“All I know is what they told me, Bee. They said he made an offer they couldn’t refuse.”
Rubbing her forehead with her left hand, she rested her right hand on Beau’s shoulder. He moved to lay his muzzle across her leg. “Sullivan now owns the properties on either side of me.”
“So it would seem, yes. I hoped he would have mentioned this to you himself.”
Beau shifted under her hand, and she realized she was pinching him. “You would think so, especially considering what happened between us last night.”
“Oh, Bee, I’m sorry. This sucks.”
“I guess I should have observed a little longer before jumping in. He must be plotting to squeeze me out and plow everything down.”
“He can’t buy what’s not for sale. Remember that.”
“But if the pageant is a bust, the bank won’t back my bridge loan, and I’ll have no choice but to sell.”
“He doesn’t know that, Bee.”
“Everyone knows everything in Dog Town. How did someone know about Fritz attacking the possum before I could even get home from the vet? How did you know about our plan to extract Fritz?”
“I didn’t. You’re just predictable.”
“But now we know Sullivan’s a sneak and a liar. Who’s to say he isn’t spreading the word about rescuing Fritz? Then City Hall will shut down the pageant and Sullivan can scoop my house right out from under me.”
“He won’t do that. He implicated himself in that rescue. Just stop for a moment and breathe. I know this looks bad on the surface, but you can’t believe everything you see. Especially in Dog Town.”
“Well, I’m about to find out, Duff. I’m driving over there right now.”
For once Duff didn’t try to stop her. “Call me after, okay?”
Bridget put the car in drive. “Of course. But chances are you’ll hear all about it before I get a chance.”
Sullivan opened the door as Bridget was getting ready to slam the knocker a third time.
“Hey,” he said.
Just “hey.” A guilty-sounding “hey” at that. And if a guilty hey weren’t enough, he was shifting from one bare foot to another. His blue eyes danced around, refusing to meet hers.
“How’d your day go?” she asked, reaching down to touch Beau’s head. Her hand landed on air. Beau was trotting toward the back of the house. “Beau, come,” she said, and the dog turned back.
“It went well,” Sullivan said. “I’m guessing you already heard what happened.”
“It is Dog Town, so yes. I heard you made an offer the Fergusons couldn’t refuse.”
“I made a reasonable offer when—”
“When you heard from me that Mr. Ferguson was struggling with his hips, and scared about the winter. You rushed right over to push them out of their house.”
“Excuse me?” He crossed his arms and planted his feet. “I did no such thing.”
“So you didn’t roll out of my bed this morning and rush over to buy them out.”
“I went over this morning, but it’s not at all what you think.”
“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, Sullivan.”
Now his eyes met hers full on. He was as angry as she was.
“I can’t believe you’d think that of me.” His voice rose. “Especially when you took advantage of the Olsons by getting them to take a lowball offer from you out of pity.”
It was like a kick in the stomach. “Pity? How dare you!”
“Why else would they turn down a better offer? They obviously felt bad for the lady who lived in the shoebox with so many dogs she didn’t know what to do.”
“They wanted their house to be loved, like a pet. And they didn’t feel you could do that. Just like I didn’t feel you could take care of a rescue dog properly.”
He took a step backwards, as if her shot had landed. “Well, then. I don’t think there’s much left to say.”
“Only this. Did you cut the wire in my barn? Because it’s looking like the person trying to sabotage my home and my dogs and my future may have been you all along.”
Anger rumbled in his throat like a growl. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Well, what else are you going to do with two properties and me in between?”
“I don’t need to account for my plans. You’re acting like the crazy dog lady I thought you were when we met.”
“I thought you were a slick jerk, so I guess my first impression was right too.”
They stared at each other and then Sullivan swallowed hard. “Look, this is stupid. Can we have a civilized discussion about this, Bridget?”
“No, we cannot.” She reached down and again, Beau was not at her side. “Beau!”
