, ooey-gooey marshmallows from a spit in the old days before s’mores, but the children wouldn’t hear of it. Jackson began whining loudly, and Harry had to promise him he wouldn’t start a fire just to quiet him down. City kids.

  Pam was no help. She made a conscious effort to steer clear of Queenie. If no one else noticed, Harry did. After a hot dog and pork & beans dinner, she disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Harry to entertain the children alone.

  The only bright spot the entire evening was Queenie. He played Tickle Monster with the children and Queenie romped along, turning it into a game of Catch Me If You Can. Harry and the kids chased Queenie around the cabin into the night, and everyone was laughing. With the mountain trip starting out on such a sour note, Harry was thrilled to have the old Queenie back.

  “Hello,” Harry whispered loudly into the phone. He was already dancing up and out of bed so as not to wake Pam who was probably only pretending to be asleep.

  “Mr. Palmer? Harry Palmer?”

  “Yes. Yes, it’s me.” He was out of the room, easing shut the bedroom door.

  “It’s me, Beth. From K9-233.”

  “What the?” Harry looked at the clock above the mantle as he moved down the short flight of stairs. “Do you know what time it is?”

  “I’m sorry to call so early, but I found out some information you should know. It’s about your K9-233.”

  “Queenie?”

  “Her name was Samantha a few months ago.”

  Harry plopped down, sinking into the sagging cushions of the old sofa. The room was quiet and still. The sweet smell of the woods outside was in the air, bringing the outdoors indoors.

  “Beth, you’re calling me before seven in the morning and you’re not making any sense. Have you been drinking?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. No, I haven’t been drinking. I remembered your questions about your dog, and I did some research. I discovered your dog was the reason Archibald Galdensen was fired.”

  “Archibald was fired?” Harry asked, becoming interested.

  “Yes. Your dog is a return. It happens. Occasionally people are not happy with their K9-233s. When a return comes in they’re supposed to be sent back to the factory for their memory to be wiped, but Archie didn’t do that with yours. He simply added your requests to the dog’s existing memory.”

  “Why would he do something like that?”

  “Well… Money. He didn’t want to lose your sale by having you wait the month it takes to program a dog. People have been known to change their minds in that time.”

  He had me pegged from the beginning. Even though I kept insisting I didn’t want a mechanical dog, Harry thought. “Queenie was ready in a week,” he said.

  “I know. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Palmer. This may explain why your K9-233 has been acting strangely.”

  “Actually, she isn’t acting strange anymore. She’s back.” Harry lowered his voice. “To be honest with you, Queenie’s about the only good thing in my life right now.”

  “Oh. Okay. That’s good to hear. Nothing like a satisfied customer. I’d still like you to bring her in right away, so we can erase the other person’s life from her memory.”

  “No can do. We’re away for a little family vacation.”

  “Oh. Okay. Why don’t I do some more digging and get some background information on your K-9. It may help if she starts acting strangely again. But when you get back to town, you need to bring her in.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Harry said. He was thinking: Why fix what isn’t broken? He hung up.

  By the time Pam got up, she was in a much better mood. She came down and prepared what she called her lumberjack breakfast—carpet thick pancakes topped with fresh berries and a mountain of whip cream. Harry recalled Pam making the lumberjack breakfast when they’d escape to the mountains in the old days. Back then, she would tell Harry she was carbo-loading the both of them so they’d have all the energy they’d need for whatever. Hint, hint.

  After breakfast, Harry decided he and Pam should take the children on a short hike, to share the wonders of the area with them. It was an especially timely idea since they might be moving there.

  “Let’s go down to the old swimming hole,” Harry said.

  “Remember what Emile said about the swimming hole, Harry? It’s been polluted,” Pam reminded.

  “I know. But the kids have never seen it.” Harry recalled going down to the swimming hole and skinny dipping in the ice cold water on hot summer days, just the two of them. “It’s not like we’re going swimming in it. I just want to share our memories with them.”

  The cold front had moved in overnight as Emile had predicted, so Pam bundled the kids up for the excursion down to the swimming hole. Back in LA it was probably in the seventies, but here in the mountains there’d be a chill in the air until the sun was high in the clear blue sky.

  The morning had been so enjoyable for Harry, he’d lost track of his dog.

  “Hey kids, where’s Queenie?” he asked.

