The screened-in patio behind the house was in better shape too, because we’d replaced the weathered screens and rotten wooden frames. Once we treated and painted the frames, the screened-in patio appeared to be brand new. When we arrived home, we carried the surfboards into the patio area and leaned them against a wall. We peeled off the wetsuits we wore over our bathing suits and hung them up.
Brien dashed indoors to the fridge and grabbed the milk. Obviously, still starving from his superhuman effort, Brien dumped cereal into an enormous bowl. He poured milk over it, and then drained the container of milk dry. While he ate, I stowed the items from our backpack, glancing at my phone to make sure I hadn’t missed a call from Bonnie. Brien caught me and spoke before he shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
“Why don’t we check on the dog during our lunch break?”
“That’s a great idea. We’re on the same wavelength,” I replied as I joined him at the bar that separates the kitchen from the living room. I fixed myself a smaller bowl of cereal and dumped fresh blueberries into both our bowls. “I’d love to see how he’s doing. Maybe if Bonnie finds a microchip, she’ll have located his family by then.” I’m sure I sounded disappointed even though that had to be the best outcome for the dog.
“You like him, don’t you, Gidget?” I nodded.
“He’s an amazing dog. What I can’t understand is how his owners could have let that happen to him. If he fell overboard, why didn’t they call for help? Where were they? Why weren’t they looking for him?”
“Bonnie will ask them questions like that if she reaches them by phone. She seemed a little steamed to me.”
“As she should be! Dogs have licenses; maybe their owners ought to be required to have them, too.”
“Uh, that’s not likely. You don’t need one to have a kid. Why would anyone make you get one for a pet?” I gave Brien a hug. Despite his congenial nature, his childhood is still a sore spot. He hugged me back, and the big smooch I gave him brightened his mood.
As soon as Brien let me go, he went back to scarfing down his cereal. I finished first, rinsed my bowl, and then headed toward our bedroom to take a shower. We have a tiny closet-sized master bathroom which is fine, but it’s not easy for both of us to squeeze in there at the same time. Suddenly, an image of the dog’s collar flashed through my mind.
“I’ll bet he and his owners are in town for the regatta. His collar looked red at first, but it has stars and stripes on it—perfect for a Fourth of July event.”
“You could be right, but locals could put snazzy holiday collars on their dogs, too.”
“That’s true. I just thought if they weren’t from around here, they might not have known who to call for help, and…” A puzzled look came over Brien’s face. “It’s a lame attempt to come up with some excuse for why they didn’t try to save their dog.”
“Well, I wasn’t going to bring this up until we had more information. There’s only one reason I can come up with that could explain how the dog ended up in the water, and why his owners didn’t call for help.”
“I didn’t want to head down that path either. I know what you’re going to say—someone shoved them overboard, too. Piracy, maybe, if someone hijacked their boat.” Brien pursed his lips and nodded his head up and down slowly and emphatically.
“That’s one way to stop them from rescuing their dog. Even if it happened some other way, my guess is it was foul play!” Brien exclaimed.
“Let’s hope we’re both wrong. Maybe they fell asleep on the boat or got hammered from Mimosas they drank with breakfast at sunrise and didn’t notice their wonderful dog fell overboard.”
In my gut, I felt that was hogwash. Still, I hoped my gut was wrong. After our previous tangles with murder and mayhem—here, and as part of Jessica Huntington’s “Cat Pack” out in the desert—I wasn’t looking forward to more trouble so soon after our move to Corsario Cove. We were still settling in and learning the ropes at our new jobs.
I also know that there’s no way Brien and I could resist trying to discover who’d done such a thing to a helpless animal. If the dog’s owners weren’t victims of foul play, then shame on them. The dog didn’t deserve such a fate. I quit stewing about it. Once Brien hit the surf to save the dog, we were already on the case. That conclusion triggered another worry.
“I can already see ‘Twitchin’ Mitchum’ wagging his finger in our faces if we suggest foul play to him. We’d better have a good reason, and evidence to back it up before we say a word about any of this to him.”
