by Hillary Avis
Chapter 20
Pogo stood up on his hind legs, bracing his feet on the door so he could see out the window. He seemed to enjoy watching the scenery go by. There was almost no traffic at mid-morning on a Tuesday, so Allison barely had to stop before she turned left on Highway 19. A couple minutes later she passed the turn-off to Route 247 and slowed, keeping an eye out for a dingy house with a big tree out front.
She spotted it immediately; it came up so fast she had to slam on her brakes to make the turn into the gravel driveway, and Pogo slid off the seat onto the floor.
“Sorry, bud!” Allison said to him, keeping her eyes on the huge, white, fluffy dog that was running toward her as the truck bumped over potholes in the driveway. The dog hit the end of its tether and stopped with a jerk, its bark relentless and sonorous. “Wow, that’s not a dog, that’s a polar bear!”
As soon as she turned off the engine, Pogo jumped up on the seat to see out the window again. When he spotted the dog, he whined. The big dog stood still in the bare dirt circle it’d worn around the willow tree, its ears alert and its tail curled high over his back. It looked like it was on duty—guard duty.
“I know you want to meet it, but I’m not sure it wants to meet you. Maybe you better stay in the car.” Allison cranked the windows down a crack and got out just as Harman Winter opened the screen door. He paused on the porch stairs and shifted the chewing tobacco pouched in his lower lip.
“Shut your snout!” he yelled at the white dog, who cringed at the sound of Harman’s voice and slunk to the other side of the tree. Harman leaned on the porch post and regarded Allison. “Hey, I know you. You’re the pretty lady from—”
“Golden Gardens. Where my husband lives,” Allison said. She hoped Harman would get the hint that she was still very married and very uninterested in his randy old cowboy ways
He winked at her. “That’s right. What can I do you for?”
“Well”—she nodded toward the tree and the big dog cowering behind it—“I see you’re a dog lover.”
Harman snorted and spit in the grass near his feet.
Allison bulldozed on, gesturing to the truck where Pogo had jumped up on the dashboard and was staring at them through the windshield. “I work with Oregon Tails, and my current foster, Pogo, is a terrier who’d be a great little barn ratter. I was wondering if—”
“Nope. I need another dog like I need a hole in the head. Can’t even afford to feed the one I got.”
Allison took another look at the chained-up dog. She didn’t see any food or water where it could reach. She walked toward the tree to check if the dog had bowls on the other side, but Harman made a disapproving noise.
“I wouldn’t do that. She’s mean.”
The dog peeked around the tree at Allison, her expression doleful. She looked more sad than mean, so Allison took another step toward her. The dog crept out a few feet and thumped her tail in the dirt. “What’s her name?”
Harman spit brown tobacco juice on the ground again and dabbed the corner of his mouth with a bandana from his back pocket. “I just call her Dog. Or Shut Up.” He chuckled at his own joke.
Allison crouched down and held out the back of her hand. The dog belly-crawled toward her and, after a thorough sniffing, ducked her head under Allison’s hand. Allison stroked the soft fur on her gentle face, and then, when the dog wagged her tail again, quickly ran her hands over the rest of the dog’s frame. Though her fur was long and disguised much of her shape, she was rail thin underneath the fluffy coat.
“She’s pretty skinny. I can probably get you some dog food through the rescue, if you’re interested.” Allison looked back over her shoulder at where Harman stood.
He shrugged. “Food don’t cure mean.”
Anger blazed in Allison’s chest. She didn’t understand how he could be so callous about a dog he’d probably raised from a puppy. But she tried not to let her emotions get the best of her. “She doesn’t seem mean to me, just a little scared. I bet if you gave her food and water every day, she’d act friendlier toward you.”
“I’d just as soon you load her up and take her to that rescue.” He eyed the truck. “She’d probably eat that little bait dog of yours, though.”
Allison clenched her jaw. She knew there were still people who used small animals, including dogs like Pogo, as bait to train fighting dogs, but she hated to think there were any in Remembrance. Maybe Harman was just kidding, but she felt disgust to her core. It pained her to offer him any ounce of charity when he had so little regard for his own pet. But even though he didn’t deserve her help, the poor dog did.
