Woof at the Door

by Laura Morrigan

  “Workin’ on it.”

  I watched as the men moved over to a large bookcase. Jake’s back was to me; CSU Guy had a nice profile. A bit exotic—strong angles and high cheekbones. His eyes scanned over the framed photographs and trophies that lined the wooden shelves.

  He pointed to a photo. “If I remember, he and his girlfriend recently had a very public breakup . . .”

  “Already on that, too.”

  The woman, who I assumed was the medical examiner, stood and turned to the men. “Liver temp puts time of death at around four thirty a.m. or so.” She pulled off her gloves and began placing her equipment back in her case. “Looks like the single shot to the head is the cause. I’ll know more once I get him cleaned up. I’ll run a tox screen and page you if anything turns up.”

  “Thanks, Maggie.”

  “You got it.” She pointed toward the back of the room, where a bank of French doors lined the wall. “What about him? The poor baby’s going crazy out there.”

  “Animal control was supposed to be here an hour ago,” CSU Guy said. “They got tied up out in MacClenny, helping Baker County deal with twenty-five half-starved pit bulls.”

  From where I stood, I still couldn’t see the dog. Furniture blocked my line of sight. But I could hear him, barking with every breath.

  “He doesn’t seem very sociable,” Maggie, the ME, said.

  She was right. Anyone trying to get a leash on him would probably have ended up in the hospital. That, or the dog would be shot. Maybe both.

  Jake let out an affirmative growl at the comment, waved a thick hand toward the doors. “The chief’s already been chewing my ass, and now we got Cujo here wanting a taste of it, too.” He mopped his brow with a limp handkerchief. “I got a call in to an animal trainer. She should be here soon.”

  That was my cue. No more stalling.

  I abandoned my column and started forward, stopping just behind CSU as he said, “She? You really think a woman will be able to handle him? What’s she bringing, a stun gun?”

  So much for thinking he was cute. “That won’t be necessary.” My tone was crisp, and as he turned, I gave him a look that could, and in fact had, stopped a polar bear in its tracks. I let my gaze roam over him in appraisal and cocked my head. “I’ve handled much worse.”

  I’ll say this, the guy had the good grace to seem sheepish and shot me an apologetic smile. I ignored it and turned to Jake. “Detective.”

  Jake made a quick introduction. “Grace Wilde, this is Sergeant Kai Duncan. Kai is with the Crime Lab.”

  I nodded curtly at Sergeant Duncan and turned back to Jake. “What’s the story?”

  Jake pointed at the back door. “Big Dobie in the backyard, seems to be trained as a guard dog. Got a nasty cut on his nose, and he’s pretty freaked out.”

  Understatement. “I’ve got my medical kit in my truck. I could calm him down, get the kit, and sew him up, but it would probably be best if I take him with me until you find out who will want to claim him.” I glanced at the body. “He doesn’t need to stay here.”

  “I don’t see a problem with that. Kai, you need to go over the dog for anything?”

  Kai shook his head. “It doesn’t look as though the killer would have made contact with the dog. If he had, we’d probably be processing two bodies.”

  Jake snickered at that and smiled at me. “Don’t I wish. He’s all yours.”

  Showtime. I walked forward, past the couch, to where I could finally see the dog. A slice of red ran down a cut on the side of the Doberman’s nose. As he barked, blood and saliva were hurled at the glass between us.

  I stopped and knelt in front of the French door. I had already calmed myself. Now it was time to work on him. With one final deep breath, I opened my mind to the dog. I was immediately overwhelmed with emotions—desperation, alarm, betrayal. Images of violence and pain flooded my mind. I pulled my thoughts away from the awful torrent and tried to drag the dog with me. Okay, it’s okay. It’s not your fault.

  The Doberman stopped snarling. I filled the space in our linked minds with white haze. Calm nothingness pressed out the horror.

  I whispered aloud, “All right, boy, I’m going to help you.” Slowly, I stood and turned. “The officer that brought me in told me not to touch anything. Would you open the door and let me out?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Sergeant Duncan stepped forward. “You sure?”