Twitchin’ Mitchum’s our pet name for Detective Bernie Mitchum. He’s the local member of the San Albinus Police Department who investigates homicides and other serious crimes in the area. He’s an antsy guy who shuffles his feet a lot. For some reason, we make him extremely twitchy.
“Mitchum’s one reason I wasn’t going to mention it. Sometimes he’s okay, but other times, he’s like our nemesis,” Brien said, pronouncing the word as if it was spelled with two “e’s” in the middle. I must have looked a bit puzzled. “You know, like the goddess of vengeance or an archrival who hopes to be your undoing? Hang on a sec.”
He took a little card from his wallet that I’d set in front of him on the breakfast bar. Bent on self-improvement, Brien carries a card like that with him everywhere. Each week he has ten words or so that he learns, hoping to enlarge his vocabulary. If someone uses a word that’s unfamiliar to him, he’ll ask them to spell it and will add it to that week’s list.
“Sorry. It’s ne-me-sis, isn’t it?”
“Yep!” I said, giving him a kiss. “Let’s get to work before you become my undoing.” Brien smiled and then held me close. “That’s not helping, but you’d better hurry, or we’re going to be late.”
“Will do,” he said and sped up the pace of the kisses he placed all over my face, making me laugh. “I made something for you. It’s on the table next to your seat on the sofa.”
“Really?” I asked as he dashed off to shower. I found a polished piece of wood in the shape of a surfboard next to my seat. On it, Brien had carved and burned or stained the words “Love Shack.” Our initials were on it too, surrounded by a little heart. The sign would fit perfectly above the front door. My heart was about to burst as I ran to thank the miracle called Brien.
∞∞∞
At lunchtime, Brien came to a halt on the golf path in front of the resort administrative offices where I help manage personnel and guest records. Sometimes, if the webmaster needs help, I’ll write posts for the internal website or help update the public website. On my break, I’d taken a few minutes to search the Internet for news about a missing dog or boat.
Word had leaked about the early morning rescue of a “Dog with No Name” from beyond the cove. Brien hadn’t been named, but the rescue effort was described in some detail and was attributed to an unknown surfer previously seen at The Sanctuary Resort & Spa. I felt certain reporters would be snooping around, digging for more information, and Brien would be singled out soon. It had happened before while Brien and I were guests here, rather than employees.
Journalists can be darn good sleuths. Who could resist a story about a helpless dog and a daring rescue? With the Fourth of July Regatta about to start, media reps from outside the local area had already arrived. We’d soon have company as we began searching for clues to the dog’s identity and the reason he needed to be rescued. Look-on-the-bright-side-Brien responded immediately to my cynical view of the surge of media interest.
“The news might help someone remember something they saw that happened in or around the cove when the dog fell overboard, Kim.”
“I hope you’re right. If we’re lucky, our dog with no name will have a microchip and Bonnie will have located his owners. End of story.”
“Their story better come with an explanation about how the dog ended up in the water and why they didn’t call for help. Otherwise, it won’t be the end for me. I’m going to get the authorities to charge them with anim
al neglect or abuse or something like that.”
“I won’t argue with you. Bonnie will support you, too. We’ll assume the role of the owners’ nemesis!” Brien beamed at me as we left the resort and headed for town.
Located on the outskirts of San Albinus, it didn’t take more than a few minutes to reach the animal hospital. Once, when we’d driven by the place, I’d seen a goat in the parking lot. A colleague had told me that since the resort had been built, that didn’t happen often. Most of their business involves family pets. Although the hospital still cares for farm animals, over the past two decades, much of the farmland in the area had been converted to vineyards.
When we pulled up to the clinic, there wasn’t a farm animal or pet in sight. However, Bonnie was standing at the front entrance. She was engaged in a heated discussion with a very thin, bespectacled man. When she shook her head and pointed toward the parking lot exit, I heard her utter one word.
“Go!” The man stomped away and shouted.
“I’ll be back!”
