by Cy Wyss
Mutt was a Saint Bernard mix that had wandered into Stoker Hills one January, half-starved and all attitude. Of course PJ couldn’t leave him alone to the winter. She fed him and taught herself enough dog variations on animal language over the next few weeks to cajole him into becoming something like a pet. That was three years ago, and he’d mellowed to the point where he actually let her put a collar and leash on him. Looking at the broken end of the cord hanging from his collar, PJ realized she should probably use a metal chain instead.
She said, You know, you’re wearing a breakaway collar. You don’t have to chew through the cord. If you just pull hard enough, you’ll get out easily.
I know. But the last time I did that, you were mad at me for ruining the collar.
Well, those things are expensive. But, never mind. Are you ready for our mission?
For the last few weeks, there had been random break-ins in Stoker Hills. PJ was angry, but even more curious. She thought she had an idea who it was. She figured it was Trent, the seventeen-year-old high school dropout three trailers down from her who hung out with some very unsavory characters. Trent was brother to Alex, who had recently passed with Maija on their way to the festival. PJ thought it significant that Trent wasn’t with them. He’s probably staying in the Hills to cause trouble, she thought. In this case, she wanted to catch him and his buddies in the act. She wanted to film them, get some unequivocal evidence of their thieving ways. What she would do with the evidence, she hadn’t decided yet. She supposed there were at least three avenues to explore. Going to Maija was one option. But Trent and Alex’s dad was MIA, and Maija was an overworked caregiver who looked after Alex full time. PJ didn’t figure Maija would be able to corral Trent-the-irresponsible, since she already showed no sign of being inclined to do so.
It was too much, stealing from the neighborhood and terrorizing old Mrs. Cuthbert who lived in trailer 257 and nearly had a heart attack over their violations, not to mention over the loss of her wedding rings. Something had to be done, and PJ knew she was given her special power to address such things, FBI brother telling her to butt out notwithstanding.
Another option was to go to Trent himself and explain how he’d be tarred and feathered if he didn’t desist immediately. Being an optimist, PJ favored this approach. Unfortunately, she’d already tried to broach the subject with him and had been told to screw off, but not in such nice terms. That left reporting him to the authorities or, in fact, going for the public tarring and feathering she had alluded to in her not-so-successful conversation with Trent. Being an optimist had made her approach Trent first; being vengeful would make her go with the last option. She planned to publicize her footage of Trent’s thievery, once she obtained it. Decades of spending half her life as a cat had made her more than a little conniving, with a confidence far beyond that of a normal person. The sheriff, deputies, and FBI were her best friends and family, so she doubted she’d suffer any serious repercussions from Trent and his friends.
PJ was flooded with excitement at the prospect of catching the thieves in the act. She’d been patrolling the park at night for weeks, finding nothing, exasperated with herself when they broke into a trailer just next door to where she’d stopped for a catnap five days ago. Not tonight. Tonight she’d resist Morpheus and keep her amber eyes trained and her cat ears peeled. What were supernatural senses for a human were natural for a cat, and the thieves wouldn’t get anywhere near her home turf tonight without her knowing. She was virtually certain that the festival would bring out the thieves, since they’d be expecting most trailers to be empty of fairgoers. If PJ were a thief, tonight would definitely be one of her target nights.
Mutt watched PJ as she cogitated. He panted and waited. Finally, when she seemed to be nearing the conclusion of her introspection, he spoke up.
What’s the plan, PJ? Do you have one?
Of course I have a plan, you big galoot.
Mutt raised his chin and barked at the moon, two short, voluminous woofs.
Mutt, did you just thank the moon?
Maybe.
Weirdo.
Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.
PJ briefly glanced overhead where the crescent moon was eclipsed by a dark cloud. She shook her head.
Anyway, she said, Trent hates me, right?
Hate is too strong. I think he would push your human face in some dog food, but not bite your genitals off.
Right. Anyway, they won’t break into our trailer with you sitting out front.
