The Dog Thief

by Marta Acosta

  ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON, Kenzie found me in Zeus’s kennel, cleaning his ears with a soft cloth. “I’m taking off in an hour and the fridge is filled.”

  “I am perfectly capable of feeding myself, Kenz.”

  “If someone sold kibble for humans you’d eat it every day for the rest of your life. When are you getting rid of Devil Dog? The shelter won’t take him without an owner’s release and he’s not adoptable.”

  “Don’t worry about Zeus. Have a good weekend being all posh.”

  “If loving room service is wrong, I don’t want to be right. Keep your phone with you and give me a call if you need anything. You’ll be okay, won’t you? No anxiety about...”

  About the murder. “You worry too much about too many things.”

  BECAUSE I HAD TO COVER Kenzie’s chores, I worked until the sun had set behind the mountains and the sky was a deep velvety blue. The dark silhouettes of bats swooped under the branches of the looming oaks. “Bats are a good sign,” I told Bertie. “They mean a healthy ecosystem. What do you think about Zeus?”

  Bertie dropped down to the ground and rolled to his side. I scratched his belly. “Between us, I have my doubts about Ghost’s interest in doing anything other than digging for mice, so Zeus may be very useful for our purpose.”

  His long tail wagged in response to my voice and I grinned. “I’m glad we’re on the same page, Bertram.”

  Kenzie had left a note on the fridge listing the things I could have for dinner (herbed roast chicken, melon slices, leftover rigatoni, and hardboiled eggs). I ate a bowl of granola and fed Bertie a hardboiled egg and roast chicken.

  I really wanted to stay home. It had been long enough since I’d seen Battlestar Galatica and now I could start from Season One: Episode One “33” all over again. It was so hard to time these things, finding the sweet spot when a series had receded enough in memory to be exciting and fresh enough to discover new context.

  I went online, intending to visit my favorite Battlestar forum, but soon I was typing Sherry Rae Castleman.

  The first search results showed business photos of a smiling woman and the news headlines: “Coyote Run Victim Identified and my mind tried to reconcile the images with what I’d seen: blond hair clumped and dark with dry blood, white teeth in a white skull. My pulse raced. I closed the lid of my laptop.

  I went to the Coyote Run Recorder’s website and read every article and editorial about the casino’s legal battles. Abel’s coverage was suspiciously balanced for a man who had financial stake in everything that happened here.

  The house was too lonely. The fields beyond were too empty. The trees were too willing to hide things...a body or someone watching me. Someone who knew what I had seen and this intimate connection with a stranger was enough to make me change into clean jeans, take Bertie to the center, and drive to Rudy’s Brewhouse.

  Chapter 8

  LIKE OTHER NEARBY TOWNS, Coyote Run had more bars than grocery stores. The Country Squire was frequented by our top tier residents—vineyard owners, golfers, weekend ranchers—and the first choice for tourists passing through town. The Ring-A-Bell at the edge of Coyote Run was favored by bikers and snaggletooths. The rest of us went to Rudy’s Brewhouse for an icy mug, grilled burgers, and homemade potato chips.

  The interior walls of the Brewhouse were hardly visible behind all the business cards and posters tacked on. There was a dartboard, but rarely any darts, and two pool tables. Most people who came here left their mark, either carving initials into one of the oak booths against the wall or writing graffiti in the bathrooms.

  I bought a pitcher with a complimentary basket of peanuts, and made my way to my friends’ table, peanut shells crunching underfoot. Georgie wore a low-cut loose-fitting olive green dress, flat sandals, and a clatter of bracelets and beaded necklaces. As I hugged her cozy body, I got a delicious view at her full breasts and the lace edge of a black bra.

  Her husband Angus was a tidy metrosexual. I thought his glasses were too narrow—he would see the frames no matter where he looked, and I twitched my shoulders to release my muscles.

  I knew most of Georgie’s co-workers, but we exchanged names again. “I saw you on the news last night,” one guy said. “Georgie never told us you were psychic.”

  Georgie rolled her eyes, and Angus dropped his head to hide a smile.

  “I don’t share it with people because...well, it’s odd, isn’t it?”

