Play Dead

by Jane B. Mason

  Clued-In: ☺

  I told Dodge, who stopped staring at my computer screen and whimpered excitedly. “Don’t worry — she’ll save them for you. She doesn’t even eat bacon!” I said with a laugh. “Now please stop slobbering on my shirt!” I wiped off my arm and rubbed the small drool pool that had formed on the carpet with my shoe. By the time I turned back to the screen, Hayley was offline. The girl moved fast — maybe from all that sugar.

  I closed my laptop and flipped back to the first list in my notebook. “Okay, here’s what we’ve got so far,” I told Dodge, reading over the page. “The way I see it, we need to start with three things: One, who saw Ward last? Two, why is there no will? And three, does this mysterious girlfriend actually exist?”

  Dodge’s jaws opened in a wide, stretchy yawn. I chuckled. “It seems far-fetched to me, too. Who would want to date a greedy old grump? Maybe she was after his money and didn’t know he didn’t like to spend money …”

  Or maybe she killed him, I thought. Only Mom said he disappeared swimming and the girlfriend lived far away. So that didn’t make any sense. Ward wasn’t the first Tempest Point swimmer to be swept out to sea. Sam was right about the caution signs, and everyone knew about the riptides. “Why would Ward swim at Tempest Point?” I had just finished writing the question when Sam barged through the door wearing sunglass-printed pajamas and holding Furball under one arm. Dodge and I ignored them, but I did close my notebook. The last thing I needed was Snoopy Sam meddling in our case. I quickly got ready for bed and snuggled under the covers. I let the questions bounce around in my head while I curled my fingers into the fur of my good dog, Dodge.

  I pulled Bunny out from under my bed. I kept him there during the day — not everyone needed to know I slept with a stuffed rabbit. Just me and Cassie. And The Sister, because we shared a den.

  I circled three times and settled down. I put my head on Bunny even though Bunny wasn’t a pillow. Bunny had no stuffing. I made sure of that. I made sure of that as soon as Cassie gave her to me.

  I let out a slow exhale. I felt my girl’s fingers in my fur. Woof. This was a favorite part of my day — the snoozy bedtime nap next to Cassie. The waiting nap while everyone in our den fell asleep. Cassie was usually first. I kept my good ear trained on her breathing. Waiting for slow and steady. The Sister took a little longer. She snored so loudly I didn’t have to listen hard. The Cat was last, and tricky. She only catnapped briefly. Then she went out to hunt small creatures. Which made my escape window limited. I was up to the task, though. The Cat was not all that.

  I heard a snore. Cassie’s hand was slack. I waited. When The Cat was asleep I stood up slowly and leaned against the bed. Cassie’s palm slipped onto the quilt. I tucked Bunny under my bed, laid a sweet-dreams lick on my girl’s cheek, and was out of there.

  The hallway was dark. The Mom and The Dad were awake, but the door to their den was closed. I skulked down the stairs and into the kitchen. Snout pushed the deadbolt. Paws took care of the handle. Hop back. Swish. Click. Hello, backyard. I sniffed the night air.

  Night air smelled better than day air. Don’t ask me why, it just did. I stood there for a moment. I sifted through the strong first smells. Got to the subtle ones underneath. Nothing unusual — at least not yet.

  I crouched low, then sprang forward fast and faster. Full speed. My legs hit the grass one at a time, twice each. My back legs catapulted me off the ground. A second later my fronts were over the fence. The rest of me came along for the ride.

  Thud! I landed a little harder than I liked. I didn’t let it slow me down though. With a new case brewing, I needed all the sniffing time I could get. I trotted down the sidewalk at scenting pace — fast enough to make time, but slow enough to pick up anything important. It was a K-9 training skill I’d honed to perfection. I kept to the edge of the sidewalk, out of the light.

  I stopped to sniff a tree, noting who had left a mark since last night. I sniffed. And sniffed. Frankie, the dachshund on Twenty-seventh, had been here for sure. He was pining for Daisy, a blonde retriever with an impressively silky tail but not a whole lot going on upstairs.

  I rounded a corner and left a message on a fire hydrant. Yes, dogs used fire hydrants. But that’s not all we used. The canine information network was vast. Love notes, warnings, gossip, greetings, and bits of advice were doled out on trees, signposts, fences, and tires. Like the scented warning message Lurch, a mastiff on the east side, left on the rear wheel of a rusty pickup: Use caution around the new postal worker — he’s got an itchy pepper-spray finger. Noted.