“What was that about?” I asked, as Brien and I bolted to her side. When he said he’d be back, the man must have meant soon. He stopped and turned toward the clinic, as if he’d decided to return. When he spotted Brien, he hurriedly moved to his car.
“He’s a reporter from San Francisco who wants to give me my fifteen minutes of fame. All I’ve got to do is give him the details about the dog’s condition and let him take a picture of me with the dog. I told him, no, in even stronger terms, when he had the nerve to offer me money to go with the fame!”
“Did he tell you his name?” Brien asked. “Are you sure he’s a reporter?”
“He said his name was Teddy something with the Bay Area Gazette. Guess I should have asked him to show me his credentials. It never occurred to me to doubt him until he became so pushy. Why would anyone, other than a reporter, be asking about a lost dog?” Bonnie asked as she led us inside the clinic.
“You’d be surprised by the number of bogus slugs that crawl out from under their rocks when they hear about situations like this one. It happens when people go missing, too, if family members post asking for help. Good people call in useful tips, but the slugs will try to shake down families by selling them fake information.” Brien may be a diehard optimist, but he’s no fool. He’d whipped out his cellphone and was taking pictures of the car as it left the parking lot. “I never realized people would do that about dogs, too, until we had a couple of nasty cases involving lost dogs in the Palm Springs area.”
“Dognapping’s on the rise,” I added. “There are some pricy dogs in the Coachella Valley, but for most people, price isn’t the issue when a pet’s missing. They’ll pay a ‘reward’ for the return of a beloved mutt, and the bogus slugs Brien’s talking about have figured that out. Thanks to them, it’s not always an accident when a dog goes missing. What I don’t understand is why his owners aren’t the ones on your doorstep.”
“I don’t understand it either if the news has reached a bogus slug like Teddy.” Then Bonnie opened the door and motioned for us to go inside.
A few people were seated in the lobby. On alert after the encounter we’d just witnessed, I scanned each person. No one appeared to be sitting there without a pet on a leash or in a carrier, but I was still suspicious.
“Do you recognize everyone?” I asked Bonnie. “These are regulars, I hope.”
“Yes, but I’ll keep your question in mind if a stranger shows up. Given all the visitors in town, I don’t suppose that alone would be reason to be suspicious, would it? If anyone other than his owners ask to see the rescued dog, I’ll be careful.”
“Even if someone claims to be his owners, you’ll ask for identification, right?” I asked.
“I will. Their dog ought to help identify them. I imagine you’ve come to check on our newest celebrity, haven’t you?” Bonnie asked.
“We could have called and asked about him, but we’d love to see him,” I replied.
“Follow me,” Bonnie said, motioning for us to go through a door behind the check-in desk. As soon as we entered, I heard yipping from what sounded like a small dog and then a loud squawk from a large, brightly colored bird.
“Hello, Pepe. Como estas?” Bonnie asked the gorgeous parrot with a red mark on the top of his head.
“Bien, y tu?” The bird replied. My mouth popped open as the exchange continued.
“Muy bien,” she replied as he bobbed his head and did a little jig. No wonder he was dancing. She pulled a treat from a pocket and fed it to him through the bars of his cage.
“Gracias,” Pepe replied.
“Pepe’s a permanent guest,” Bonnie commented, as she started moving again. I stepped after her and then realized Brien hadn’t moved. He was engaged in a stare down with Pepe. As Pepe moved his head, Brien’s head moved, too. I wasn’t sure which creature was more fascinated by the other.
“Hola, dude,” Brien said.
“Hola!” Pepe bobbed and danced before he spoke again. “Te gusta mota?” My mouth popped open again! I’d been solicited like that during a visit to a couple of border towns, but never by a bird.
“Did he just ask Brien if he likes marijuana?” I couldn’t believe my ears.
“Yep. We figure that explains why his owners never came to claim him.” Brien was staring at us now, obviously bumfuzzled! Then Brien asked Bonnie a question, speaking in a whisper.
“Uh, what do I say? That’s weed, right?” Somehow the whispering or the mention of the English word set off the parrot. Pepe started screaming.