“I’ll bring you a big bag of food,” she said stiffly, rising to her feet. “But you need to set some water out for her. Summer’s coming on and she’s got a lot of fur.”
Harman grunted and went back inside, where Allison hoped he was filling up a bowl of water. She turned back to the dog, who was tall enough to press her muzzle against Allison’s hip. “We’re going to make sure he takes care of you, OK?”
The dog seemed to understand, thumping her tail as she sat. Her jaw relaxed into a sweet doggy grin. With one last look after the dog, Allison got back in the truck—much to Pogo’s delight—and headed to the highway. It wasn’t until she was back in town that she realized she hadn’t asked Harman about the sweepstakes. She’d been so distracted by his skinny dog that she forgot all about Gertrude.
“Shoot!” She smacked the steering wheel with her palm, and Pogo startled. “I’ll have to go back. At least I have a good excuse.” She pulled into the feed store parking lot and sat in the truck while she dialed Rachael Ashwood, the woman who ran Oregon Tails.
“Hey, girl,” she said when Rachael answered.
“What’s going on?” Allison could hear the smile in her voice through the phone. Rachael was the kind of person who never stopped smiling. No matter what was going on, she could find the sunny side, which was probably a good thing for someone who worked in dog rescue and saw the most dire cases of animal neglect and abuse firsthand. “Pogo’s not giving you trouble, is he?”
“No, he’s a gem. Listen, do you know Harman Winter? He’s got a place out 19 East.”
“Hm. I don’t go that way much. What about him?”
“Well, he’s got a skinny old dog, a big white one with a gray mask—”
“A Samoyed?” Rachael asked, sounding interested.
“No, not an arctic dog. More like a farm dog. Huge and fluffy, blunt snout.”
“Great Pyrenees, maybe,” Rachael mused. “Or maybe a Maremma. Of course, everything’s a mix around here; I don’t know why I even bother speculating. I don’t think I’ve seen it around town, though.”
“Oh no, this isn’t a leash dog. He keeps it chained up to guard his place, it looks like.”
“Ugh.” Rachael was quiet for a second. “Well, that’s not against the law, even though it should be. Tethering can even be a good thing for a dog who wanders off, especially since Harman lives next to the highway.”
“I know—that’s not why I called. She’s pretty skinny and he said he couldn’t afford to feed her. So I was wondering if I could pick up some of the food that you get donated to Oregon Tails. I know it’s for the foster pups, but I figured you might have some to spare.”
“Oh, sure! I’m getting a new shipment tomorrow. You can pick it up then if you don’t mind driving out.” Rachael’s ranch and kennel facility was a few miles past Crystal’s filbert farm on Route 247.
Allison’s heart sank. “I was hoping to grab it this afternoon. I borrowed Crystal’s truck from Myra today, but I won’t have it tomorrow.”
“Unfortunately I’m stuck here because we’re putting in new irrigation this week, otherwise I’d bring it to you when it comes in. Can you send someone else to pick it up? Maybe Myra could get it for you on her way home? At least it’s not as far out of her way. Or I can haul it into town on the weekend, if you want, and drop it off at the guy’s place.” Rachael’s voice was thoughtful.
“No, I think that’s too late. I’ll just grab some from the feed store,” Allison said. “I’m already in the parking lot.” She didn’t like the thought of spending money on Harman Winter, but the dog deserved better.
“All right. Well, keep me in the loop on that dog. I can go check on her when I’m in town, too, and make sure he’s treating her right.”
“Thanks, Rach,” Allison said. She hung up the phone and took Pogo into the store. It hurt to spend forty bucks on a bag of dog food when she didn’t have income coming in, but she didn’t have time to wait for the donation food to arrive. Luckily the feed store had all kinds of good quality dog food, so Allison grabbed some for Pogo and a bigger bag of large-breed food for Harman’s dog and hauled them out to the truck. A few minutes later, she was bouncing back down the driveway to his house and getting the full bark treatment from the dog, too.
