Home Is Where the Bark Is

by Kandy Shepherd

  Nick laughed. “I can look after myself. But I appreciate your concern.”

  His voice had that just-about-to-end-the-conversation tone about it.

  “Nick, don’t let her take Mack back; he’s”—she was about to say “ours” but stopped herself just in time—“yours now. I hope there’s a very hot place in hell reserved for people like the Kesslers who abandon their pets.”

  “No way will she have ever anything to do with Mack,” said Nick, grim determination in his voice. “She’ll have to fight me for him.”

  Serena loved that protectiveness in his voice. She realized how wrong she had been to judge him on her past experiences with cops. He was strong, but he was not a bully. He would fight for his dog. He would fight for his woman. More than anything, she wanted to be that woman.

  In his career as an FBI special agent and now as a PI, Nick had one weakness he had to struggle to overcome.

  He’d been brought up—by his strong, feisty mom and his father, who adored her—to respect women and be a gentleman. That made it difficult to interrogate and come down tough on a female suspected perp. Especially one like Claire Kessler, who on paper gave every appearance of being a decent, respectable person. What in this case would make his job easier was that—according to her ex-husband—she had so cruelly abandoned her dog.

  Though he strove to be impartial until he had ascertained the facts for himself, his personal connection to Mack brought him to the quaint town of Carmel-by-the-Sea already prejudiced against her.

  Carmel had an idiosyncrasy in that the houses were not numbered. However, he and Adam, following advice from Eric Kessler, had tracked her down to the small restaurant where she worked.

  It was tucked away down a laneway between an art gallery and a gift store. The laneway was punctuated with tubs of cheerful flowers. A flowering vine scrambled over an archway that led to a sunny courtyard filled with round tables and wrought-iron chairs. To the left of the archway was a wall-mounted dog water fountain, very like the one Serena had, and a bowl of dog biscuits obviously meant for customers’ dogs.

  The sweet scent of the vine’s flowers mingled with something delicious. Beef? Onions? Garlic? Whatever, Nick’s mouth watered. He’d grabbed a coffee and a muffin at the San Francisco airport before picking up his car and driving the two hours to Carmel. To his stomach that seemed a long time ago now.

  There were just a few people sitting around the inner bunch of tables enjoying coffee and late-morning snacks. He was suddenly so hungry he felt like grabbing the piece of cheesecake from the plate of the woman sitting at the table nearest to him.

  A young, casually dressed waiter approached and asked could he show him and Adam to a table.

  “We’re not here to eat,” said Adam, his abrupt tone fuelled, Nick felt sure, by the same hunger he was feeling. Whatever was cooking in that kitchen sure smelled good—nearly as good as Serena’s lasagna, the taste of which had haunted him since that Saturday at her apartment.

  He had to force his mind back on the job. This time there was no dog around to blame for any embarrassing tummy grumbles.

  “We need to see Claire Kessler,” he said to the waiter.

  “She’s in the kitchen,” said the waiter, eyeing them with undisguised curiosity. “Can I take her a message?”

  “Tell her we’re here to talk to her about her dog, Mack,” said Nick. He couldn’t keep the edge of disgust from his voice. If her husband was to be believed, this was the woman who had abandoned Mack at Paws-A-While, leaving her dog to a fate that, if it were not for Serena’s generosity, could have been grim.

  Mrs. Kessler must have left the kitchen as soon as the waiter gave her the message, for within minutes a woman was heading toward him. She was younger than he had expected and attractive, around Serena’s age probably, slim, medium height with light brown hair pulled off of her face. Her face was flushed and she wiped her hands on the front of a white chef’s apron.

  She didn’t give him and Adam a chance to introduce themselves. “Are you cops? You’re here about Mack? You’ve found the bastard who did it?”

  Nick was disconcerted to see her brown eyes glinted with anger and pain and accusation. He exchanged a quick glance with Adam, who looked as bemused as he felt.

  “Did what, ma’am?” Nick asked.

  Her expression became wary. “Don’t you know?” Her hands went to her hips as she looked from Nick to Adam and back to Nick. “Just who are you guys?”

  Nick took a step toward her. “Nick Whalen from S&W Investigations.” He indicated Adam. “Adam Shore, my business partner. We’re working on behalf of the Paws-A-While doggy day-care center in San Francisco.”

  Her eyes went very wide, without even a blink of recognition at the name of Serena’s business. “Huh?” she said. Then she frowned. “Did a certain ex-husband by the name of Eric Kessler send you?”

  “No, ma’am,” said Adam.

  “Then what the heck is going on? You’re talking to me about some place I’ve never heard of when I thought you were cops come to tell me you’d found out who . . . who killed my dog, Mack.” Her bottom lip began to tremble and tears glistened in her eyes.

  “What?” Nick and Adam exploded with the word at precisely the same moment.

  Claire Kessler sniffed back her tears. “You mean you didn’t know? I don’t get this.”

  “Neither do we,” said Nick. “Please, I’m so sorry to hear about your dog. Can you tell me what happened? It may have some bearing on our investigation.”