  I arched a brow and waited. He moved to the door and turned the knob with a gloved hand.

  I slipped out as the door swung in. Dogs communicate in several ways. Smell, touch, sound. But most important is energy. My energy was different than any other human the dog had encountered. I was connected to his mind. I sent him waves of calm, alpha energy. I will lead you. I will help you.

  His master was gone. His job to protect fractured into uncertainty. Confusion and fear dominated his mind. I had to fill the void.

  Again, I knelt in front of the dog.

  It’s all right. Good boy. I felt him relax measure by measure.

  The cut on his muzzle wasn’t that deep; a few stitches would work. I just needed to get him out of here. Reaching out slowly for his tags, I flipped past the license and looked over the two round brass plates. One was engraved with the word JAGUARS and what looked like a phone number. The second had what I was looking for—his name.

  “Hey, Jax. That’s a good boy.” As I spoke in a soothing monotone, I sent wave after wave of my energy and moved to stroke his sinewy neck.

  The giant dog slowly collapsed and rolled over to expose his belly. Jax, good boy.

  I smiled down at him as I scratched his rib cage. “Yes, you’re a good boy, Jax.” After several minutes, I knew I would be able to lead him out of the house and to my Suburban. “Okay, let’s go get you fixed up.” The dog rolled onto his feet. I grasped his thick leather collar and walked him through the door. I made sure to position myself between the dog and the body as we walked by the couch. He hesitated, and I paused for a moment.

  The Doberman whimpered softly. Gone?

  I placed my hand on the dog. Yes, I’m sorry, boy. He’s gone. I felt the massive dog begin to tremble. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to ignore the renewed torrent of emotions that swirled through me. “Come on, come with me.” Gently, I led the quaking dog out of the room.

  As we reached the front door, I heard Sergeant Duncan say, “Well, that was impressive. Is she a dog whisperer or something?”

  Jake grunted. “She’s something all right.”

  I smiled. One point to Team Grace.

  • • •

  I stood under the near-scalding water and spread more of my sister’s twenty-dollar shampoo through my long hair.

  No matter how many times I lathered, no matter how hot the water, I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t clean. The images of blood and death kept creeping in to pollute my mind.

  I’ve never been very good at dealing with suffering. In veterinary school, I told myself I would get used to it. That I would be able to block out the pain, the nauseating fear. But I couldn’t. I’d gotten better at dealing with it through the years, but it still took its toll emotionally. In the clinic, every time an animal had been brought to me, I knew its thoughts, felt its terror and pain. It should have made me a better vet. It didn’t.

  “But it makes you a damn good animal trainer,” I muttered to the showerhead. I had yet to meet a creature great or small I couldn’t work with. It was laughable to think that I couldn’t handle a Doberman, as Sergeant Duncan had assumed.

  I knew what he saw when he looked at me. A petite, curvy little thing who needed help opening her peanut butter jar.

  Okay, so jars had been known to give me problems in the past, so what? I have small hands. But that’s not the point. Hot guys think they
can use their looks to make up for bad behavior. Like Hugh, who assumed he was smart enough not to get caught in his womanizing ways. It’s funny the things people will do when they think no one is watching. Even people who work with animals every day don’t count them as witnesses. I know better.

  My ability to communicate with animals isn’t exactly public knowledge. I don’t talk about what I can do. For one, everyone would think I was a loon. For another, it comes in handy from time to time for people, like hot guys who’ve finally talked you into going on a date with them, to assume what they say and do behind the Elephant Barn is private. Not that I spy. I don’t. Much.

  My friends are like anyone else’s—four legs and fur aside—misbehave and they’ll tell me.

  My sister, Emma, who hounded me like a beagle after a jackrabbit to go on more dates, would argue that I was being unfair. I had blown Hugh off countless times. Just because I’d finally decided to say yes the next time he asked me on a date did not a commitment make.