  “Odd and cool. You’re helping the sheriff’s department solve crimes, right?”

  I sipped my beer, trying to think of what Kenzie would want me to say. “I spend most of my time rehabilitating dogs with behavioral problems as well as training owners on proper care.”

  Angus said, “Did you hear that the victim was involved in getting Congressional approval for the expansion of the casino when all those slot machines were put in?”

  “That happened about the same time that my sister and I moved back here,” I said.

  Angus shook his head. “This fracking debate reminds me of the Towering Pines deal. The casino was supposed to generate tourist money for all business in the county, but where is it? People go there, stay at the hotel, and go home without visiting town, so we don’t get any of the tourist revenue.”

  A staffer named Brooke said, “Towering Pines gives grants to the school district and the hospital, though, and brought in good jobs. My mom’s a cashier in the main restaurant and she’s paid twice as much as me and has health benefits and paid vacation. No offense Georgie.”

  “No offense taken,” Georgie said. “I wonder if Sherry Rae came back to the casino on business, for a vacation, or to visit a friend here. I’m sure the sheriff and whoever, the gaming commission, are looking into possibilities.”

  Brooke said, “Maddie, do you have any premonitions about the...about why she was here?”

  “Premonitions? Hmm.” I arranged a row of peanuts on the table. “Why is this place so crowded?”

  “Because people love to sing about animals,” Georgie said. “Did I tell you about the tragic hipsters who came by and took all of our chickens for their new urban chicken project?” and we all jumped in to share our opinions on urban farming and noise restrictions on roosters. Our voices got louder in our discussion of avian-to-human and human-to-avian disease statistics, and soon the lights dimmed and the host took his place on the small stage.

  I didn’t mind the crush of people so long as there was music, even off-key and half-assed, with everyone in a good mood. It felt safe. Then Georgie said, “Your turn.” She pushed me out of my seat and I stood and walked as slowly as I could around the tables and reluctantly stepped onto the platform, trying to think of an excuse. Then I saw Claire leaning against the bar, cool and sleek and so pretty she made me ache all over. I wanted to make her want me again.

  I looked around the room as Ben Meadows took a seat beside Georgie. Angus’s jaw set as he watched his wife’s flushed expression. I wanted Claire to be jealous and so I stared at Ben until he glanced my way.

  I opened my mouth and my voice spilled out like light, being there, being a thing, but not a thing. It was all I could do to keep from glancing to see if Claire was watching, with her freckles and wry smile, and, oh, her smooth skin and supple body.

  And I remembered Ben asking if I’d sing to him, sometime, and this was the time. I looked into his dark eyes and when I sang “Howl,” I thought about my dark animal yearning for Claire and the way she made me feel when I was in her arms.

  The song ended and the loud applause startled and released me. I laughed with nerves I stepped off the platform. When I glanced toward the bar, Claire was gone. I hadn’t sung it right or she would have stayed.

  I joined my friends, sliding into the space next to Ben, and Angus said, “Georgie told me you could sing. You were great.”

  “That wasn’t really an animal song,” Georgie said.

  “It’s animalistic by nature,” I answered.

  Ben looked at me with an odd expression
and, because the bar had gotten much louder, I had to lean close for him to hear me, my lips near his face, but not so close his beard would touch my lips. “Sorry. My ex was here and I thought...I thought I could make her jealous.”

  “Who’s the ex?”

  “Did you see the girl with red-blonde hair in a white t-shirt and jeans who was at the bar?”

  “The tall beautiful one?”

  “Claire. Things have not been going very well.” His thick eyebrows lifted and I asked, “When do you give up on someone you care about?”

  “Ask me an easier question.”

  “Like ‘why does my cat have an undiagnosed intestinal disorder?’”

  “Exactly,” he said, and laughed.

  We rearranged our seating when an order of burgers arrived, and I shifted to a place beside the big window facing the street. Someone outside leaned forward until his nose pressed against the glass, hands cupped to block out glare.

  My eyes met those of a haggard, unshaven man and I jolted back and away... And then he was gone, shambling down the sidewalk.

