Dogs Don't Lie

by Lisa Shay

  I considered going back to stay for a few days at Gracie’s. But that meant uprooting Ariel and Ella again, and I didn’t want to do that unless, until, it was necessary. “No.” I shook my head. “Nothing’s going to happen. No one knows where I live. Right? We’ll be fine here. Won’t we?” The memory of the knife through the cupcake box tightened a frown forming on my forehead. “But that was an isolated incident. I didn’t have a lock on my back gate. Just kids messing around.” I inhaled and then exhaled through pursed lips. “Sure. Just kids.”

  Untangling from the blanket, I got up and checked windows and doors one more time.

  Ariel watched me, her head poking from under a fold of the cover I’d tossed over her. She didn’t seem to mind the added warmth and concealment.

  The porch light on the patio illuminated the area enough so I could see that the gate was locked. I flipped the switch, turning off the small bulb’s radiance.

  Shadows jumped as a gust of wind whipped branches and sent rain tapping against the glass. Pulse pounding, I backed up. Another gust rattled the door in its frame. I turned and dashed to the sofa where Ariel snoozed. Leaning over the back cushions, I peeked through the slats in the plantation shutters. The window overlooked the driveway and street. I checked right and left, my breath fogging the glass. Puddles shimmered on glossy pavement in the pale-yellow glow of streetlamps. Wind-blown leaves skittered across my lawn. Feeling foolish, I sighed. “There’s nothing out there, Ariel. Stop being such a fraidy cat.”

  I remembered my promise to call Sam back and turned, adjusting the blanket. I picked up my phone from the side table and keyed in Sam’s number.

  Ariel kicked her back legs, stretched out, and snored softly.

  Sam stayed on with me until my jangled nerves calmed and we laughed about how my sudden fame might be good for a raise at work or a friend request on Facebook from movie stars like Jason Momoa or Chris Pratt. Right.

  At some point later, I woke up, the TV running the credits of The Thing—the original. Darn. I missed it. I scooped up Ariel and stumbled to bed, rousting a miffed Ella.

  Ariel snuggled in at my side, and Ella took possession of the vacant pillow next to my head.

  I lay there, a thick comforter enveloping me, and listened to the wind and rain. Sleep pulled at my eyelids. Thoughts became indistinguishable from the dreams that waited their turn from a blurry periphery, tugging at reality.

  In a sudden jerk, Ariel sprang up, ears pricked. A muffled growl started deep in her chest.

  My heart skipped, pulse jumping. That dozing comfortable lightness ripped away. Adrenaline coursed through me, my extremities tingling with the electric jolt of fear.

  Ella’s purring stopped. She slinked away, disappearing into the darkness.

  Holding my breath, I listened. I couldn’t hear anything except the moan of wind and incessant tap of rain. But Ariel had perceived something, and I trusted her instincts.

  Turning my head in a slow, careful movement, I watched the red numbers of the clock on the nightstand blink to one fifty-seven.

  Ariel’s growl grew to a low bark, punctuated by quiet high-pitched whines.

  I pulled my hand from under the covers and felt the top of the nightstand for my phone. It wasn’t there. My heart thudded to a faster tempo. I must’ve left it on the end table next to the couch.

  The soothing white-noise hum of the heat pump’s fan clicked off, and the silence under that lulling drone seemed deafening.

  A gust of wind screamed around the eaves. Branches scraped at the windows of my bedroom.

  Raising my head, I saw a wan glow filtering down the hall from the stove light I’d left on in the kitchen. I slipped out from under the covers, bare feet hitting the carpet. Standing still, I listened. In a moment of bold decision, I hurried to the intersection of my bedroom door and the hall.

  Ariel hopped off the bed and stayed at my heels.

  Peering toward the kitchen, I watched dappled shadows caper across the living-room floor. Backlit by streetlights, the tree outside the front window had a few hardy leaves clinging to its limbs, creating a wind-driven dance like wraiths in the gloom.

  Another click sounded, and the meager light shining from under the stove’s hood died.