But I’m not out front. I broke the cord and got away.
Exactly.
Huh?
PJ sniffed loudly. You’re not guarding our trailer. So I think they’re going to consider it a prime target.
Isn’t that a bad thing?
Not in this case, because we’re going to catch them in the act.
And bite them!
PJ flicked her ears. No, we’re going to film them.
Oh. That’s not as fun.
Come on, let’s look around.
They started a slow circuit of the ten acres encompassing Stoker Hills. PJ wove in and out of trees, through yards, under cinderblocked trailers, and under decks and swing sets. The scene was indistinguishable from a cloudy day to her because the crescent moon was still bright enough that her cat eyes missed nothing. Mutt followed PJ as best he could, his powerful nose to the ground.
At the other end of the park from PJ’s trailer was a particularly dingy, rusty single-wide with a car on blocks and assorted metal junk in its front yard. It was owned by a cantankerous old gentleman by the name of Chip Greene. PJ always thought of “Greene” as in “green with envy” because the man seemed so sour by nature and constantly derided others for their possessions.
PJ was sniffing a twisted piece that seemed to be a rusted truck bumper when there was a loud bang. Behind her, Mutt dropped to the ground with a shrill whine. PJ’s mouth fell open. Had Mutt just been shot?
Mutt! she yelled.
More shots followed. One zinged by and another pinged off the bumper PJ had been sniffing. Tears stung PJ’s eyes.
Mutt! Mutt!
She ran over and started licking his prostrate form. More shots echoed through the night, all of them wide. Then, suddenly, Mutt jumped up and started running. PJ followed as closely as she could.
Two more shots chased them off Greene’s property. Both volleys were swallowed somewhere in the night air, neither coming close to the animals.
When PJ and Mutt were halfway back to PJ’s trailer, Mutt stopped to catch his breath. PJ came up beside him.
What happened? Are you shot? Are you bleeding?
Mutt sat back on his haunches and started licking his side furiously. A bullet grazed me, he said, but it didn’t break through my fur.
PJ looked back in the direction of Greene’s trailer. Darn that old fart. He should be more careful. He could have killed us.
It’s just normal for him, though.
PJ nuzzled her friend. I almost had a heart attack. I thought you were killed.
Mutt stopped licking his side for a moment to plant a giant, wet lick on PJ’s head. She shook her head furiously after he retracted his tongue.
Ew.
* * *
At last they came back to PJ’s trailer.
Okay, time to hide and wait, PJ said. You sure you’re okay, Mutt?
“Woof!”
Shh, not so loud.
PJ climbed a large ash tree at the edge of her trailer’s lot. Mutt pushed into the underbrush until all that could be seen of him was his black-peppered snout. They waited. PJ cleaned her ears and face thoroughly. After several minutes, she called down to Mutt.
Shh—stop it.
What?
You’re panting. I can hear it from up here.
I’m hot.
Well, can’t you pant more quietly?
“Woof!”
They’ll hear you, dummy.
Mutt gave a soft whine and rested his face
on his forepaws.
Less than an hour later, PJ was nodding off, and Mutt was antsy.
“Woof!”
PJ’s eyes flew open. What?!
I smell someone. They are smoking.
PJ sniffed the air carefully. I don’t smell anything.
That’s because your nose is inferior.
PJ huffed. Fine. Where are they?
Mutt raised his face and spent a moment with his nose rapidly pulsating, like a frenetic accordion. They’re close. About five lots down.
You can smell them from here?
All the way to the other end of the park.
Mutt got to his feet and shook himself. The jingle of his collar seemed very loud to PJ in the stillness of the Hills. Shh, she warned.
I can’t stand this sitting and waiting. I’m going to check out that smoker.
Mutt, no.
But it was too late. Mutt had already broken from his hiding spot and was shuffling through the undergrowth toward whatever he smelled. It wasn’t long before he disappeared behind a nearby trailer. PJ sighed and settled back down to wait. I hope Mutt doesn’t scare them off, she thought.
