Dogs Don't Lie

by Lisa Shay

  “Sorry.” His movements slow and more controlled, he faced the lawn again. “Will she come back?”

  “Yeah. Just give her a minute.” I inhaled and let the air out slowly. “She’s curious about what’s going on.”

  A white head appeared between us, ears tipped with orange and black. A sleek body followed—white with patches matching her ears. She sat and stared out at the back woods.

  “Hello, miss.”

  “How do you know she’s a she? Did she tell you?” Ben’s tone was calm, but he talked fast.

  “She’s a calico. Male calicos are rare.”

  “Calico?”

  “Her coloring—the white, black, and orange.”

  “Oh. Really? Why?”

  “The X chromosome is responsible for both orange and black fur. Female cats can display both because they have two X chromosomes. Males have just the one, so it’s either black or orange for them, not both.”

  “Uh-oh. The Y chromosome talk again.” Ben chuckled. His tone grew serious. “Do you think she’ll talk to you?”

  “I can try.”

  Ariel’s toenails clicked across the deck. She pushed between Ben and the cat, forcing the cat onto my lap. The cat didn’t seem to mind the new seating arrangement, her little motor running loud enough so there was no question she was purring.

  “Do you know her name?” I stroked the cat’s back and looked up at Ben.

  Ariel climbed onto Ben, settling down to curl on his lap.

  “Somebody likes you.” I took a moment to study his face. “That’s a good sign.”

  “Sign?” He grinned, one eyebrow cocked. “Of what?”

  “Well, dogs aren’t easily fooled when it comes to a person’s character. So if she trusts and likes you, that means you’re a good person.”

  “Does that always work?”

  I shrugged.

  “Oh, to answer your question, the cat’s name is Ella.”

  Chapter 6

  I settled in, getting comfortable on the top step of the deck. Ella was in my lap, and Ben was trying not to stare at me as though I might spontaneously combust. Taking a deep breath, I intended to let it out slowly, but a chuckle erupted instead.

  “I’m messing you up sitting here.” Ben started to stand, holding Ariel under one arm.

  “No. You’re okay. Just don’t stare at me.” I reached up, grabbed his arm, and tugged him back down. “I can do this.” Letting go, I composed myself, sat up straight, inhaled and—

  “Hey, Ben.” An officer hurried toward us from the lawn, a dirt-covered gun wrapped in a plastic evidence bag held in one hand.

  The cat sprang from my lap and raced across the deck, disappearing into the dark beyond the property’s edge.

  Ben handed me Ariel and jumped up, taking one step down to the lawn to meet the deputy.

  “We found this not far from the shirt. It’s a Glock nine mil. Buried about a foot down. The magazine’s half full. A bullet in the chamber.”

  Turning the bag in his hand, Ben’s forehead furrowed. “Pretty dirty. My guess is it’s been there a while. Doubtful we’ll find any decent prints. Have the lab check the bullets in the magazine, too. We might get lucky.” He handed the gun back to the deputy and turned to look at me. “Sorry,” he mouthed.

  Setting Ariel on the deck, I smiled. “It’s okay.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Ben sprinted up the stairs and into the kitchen, holding the door open for the deputy.

  I stood and followed Ariel back to the front of the house. The door was closed. “Hmmm. Guess we’ll sit out here.”

  After jumping onto the double seat, Ariel turned to watch me.

  “Okay. I’ll come sit with you.” I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and sat, Ariel snuggling in beside me. The night breeze turned chilly, and I tugged the hood strings tighter. “So, Ariel. What did your Mr. Whedon do for a living? Did he have any bad or dangerous habits? Any vices or addictions?” I looked at the sprawling home with its well-kept gardens and lawn. “Why would someone want this man dead? Or what would make him leave his beautiful family?”

  Ariel remained silent, her breathing slow and rhythmic.

  Excited voices echoed from the backyard. Soft murmurs came from inside, behind the closed door.