  Details.

  One male I do trust? My dog, Moss. Though being half wolf, he’s technically a hybrid, interspecies mutt or not, the big guy never lets me down. He had even companionably sniffed the Doberman when I’d brought him to the condo. No territorial posturing, just an offer of friendship.

  I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower into the steamy bathroom. The Doberman was lying on the sleek black-and-white marble floor. He raised his head and looked up at me.

  “Hey, Jax. You feeling better?”

  He wagged his nub tail. The cut on his face looked much better. The sedative I had given him so I could clean and suture the wound had calmed him down considerably. Now his thoughts were hazy. No shocking memories of violence and panic. Later, maybe tomorrow morning, I would try and make sense of the jumbled images he had communicated to me, but for now it was best to let him feel calm and safe.

  The truth was, I didn’t really want to know what he remembered. I assumed from where Jax had been in the backyard that he’d had a clear view of Mark Richardson’s murder. I also guessed from the impressions he’d given me so far that he had, in fact, witnessed what happened. What I didn’t know was if the cops had a suspect, or evidence that pointed them in the right direction. I hoped so. Telling the cops that their only witness was a canine was not something I wanted to do. Especially if said canine relayed crucial information for them through me.

  I groaned at the thought of how that conversation would go.

  The sound of the front door opening had Jax scrambling to his feet. A low growl vibrated in his throat. Protective tension radiated from him like heat off asphalt.

  Easy, Jax. It’s okay. I quieted him with soothing thoughts. “That’s just my sister, Emma—”

  “Grace! I do not believe this!” My sister’s annoyed voice streamed from the living room.

  Crap. I grabbed a thick, oversized towel, wrapped it around me, and zipped through the bedroom I had been calling home for the last two weeks. My sister loved me enough to house me while I looked for a new home. She and Moss . . . different story.

  Jax was close on my heels as I skidded down the hall to the living room.

  Emma stood, hands on her hips, scowling at Moss. “That couch is made of Venetian silk, you beast. Off!” She shooed the dog and bent to pick up a displaced pillow from the floor. Her stylishly cut dark hair fell across her face, hiding her frown for a moment. “Grace!”

  I shot a weary glance at Moss. Really? Would it kill you to stay off the couch?

  He slid slowly off his perch and walked over to plop down onto the antique Persian rug.

  “Sorry, Em. As soon as I find a place, we’ll be out of your hair.”

  My sister continued to glare at Moss, who had begun to scratch fervently behind an ear, sending tufts of downy white fur flying. Emma shook her head. “I swear, he just does it to spite me—” She broke off as she turned and noticed the huge Doberman standing next to me.

  Here we go.

  Emma raised her perfectly pruned eyebrows and pointed at the dog. “What the hell is that?”

  I plastered on a bright smile. “This is Jax.” I introduced him like I would a long-lost relative. When Emma remained silent, glowering down at me like a lithe Amazon in four-inch spiked heels, I felt my smile falter. No one intimidated me like my older sister. It was genetic. I could stand up to wild horses, but Emma’s scathing glare always made me flinch. “I’m sorry. I know I promised that I wouldn’t bring any wayward animals to your place, but I had to. I got a call today—”

  “I don’t want to know Grace, really.” Shaking her head, Emma turned and stalked into the kitchen. “Mr. Cavanaugh called again to bitch that Moss was howling. The geriatric old goat swears his life is being ruined because he can’t watch reruns of The Golden Girls without having to come over here with his sticky notes. Now you bring home another dog?”

  I ignored the comment about our curmudgeon of a neighbor. The man was an ass. If he heard so much as one bark from my sister’s condo, he complained and wrote wacky notes and taped them to the door.

  I followed Emma into the kitchen. Leaning against the smooth granite counter, I glanced down at Jax, who had dutifully trailed me into the room. “You heard about Mark Richardson?”

  “Of course.” Emma pulled a bottle of Chardonnay out of the wine fridge and began uncorking it. “It was all over the news. Why?”