* * *
PJ was half asleep by the time Trent and another youth showed up at her trailer. Their whispering gave them away. Her eyes snapped open, and she pushed forward on her branch, her whiskers vibrating meaningfully.
“Which one is it?”
Trent answered his friend in a low voice. “This one. I don’t see that stupid dog anywhere.”
“Okay, give me a second.”
Trent’s friend was significantly shorter than him. PJ could make out that he had darker hair and skin than Trent, but not much else. They were both wearing oversized T-shirts and Bermuda shorts with baggy pockets. Trent’s sneakers glowed in the night dimness; the other boy’s footwear was indistinct. It took him only a minute to pick the lock to PJ’s trailer, deadbolt and all.
Jeepers, PJ thought. Is that how safe I am? And where was Mutt? PJ didn’t smell any cigarettes and wondered if Mutt was off on a wild goose chase, following his nose to someone else.
Since she had first caught sight of Trent and his friend, she had been filming. She held her head in the air to give the camera in the gem of her collar a good view. She looked down her nose at the invaders. Once they’d picked the lock, they went inside quickly, shutting the door behind them. PJ wondered how long she’d be filming a closed door. She knew the infrared setting on her camera seemed to use more battery than the normal setting. She hoped the boys would come back out and incriminate themselves before the camera’s tiny battery gave out.
Minutes passed. PJ stopped filming. After another interminable wait, she heard the door rattle and immediately turned her camera back on. The door opened, and Trent emerged, clearly holding one of the sleek cat figurines PJ collected.
“I like this one better,” he was saying to the boy behind him.
The short boy emerged from the doorway just after Trent, holding out his hand. “Nah, this ring is way cooler.” Ring? PJ squinted down her nose at the short boy. On the second-to-last finger of his right hand, she could make out a blocky ring.
Oh, no, she thought. Not Dad’s class ring. Anything but that.
Her whiskers shuddered in protest. She moved forward, subconsciously ready to pounce and scratch the short boy’s eyes out. She had to work to get herself to stay on her branch, steadily filming.
Suddenly, the sound of heavy paws on gravel filled the air.
“Woof! Woof! Woof!”
Mutt came running from behind PJ’s trailer toward the boys.
“Oh, shit!” Trent screamed, all pretense of stealth forgotten as he raced down the steps and ran.
“Ahh!”
The short boy followed Trent, arms waving and pumping furiously as he sprinted to catch up.
Mutt chased them off the stoop and down the driveway, but then stood at the edge of PJ’s lot and barked at them as they receded into the distance. PJ was sure the entire park would wake up at Mutt’s vigorous yelling.
Mutt! Mutt! she cried, making her way down from her perch. Stop!
“Woof!”
He didn’t stop barking until she came up beside him and gave him a bop on the nose.
Ow! he said in a sharp whine.
Quiet! Do you want the entire neighborhood to be here? You know my neighbors have already complained about you. Do you want animal control sniffing up our butts?
No. Mutt hung his head. Did I do bad? Did you catch them on film like you wanted?
PJ stared into the darkness in the direction the boys had escaped. She certainly hoped she got some good footage. She hoped it would be clear what the boys were doing.
We’ll see, she said. Tomorrow.
— 3 —
Repercussions
Two days later, PJ sat in a booth at Coffee on Main, one of her favorite cafes on Main Street. It was newly renovated with big, plush booths and a pastel green interior. Above her, a big ceiling fan lazily circulated the warm air. She watched as her brother, Robert, came through the double glass doors from outside. It was another rainy day, and water drizzled from a gray sky. Robert shook off his umbrella and left it in a canister by the inner door. He looked around and discovered PJ sitting in a corner, then came over. He was carrying a newspaper. He smacked it down on the table in front of PJ and plopped himself into the booth across from her.