  “Yeah. Lots of questions. No answers.” I slipped my phone from my pocket and hit the search app button. I typed in “Whedon, Southern Oregon” and waited. A news article regarding the disappearance of an Alexander J. Whedon from Ashland came up on the small screen. The picture matched the one on the wall in the entry. I read the highlights to a snoring Ariel. “Okay. He was a consulting specialist for R and A Land Development.” My forehead bunched. “Hmmm. Could the A be for Alexander? No. Probably last names, not first.” I read more. “Wife Julia, daughter Riley, and son Josh. Julia reported her husband missing on Monday, July ninth, twenty seventeen, after returning from a weekend trip to the coast with the children. Alexander didn’t go due to a client meeting on Saturday afternoon.”

  Voices quieted. Crickets chirped. Frogs croaked. Their songs blended with the sigh of the breeze through the trees.

  “Hardly seems like a dangerous line of work. But …” I switched the search to “R and A Land Development.”

  Ariel twitched in her sleep, chasing squirrels.

  “R and A Land Development, LLC. Established March twenty sixteen. A professional corporation assisting land owners to achieve the most from their land economically while maintaining environmentally sound practices.” I shrugged. “Sounds good. So who are R and A?” I scrolled farther and found nothing but a link to a one-page generic website, and another for an email address. “They’re not exactly promoting the business.” Glancing at the sleeping Ariel, I bit my lip and then looked around again. “Must be doing okay by word of mouth? I mean, this place is pretty nice—just secluded.”

  Gravel crunched on the road below, and headlights appeared at the bottom of the driveway.

  Jerking awake, Ariel sat up and watched.

  A white van rolled to a stop in front of the house. Techs in dark-blue jumpsuits carried equipment across the deck to the backyard, ignoring me.

  Ariel growled low in her chest.

  “It’s okay. They’re looking for answers about your Mr. Whedon.” I scratched behind Ariel’s ears, and she quieted, curling into a ball at my side.

  Again, images sprang into my mind without my asking. This time, they originated from more than one source. Similar to when several people talk to you at the same time, I only got bits and pieces of the confusing visions racing at me.

  A van—black, not white like the one that just drove in. Trees, limbs brushing by. Cool dark. Clear sky. Heat. Dust. Running water. Mud. Musty scents. Chirping birds. Two men. Pushing through brush and limbs to the clearing. Twigs snapping under their feet. The heat of the day cools. Shadows grow longer. Death. Flies buzzing. Run.

  The switching of being tall and then short and then back to tall had my stomach churning. Where are these coming from? Not Ariel or Ella. Something different. Something bigger. But what?

  “Kallie. Are you okay?” Ben knelt in front of me, his expression pinched. “Kallie. Say something.”

  “I’m … okay.” I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath. Holding up one finger, I kept my eyes shut. “Give me a minute.” My stomach eased its roiling. I sensed Ben staring at me and imagined that look of worry and concern in his eyes turning to doubt and discomfort. I peeked at him through slitted lids. His green eyes wide, he watched me. No. He watched over me—with no judgment. I let out a breath through pursed lips.

  “You scared me. I was talking to you, and I wasn’t getting through.” He nodded. “I thought, well, I didn’t know what to think.”

  “Sorry. I kinda got blasted.”

  “Blasted?”

  “Lots of ima
ges flying at me all at once. It’s disorienting.” I bit my lip. “Feels like I’m being sucked into a spinning kaleidoscope. It’s only happened one other time.”

  Standing, Ben took my hand. “You’re cold. Come on. I’ll take you home.”

  “What about—”

  “We can come back tomorrow. There’s too much going on right now anyway.”

  Ariel jumped off the seat and trotted into the house through the open front door.

  “You don’t have to take me home. I can drive myself.”

  “Are you sure?” He tipped his head. “I can take you. I’ll get your truck back into town.”

  I stood and my knees turned to jelly. Once again, Ben kept me on my feet.

  “I’m taking you home. Sit down. Wait here. I’ll get my car.”

  “No. Really. I’m okay.”

  “You said you got blasted one other time. What happened to you afterward?”

  Arms crossed, I looked away from his piercing eyes. “I got a migraine. Threw up a couple times. Slept all the next day.”