  Again she looked from one to the other, frowned, but seemed to decide to hear him out. She took a few steps away from the occupied tables. Nick, followed by Adam, stepped back so the three of them moved out of earshot of the customers.

  “I . . . I . . . don’t really know. My ex told me Mack was hit by a car and left . . . and left dead at the side of the road.” Her eyes teared up again, and it was obvious she had to make a real effort to speak. “He told me he was trying to find who’d done it. When you said you wanted to talk to me about . . . about Mack, I thought . . .”

  Nick didn’t handle female tears very well. Claire Kessler looked so upset it was all he could do not to rush into comforting words. If she was telling the truth, her ex was the worst kind of cruel bastard. But his training told him he needed the facts before he could make a decision on which member of this estranged couple was lying about Mack. Or their connection to the identity fraud.

  He gentled his voice. “I know this is upsetting for you, but I need to establish we’re talking about the same dog here.”

  “Mack?” She wrung her hands together. “He was . . . the dearest animal. Big and dopey but as sweet as sugar. When we got him he wasn’t six months old, this huge, galumphing creature with the most enormous paws who thought he could snuggle onto my lap like a tiny puppy.”

  Nick cleared his throat. “What color is . . . was he?”

  The answer came without hesitation. “Black, with a white tip to his tail and one white paw. I used to say that . . . that it looked like he’d dipped his paw in the cream jug.”

  There was no doubt as to the emotion that shone through her tear-brightened eyes. Love.

  Nick swallowed hard. Face-to-face with Claire Kessler, Eric Kessler’s story did not make sense. A part of him hoped that she was talking about a different animal. Because his gut told him this woman would not have abandoned her dog.

  Nick asked the clincher question. “Why did you call your dog Mack?”

  “We got him from a shelter. The people there called him that when they discovered he was addicted to—”

  “Fast food,” said Nick heavily.

  “Why, yes,” she said. “He was such a quirky dog like that. Even his ears were a bit off. He had one ear that stood up and the other flopped down. It looked so cute on a dog his size.”

  Nick checked to make sure there was a chair nearby. In a moment, Claire Kessler might need to sit down.

  He looked to Adam, who almost imperceptib
ly raised one eyebrow. “Mrs. Kessler,” Nick started.

  “Claire,” she interrupted. “I don’t ever again want to be called by his name.”

  “Claire,” he said. There was no easy way to say this. “Your dog, Mack, isn’t dead.”

  She snatched her hand to her throat, her eyes blazed. “How could you say that? My ex did send you, didn’t he? Only he would play such a cruel trick.”

  Pity for the woman surged through Nick. “This isn’t a trick. There couldn’t be two dogs that match your description. Mack is alive. Trust me.”

  The color drained from her face and she went deathly pale. She clutched onto the back of the nearby chair for support. “Mack? Not dead? I . . . I don’t believe you,” she whispered. “Though I . . . I want to believe you.”

  “Five weeks ago, Eric Kessler booked Mack into Paws-A-While, paid a week in advance, and then never came back.”

  Claire Kessler took a quick intake of breath but seemed incapable of saying anything.

  Nick continued. “After some time, our client retained us to track your ex-husband down.”

  For a cover story, it had holes in it. As if Serena would hire two expensive PIs like him and Adam to hunt down a dog’s owner in search of a few weeks’ fees. But he figured Claire Kessler was too shocked to even think about the plausibility of his story.

  “You found Eric in San Diego?”

  “Yes,” said Adam.

  “And what lie did he come up with to explain why he didn’t come back?” Her mouth twisted with bitterness.

  “We don’t know that it was a lie—” Adam began.

  Nick broke in. “He told us that he told you he wasn’t able to care for Mack anymore and that you were meant to pick Mack up from Paws-A-While.”

  The color flooded back into Claire Kessler’s face. “The bastard, bastard, bastard . . .” Her voice broke on a suppressed sob.

  “You say he told you Mack was dead,” said Adam.

  “Hit by a car in front of our old house in Larkspur,” said Claire. “Oh God, he must really, really hate me. And Mack. How could he abandon our dog like that? I thought he loved him or I wouldn’t have trusted Mack with him until I got settled in a place where I could have a dog.”

  “Obviously not,” said Nick, thinking with revulsion of Eric Kessler. No wonder there had been an undertone of gloating when he spoke about his ex-wife.

  Claire Kessler was silent for a moment. Then a radiant smile stole across her face. “Mack’s alive? He’s really, truly alive? Ohmigod, this is like a miracle.”

  Nick felt sick to his stomach. Mack belonged to this woman. She had been parted from him through no fault of her own. She would want her dog back. Where did that put him?

  “Where is Mack now? Is he okay?” she asked, her voice thick with emotion.

  “Serena Oakley, the proprietor of Paws-A-While, kept him on, even though your husband—uh, ex-husband—didn’t pay for more than the first week.”

  “That is so kind of her. I’ll pay her back. Every cent he owed.” Then she sobered. Her eyes narrowed. “I’m still finding this hard to believe. How do I know this isn’t some other cruel trick?”