Turning, she saw him coming out of the back yard. He seemed to be carrying himself awkwardly, but it was hard to tell with a black dog in the dark. She went towards him, her heart in her throat.
He barely reached the circle of light around the porch before collapsing onto his side. His legs twitched, and then his whole body convulsed. As Bridget fell to her knees beside him, his body stilled.
There was a terrible howling sound. It came not from Beau, but from Bridget.
Poison, the emergency vet said. They weren’t sure what kind, or how much Beau had ingested. However, it was clear that if Sullivan hadn’t driven her van so fast that it nearly blew apart, the dog would have been gone already, instead of clinging to life by a thread. Liver damage had begun and it was very difficult to reverse.
They’d asked Bridget all kinds of questions she couldn’t answer. Beau had been fine and with her all day, except for the brief foray into Sullivan’s yard. Few toxins could work so fast on a large dog. All they could do was treat the symptoms and send bloodwork to the lab.
Sullivan had offered to drive the sample to the lab, but Bridget asked him to go home and check his yard instead. “Just text me if you find anything,” she said, refusing his offer of company. Then she refused offers from her friends, one by one. In this, the most horrible moment of her life, she wanted to be alone. No one could possibly understand what she was going through and making conversation was too much of an effort.
Her phone pinged over and over as she sat in the waiting room. Now and then she glanced at the bubbles on her screen asking her, “How is he?”
Only when Mike asked the same question did she bother to answer. With trembling fingers, she picked out the words: “I’m cautiously optimistic.”
She wasn’t optimistic at all, but she figured Mike was wondering if she’d be able to pull it together for the pageant in three days. She needed to put up a good front, in case a miracle happened and the show could go on.
As it turned out, Mike was assessing whether she was able to withstand more bad news.
“Bridget, I’m sorry to say the mayor has cancelled the pageant and the license for the work at Seaton Park,” he wrote. “With all that’s happened lately, he’s concerned about the possibility of negative press.”
She wasn’t sure whether the mayor was bothered more by the CCD complaints, Fritz’s rescue, or the fact that her home had been targeted by arson. There was plenty to choose from. That none of it had made the news was probably due to the hard work of City Hall’s suppression machine. She wasn’t the only one playing whack-a-mole.
Stretching out across several seats in the vet’s waiting room, Bridget covered herself with her coat. Mike’s news would no doubt hurt like hell later. For the moment, it was one less thing to worry about when she only cared about one thing. She could stand losing the event she’d put her heart into for ten years. She could stand losing the guy she had begun losing her heart to recently. She could even stand losing her house, which had already taken up room in her heart. All of that she could stand. But she could not stand it if the heart of her best friend stopped beating in the room next door. Without her big black dog, life would have no color. So, for now, all she could do was hope and endure.
It seemed like she’d only shut her eyes for a mome
nt when someone squeezed her shoulder. “No,” she said. Tears seeped out as the truth flooded back into her awareness.
The hand squeezed harder. “Open your eyes, honey. It’s morning.”
Bridget’s eyes popped open. “Mom?”
Chapter 22
Bridget drank the coffee her mother handed her and slid down in the uncomfortable plastic chair. She was relieved to surrender the reins, although she felt sorry for the veterinary staff her mom was grilling. Bronwyn Linsmore, self-anointed dog guru, was totally in her element. By her own admission, Bronwyn had pretty much left Bridget to raise herself, but she’d always micromanaged her revolving pack of hounds. In that way, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Otherwise, they had little in common. Bronwyn’s hair was impeccably blonde, and her makeup on point despite a long drive through the night. Her attire could at best be described as bohemian. She wore floral print, harem-style pants, a sweater with pink tassels, a multicolored scarf looped around her neck, and an armful of bangles that jingled when she issued orders.
“What is taking so long with toxicology?” she asked Bridget, when harassing the staff failed. “Everything moves like molasses in Dorset Hills. It’s one of many things I hated about this town.”
“Some things move quickly,” Bridget said. “Like information.”
