The Dog Town Collection

by Sandy Rideout

  Speaking ill of the bronze collection was blasphemy, however, and she was developing a sneaking fondness for them. They were funny and quirky, and attracted tourists in droves. Besides, most were funded by private donations, and people could choose to put their money where they wanted, she supposed.

  Craning around to look into the backseat, Remi asked, “Is that George’s stuffed toy?”

  “Piggy, yes.” George loved that toy, and had gnawed at it so much that it was barely recognizable as a pig.

  “I can’t promise anything,” Remi said, “but if the scent is strong enough on the toy Leo might pick up a lead in the park if George has been there.”

  Mim’s heart sat up and took notice. “Really?”

  “Possibly. But the cold and snow may not be on our side.”

  They were in Riverdale now. Mim used to love her neighborhood, but most of the houses had changed hands and been renovated into the bland grey-and-white style City Council seemed to prefer. Only a few on her street kept their original charm.

  She slowed as she passed her house and saw the Christmas lights were on. Somehow that made her sadder. It seemed to hint at the distress Kyle mostly denied feeling.

  Leo wormed his way out of Remi’s lap and into Mim’s. Her fingers found his silky ears and their warm comfort eased the tears that threatened to fall. “This dog,” she said, smiling in spite of herself. “He’s something special.”

  “That he is,” Remi said, tweaking his tail. “But he’s far from perfect. We’re doing the scent training because his obedience was slipping. This trainer I met told me that if I didn’t stop treating him like a baby I’d ruin him. Totally dog-shamed me.”

  “Wait, let me guess… Cori Hogan?”

  “Yeah! How did you know?”

  Mim grinned as she pulled into the small parking lot at Taylor Creek Park. “I was dog-shamed by Cori only last night. She said the trainer grapevine reported that George ‘had issues.’ Honestly, I didn’t think he was that bad.”

  “I’m sure he’s just a normal dog.” Remi pulled her hat and gloves on, and called Leo back into her lap. “It’s just that standards for obedience are high in Dog Town. And getting higher every day, it seems.”

  They got out of the car, and Mim grabbed Piggy from the back seat. “Kyle said the neighbor mentioned seeing George by the swing set,” she said. “Let’s start there.”

  They walked over the inch or two of snow that had accumulated over the past few days. There were footprints and pawprints all over. This was the most popular park in Riverdale, even if it wasn’t technically approved as a dog park. Everyone flouted the rule about keeping dogs leashed, and so far the dog cops had let it slide.

  Near the swings, Remi crouched and offered Piggy to Leo to sniff. He drank it in, nudging and rolling the toy with his nose. “Find it, Leo,” she said, putting Piggy in her pocket. “Find it.”

  Leo’s muzzle dropped to the snow and he began sniffing. Remi dropped his leash to let him roam and he crisscrossed his own trails as he combed the area. They followed him away from the swings to some low shrubs, where he stopped suddenly. His tail began lashing furiously, and then going in circles. He stared up at Remi expectantly.

  “Did he find something?” Mim asked.

  “He certainly thinks he did,” Remi said, kneeling beside Leo and giving him a treat.

  Mim shone her phone’s flashlight app on the ground. There was nothing to see but trampled snow and a few pine needles. There were pawprints aplenty but nothing distinguishable.

  Leo meandered back and forth across the path, with his nose still to the ground. Finally they came to the park’s other exit. It was rarely used in winter, because there were only two parking spaces and they were never cleared by the plows. That said, there were tire tracks in the snow today. Someone had rolled right up over the curb and parked there. Judging by the depth of the marks, it was likely a big vehicle, perhaps a van or a truck.

  Leo stood to one side, his tail spinning in full circles like a propeller. All Mim could see was more pawprints, a little larger than his own.

  “What do you think?” Mim asked. “Is this consistent with how Leo behaves in scent class?”