  Breath catching in my throat, my attention focused on the weak illumination coming from outside. I stepped back, still staring toward the kitchen and living-room area, and pressed the light switch on the wall just inside the bedroom. Nothing. The power was out, but only in my house.

  Looking at Ariel, I whispered, “I’ve got to get to my phone.” Unsure whether I said this aloud for the dog’s benefit or for mine, I nodded. “Yes, then call nine one one.”

  I always wondered why in thrillers when the character makes the decision to move, they creep down the hall or through the spooky woods at an agonizingly slow pace. Okay, fine. I get that it builds tension. Really, this only makes them an easier target. So I dashed instead, snatched my phone, and dropped into a crouch in front of the side table.

  Ariel ran into my legs, steadied herself, and glanced up past the back of the couch to the plantation shutters.

  Outside, a tall, solid shadow crossed the front window.

  I clasped my hand over a gasp.

  Her head low, Ariel growled.

  “Shhhh.” I ducked lower and pulled Ariel into a hug. “It’s okay,” I whispered. One elbow on the floor, I clutched the phone and with shaking fingers pressed the power button. The screen lit up, casting a bright radiance over the space where I tried to be invisible. Fumbling with the phone, I shoved it partway under Ariel and my arm. The light dimmed. I listened. There was no crack of breaking glass or thud of fists on wood—nothing but the sigh of wind and the tap, tap, tap of rain. I took in a shuddering breath. “Maybe it’s only a tripped breaker. I’d need to go into the garage to check. Nope. Not happening.” I watched the dancing leaf shadows on the floor beside me. “And that tall human-shaped shadow was, umm, was—”

  Something crashed out back in my small patio, shattering on the concrete. A loud bang of wood striking wood followed.

  “Okay, that’s it.” I pressed nine one one with my thumb, took a deep breath, and waited for the dispatcher to answer.

  The first unit must have been right around the corner. The reflection of red and blue strobes colored the wall behind my TV, but no siren heralded the arrival.

  Good. I stood, Ariel in my arms, and hurried to the front door.

  After the second and third units showed, Ben dashed into the house wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, made eye contact with me where I sat at the kitchen table, and held up one finger. Hair mussed and wet from the rain, he strode to the French doors leading to the patio.

  About five minutes later, he returned and shifted a kitchen chair to sit next to me.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you and to cause all this fuss.” I grimaced. “But when the lights went out, and with the noises in back—”

  “Kallie, I’m here because I want to be. You’re not disturbing me.”

  “Thanks. So what’s going on?” I glanced toward the patio where two officers stood, their flashlights cutting beams across the tall cedar fence.

  “Someone smashed the lock on the patio gate and vandalized some of the potted plants. They also got into your garage through an unlocked window and shut your power off.” Looking away, he took in a deep breath.

  “And?” I leaned forward.

  Ariel padded into the room, nails clicking on the hardwood. She sat between our chairs, her attention swiveling from me to Ben.

  Taking a moment to pat her head, Ben finally met my gaze. “They spray-painted a knife on your front door.”

  My mouth dropped open, and it felt as though I’d been punched in the gut. “A what?” I jumped up and paced from the table to the sink. Everything around me blurred, the background voices of t
he police officers muted. You heard him. They spray-painted a knife on your door. Just like the cupcakes. I started out of the kitchen, toward the entry.

  Ben blocked me, his hands on my shoulders. “You don’t need to see it.”

  My tone harsh, I asked, “Why?” I closed my eyes. Breathe. Just breathe. “Sorry. There’s more, isn’t there? Tell me, Ben. Please.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “If you don’t, I’ll go see for myself.”

  “It’s dripping red, into a puddle of red.”

  “You still think it’s kids?” I ducked from under his hands and headed to the back of my house.

  “Where are you going?” He followed, his footsteps muffled on the carpet.

  “I need to find Ella.”

  Ariel’s quick, soft padding trailed Ben.

  “Good. Okay. Let’s find her.”