  He rushed down the front steps and turned to me. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

  The beginning of a migraine throbbed across my forehead. Lights from oncoming cars hurt my eyes. A grimace felt permanently etched on my face. Chatter from the radio seemed amplified, the sound pounding in my ears and scraping at my brain.

  Ben turned the volume to low.

  “Thanks. That helps.” At least my stomach was behaving … for the time being. I leaned my forehead against the cool glass of the passenger window.

  “Do you need to go to the ER?” Ben’s voice thrummed with tension. He peeked at me sideways. “What can I do?”

  Squinting, I smiled at him. “Nothing the ER can do. But thanks. I just need to get home and sleep.” Settling in the seat, I covered my head with the hood of my sweatshirt and closed my eyes. The car’s motion and the soft drone of the engine lulled me. Next thing I knew, the lights of Medford flickered through the windshield of the car. The few minutes of sleep eased the pain, but it wouldn’t fully retreat until I’d had several hours.

  I sat up, my mind filled with questions.

  “Feel any better?”

  “A little. Did Mr. Whedon keep his appointment on the Saturday before he disappeared?”

  “What?”

  Pushing the hood back, I glanced at Ben. Even at night, the downtown lights made me wish I had my sunglasses. But they were in my truck along with my pack, wallet, credit cards, keys, and everything else. At least I had my phone. “How can I get in my house?”

  “Your truck is right behind us.”

  “Oh.” I considered looking and thought better, not wanting to jinx what relief I had.

  “What did you ask me?” Ben slowed and turned right.

  “Did Mr. Whedon make the meeting that kept him from going to the coast with his family the weekend he disappeared?”

  “Why?” Ben frowned. “And how do you know about that?”

  “I looked it up on my phone.” I rubbed at my forehead—not just because it hurt, but because a thought formed and I wanted to coax it out. I wanted to entice the barely developed idea forward into the bright, piercing, colorful light that was assaulting my throbbing eyes. “Did he? And is he the A in R and A Land Development? Never mind. Probably not. So who is R and A? Why is their marketing and promotion so limited? How do they find new clients?”

  “Slow down, Sherlock.” Ben chuckled. “You know I can’t talk about an open case.” He turned down my street and into my driveway.

  My truck pulled in beside us.

  “Sorry.” I unbuckled the seat belt.

  Ben got out and took my keys from the officer who was standing in front of my truck.

  Opening the car door, I clambered out, hanging on to the window frame for support. My head spun. The pain behind my eyes increased. My house was just in front of me—a few steps away. And inside was my bed, blessed quiet, and the cool dark.

  Ben took my arm until I was moving under my own power. “Let’s get you inside.” He used the key, holding my pack with his other hand.

  I’d left a light on in the kitchen, illuminating the entry and hall. “Thanks. I’m good now.”

  “You sure?” Ben’s expression morphed from skepticism to concern. He tossed my pack on the kitchen counter.

  “Yeah. Just going to put some peppermint oil on my head and go to bed.”

  “Peppermint oil?”

  “Hold that thought for another time.” I rubbed my temples. There were no thoughts swirling there anymore—just the headache.

  “Will do. Got your phone?”

  Squinting, I held it up for him to see.

  “Call me if you need anything.”

  I heard in his voice that he meant it. “Thanks, Ben.” I straightened, trying to appear composed. “As your consultant, wouldn’t I be authorized to know about this case? A little anyway?” Frowning, I looked at him. “Do you have pictures of either R or A or both?

  “Go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.” He stepped outside, smiling at me before he closed the door.

  Chapter 7

  I’d dropped into bed the previous night after pulling the covers back and only taking off my sweatshirt and shoes. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but I slept and didn’t wake until morning. Intermittent shafts of sunlight slipped through the gap in my bedroom curtains. Peeking with one eye, I tested the effect of the light. So far so good.

  After a long shower, I sat at the kitchen island sipping a hot vanilla breve. Laptop open in front of me, I searched for more on R and A, whoever they were.

  I found nothing.

  Well, nothing new. “So, how can I find out more about them?” I closed my laptop and jumped off the stool.

