by Marta Acosta
I parked in the space closest to the restaurant doorway and looked around before getting out of my truck. Hookups were always iffy, so I took precautions. I never left with anyone and I never told anyone where I lived or let them have access to my handbag or phone or drink. I made sure to say hello to the night manager. I insisted on condoms, and I didn’t allow any bondage. I never went to a room shared by two men. I I’d leave the second someone gave me the willies.
I walked beneath a grape-covered trellis, through the brass trimmed doors, into a dark room where people I didn’t recognize ate at linen-covered tables. The crystal grape clusters dangled from custom chandeliers and a vineyard fresco covered the longest wall.
A placard with “Reserved for Coyote Run Recorder” was placed at the far end of the redwood bar, Abel Myklebust’s preferred spot. My favorite bartender was here, a pretty girl with a dark mop of ringlets who moved swiftly, yet gracefully. She was pouring red wine into four glasses as I sat down. The glasses were equally full with barely a ripple. I didn’t know how she could stand to listen to the clattering of knives and forks against plates for hours on end.
“Be with you in a moment, sweetie.”
“Take your time.” I grabbed a handful of maraschino cherries from the garnish tray, ate them, and then braided the stems.
The darkness and the mirror over the bar let me watch at other people. A middle-aged man at the other end of the bar smiled at me and raised his tumbler. He slumped drunkenly, and I crossed him off my list. A somewhat attractive woman rapidly texted at a table by herself. She was the type who wouldn’t stop griping about her husband or girlfriend or job or kids.
The bartender said, “Haven’t seen you here in a while. The fellow over there wants to buy you a drink. What will you have?”
“A Sprite, but tell him no thanks.”
As I sipped my soda, I noticed three men in polo shirts at a table set for four. They were laughing and having fun, guys in their thirties who had enough experience to make sex interesting, but not too wasted to make it useless. Guy #1 was much better looking than his pals in a clean-cut way with short brown hair and a toned body. He only glanced my way and turned back to his pals, who were checking me out.
I swiveled on my stool and crossed my legs, accidentally kicking someone walking by. Oliver Desjardins stopped and stood there, glowering, which caused the men at the table to stare at us.
“Do you have a problem with me drinking a soda, Oliver?”
“Who did I kill to get cursed with you in this iteration of my life?” He walked away and joined the three men.
I was surprised by his use of iteration. Because that was one of Claire’s favorite words. Like a Popsicle stick in a bike wheel, my brain clicked around, slowed, and stopped on a spoke: Claire tells him everything, he tells Claire everything. I placed my money on the counter and told the bartender, “I’m beginning to think I’ll never have sex again.”
When she leaned toward me, I saw the lovely swell of her breasts peaking from her crisp white shirt, her satiny brown skin, and a plump lower lip I wanted to suck until it was swollen. She smiled and said, “That would be a shame when you’re so damn sexy. I get off in an hour, if you can wait.”
“I didn’t know you...”
“I like exploring. If you’re interested.”
I imagined her lithe naked body. If we met outside, Oliver wouldn’t see us together. “Very interested.”
Her voice dropped. “I’d like to be with someone who understands gentleness.” When she put her hand out to take my cash, she delicately ran her forefinger along my wrist.
It burned like a line of fire, and I snatched my arm back so quickly I knocked the glass over. “Sorry! I’m sorry. I just...” As I picked up ice cubes, I looked into the mirror and saw Oliver watching me.
The bartender’s smile was gone. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, swiftly wiping up the spill with a cloth. “I thought you were into girls.”
“I am, and you’re beautiful, but...” Again the Popsicle stick ticked and stopped. “I’m trying to get over someone and I thought I was ready, but I’m not. Good night.”
I left through the doors leading to the hotel lobby, avoiding proximity to Oliver’s table, and looped around the building to the parking lot. I sat in my truck for a few seconds with my forehead against the cool hard steering wheel. I started the engine and drove until I was in front of Claire’s house.