The second she stepped out of the truck and slung the bag of dog food over her shoulder, the dog caught a whiff of the food and the barking ceased. The poor thing quivered and licked her lips as she stared at Allison and whined. Allison was disgusted to see that Harman hadn’t put any water out for the dog while she was gone, either.
She marched to the porch and banged on the screen door. “Harman! Where are the dog dishes?”
A minute later, he opened the door. He’d removed his ubiquitous Stetson, and his cottony hair stuck up in white tufts. “What?”
“The dog. What does she eat out of?” He frowned and switched his plug of chew to the other side of his lip, looking confused, so Allison tried again. “Where do you put her food when she eats?”
“Ah, I just dump it out on the ground. She’s not picky.” He laughed.
Allison was horrified. “She eats out of the dirt?! What about water?”
“I run the hose for her in the evening and she drinks all she wants.” Harman knit his eyebrows together and sucked in his cheeks. “Why are you so riled up about it?”
Allison took a deep breath and quelled her indignation. Sometimes old timers had a different idea about how to treat a dog, and that didn’t mean they were cruel. Still... “She’s hungry and thirsty. Do you have a couple of dishpans or buckets or something?”
Harman disappeared for a couple of minutes and returned with a beat-up cookpot and an empty coffee can. He opened the screen and shoved them out at her. “Best I got.”
Allison took them. The pot would work, but the coffee can would need an upgrade. “I’ll bring you another dog bowl next time I come by.”
“I won’t say no to gifts.” Harman’s face broke into a grin and he gave her his signature wink. “Can’t stay away from old man Winter, huh? Many a young lady has felt the same.”
Allison burst out laughing in spite of herself. “I am not bringing you a dog bowl. I’m bringing it to her.” She jerked her head toward the dog, who was still staring at her and licking her chops. She ripped open the bag of food and filled up the coffee can—it was better than putting the food in the dirt—and looked around for the hose. It was coiled up next to the corner of the house.
She picked up the coffee can, heavy with kibble, and kicked the cookpot across the porch toward Harman. “Fill that up, would you?”
He grumbled but did as she said, shuffling his way across the yard with his hand on his lower back like it was killing him. She snorted as she set the coffee can down for the dog. With a wild look at her, the dog dove for the food, scattering it around her as she gobbled as much as she could.
“Whoa, slow down, girl.” Allison reached out to scoot the can away so she wouldn’t eat it too fast, but the dog snapped at her and then growled, low and menacing, until Allison backed away a few feet. Keeping a wary eye on Allison, the dog resumed devouring the can of kibble.
“Told you that bitch was mean,” Harman chuckled, sloshing the pot of water as he set it down inside the bare circle of dirt at the base of the tree.
Allison’s mouth dropped open. Even if that was the correct term for a female dog, she knew Harman was using the word to be rude and shocking. She set her hands on her hips and got in his face. “Your dog is not mean. She’s food-aggressive because you don’t feed her enough. Of course she thinks she needs to protect her food. She’s starving half the time!”
Harman looked appropriately chastened. He dug in the dirt with the toe of his boot and was quiet for a few moments. “I know. I feed her when I can. Money’s not regular around here. Sometimes I give her rice and beans when that’s all I’ve got, but I know it’s not enough.”
“Money is no excuse,” Allison said stubbornly. “The church gives out pet food with their food boxes. Oregon Tails Dog Rescue will give you food if you call them. Heck, the vet in Elkhorn would probably give you dog food, too. So will anyone in town who owns a dog, for crying out loud. All you have to do is ask.”
Harman ducked his head, still kicking the dirt like a little kid who was in trouble. “I’ll do better.”
“You better do better! Rachael from Oregon Tails is going to drop by on the weekend and bring you another bag of food. If she doesn’t like what she sees, you ought to think about turning your dog over to her.”
“Is she as pretty as you?” Harman looked up from the ground, a twinkle in his eye. Allison swatted him on the arm, but he just grinned at her. “Honest question. I’m a single man, now. I have needs.”
“Yeah, a mortgage to pay,” Allison said tartly. His eyes widened, but he quickly covered up his surprise.