  I watched my sister pop open the wine and set the cork aside. “Jax was his dog. I had to pick him up from the crime scene.”

  Emma almost dropped the crystal wine goblet she was lifting out of the cabinet. “What?” Astonished, she looked from me to the Doberman. “Good grief, Gracie. Did he see what happened?”

  “I’ve only been able to pick up some raw emotions from him. But yeah, I think so.”

  Emma stared at me a moment longer, her beautiful face made only more compelling by the concern in her dark eyes. “And they just let you take him?”

  “Why wouldn’t they? I’m licensed. He’s being officially quarantined.”

  She slowly shook her head, poured two glasses of wine, and handed one to me. “Are you going to tell the cops?”

  “Tell them what?”

  “Grace—”

  “What do you want me to do, Em? Tell them that I can communicate with animals telepathically? That Jax may have seen who killed the governor’s son, and if he tells me who did it, I’ll be sure to call?”

  She frowned into her glass. “It sounds a little crazy when you put it like that.”

  “It sounds a lot crazy.” I took a long sip of the cool Chardonnay.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “The only thing I can do. If I get anything clear from Jax, I’ll figure out a way to tell the police.” I sighed, swirling the wine. “Then they can put me in one of those nice padded cells.”

  “I hear they can be pretty relaxing.” Emma smiled. “You know, like a quiet getaway. No phone. No Internet.”

  “No wine.”

  “I’ll bring you wine.” Emma tapped her glass against mine. “You know, not everyone thinks it’s crazy to be able to talk to animals.”

  “You’re right, the Pet Psychic even had her own TV show,” I said with mock admiration.

  “I’m serious, Grace. I think you should tell people.”

  I groaned. “It’s not like when we were kids and it was fun to get the dog to spy on the Fisher brothers.”

  “You never know. I bet there are plenty of people who would think your ability is a real gift, but you never really open up to anyone. I mean, you never even gave Hugh a chance. He was perfect, a vet, who works at the zoo. He has to know what you do isn’t just luck. Bonus—he’s got that whole rugged manly-man thing going on.”

  “He was hooking up with one of the keepers!”

 
“Says the elephant.”

  “Who’s a reliable source.”

  “Why would you care? You had already made it clear you wanted nothing to do with him. You never went on a single date with the guy, and you blacklist him because he didn’t get himself to a monastery when you blew him off?”

  “I didn’t trust him.”

  “You don’t trust anyone.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “It is when you won’t give anyone a chance.”

  “Here we go.” I rolled my eyes. The topic of my social life, or lack of it, was something my sister never tired of rehashing. That and bugging me to join her in her daily martial arts class. I wasn’t sure which was worse.

  “I mean it,” Emma went on. “You never go to parties with me.”

  “Your parties are about schmoozing. I don’t schmooze.” Emma was the premier party planner in Jacksonville. She wasn’t a social butterfly; she was a social condor.

  “And you haven’t been on a date in over a year.”

  “I have, too.”

  “Going to the New Year’s Eve party with Wes doesn’t count.” Emma grinned at me. “Only dates with straight men count.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “I know, your social schedule is sooo demanding.” Emma blinked at me in faux-wonder. “How do you manage it?”

  I had just opened my mouth to snap out a retort when the phone rang.

  Emma picked up the receiver. “Hello?” A sly smile slid across her face. Her voice turned to velvet. “Why yes, she’s right here.” Emma covered the receiver and teased in her best adolescent whisper, “It’s a boy!”

  I snatched the phone from her. “Yes?”

  “Grace Wilde? This is Sergeant Kai Duncan from the Crime Lab; we met earlier at Mark Richardson’s residence.”

  His voice was warmer then I remembered—more open. “I remember you, Sergeant Duncan.” Too well, apparently.

  “Please, call me Kai.”

  “What can I help you with, Kai?”

  “It’s in regards to the Doberman. We need you to fill out a couple of forms, stating that the dog is temporarily in your custody.”