  Remi nodded. “I hope he isn’t wrong, Mim, but he sure thinks he smells George, and that he deserves a reward for it. He acts the same way in class when he finds things. The trainer said his nose was the best in the class.”

  Remi held Leo back, and then directed her own phone’s light at the tire tracks so that Mim could snap some photos. She would come back when it was light and try for better shots.

  Finally, the light bounced off a sliver speck in the snow by Leo’s feet. Mim knelt, pulled her gloves off, and plucked something small and round from the snow.

  A tiny jingle bell, like the ones on George's Christmas collar that were always falling off.

  “This could be George’s,” she told Remi. “His collar is falling apart.”

  “Leo believes,” Remi said, beaming.

  Mim picked up Leo and hugged him. “Thank you for giving me hope, my little beagle friend.”

  Remi took Leo back and danced him around as they walked back through the snow. “Don’t tell Cori about the dancing,” she said. “It’s forbidden.”

  “Your salsa is my secret,” Mim said, grinning at the pair as they spun under the old-fashioned lights.

  Why hadn’t she danced with George? It seemed like she was always too busy to have fun. When he came home, she’d definitely take time to tango.

  It was nearly eight when Mim pulled into her own driveway after driving Remi home and discussing the hospital Christmas party over a cup of tea.

  Now, her house was in complete darkness. Kyle had texted that he had gone to meet a friend to do homework, which was obviously code for something else because his grades were atrocious. To add insult to the lie, he’d turned the Christmas lights off again for some reason. At least he’d taken Jezebel along, so it was unlikely he was going to get into much trouble. He had been attentive to Ari’s loaner; the dog’s gentleness seemed to bring something out in Kyle that George never had.

  Standing on the porch, Mim hesitated before putting the key in the lock. George’s frenzied greetings—featuring leaping, seizing of sleeves or mittens, and high-pitched howls—were a source of amusement, frustration and shame. They were a glaring statement of her failings in the training department, and when someone else visited, downright embarrassing. Ari gave her a hard time about George’s unseemly displays, but four years in, it seemed like a daunting task to break him of these habits. Besides, it was nice to feel loved.

  Tonight, after seeing Remi’s bond with Leo, she was shaken. The tears she’d been holding back started to flow, and she wiped them away with one gloved hand. It amazed her that she could endure betrayal by a husband largely without tears yet one little mutt had demolished her defenses. Love for George had cut through her detachment with the ease of a bullet through butter and spread like a virus inside. It felt like the strength she’d worked so hard to cultivate for half her life had cracked at the foundation.

  Taking a couple of deep breaths, she fought back a sob. She couldn’t afford to let go. Kyle would be home in an hour or two, and if he saw the evidence it would make him feel worse.

  Finally, she pulled off a glove and unlocked the door. Fumbling for the light switch, she lit the front hall and noticed an envelope on the floor below the mail slot. A Christmas card, she assumed, slicing it open with her fingernail as she walked to the kitchen.

  And it was. On the front was a beautiful scene of a sleepy town covered in snow, with stars twinkling overhead.

  Inside, there was a message, apparently formed from cut-out letters from other Christmas cards. The various letters were textured and some had a fine dusting of fake snow. Their festive, but haphazard, appearance was at odds with the message:

  GeORge is fINe. Keep this Quiet & you miGHht see him aGain.

  At the very bottom of the card, it read, He loves me. Onl
y the “loves” was in the shape of a sparkly heart.

  Mim dropped the card and screamed.

  Chapter 7

  Four inches of fresh powder had covered all evidence of George’s last run in the yard by the time Mim braced an aluminum ladder against the back fence on Friday morning. Fortunately, the police had inspected the yard last night before the new snow fell. In fact, they’d sent two officers—more than they’d send on any routine crime. The creepy Christmas card had elevated this to a matter that actually warranted interest. It proved that dogs could in fact be stolen in Dog Town, and even held for ransom.