Bronwyn perched lightly on the seat beside Bridget, ready to fly into action as needed. “Andrea told me all about what’s happened with your pageant. It’s a crying shame, Bridget, but the game’s not over yet.”
“What can we do? The mayor has spoken.”
“Bill Bradshaw? Please.” Her mom dismissed him with a tinkling wave. “Bill hit on me at a party once, you know. Your father practically demanded a duel.”
“Seriously? Mayor Bradshaw? Wow.”
“He’s not all that.” Bronwyn looked around at the faces of other beleaguered pet owners and smiled. “I was a hot ticket then, my dear. Some think I still am.”
“A hot ticket in crazy harem pants.” A few pet owners smothered grins at this.
Bronwyn raised a finely penciled eyebrow. “I left in a hurry when Andrea called. It was a long drive, and I like to be comfortable.”
“Well, thanks for coming. I wouldn’t have asked.”
“Trust me, I know that. I’ve barely heard from you in two years.” Bronwyn unfurled her scarf and looped it more evenly. “Luckily you chose your friends well. At least, Andrea. That little bird Cori I’m not so sure about. Looks like she could peck your eyes out given half a chance.”
Bridget would have laughed had her face not been paralyzed with grief. “Pretty much. But she’s a loyal friend too, and they’d all be here if I’d let them. I just couldn’t bear to have anyone around right now.”
“I know, honey.” She patted Bridget’s leg with a jingle. “You’ve got an unnatural attachment to that animal that only a mother like me can understand. I raised you to love dogs more than people, I guess.”
“I do love my friends, Mom. But Beau’s special.”
“He is that. Remember when I met him? He climbed onto me like a giant lapdog and went right to sleep. That dog has uncanny wisdom and terrific taste.”
Bridget’s eyes filled again as she whispered, “I think someone poisoned him.”
“I doubt the poison was meant for Beau, hon. What type of monster would deliberately harm a dog?”
“People do. It’s in the news all the time.”
“Nutjobs like that would avoid Dog Town like the plague, wouldn’t they? It seems more likely that Beau got into some rat poison, and we’ll get to the bottom of it. In the meantime, I have the feeling he’s going to be fine.”
“The vets said—”
“I know what they said. When have you known me to be wrong?”
Often. Frequently. A lot. But Bridget didn’t say it. “I hope you’re right.”
“I feel confident enough that I think you should drive over and check this Sullivan’s yard yourself. I doubt he knows what to look for.”
Bridget’s throat tightened. “I won’t leave Beau.”
“Fine. I’ll go crawl through this hottie’s yard. Would that be better?”
“Oh my god, no!”
Bronwyn smirked. “Off you go then. I’ll stay on top of things here, and call you the instant I hear anything.”
Bridget only gave in because knowing absolutely what poison Beau had ingested might increase his chances of full recovery. Sullivan said he’d searched the yard carefully, but what if he’d missed the one thing that might kill a dog? If she hurried, she could be back in 90 minutes, tops. And despite any reservations she had about her mother, she knew Beau had a fierce advocate.
After parking at her house, she took the trail through the bush. Sullivan should be at work by now, but she wanted to avoid him if at all possible. In the daylight, it was an easy enough jog. When she got within sight of the house, she stopped. Sullivan’s car was gone. Good.
Just as she was about to step into the open, however, she saw movement. Coming out of the back yard was a slim woman. Grace. Instead of her usual navy pea jacket, she was in a khaki windbreaker and chinos. If she hadn’t moved, Bridget would have missed her.
Grace walked up the stairs to the porch and let herself into the house. A few minutes later, she came out, took a last look around and walked up the driveway. She passed quite close to Bridget, who was crouched behind a huge oak, without noticing.
When the sound of crunching gravel faded, Bridget sat down hard on the cold earth. Grace had a key to Sullivan’s house, so he’d obviously lied about their relationship. And he’d probably lied to Grace about their relationship, such as it was. Maybe he’d only seduced her to get an in for his Wychwood Grove housing development. Or maybe he’d wanted revenge for her scooping her house from under him. Surely it wasn’t because she’d denied him a rescue dog?