  Georgie looked up from the song list and said, “Let’s request ‘What’s New, Pussycat?’ because I want to do the whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa chorus and we’ve got to get homes for the spring kittens.”

  I didn’t know the song, so I went searching for Claire in a sea of Not Claire. She wasn’t by the pool tables or at the food order window. She wasn’t in the ladies room or by the public phone.

  I heard Georgie bellowing “whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa” from the main room as I went through the back exit, wedged ajar with a chair, and outside to the shadowy back alley, stinking of rotting food in the big trash bins, urine, tobacco, and weed. “Claire! Claire, babe, where are you?”

  I saw the skeletal man too late. He jumped out from a recessed doorway and grabbed my wrist with his awful bony hand, damp with cold sweat. His chemical funk engulfed me like putrid fog.

  “You’re that bitch!” Tall and emaciated, he arched over me.

  I kicked his leg and yanked away, but he held tight. I punched ineffectively at his torso, terrified that that my fists would sink into his decaying flesh.

  “You’re the bitch who took my bro’s dog.”

  Dog. Zeus. “Zeus is okay. Let me go!”

  “Lousy thief.” He slammed me against the wall, shoving his crotch against me, and his rotting clothes were rubbing my skin, and I imagined insects crawling in them, maggots crawling through his flesh, and his fetid breathe was in my face as his mouth moved over my cheeks and toward my lips. I twisted away and choked, trying to breathe.

  And he laughed, his horrible wet breath on my face. “You want Zeus. You pay for him what my brother paid. Fifteen thousand dollars. You got money? What have you got?”

  “Okay, I’ll pay you. I can pay you,” I said, and when he eased with a dark smile, I braced myself against the wall and shoved him hard. As he fell back, I ran to the passageway and raced toward the street, hearing his curses close behind me.

  I was on the sidewalk now, in sight of passing cars and people smoking in front of the Brewhouse.

  “Give me my money, you fucking dyke,” the man shrieked as he caught up to me. He flapped his arms and I imagined maggots flying off him to me. Maggots on me.

  “No!” I screamed as people began circling us to see what was happening. “No! You and your brother should be arrested for animal cruelty for starving and neglecting Zeus. I owe you nothing. I’ll pay you nothing. Get away from me and never ever come near me again or I’ll...”

  “You’ll what?” he sneered, shuffling from foot to foot and his eyes darted to the people gathering around and more people were coming out of the Brewhouse to see what was happening.

  My voice was shook and I was shaking. “Or I’ll tell Sheriff Desjardins the things you’ve been thinking, things you’ve never told anyone, the ugly disgusting secrets and criminal things I saw inside your head.”

  He snorted and stepped away, moving off down the sidewalk, and was across the street before he turned back to holler, “You’re dead, thieving bitch! Hear that—you’re dead!”

  Georgie pushed through the crowd and was at my side. “Maddie! What happened? Are you okay?” Gus and Ben were behind her.

  I felt maggots crawling under my clothes, slipping into my armpits, sliding under my breasts, seeking the warm dark places of my body. I swiped at my ears, hearing a buzzing like a swarm of flies.

  “You’re shaking.” Georgie put her hand on my arm, and I jumped away, saying, “I’m disgusting. He made me disgusting. I need to get clean.”

  “It’s okay, Maddie. I’ll take you home,” Georgie said. “Angus, you can pick me up later?”

  I could feel the things creeping on me, their mouth hooks clamping onto my skin as their digestive secretions began to dissolve my tissues like they had dissolved Sherry Rae’s. I stood there shaking, and then I recognized Claire’s beautiful coppery hair. She stood at the edge of the crowd, and I called, “Claire!”

  She shook her head and put her arm over someone’s shoulders, a petite woman with a pixie haircut, and then they turned and walked away into the night. “Claire!” I tried to call, but my voice broke. She didn’t look back.

  The show over, most people began returning to the Brewhouse. I shrugged and shrugged and shrugged, jerking painfully but unable to shake myself right.

  “Maddie,” Georgie said, softly. “Do you want to call the sheriff and report this?”

  “I need to take a shower...”