  Chapter 12

  I found Ella tucked between two pairs of boots in the far right of my closet. She refused to leave her dark hiding place no matter how much I tried to coax her.

  Kneeling at my side, Ben patted the floor in front of him. “Come on, Ella. It’s okay.” He patted his thigh. “Come on.”

  I swear Ella glared at him and frowned. That was it. I lost it. Yup, I laughed—a lot. After all the stress of the night, it felt good.

  Ben sighed. “I know I’m not good at this. I haven’t been around many cats. So teach me what to do.” His brow wrinkled. “You said anyone could, uh, communicate with animals.”

  “Really? You know it takes time and practice. You can’t be afraid to fail sometimes.” I glanced at Ella. “And you’re trying with a cat who has been through yet another trauma. Be prepared to get nothing.” I adjusted to a cross-legged position.

  Ben did the same. “I promise I have no expectations.”

  “Start with a few deep breaths in and out, slowly. Then close your eyes. Relax. Try to empty your mind.”

  I closed mine, inhaled, and visualized Ella going to sit on Ben’s lap and him petting her. I also opened my mind so I could confirm what Ben saw in case he did get something.

  Ariel sat against my back. The vision I got came from her. The barn, the llama, and the mini donkey.

  I’ll find out about them, I answered.

  Ariel curled up, still touching me, and sent no more images.

  “Well, I am getting something, but not like what I thought.”

  I opened my eyes. Ella sat on Ben’s lap, purring softly. She adjusted her head under his hand so he would pet where she wanted. “Good job, Ben. She does like you.”

  “It’s a start.” He grinned. “And I like you too, Ella.” His brow creased and the smile faded.

  “What? Did you see something?”

  “It’s probably nothing. But I think I might have. Maybe just my own thoughts.” His frown deepened. “Except it was the furthest thing from my mind.”

  “So tell me. I got a short vision. Maybe they’re the same.”

  Looking at me sideways, Ben grimaced. “You wouldn’t just say they are? You know, to be nice?”

  Holding up my right hand, I nodded. “I wouldn’t. I promise.”

  “Okay. Here goes.” He let out a long breath. “I got a flash of the Whedon place. Actually, the barn.”

  “Anything else?”

  He closed his eyes. “Hmm. The hay-holder thing.” His head tipped. “The two animals—that little burro and alpaca.” His lids popped open. “Probably just from my memories of the last day I was there.” Lips turned up, he shrugged. “I see what you mean about adding your own visuals.”

  “Do you think they were yours?”

  The creases on his forehead deepened. His attention snapped to Ariel, already snoring behind me. His gaze tracking to me, he asked, “Were they?”

  “No. What do you think they mean?”

  From the other end of the house, the low chatter from radios and hum of conversations trickled down the hall.

  Staring into my closet while idly stroking Ella, Ben whispered, “Ariel’s concerned about them.”

  “Yes.” I stood. “Do you know where they are?”

  His gaze unwavering, he said, “I’ll find out first thing in the morning.”

  “You okay?” I patted his shoulder.

  Ella in his arms, he stood. “I’m good.”

  I gestured for him to put Ella on the bed.

  She headed straight for my pillow and snuggled in.

  “Kallie.” Ben took my hand and turned me to face him. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

  Several cups of coffee later, Ben and I sat at the kitchen table. The two remaining officers helped the crime-scene techs pack their equipment. It was almost eight, and I knew there would be no going back to bed. I thought maybe I’d catch a nap later. At seven I’d called the local handyman, Jake, to fix the gate and put in another lock—a stronger one. He had arrived minutes later and was tying up the last details.

  My elderly next-door neighbor had showed up around six forty-five to clean my front door. I did appreciate his gesture to get things back to normal, but I also understood that this was his way to be helpful and find out what was going on at the same time. The door did look awesome when he finished. I saw homemade cupcakes in his future.

  Ben stared into his empty mug. “I’m hungry.” He glanced at me and tilted his head. “Want to get some breakfast?”