The lights were off and her car wasn’t in the driveway. I headed home, knowing that when I saw Bertie, all my petty disappointments would vanish.
Chapter 10
ZEUS DARTED UP THE boulders by the pond with breathtaking agility, and Bertie, slowed by old injuries, gallantly followed. I recalled them and had them walk in tandem to the obstacle course at the rehabilitation center.
I let Bertie lie in a sunny spot while I ran Zeus over a series of jumps over sawhorses.
“Kreich,” I said, and he dropped and crawled beneath the sawhorses. “Holy shit.” I wished I could have seen Bertie at this age, because I knew he must have been glorious. My phone buzzed and I threw the tennis ball to Zeus before answering it. “Kenzie! You’re supposed to be back already.”
“I am back already, but I’m not coming any closer until you confine Devil Dog.”
I spun around and spotted my sister standing outside the gate. “Give me a minute,” and I threw the ball a few more times for the Dutchie before leaving him at the obstacle course with Bertie.
I let Kenzie in and hugged her tight. “I’ve missed you, baby. Did you have a good time?”
“I had a great time. The workshop was good, and our room had an amazing view over the city. Christopher made reservations in this tiny, wonderful French restaurant.”
My gut clenched with anxiety. “So things went well?”
“Things always go well with him. But things were more romantic, you know? No, you probably don’t, but they were. Do you want to tell me why Devil Dog is still here?”
The big shepherds were playing chase around the obstacle course. “He’s the sheriff’s new search and rescue dog. Zeus has mad Schutzhund skills, and he must have been going crazy locked inside a crackhouse.”
“Mad what skills? Nevermind. Our insurance is high already, and don’t know the history of this monster.”
“I do know Zeus’s history. Someone, probably his breeder, pre-screened him for this training because he displayed an aptitude for a range of difficult tasks. He’s got stamina, play drive, balance, and focus. Since you’re here, I can begin practicing live finds. Jaison refuses to set a trail and be my target.”
“Gee, I wonder why the black kid doesn’t want to be hunted by a psycho attack dog. Neither does this white girl, so get that craptastic idea out of your head.”
“I wonder what it would cost to fix our tractor. I’d like to build a serious obstacle course.”
“It’s cheaper if you to keep ‘borrowing’ them. That’s a joke, Maddie. Please don’t do that again. Did anything else happen while I was gone?”
“Dr. Ben neutered Zeus.”
“Anything not having to do with Devil Dog.”
“No, I cooked on Saturday night and had a quiet and productive weekend.
“Sure, you did. Let me unpack and at dinner you can casually let slip whatever catastrophes occurred in my absence.”
I was happy to have my sister back at home where she belonged, and I tried not to be impatient, but by five p.m., I was running to the barn, Bertie at my side, so I could help her with the evening feeding.
I liked watching her stomp in her cowboy boots, grabbing bales of hay and throwing them into the wheelbarrow with rough grunts. “I missed your noises, K.”
“What noises? I don’t make noises,” she said with a sheesh.
“Ben said he’d continue charging Doc Pete’s rates for our livestock.”
She grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow. “That’s a nice surprise. Why’s he doing it?”
“I did
n’t ask.”
“He’s either after you or he’s a bad businessman, or both.”
“Maybe he knows I’ll steer business his way. He’s not after me. He’s in love with his wife and thinks I’m a gorgeous lesbian. We’re friends. I know you think it’s impossible for men and women to be friends. Maybe that’s true for you, but not for me.”
She huffed forward with the wheelbarrow and said, “I haven’t eaten since brunch. If you really want to help, you’ll make dinner since you’ve magically learned to cook.”
While I microwaved the cooked chicken, washed salad greens, and sliced bread I rehearsed what to tell her. However, the moment she came into the kitchen, I handed her a glass of ice water and everything that had happened spilled out in a rush. “So other than that, Kenz, everything went pretty well.”