  Not that the card had mentioned ransom, but the police assumed that would follow. They looked at Mim’s photos of the boot prints in the yard and said they were made by a size 12 Sorel boot. There had been a clear set of prints by the fence, and another near the gate. In the space between her house and the Mowats’ next door, a police officer found a man’s gray glove. They spoke to the Mowats, who were both over 70 and so hard of hearing that George’s barking apparently never bothered them. The glove wasn’t familiar to them, and it didn’t belong to Kyle either. The police left with the glove and the card, saying that with so little to go on, all they could do now was watch and wait.

  Mim wasn’t good at waiting. She’d left messages for Bridget and Cori, but in the meantime, she intended to take action. A rough night of tossing and turning in the light that slid around her blackout curtains had given her time to devise a plan.

  It took three circuits of the neighborhood before she got what she needed: an empty driveway at Carver Black’s. She missed seeing him pull out in his pick up truck, however, so she’d forced herself to walk up the front steps and ring the doorbell. She had a script ready in case he answered the door. Luckily, she hadn’t needed it.

  Now, back in her yard, she climbed the ladder cautiously. The snow in the treads of her hiking boots made it treacherous. Clutching the top of the fence with one gloved hand, she balanced herself and set one boot onto the three-inch rail. She peered down at the unbroken snow, knowing it looked like more of a cushion than it was. But she couldn’t stall for long. A neighbor might look out their back window and wonder at the sight of Mim perched on top of the fence. She’d worn a white down ski jacket over white long johns, along with a white hat and gloves, in the hopes of blending into the snowy landscape. But there was no mistaking a human marshmallow scaling a fence.

  She took the plunge. Her boots drove through the snow and hit an ice patch beneath. Before she had time to think, she was flat on her back looking up at a gray sky that was still spitting out fluffy flakes. After doing a mental scan for sprains and broken bones, she clambered to her feet. She walked quickly to the corner of Carver’s yard that was opposite her rock garden and knelt in the snow. Then she ran across the yard to the garage and peered into the windows. It was too dark inside to see anything, so she rapped quietly on the glass and called, “George?” Pressing one ear against the glass, she listened for a whine, or the familiar jingle of dog tags. Nothing.

  Next, she knelt beside the basement windows. The cloud cover didn’t provide a lot of light, but she could make out an unfinished room below. As her eyes adjusted, she picked out the dim shapes of a workout bench and barbells. There was a shelving unit with neatly arranged sports equipment and tools. Again, she knocked softly on the window and called George’s name to no avail. The second of the two windows offered a view of a laundry room that again was both empty and surprisingly neat—especially in comparison to her own messy house. Somehow stuff seemed to reproduce under their roof.

  Looking up, she contemplated getting the ladder to peer into the main floor windows, but decided against it. Climbing a fence in full view of the neighbors was one thing. Peering into someone’s house took the intrusion to a whole new level. The story of the Marshmallow Burglar would spread through the town faster than George’s disappearance.

  The whole escapade had been a risky bust. She’d left a trail of footprints all over Carver’s yard that could be easily traced unless heavy snow picked up again. He’d probably end up on her doorstep with questions later.

  Well, there was nothing to be done now but head back over the fence. Her stomach grumbled encouragement. She’d skipped breakfast again. Her stomach had been roiling for a couple of days—ever since she’d eaten Mrs. Beaton’s homemade cookies while her son Scott had repaired her flat tire. Somehow she’d failed to notice nutmeg in the cookies and the spice had never agreed with her.

  Indigestion had given her another reason to lie awake fretting. Kyle had agreed to spend the night at a friend’s with Jezebel, and Ari had to be home with the puppies, so she was alone and more than a little scared. She’d tossed and turned for hours, finally dropping off at around four, only to wake at seven with a hit of adrenaline.

  Now she realized that lack of sleep had led to a serious flaw in her plan. She stood at the fence, staring up at the ladder protruding over the top. She had intended to grab the ends, pull the ladder over the fence, and reverse her climb. Even without raising her arms, however, she could see that she’d never reach it.