  “Georgie,” said a deeper voice, and Ben came close. “Your friends are all inside. I know where Maddie lives. I’ll take her home.”

  They conferred, and I heard words come up— condition, situation, emotional. I couldn’t focus on the sentences because I was swatting at myself, desperate to crush the things on my skin. Then Ben said, “Let’s go,” and I went with him to his SUV.

  He opened the door and the interior light went on. A small stuffed dog was on the dashboard and two aluminum mugs were in the cup holders. I saw a newspaper on the floor, and placed it on the passenger seat. “I don’t want to contaminate your car. They’re all over me.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take you home to clean up.” As Ben drove, he said, “Is your sister there or do you want to call her to meet you?”

  “Kenzie’s gone for the weekend. I’m by myself. Not really, because I have the dogs.”

  “I’m on my own, too. My wife and kids are gone to family camp, and I usually go—it’s one of my favorite things—but I can’t get away now.”

  “Oh.” I rubbed my shirt, imagining the smashed larvae beneath the fabric. “I’m sorry.”

  “Did you steal his dog?”

  “It’s his brother’s and I didn’t steal him. I liberated him. I can feel fucking maggots crawling on me!”

  “You’re rattled. Keep talking. Tell me about the dog.”

  I knew there weren’t any maggots, but I knew there were. I clenched my hands hard to stop myself from scratching. I fought to steady my voice, speaking slowly. “Zeus’s a Dutch Shepherd. I was going to bring him to you to be neutered. My sister calls him Devil Dog, but she’s listening to gossip. You know people—they say crazy shit and repeat crazy shit and no one ever challenges them on it.”

  “Crazy shit like stories about psychics communicating with birds?”

  “Yeah, crazy shit like that.” My laugh went all sideways and wrong.

  Ben turned into my drive and laughed, too.

  I’d forgotten to leave on the lights and the house was dark. The moment the car stopped moving, I was out and running, kicking off my sandals and stripping off my contaminated clothes. I shoved my jeans and shirt into the garbage bin and my body quaked with cold and nerves as I tried to open the door. My hand couldn’t hold my key steady and it kept skipping around the keyhole.

  Ben said, “Let me,” and took the keys from me and unlocked the door. I ran through the darkness into the bathroom, flipping on the light, and turned on the water
as hot as it would go. I tore off my underwear and stepped into the scalding water.

  I poured peppermint liquid soap on a nylon scrubber and scoured myself until my skin was red and burning. I washed my hair four times. I stepped out, dripping to grab a bottle of hydrogen peroxide from the medicine cabinet, and then I got back in the shower, closed my eyes, and dowsed myself, the disinfectant stinging as it washed over my raw pores. The water was cold now and I was covered with goose bumps when I finally stepped out of the shower.

  I couldn’t see every inch of my body in the mirror no matter how I twisted. Opening the door, I called, “Ben, can you help?”

  He’d turned on the house lights and followed my voice down the hall. “What do you need?”

  “I can’t see my back. Can you look at the back of my neck and my back to be sure there’s nothing there. I might have missed spots.”

  “I’m sure you’re clean, Maddie.”

  My eyes filled with tears. “Your sign says ‘all animals treated.’ Please look, please.” Tears ran down my face and now I couldn’t see anything in focus, couldn’t see the parasites.

  “All right. Get a towel.”

  I held up a towel in front of me and he came into the steamy bathroom. I turned my back to him and said, “My neck. Make sure nothing’s there. They like to crawl into ears.”

  “That’s an urban legend.”

  “Earwigs in ears are an urban legend. Not maggots.”

  He sighed. “Are you ready?”

  I nodded and then he pressed his fingers on my nape. He parted my hair there and said, “I’m inspecting you, okay?” He turned up my earlobes to look behind them and ran his fingers all the way around my ears in the professional way he examined Ghost.

  A moment later his hands pressed against my shoulder blades. “Looks clear so far. Do you need me to check more?”

  “Yes. I need to be sure.” I dropped the towel and lifted my arms.

  In the mirror, I saw him glance at the unfinished tattoo on my breast before he looked under my arms. “They’re okay.”