“True. It’ll be tough to make ends meet without Gertrude.” He wiped away a crocodile tear and Allison turned away so he wouldn’t see her roll her eyes. “All I got is my social security check. I’ll probably have to sell the house.”
“Gertrude didn’t leave you anything in her will?” Allison asked.
He gave a quick shake of his head and spat, brown tobacco juice splattering on the ground. “Far as I know, she wrote me out when we split up. Everything goes to Hedy.”
Harman Winter was a tough nut to crack. Allison narrowed her eyes. “I heard Gertrude might have won some money.”
She was pleased to see shock register on his face, his mouth dropping open before his expression returned to merely cool. “I guess Hedy’s a lucky girl, then. And the loan sharks will be pleased as punch.”
“Why’s that? Does she owe them money?”
“She’s so far in the hole, they won’t let her borrow any more. Got nothing to show for it, either. No house, no car, nothing but that damn bird.”
“Lester.” Allison nodded. “She said she won him in a raffle, though. She didn’t buy him.”
“She won him. Right. But she probably spent more on the raffle tickets than the bird would have cost to begin with. It’s like she can’t help herself...when she has a chance to win something, she pours out her purse like it’s full of water.”
“She’s a gambler?”
He nodded. “Why do you think she lives at the Dream-A-Lot? It’s not for the view. It’s because all she has to do is cross the street and she’s at the casino. She’s there every day, pretty much. Even now that the loan sharks won’t give her any more money, she plays the penny slots.” He shook his head. “I can’t make sense of why someone would throw away money like that. That’s what I told her—forget the slots! If she wants to insert money, pull lever, she can come to me!” He winked at Allison as if to say that he was joking, but she suspected he probably had said that. It was just the kind of dirty joke Harman would tell.
But it was more than a dirty joke—it was another plea for money, and Harman fleeced women by playing them against each other. He’d used that trick on Lilian and Gertrude when they were best friends, but was he low enough to pull it on sisters?
“Did you and Hedy ever date?” Allison tried to keep her voice casual.
He took some time answering, shifting his plug of tobacco back and forth as he scrutinized her face. Finally, he asked, “Why?”
She shrugged. “Just curious. You seem to know her busines
s.”
“We were family for twenty years. Got to know her real well back then. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Harman turned abruptly and went back up on the porch.
“Don’t forget, the dog needs food and water every day,” Allison called after him, but he didn’t turn around. He just yanked open the screen door and let it bang shut behind him.
Chapter 21
“Guess Harman gave up on flirting with me,” Allison said to the dog, who was grinning at her with water dripping from her muzzle. Allison cautiously held out the back of her hand for the dog to sniff again before gently stroking her head. The dog butted up against her hand, her tail wagging. “See, you’re a good girl.”
She gave the dog one last pat and, with a backward glance at the poor skinny thing, headed back to the truck. Pogo yipped a greeting as she slid behind the wheel, and she gave him a pat, too. As she started up the engine, she caught sight of the clock on the dash. It was far later than she’d realized; her feed store errands had taken a huge chunk out of the day. “Shoot, we need to get the truck back to Myra!”
As she drove back toward town, she reflected on her conversation with Harman. She knew for a fact that Gertrude called him to tell him about the winning sweepstakes, yet he acted like he’d never heard a word about it.
“Strange,” she murmured to herself. Why would Harman hide that piece of information, especially now that Gertrude’s death had been ruled an accident? Unless he knew that it wasn’t...
Maybe Harman climbed through Gertrude’s window to grab the envelope. He might be eighty years old, but he was lean and fit from his years of working on his farm. There was no reason to think he couldn’t have done it physically, and he was the only person who knew about Gertrude winning the sweepstakes, besides Lilian and Myra. Even if they didn’t believe Gertrude won, but maybe Harman had.
That would also explain how Gertrude recognized her killer when she woke up that night. She’d recognize Harman instantly. But why would she be angry to see him? From everything Allison had seen in the memories, Gertrude adored Harman, despite their divorce. He could have just asked her for the sweepstakes money, and she’d probably have given it to him.