  I trotted on, inhaling information. There was a lot tonight, but nothing that would help me. Nothing case-related.

  I picked up my pace, wishing that Cassie was with me. Two heads were better than one. It didn’t matter that Cassie’s nose barely worked. She managed to sniff out clues no matter where they were hiding. And she had thumbs. Thumbs were important.

  Rounding the corner, I caught a scent that made me wag. I was coming up on the house of my good friend, Gatsby “The Nose” Gunderson. Gatsby was an old basset hound. He could barely see. But who needed good vision with a sniffer like his? Nobody, that’s who. The Nose was the best in the biz.

  I paused in front of the Gunderson house and let out a low bark. Muffled, so I wouldn’t wake the whole family. It was all I needed. Gatsby was at the window in a flash — I saw his ears brushing against the sill.

  “Bauuuuu!” He bayed back a hello before his man shushed him. Gatsby’s head disappeared from the window. No Nose news. That hound couldn’t be shushed when he had something to say.

  I started to move on, then stopped. I cocked my ear. A door latch clicked. The back door. I slipped around the side of the house. Gatsby was waiting at the gap in the wooden fence. We wagged and put our noses together. I didn’t touch noses with a lot of dogs. Not many deserved it, to tell you the truth. But The Nose was a seriously good dog. I trusted him. Almost as much as I trusted Cassie.

  Gatsby could tell I was on a case. He didn’t need K-9 training to be a detective. He had instinct, like Cassie. And breeding. And that nose. He snorted, huffing out air and breathing it back in small snorts. The smell of excitement was all over him. He stamped his paws. He wanted out. And in.

  I considered breaking him out of his yard right then and there. A nighttime sniff with The Nose would be an unexpected bone. But my training told me it wasn’t worth it. Not yet. I whimpered and wagged out a promise: I’d be back when the time was right.

  “I have a fresh pan of Death by Chocolate,” Hayley crooned. The school day was over and she wanted me to come over to study. I had to admit, a batch of Hayley’s homemade brownies made even algebra sound appetizing. But I had to get to Pet Rescue, where I volunteered after school and on weekends. I usually brought Dodge with me to PR, but today I’d be going alone. I wanted to put in my time and also let Gwen know I had a new case and wouldn’t be as available as usual before she made up the schedule.

  “Warm gooey chocolaty deliciousness,” Hayley sing-songed, her hazel eyes bright. I started salivating right there on the steps. Dodge was rubbing off on me in more ways than one.

  I let out a long sigh. “Sorry, Hay,” I said, slinging on my backpack. “I owe Gwen some hours before Dodge and I really dig into the case.”

  “Spoken like a true detective.” Hayley shrugged. “I suppose I could save you a brownie.”

  I swung my leg over my bike. Her words were music to my ears. “Would you?”

  Hayley grinned. “No problemo. Now go get ’em, Sherlock.”

  I wheeled out of the bike rack and gave a quick wave.

  The ride to Pet Rescue took about fifteen minutes, and I’d ridden the route so many times I made the turns without thinking. The low cement building was on the edge of town and had plenty of space for the animals to run around outside. I heard the barkbarkbarking long before I saw PR, and smiled — the noise sounded way happier than the hungry whimperings of street dogs. Climbing off my bike, I pulled
open the door and wheeled it across the cement floor to its regular space in the corner.

  “Hey, Gwen,” I greeted the girl behind the counter. Gwen Stroud had recently graduated from Harbor High and worked reception at PR. She was amazing with the animals. “How’s it going?”

  “It’s been pretty quiet,” Gwen replied, tucking her pink-streaked hair behind an ear and standing on tiptoes to peek over the edge of the counter. She searched around my legs, then met my eyes. “Aren’t you missing someone?”

  She was referring to Dodge, of course. “It’s sort of a long story,” I admitted.

  She nodded knowingly, then pointed to a paper towel bulging with pizza remnants. “I saved him my crusts.”