  Outside the kitchen window, gray clouds rolled across the sky threatening rain.

  I slipped into a florescent green hooded sweatshirt, grabbed my pack, and headed out the door, keys in hand. “Even a picture would do. They should have something at their offices, right?” I entered the address from the website into my phone’s GPS and hit go.

  Twenty minutes later, I pushed through an outer door into a redwood-paneled foyer, and looked at the directory. “R and A, room two zero one, second floor.” I climbed the stairs and stopped at the first door on the left. Hand hovering, I took in a deep breath. “Just here to ask a simple question. Nothing wrong with that.” I turned the knob and entered.

  An older woman sat behind a desk at the back. Three armchairs lined the right side wall, and a closed door on the left finished the room. The woman looked up from her computer, adjusted her glasses, and tucked a lock of short gray hair behind one ear. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi. Yes. Could I talk to, uh, someone regarding property my family owns?” Heat filled my face and I brushed a hand over my cheek. “Warm in here, huh?” I’m a lousy liar.

  “Is it?” She glanced around the room as if searching out those pesky heat waves. “Maybe you took the stairs too quickly.”

  “Maybe.” I chuckled, sounding giddy. I put on my best serious expression and waited.

  She stared at me. Frowning, she tipped her head. “What is it you want?”

  “Uh, this is R and A Land Development, isn’t it?”

  “Well, yes, but the owners don’t take meetings here. It’s just me.” Grinning, she rolled her eyes. “I mean, I don’t. I just answer the phone, pass along messages, and take care of office duties—and not too many of those.” She smiled, looking at me over her glasses. “It’s an easy job. Beats sitting at home watching TV and gossiping with all the ladies at the park.” Winking, she flapped a hand in the air and chuckled. “That Ernestine Wilson isn’t happy unless she’s spreading dirt on someone.” She composed herself. “I’m sorry for going on. Don’t get much company here. But a pretty young lady like you isn�
�t interested in the ramblings of an old woman.”

  “No. That’s okay. Really.” I meant it. She seemed nice. Maybe she wasn’t a genius, but she was kind and I’d take that any day. “So you can make me an appointment to meet with, uh, the owner or owners?”

  Her pleasant smile morphed to a frown. “You know, I’m not sure. Well, not anymore.”

  “You’re not sure you can schedule an appointment?” I’m sure my confusion showed in my expression.

  “Oh. No. I mean, yes. I can take your number, and someone will get back with you.” She blushed. “As for the owners …” She shook her head. “That nice man Mr. Whedon doesn’t come in anymore.” She lowered her voice. “He disappeared about a year ago. And I haven’t seen Mr. Smith for several months now.” Her eyes closed and she nodded. Lids popping open, she continued, “No, it’s been about a year, same as Mr. Whedon. I just see Mr. Johnson now, and not very often.” Sitting up straight and picking up a pen, she said, “If you’ll leave your name and a contact number, I’ll pass it along to him.”

  “Great.” I shuffled inside my pack for a business card. “I take it the R and A in the company name doesn’t stand for the owners’ last names.”

  “Oh. No. I think it’s initials of two of their children, or maybe their wives.” Her forehead creased. “I shouldn’t say. I’m not really sure.”

  I handed her my card. “All my contact information is there.”

  Reading it, she smiled. “A veterinarian. Good for you, dear.”

  Tell that to my mom. “Thank you.”

  I turned toward the door but then spun back. “Would you have any pamphlets or flyers? My dad’s kinda funny about these things. He likes to know about who he’s doing business with.”

  “I understand, but, no, we don’t.” She smiled as if her answer was enough.

  “No card either?”

  Staring at me, she said nothing.

  “How about anything with a picture of Mr. Smith or Mr. Johnson? A newspaper clipping? Maybe when they started the business? Like I said, my dad likes to know who he’s meeting with.”

  She tapped a finger on her lips. “Let me think.” Throwing her hands in the air, she jumped a bit in her seat. “I have a picture with both.” She opened a side drawer, pulled out a glossy four-by-five photo, and handed it to me. “You can keep that, to show your dad. I have more.”