She went to the fridge, pulled out bottles of pale ale, opened them, and handed one to me. “I don’t know where to start so I’ll go chronologically. First, what happened to you is awful. I’m really sorry. Did you file a report with the sheriff?”
“He already knows what happened and blames me, so a report is useless.”
“I’m sure you’re twisting things. I can’t force you, but it’s good to have things on record. Second, I’m glad Ben could help you. You didn’t call me.” Her brows went together.
“You needed a break, didn’t you?”
“Thanks. It means a lot. Third, the naked thing with Ben...he’s not a people doctor and you shouldn’t expect him to behave like one. You should have let Georgie take care of you. Stop chewing your nail.”
I spread my fingers and then clenched my hands a few times. “I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to make rational decisions. Besides, Georgie was busy with her staff.”
“Okay. Fifth—”
“You skipped Fourth.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fourth, I can tell you’re interested in Ben.”
“Only as a friend and fellow canine aficionado.”
“Sure, whatever. But maybe he knows you’re interested and he is playing you. Anyone could have told him. Or your eyes could have. For someone who specializes in half-truths, evasions, and misdirection, you’re a terrible liar.”
“Is that supposed to be good or bad?”
“I don’t know. Where were we?”
“Sixth.”
“Okay, sixth, it would be great if he actually wants to be only a friend. Seventh, I guess I’m glad you squared things with Oliver about Devil Dog. However, eighth, I’m concerned working with him can only lead to more conflict, so please be careful.”
“Anything else?”
“Ninth, how many times have I begged you not to hook up with strangers?”
“I haven’t done it since before Claire, and I didn’t do it this time. I came home.”
“Only because Oliver showed up. If you want, um...”
“The word is sex, Kenzie.”
“Yes, sex, go to one of your old flings, someone safe.”
“Those are all past their sell-by date, and I am being safe. I never go anywhere but the Country Squire.”
“It’s still too dangerous, Maddie.”
“Are we done yet?”
“No. Tenth, there were dozens of messages from people wanting to schedule psychic readings.”
“You told me to let you handle those calls.”
“Right. I’m just saying business is good. Things are good.” She set her lips tight.
“What’s wrong then?”
“I don’t know. I never trust it when things go well.”
“You’re being superstitious. Luck is pure happenstance. Our actions cannot influence happenstance.”
“What I mean is...Oh, maybe I am being superstitious. Every time I see a silver lining, rain starts to pour down,” she said. “What did Ben think about the stud lot? Was he ticked off?”
“I couldn’t tell. He said he might put an underground bunker there.”
“He was joking.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he’s a prepper. What would we do in a disaster? Because we’ve run out of jam.”
“Pick up a few crates of strawberries and I’ll make enough to get us through the end times.”
THERE WAS A BURST OF news about Sherry Rae Castleman and the reports repeated the same few details: she was a single lawyer who liked outdoor sports, came from a family of accomplished siblings, and enjoyed traveling and home renovation. She’d spent a weekend at Towering Pines Casino & Resort, and checked out three days before she was discovered at the Carozzos’ property. The night before she checked out, she’d met a man at the craps table and had a dinner with him. According to him, she was in a good mood even though she’d blown through a few thousand. He’d said good-night at the casino restaurant because he had to catch a red-eye flight at SFO. Towering Pines and airline records confirmed his story, and her ex had been on vacation in Rome.
Then a pretty young teenager vanished on a vacation in Hawaii and cable news forgot all about Sherry Rae.
I sunk into my work with Special clients, my initial tentativeness gone as I soon acclimated to the temperature. I soaked in a fantasy world of talking dogs, familiars, reincarnated souls, guardian angels in canine form, and whatever else came to mind.
Jaison and I were smoking an after-work reefer on the center’s sunny observation deck. “You’re so persnickety about world-building in science fiction. So why are you mashing up fairy dogmothers with trickster coyotes?” He said, and inhaled deeply.