  A little lump of guilt dropped into my stomach. Dodge loved pizza crusts. Not only was I keeping my partner cooped up at home, I was depriving him of delectable snacks! “I’ll deliver them with your regards,” I vowed, shoving the crusts into my backpack with my cell phone. “I came right from school ’cause Dodge and I are working on a new case — the disappearance of Verdel Ward. I might need to decrease my hours for a while.” I bit my lower lip. “I hope that’s okay.”

  “Totally fine,” she replied, jotting herself a note. “I just hope your mom appreciates your crime-solving skills.”

  I grimaced. “We’re flying under the chief’s radar, as usual.”

  Gwen gave me a serious look. “I suppose you know best, but be careful. We don’t want you getting grounded for a lifetime, or worse. You’re a big help around here.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “And don’t worry — I’m always careful. Plus Dodge has my back.” I picked up the pen and signed in to work as Gwen’s cell phone rang.

  “Now that I believe,” she told me before taking the call.

  I stashed my pack in the staff room and headed into the kennels. I did lots of different jobs at PR, but my main tasks were walking the dogs and updating their personality panels — the descriptions on kennel doors that helped match them with forever-families. I tried to be honest but positive, and thought of myself as a matchmaker. The goal was to find the right person for every dog.

  As soon as I pushed open the door, the barking got louder. Most of the dogs knew me and why I was there. Excited yips filled the air and tails wagged on all sides. “I know, I know,” I told them. “It’s walk time.” I took a couple leashes off a hook on the wall and let a new dachshund pup out of his kennel. He was small and wiggly and spotted gray — highly adoptable. He probably wouldn’t be here long. Once he was leashed up, I opened a second kennel. “Hey, Brewster,” I said to the large mixed breed. Brewster was older and patient — a good choice to accompany a puppy on a walk. He’d been here for several weeks and knew the drill. “Let’s go, boys,” I said, though the dogs didn’t need any prodding. I followed them toward the back door, pausing when we got to the end of the row. A frenzied bark I didn’t recognize was coming from the quarantine kennel, the small room on the end where they kept dogs that were aggressive or contagious. The room was usually empty. But not today.

  “Hold on a sec,” I told the dogs as I peered through the small window in the door. I could feel my brows lower in alarm as I studied the pup inside — a male rottweiler. He stood facing the wall, legs apart, barking hoarsely. Desperately. At nothing. The hair on the back of my neck rose. His behavior was bizarre, creepy, and, most of all, sad. I blinked several times before turning back to my charges and heading toward the exit.

  I was watching the dogs sniff their way around the tufts of grass and fighting a sick feeling when the door opened again and Taylor Bask was dragged outside by Mace, a large black Labrador who tugged him forward so hard he almost fell over. At any other moment, it would have been funny, but I couldn’t laugh. The image of the desperate dog was stuck in my head.

  “I saw you looking at our latest addition,” Taylor said. Like me, Taylor worked at Pet Rescue and loved, loved, loved animals. Unlike me, he was already in high school — and got paid a tiny bit for his time. “He’s been doing that weird barking thing on and off since he got here — like the walls are closing in or something. Poor pup is messed up.” He shook his head.

  I nodded and swallowed hard, even though Taylor would understand the lump in my throat. You never knew what had happened to dogs before they came to PR. Humans were not always humane. “When did he get here?”

  “Night before last. Gwen found him tied to the fence in front. We had a hard time getting him inside — he doesn’t trust people. Can’t really tell what’s going on with him, but apparently he hates walls.”

  “Maybe I can work with him,” I said. I was good with fearful dogs.

  “I’m not sure you want to get involved with this one,” Taylor said slowly, not looking at me. “He’s completely unstable. One minute he’s totally fine, and the next he’s freaking out. And I mean freaking. I’ve never heard a dog lose his voice before.”

  I nodded. I could tell Taylor was trying to protect me. I’d gotten attached to a lot of dogs, and sometimes things didn’t end well. But that didn’t mean I could give up and walk away. I couldn’t let a dog suffer. I had to try to help.

  When the last dog was walked, I headed to the quarantine kennel. I looked through the window, took a deep breath, and opened the door s-l-o-w-l-y. “Hey there, buddy,” I said in a calm voice. “I’m Cassie.” I watched the rottweiler closely but didn’t look directly at him — I didn’t want him to feel challenged. I kept my arms low and moved slowly. Even so, he growled and feinted like he was going to bite. I watched him calmly out of the corners of my eyes as I inched along the wall. When I got close enough, I held out a relaxed hand with fingers curled in.