  “Yes.” I’d gotten dressed a short time after he got there, so I was ready to go. Half smirking, I asked, “Do you like pumpkin-spice pancakes?”

  “Never had them. Sounds interesting.”

  “Oh, you have lived a sheltered life, Padawan. Let’s go.” I jumped up, grabbed my bag, and checked food bowls, water, and the whereabouts of my houseguests.

  Jake tapped at the French doors.

  Waving him in, I reached for my checkbook.

  “All done, Kallie. Everything’s locked up tight out there. They won’t find it so easy to break in again.” He continued through the house to the front door. “I’ll send you a bill.”

  “Thanks, Jake.” I did one last check of the locks and turned to Ben. “I’m ready.”

  Waiting for our pumpkin pancakes, bacon, and eggs, I asked, “Do you still think the first time was kids?”

  Ben fingered the handle of his coffee cup. “No.” He glanced out the window and then back to me. “I think this all has to do with what’s happening or happened to the Whedons. I believe R and A is involved, but I’m not sure how. After what you told me, I looked up their LLC to get the owners’ information.” He shook his head. “They don’t exist. No Mr. Smith. No Mr. Johnson. Not sure why no one checked into them further after Mr. Whedon disappeared.” He looked at me, shook his head, and barked out a humorless laugh.

  My phone conversation with Sam a couple days earlier came to me. I remembered her cousin’s revelation regarding R and A’s shady land acquisitions. “Have you talked with anyone in the county’s planning department? And what about the office manager? Any record of who she is?”

  “I read the original file.” He pulled out a small pad and a pen. “Nothing about the office manager. There was a brief mention of someone talking with the planning department. Dead end.”

  “You might want to check again. I can get you the name of a planning employee who has a different take on R and A.”

  “A different take?”

  Our food arrived. The sweet spicy, scent had my stomach growling and my mouth watering.

  Buttering my pancakes, I continued, “Sam has a cousin who works there. He told her he thought their dealings are—were—a little off.”

  Ben sat back in his seat. “Why would Sam be talking to her cousin about this?”

  I stopped mid-pour, syrup dripping from the lip of the small metal pitcher. “Oh, well, I told them what happened to me—what I’d found out.
It’s public knowledge.” I shrugged. “They were curious. When they went to the office and found it empty, Sam asked her cousin about them.”

  Sighing, Ben stared at me, concern etched in the lines around his intense green eyes. “I appreciate the help …” The low timbre of his voice made it quite clear he was not happy. “But you have to stop. This is dangerous. Don’t you see that now, Kallie?”

  “Yes. I understand. We haven’t done anything since.” I sighed and nodded. “I’ll let them know—no more investigating. But I still think you should talk to Sam’s cousin.” Groaning, I rubbed my eyes. “And my mom. She is going to freak.”

  “Let me talk to her—explain what we’re doing.” He took a bite.

  “You’d do that?” I frowned. “And, what are we doing?”

  “We the department, not we as in you.” He stared at me. “Would you be willing to stay in your place with an officer on duty twenty-four seven? It may be a way to get a lead on what happened to the Whedons and find out who’s behind this.” He forked up another bite and stopped midway to his mouth. “These pancakes are really good.”

  Chapter 13

  Mom opened the door as we walked to the porch, her slight smile morphing to a wide grin when she saw Ben. “Come in, you two. I made coffee, and there’s honey peach scones.”

  The aroma of a fresh pot and warm peaches wafted to the entry. I groaned inwardly, my stomach full of pancakes and bacon. Too bad. Her scones are amazing.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Collins. Sounds good.” Ben glanced at me, winked, and shrugged.

  She escorted us through the foyer and into the kitchen. “Sit. I want to hear all about this break-in and what you plan on doing, officer.”

  “Oh, Mom, it’s Detective Jacobson.”

  “Well, that’s impressive,” Mom gushed.

  “Please, call me Ben.” He held out her chair.

  I hurried and sat, with Ben frowning at me. Okay, I didn’t want him holding my chair. It’s one of those awkward situations for me—I just don’t know what to do.