He was tall, six-one to PJ’s five-one, and good looking, with a bony jaw and bright sienna eyes. Robert’s dark hair was streaked with gray, and today he had it slicked back like a fifties greaser. PJ would have chuckled, but it was clear from his demeanor that today he would brook no sass. He sat heavily and motioned to the waitress for coffee.
“What in the heck did you think you were doing?”
PJ decided to play dumb. “About what?”
Robert pointed at the newspaper. It was yesterday’s edition of the Mayhap Mirror, replete with photos of the Stoker Hills break-in video all over the front page.
PJ smiled. “Oh. That.”
Robert sighed. “Damn it, PJ. What were you thinking?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. The footage arrived in my inbox Sunday morning. I couldn’t very well ignore it, so I wrote an article about it and submitted it to Mara.”
Mara O’Neal was the Mirror’s editor-in-chief and published all of PJ’s incredible photos. It was standing supposition that PJ took the pictures and video herself, but officially, PJ claimed an anonymous source mysteriously populated her email inbox with them. Of course PJ’s journalistic integrity wouldn’t let her reveal her source’s address. So far, no law enforcement agency had tried to force her. She figured since she was obviously on the side of law and order that she was safe from prosecution. Or so she hoped.
Robert crimsoned. “You could have been killed. Where were you? Up in a tree or something?”
“I had nothing to do with the footage. I was as surprised as you were when it appeared.”
Robert frowned. He stared at her, his light brown eyes fiery with indignation. His eyebrows rested heavily over his upper lashes.
PJ had gotten footage of the entire incursion. The front page of the Mayhap Mirror was filled with images of the break-in, from Trent and the short boy picking the lock on PJ’s trailer to Mutt chasing them down the steps and off the property.
“Do you realize they can sue you for libel? They haven’t been convicted of anything—or even arrested yet.”
“I was careful not to state an opinion of what they were doing. I simply drew attention to the images, and the reader can make his or her own judgment.”
The waitress dropped off coffee for Robert and refreshed PJ’s. Robert nodded his thanks and immediately took a generous slug of the soothing liquid. After he swallowed, he said, “You’re unbelievable.”
“I would say the police have more than enough probable cause now.”
“We should also have you arrested for aiding and abetting.”
“What?!”
“Did you call the police from up there in your tree?”
“Uh…”
If paws could work a smartphone, PJ might have. But, of course, she didn’t.
“See? Aiding and abetting. So you’re basically an accomplice who turned sour after the deal went down. If they decide to gang up on you and blame you as the ringleader, you’re totally screwed, sis.”
“Is that your professional opinion?”
Robert was silent.
PJ looked down at her coffee. “I wasn’t even there, Robert. I didn’t take those pictures.”
“I know that’s your story. If you weren’t there, where were you?”
“I was out looking for Mutt.”
“See, here’s the problem with that. You claim to have issues with darkness. And it’s dark in the pictures, PJ.”
“Well, I was wearing a headlamp. I can be out in the dark for a little bit, you know. I’ve been working on my phobia diligently. And I really wanted to make sure Mutt was okay.”
PJ recalled the mean old Greene shooting at them with his gun and grazing Mutt. She shuddered. One day Greene might have better aim, and where would poor Mutt be then?
Robert interrupted her macabre reverie. “So you basically have no alibi.”
PJ shook her head. “I won’t need one. I’m sure Trent and whoever his friend was won’t be clever enough to think of all this. By the way, do you have any idea who the second boy is?”
Robert ignored her question. “I’m clever enough to think of implicating you. And the boys’ lawyer will no doubt be cleverer than I am.”
PJ was annoyed. Robert might know who the short boy was, but due to professional responsibility to his organization, she was sure he wouldn’t tell her unless he had a good reason.
“Come on, Robert, we both know no one’s cleverer than you. That’s why you got to pick your assignment and come back home.”
“You’re in serious danger here, PJ.”
“Or maybe you aren’t that clever, since you did come back to this dead-end town instead of going somewhere cool like Chicago or New Orleans.”
“We’re not discussing my career. We’re discussing how to keep you out of jail.”