  She jumped anyway, again and again, each time falling well short of her goal. Finally, she decided she had no choice but to leave by the gate. She couldn’t afford to waste more time.

  Hurrying across the yard, she found the gate latched with a sturdy padlock.

  Great. Just great. She had to sneak into what might be the only locked yard in all of Dog Town. Now what?

  She looked around for anything that might help her escape. Her breath had quickened to light puffs in the frosty air, which stopped for a second as she scanned the yard. Then a long banner of steam trailed out as she saw it: a plastic pail. Yes! She could flip it, climb on, and grab the ladder.

  Back at the fence, she released another gust of breath, this one carrying a load of muttered profanity. The pail wasn’t high enough. But if she jumped, maybe…

  As she leapt from the pail, her hand connected with the ladder—and knocked it backwards into her own yard. As she came down, she missed the pail and landed, splayed, in the snow. Lying there, she patted her pockets to confirm what she already knew: no phone.

  Panic set in. Initially, she’d worried that Carver would come home and find her in the yard. Now she realized it might be worse if he didn’t come home. She’d be stuck in the cold in his back yard until someone heard her screaming. It would be terribly awkward, and embarrass Kyle. Of course, everything she did these days embarrassed Kyle, but it was a shame to give him a valid reason.

  Getting up, she circled the yard again, and squeaked in relief when she found two large bags of hope tucked between the garage and the fence: Carver had bought rock salt in bulk. Hardly anyone used salt in Dorset Hills because it was hard on dogs’ paws. It was just another strike against Carver. He’d obviously never loved a dog, and that was suspicious in and of itself.

  She dragged the bags across the yard, and heaved one on top of the other. Since the stacked bags were no higher than the pail, she set the pail on top of the salt and managed with difficulty to clamber on top. It felt more stable than she expected. Grabbing the top of the fence with both hands, she lunged upwards. Now her head and shoulders were over the fence. All she had to do was wriggle forward and topple over. It would be the third fall today, but as long as she didn’t land on the ladder it should be fine.

  It was harder than she expected—a slow process of inching forward till she reached the tipping point. The top of the fence pressed into her ribcage and left her a little breathless. She tried to swing one leg over and missed. She tried with the other leg, giving it all she had. Once again, she fell short.

  The string of profanity that slipped from her lips was probably audible to the Mowats.

  Now what? She was out of options.

  “Need a hand?” someone asked.

  Chapter 8

  Mim stopped kicking and remained perfectly still.

  “I can see you,” Carver Black said. “
Despite the camouflage. In fact, I’ve been enjoying the show from my kitchen window.”

  Mim’s face felt hot enough to explode. She wanted to tell him where to go, but she wasn’t exactly in the position. In fact, her position couldn’t be much worse.

  “Nice long johns,” he said.

  He was obviously staring up at her butt, and her long johns were pulled tight. Unless memory served her wrong, she was wearing red panties with raised, embroidered Santas—part of the 12 Days of Christmas set Ari gave her as a gift last season.

  Well, that was the least of her worries right now.

  “Help me,” she said.

  “Hmmmm… maybe. I’m enjoying this too much.”

  She desperately wanted to kick out at him but knew that her chances of hitting him were slim. Besides, she didn’t have the energy.

  “I-can’t-breathe,” she puffed. “Push-me-over.”

  There was a clatter behind her. Then she felt Carver’s hands on her hips. But instead of pushing her over, he lifted her backwards. She grabbed onto the fence to resist, and there was a brief struggle before they both fell backwards.

  She was looking up at the grey sky again, but this time, instead of snow underneath, there was Carver.

  “Would you mind?” he said. “Now I’m the one who can’t breathe.”

  He pushed her from behind and she slid off into the snow, too exhausted to move. Carver sat up, and she could feel him staring at her, but wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.