  The dog stepped forward hesitantly, sniffed, and growled. Well, at least he didn’t bite my fist off, I thought. I wanted to get him outside so we could have some space. Without turning my back, I reached for the catchpole — a sort of noose lead on a stick — and slipped it around his neck. He held his body stiffly. A growl stuck low in his throat, but he let me lead him out of the room, past the kennels, and out the door.

  “Hard to relax in there, huh, buddy?” I asked. I was relieved to be out of the quarantine room myself — it was super stuffy. I reminded myself to talk to Gwen about moving him to a regular kennel in the back. Some of them were pretty far away from the crowded rows, so the rottweiler could have a little space without being in solitary. “I’ll try to get you out of there, okay? That prison is no place for a good dog like you.” We walked for several minutes while I studied him. He seemed pretty okay with the catchpole, which surprised me, and he was definitely starting to relax. After ten minutes, his hackles were practically flat.

  “You’re okay. You’re just a huge ole puppy, aren’t you, Hugo?” I named him on the spot. Hugo responded by flopping down on the dirt and starting to pant. The poor guy was exhausted!

  Very carefully I leaned down and reached out to pet him. He watched my every move, but accepted my affection. I felt a tingle of excitement. Out here Hugo almost seemed like a normal dog! “You’re a good dog, you know that?” I said. Hugo lifted his huge head and I scratched behind an ear. He was closing his eyes with contentment when his head jerked and his doggie Mohawk reappeared. Half a second later he was on his feet, barking ferociously.

  I stepped away fast. Weird, I thought. There was nobody around except a woman across the street talking on her cell phone. I led Hugo in the opposite direction. “Okay, got it. No strangers. But at least you relaxed for a second, Hugo. I think there’s hope for you yet.”

  I stood up next to Cassie’s bed and stretched. Shoulders down. Paws out. Butt up. A gooooood stretch. Then I pushed my chest forward and pressed my back legs out. One at time. To get out all the kinks. Arroooowf.

  The air was thick with tasty goodness. Pancakes. I loved pancakes. They signaled the start of two whole days with Cassie. Plus The Dad always saved one or four for me. And pancakes came with bacon. Bacon! Bacon! Bacon was my favorite.

  I yawned, squeaking a l
ittle on the exhale. Then I shook myself and let my ears flap. A little noise. Not as annoying as a blaring alarm, but loud enough to get Cassie to roll over. She stretched and smiled sleepily.

  “Morning, Dodge.” I let her rumple my fur. Most pancake mornings Cassie grabbed a book and stared at it until The Dad called that food was ready. Not today. Today she threw the covers aside and beelined it to the bathroom.

  I wandered downstairs to check for accidental spills. The rest of the family shuffled to the table in pajamas. Except The Mom. She was in her running clothes. She’d been all the way to the park and back. I could tell by the smell on her shoes. Goose poop. My nose twitched and I sat down, waiting for breakfast. Then Cassie walked into the kitchen. She was fully dressed and ready to go.

  After pancakes, Cassie and I were on our way. Cassie got on her bike and started pedaling. I ran alongside. I had to run fast. Not my fastest, but fast. After a few minutes I let my tongue hang out and flap back toward my ears. Not exactly dignified, but it felt good.

  We raced through downtown. I barely had time to register all the smells. The chemical perfume of new store stuff. The meaty scent of the butcher. Nose-burning gas stations. Musty thrift stores. Grassy parks. Did I mention the meaty butcher? The butcher saved me turkey necks. Turkey necks were my favorite. But we passed the butcher and kept going, toward the beach. I caught a whiff of the water before we saw it. I could hear it, too — crashing waves.

  Square city blocks became wide, winding roads. The houses grew. They had fences and gates. They were big. I was a little out of breath. Cassie was breathing hard, too. She checked a scrap of paper in her hand and let her bike coast to a stop. “This is it,” she announced. “Seven-four-five Sea View.”

  We were standing outside the biggest house I’d ever seen. The front of it faced the ocean — a huge half bowl with rocks extending down to the water on either side. A rock wall circled the rest of the property. Not a tall wall. Just tall enough to say “keep out.”