  Shrugs all around.

  His gaze moved to Ariel, all bundled up in a pink parka. “Didn’t she spend the night in your room?”

  “She was in bed with Jackson.” Ariel said.

  “She got up,” Jackson said quickly. “She said she had something to do.” Jackson’s ski jacket was bright blue. When Pam had picked it out, Harry complained it was a girly shade of blue. Pam countered that he’d be easier to find if they lost him in a crowd and Harry gave in.

  When Jackson spoke up about Queenie, Harry sensed Pam’s eyes on him. I want you to get rid of Queenie, and I don’t want you telling the children it was my idea.

  “The front door was locked, Tigger. Did you let her outside?” Harry asked keeping his voice calm.

  Jackson shook his head. “It wasn’t me.”

  Harry could sense another crying jag coming on. “Nobody’s blaming anybody for anything,” he said, realizing they were going to have to do something about Jackson’s lying sooner rather than later.

  They searched the cabin from top to bottom, including the tiny basement that they had declared off limits to the kids. The basement contained a narrow passageway that led to the root cellar. The passageway was dangerous, and the kids could get trapped in there while playing.

  After the search yielded nothing, they moved outside to continue searching. Harry headed off to look behind the cabin.

  “Daddy, you have a flat tire,” Ariel called.

  Harry’s Lexus SUV was parked on the dead leaves to the right of the cabin. As it turned out, Harry had four flat tires.

  “Christ,” he said, eyeing his car lying pancake flat on a bed of dead foliage.

  “What do you think?” Pam asked, trying not to let the children see her concern.

  “Jackson couldn’t have done this,” Harry said. “It’s got all the markings of a teenage prank. Kids up here have very little to do. It’s harmless.” He examined the flat tires more closely. “It doesn’t look like the tires are slashed, just deflated. We don’t need the car today. I’ll call the garage later and get someone to come up here with a compressor.”

  “You should call Emile, too, and ask him if he knows anything about these pranks,” Pam said. “And ask him if there’ve been any break-ins up here as well. Just to be safe.”

  “Queenie did it.”

  The small voice behind them belonged to Jackson.

  Harry and Pam turned and found little Jackson peering up at them.

  “She said she had something to do last night. She went outside and never came back.”

  “The door was locked, Tigger. Queenie couldn’t have gotten outside all by herself,” Harry said, circling back to the question he’d asked earlier. Did you let her out?

  Jackson continued staring into his father’s eyes. His look sugge
sted she actually could get outside all by herself.

  Pam knelt by Jackson’s side. “Why do you think Queenie would let the air out of Daddy’s tires, hon?”

  Jackson looked from one parent to the other, making a decision. “She said you and Daddy were bad.”

  Harry tried laughing it off, yet one look at Pam, and he could tell she didn’t see it as a laughing matter.

  I want you to get rid of Queenie, and I don’t want you telling the children it was my idea.

  Jackson was taking the imaginary friend thing way too far, and Pam was capitalizing on it, throwing Queenie under the proverbial bus. This was a simple case of Child Psychology 101. For some reason, Jackson was mad at them, and was pushing his anger off on Queenie. Harry sure as hell didn’t believe Queenie had let the air out of his tires. Even if she could do it, why would she? This was a teenage prank, plain and simple.

  “You know what, let’s go for our walk down to the swimming hole,” Harry announced. “We’ll look for Queenie later. She’s got some explaining to do,” he added in a sitcom voice, and rubbed has hand affectionately along the top of Jackson’s wool cap.

  Harry wanted to search for Queenie now, but the morning had gotten off to a good start. He needed to keep things on the positive side.

  As they walked along the trail toward the swimming hole, Harry kept his eyes and ears peeled, scanning the brush for his dog.

  “You agree with me that Jackson let Queenie out, don’t you?” he asked Pam as the children ran up ahead.

  “No,” Pam said.

  Harry glanced at her, surprised. She wasn’t looking at him.

  “Ariel?” he asked.

  Pam’s gaze moved to him and then quickly away. “Remember the day Queenie came back to life? We were in the kitchen. Queenie was staring at us, and I said she was calculating. Remember?”

  A sudden chill rolled through Harry’s belly. “I remember.”

  “I was thinking that Queenie was looking at us trying to figure out which one of us tried to kill her.”