Tears ran down her face and she rubbed them away with the rough sleeve of her wool sweater. It shouldn’t matter that much. Their connection had been little more than a week. They’d barely had time to warm the flue, so it was no surprise smoke was blowing back at her.
Well, she couldn’t just sit there on the knobby roots of the old oak. Her best friend—a true, faithful friend—was hanging by a thread. If there was a clue to his illness in Sullivan’s yard, she would find it. And if Grace or Sullivan happened to see her rooting around back there, to hell with them.
She strode into the yard with her head up, and scoured every inch of the dull, brown grass, and even into the bush beyond. She found a trail at the back that she was tempted to follow, but Beau hadn’t been gone very long the night before. Otherwise, there was nothing suspicious around. It would have had to be something fairly tasty for Beau to bother. He wasn’t the kind of dog to nibble on dead things. At least, not normally.
Finally, she peered around the far corner of the house. Sullivan had cleared a wide swath between the wall and the dense bush with his backhoe. There was an impressive woodpile at least five yards long, and the prints in the soil showed he’d been maintaining it diligently. Further past that was a brown compost bin that blended into the bush so well she nearly missed it.
There were prints around the bin, as well—human and animal. Judging by the dried claw marks on the plastic, the possum had been visiting, and likely racoons, too. On the far side of the bin was an old corn cob and husks from various fruits. Scattered on the dirt were shells of various nuts, and even chicken bones. Any of those could harm a dog’s GI tract, but none was likely to cause swift liver damage. Holding her breath, Bridget lifted the lid and peered inside. It was full nearly to the brim with food that wasn’t meant for compost. It stunk, but nowhere near how it would in warm weather.
First, she took photos of the bin and the ground with her phone. Then she pulled a spoon and a few baggies out of her pocket to collect samples from the bin and the refuse and soil behind it. She put them into her pocket, and then walked out of the yard with her head still held high. Good ridd
ance to bad garbage.
Half an hour later, she found her mother holding court in the waiting room of the vet’s office—not with the staff, but with the Rescue Mafia. They’d taken over a corner of the room and were drinking coffee from tall thermoses.
“Oh, Bridget, your friends are lovely,” Bronwyn trilled.
“They are indeed.” Bridget mustered a faint smile. “How’s Beau?”
“The same. No worse, hon.”
Bridget squeezed Duff’s shoulder as she walked to the desk. The assistant took the samples from her and promised to send them to the lab immediately. Then she took Bridget into the back to visit Beau and left her alone. He was splayed out in a large crate, looking utterly pathetic. His lush black fur was already dull, and when she stroked it, it felt crunchy and dry. It was as if the essence had been sucked out of him.
Sitting beside him on the floor, she ran her fingers over his head and face. “Come on, buddy. Wherever you are, come back. I promise it will just be you and me from now on. Like it always was.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Bridget jumped. Her mother moved like a big cat when she wanted to and had long since mastered the art of deploying or silencing her bangles at will. “Jeez. Must you?”
“I must, yes.” She eased herself down on the tile floor and crossed her floral-clad legs. “See what I mean about the harem pants? Built for comfort.”
“Mom, I want to be alone.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen. You’re surrounded by people who love you.”
Bridget lifted one of Beau’s feathery ears, grateful to find it still silky. “I just want Beau.”
“Honey, I understand how you feel, I really do. A dog like this comes around only once in a lifetime for average people. Maybe two or three times for dog addicts like us. When Rexy passed, I was inconsolable. Between you and me, it hurt worse than losing your father.”
“Mom! That’s terrible.”
“True, nevertheless. I could talk to your dad right up to the end, and we said all there was to be said. The break was painful, but clean. It was different with Rex. Excruciating. And you know, I haven’t found his match yet. I figure it’s a numbers game. I take in as many dogs as I can, and when I don’t feel the magic, I find good homes for them.”
The Dog Town Collection Page 29