“Weed! Weed! Weed!” In between the words, he squawked loudly. I heard snickering from someone in the area that I couldn’t see.
“Pepe, música, por favor,” Bonnie called out above the uproar. The parrot eyed Brien, but quit screaming and began singing, “Ay, yi, yi, yi.” Pepe swayed back and forth as he sang. Brien was still frozen in place.
“Step away from the bird, Brien,” Bonnie said, “slowly!” I’m pretty sure she was kidding, but Brien stepped backward and then sideways in slow motion. As soon as Brien joined us, Bonnie went back to Pepe’s cage and fed him a treat. Bonnie was fighting for control the entire time, perhaps not wanting to laugh out loud at the man who’d put his life on the line for a lost dog this morning.
“Thanks, pal,” Pepe said, and then went back to his song.
“Whoa! He’s bipolar, isn’t he?” That was it. Bonnie and I started laughing. “Oh, heck, no! I mean bilingual.”
It was too late. Bonnie was bent over with laughter, and tears streamed from her eyes. Pepe was laughing, too! Somewhere in the room, the person who had been giggling was now roaring with laughter.
“I know the bird much better than you do, Brien, and you were right the first time. He’s manic most of the time, but grows despondent if he’s left alone for too long.” Tears were streaming down my face, too, as Brien joined in the laughter. “Now you know another reason he’s still with us.”
“Maybe he prefers being addressed as pal or amigo rather than dude, Brien.” Brien shrugged in response to my teasing. Then he beamed one of those smiles that knock me for a loop.
“I’m obviously no bird whisperer, but I’ve got potential as a bird shrink.” That set off another round of laughter. Once we were able to catch our breath, we followed Bonnie down the hall. I hoped Bonnie was right that the dog with no name was doing just fine. Then another worry entered my mind.
Why was a suspicious character like Teddy so anxious for Bonnie to let him see the dog? That wasn’t a typical dog napper’s approach. Any professional reporter would have flashed his credentials before she had to ask. Or at least at the point that Bonnie first turned him away. If his owners didn’t claim him right away, could Bonnie keep him safe until she located them?
3 Sanctuary Grove Gossip
When Bonnie opened the door, we stepped inside, and she closed it behind us. A small set of kennels lined one wall. As far as I could see, only one of the large kennels was occupied. Our lost
dog appeared to be sound asleep. This time, I whispered as I asked Bonnie a question.
“Is he okay?” I asked. He must have heard me, and maybe even recognized my voice because he stood and woofed. I was so delighted that I dashed to the kennel door and bent down to speak to him. He looked so much better with his fur dry.
“Given how much effort it took to keep swimming until Brien reached him, he’s in excellent shape. With water, food, and more rest, he ought to be as good as new in no time at all. Maybe by morning, his owners will be here to pick him up.”
“Does that mean he has a chip and you were able to reach his owners?”
“Yes, he has a chip, but no, I haven’t reached them. I called and left a message on an answering machine saying we have their lost dog and asking them to contact me as soon as possible. That was one of the first things I did when I got him here this morning, but so far, no one has responded to my call.”
“If they’re here in the area, it’s possible they haven’t checked their messages at home,” Brien suggested.
“I considered that. In addition to the message I left there, I left a voicemail message on a cellphone, too. Even if they’re traveling, they must have their cellphone with them.”
The dog was nuzzling my hand. Bonnie saw that and smiled. She stepped forward and opened the door to his kennel. He bounded out, and almost bowled me over as he ran back and forth between Brien and me. When he came back to me, he sat at my feet like a perfect gentleman.
“You are feeling good, aren’t you?” I asked as I stroked the dog’s head. He peered up at me from sparkling dark eyes set amid chocolaty brown fur. A light patch of fur was on the top of his head. Now that he’d been cleaned up, his muzzle and chest were snowy white in contrast to the darker fur.
“He’s well-trained. See how polite and attentive he is?” Bonnie asked.
Radical Regatta! Page 2