I plucked the reefer away and sucked in three short, sharp puffs, holding them in for a count of five. I let out the smoke and coughed. Jaison slapped my back with the palm of his hand, and I said, “Thanks.”
“Where did you get this? Cuz it’s rough and I’m not getting much of anything.”
“It was the cheapest bud at a crappy Oaksterdam shop. I’m not scoring from Dawg’s buddy in the Ring-A-Bell parking lot anymore because I don’t want to support the Sinaloas,” I said, referring to the crops planted by the cartel on remote forest land up on Mt. Hale.
“You mean Rafael? Everyone at the Brewhouse says he’s with Los Tres Chuckies, a branch of Los Gueros. He’s out of his fucking mind filching product. They catch him and it’s adios, asshole, for sure.”
“Los Tres Chuckies?” I said, laughing. “You’re making that up.”
“I couldn’t make it up. They’re named after Chuck Norris, Chuck Taylors, and Chuckie, the killer doll. I haven’t seen Rafael lately, though. Maybe ICE caught him or he’s staying close to home base on the mountain.”
“When I was a kid, we used to go to Mt. Hale all the time. In the summers, my brother practically lived there. He could climb the toughest trails like a mountain goat.” My last toke was as rough as the first, and I coughed for a few seconds while thinking about the steep terrain.
“What’s gonna happen there if fracking gets approved?”
“Probably nothing since Mt. Hale is protected state land. Which is a joke since the growers dump chemicals on their crops and the runoff poisons the streams. I think the bigger question is how Los Tres Chuckies—you must be making up that bullshit name—will deal with recreational legalization.”
“You’re hurting my feelings not trusting me,” he said. “It hasn’t passed in California yet, and they’ve got a lot of other states for export.”
“Legalization will pass. That’s progress. Just like we’re going to have a woman president next election.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s always one step forward and then two steps backwards. You know how they hate on Barack. ”
“They hate him in Coyote Run because of your basic unreconstituted racism, but it’s not like that everywhere.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Okay, yes, it is, but he got elected and so can a bleached blond white lady. Not that I believe her.”
“You don’t believe any politician.”
“Because anyone who runs for office is compromised or becomes compromised. We need
beer. There’s a six-pack in the fridge. Bring one for me, too.”
I stretched my legs and lowered my eyelids so I could see hazily through my lashes. I’d introduced Zeus to the pack and he was lazing in the shade while Thing Two batted at him and jumped back. He’d merged so easily with my dogs that I knew that at some point, he’d been part of a pack.
Jaison returned with two cans of Modelo and handed one to me. I rolled the cold can on my forehead before cracking it open. We daydreamed about pet psychic readings until the sun was a golden arc edging over the mountains, laughing, and forgetting to talk sometimes, and other times our words tumbled out too quickly.
I said, “People argue if I try to explain something factual about canine behavior, but they’ll follow my advice if I tell them I’ve had a psychic message from the dog.”
“You can’t blame people for wanting a little magic in their lives.”
“I wish magic could clean the yard. It won’t so let’s get our asses in gear.”
“Sing for me while we work.”
So I sang “Lovely Day,” and Jaison joined in on the chorus as we cleared up the crap, enjoying the peace until Heidi had had enough of the Things pestering her, and snarled, and Ghost threw in, and Jaison and I pulled them apart. We put the mother and pups in the private room, and called it a day.
I BEGAN THE NEXT FEW mornings with Special appointments and then worked with the boarding dogs. Afternoons were reserved for Zeus, and included Bertie in the SAR exercises. Jaison relented and helped, under the condition that I was the one hiding in barrels, under cars, across creeks, and even on the roof of one of the trailers, while he and the dogs searched for me.
When Oliver Desjardins arrived precisely at nine on Saturday morning, he transformed my shining mood into one of murky apprehension. He stood stiffly outside the center’s gate while the dogs milled curiously along the fence.