  Nick pulled out his cell phone. “I’ve got a picture I just took a day ago.”

  He called up a photo of a drowsy Mack reclining in his dog bed in front of the fireplace at the house in Sausalito.

  Claire greedily scanned it. “It’s him . . . my darling boy. Oh, Mack.” Her voice broke. “But what am I going to do with you?” For a moment Nick thought she would kiss the screen. Then she looked back at him. “What’s that purple cast on his leg?”

  “He’s had a cruciate ligament repair operation on his knee.”

  “Ohmigod, poor Mack,” she said. “Well, Eric’s not one hundred percent bad if he paid for Mack’s surgery.”

  “He did not,” said Adam.

  “Then who—?”

  “I paid,” said Nick, fighting to keep the disappointment from his voice. This woman had every right to have her dog back. “I adopted Mack.”

  “You adopted Mack?”

  His voice was a growl in an effort not to let her see how he was hurting at the thought of losing Mack. “Mack was a very lucky dog. Someone else might have taken him to a shelter when his payment ran out. Not Serena Oakley. Even though she lives in an apartment, she took him home with her every night while she found him a good home.”

  “She found you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Mack . . . You’ve fallen for him, haven’t you?” Her voice quivered and Nick realized how hard it must be for her to find her dog resurrected.

  “Mack? Yeah. I’ve gotten pretty fond of him.” Fond didn’t come anywhere near to explaining how he felt about Mack.

  “And Serena Oakley? She sounds like a wonderful woman.”

  “She is. Yes, she is.”

  “Oh,” she said with an upward intonation to her voice.

  Oh. How did this woman imply so much with that one little word? You’ve fallen for her, too, haven’t you?

  Nick heard a sound from Adam next to him that sounded suspiciously like a stifled laugh.

  Then Adam cleared his throat. “Ms. . . . Claire. When he was left at Paws-A-While, Mack was wearing a black studded collar. Eric Kessler told us that you put it on the dog.”

  Nick was grateful to Adam for jumping in with the tough question.

  Bright patches of color flared high on Claire Kessler’s cheeks. She looked down at the ground, unable to face him or Adam.

  Guilty.

  “Did you or did you not put that collar on Mack?” Nick asked.

  She looked up to face him. “He found the camera, did he? Eric, I mean.”

  Nick shot a glance to Adam, who shrugged one shoulder.

  “As far as I know Kessler did not find the camera,” said Nick. “I did.”

  She chewed on her lower lip. “I’m not proud of myself. But our marriage was going nowhere. I suspected he was having an affair. Maybe more than one affair. I worked late nights and weekends as a chef. Someone I knew had a nanny cam hidden in a teddy bear. So I bought a cheating-husband cam off the Internet.”

  “And?”

  She shook her head ruefully. “Mack is not an ideal vehicle for a spy camera. The angles it captured weren’t that great. But it recorded sound very well.” Pain contorted her features. “I found out enough to confirm my suspicions.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Nick. And damn sorry her story rang so true. He cursed under his breath. Another suspect wiped.

  “That’s why I left San Francisco. I came down here to help out my cousin who owns this restaurant. She had a difficult birth with twins so I’m subbing for her until she can go back to work.”

  “What information did you get from the collar after you left Mack behind?”

  “Nothing.” She looked shamefaced. “A cheating husband can drive you to terrible depths. Once I was out of the marriage I was disgusted with myself for having used that camera. I didn’t want to know what he was up to any longer. The receiver broke, and I never had it fixed.”

  Nick believed her. He trusted his gut instinct that told him she had nothing to do with the identity scam. From Adam’s lack of questions he deduced his partner felt the same. They were not just back to square one but to square zero.

  The trips to San Diego and Carmel had done nothing but eliminate another two suspects.

  And lose him his dog.

  He cleared his throat. “You’ll be wanting Mack back as soon as possible. He’s still convalescing, but as soon as his knee is healed I can drive him down here.”

  Claire wrung her hands together. “Oh God, this is so difficult. Carmel is the most dog-friendly town in the country, but everything is so unsettled for me. I . . . I want Mack back desperately, but . . . I have to think what’s right for him. Not . . . not for me.” She drew in a deep breath. “Maybe it’s for the best if you keep Mack with you.”

  “I can’t do that,” said Nick.

  “But y
ou said you adopted him? I got the impression you really care for him?”

  “I do,” he said gruffly. “Which is why I don’t want to get attached to him only for you to come back for him when your circumstances change.”

  She slowly shook her head in one of the saddest gestures Nick had ever seen. “You misunderstand me. My situation is no better than it was when I left Mack with Eric,” she said, her voice filled with pain. “I’m staying in my cousin’s spare bedroom. No way could that household accommodate Mack. Eric, of course, is dragging the chain on the property settlement so I can’t afford a place on my own. It . . . it wouldn’t be fair to Mack to shift him from person to person. I mean for you . . . for you to keep him permanently.”

  Nick fought conflicting reactions of sadness for her and elation that he got to keep Mack.

  “I . . . I just want to ask you some questions first,” she said.

  “Questions?” said Nick, too shaken to know what else to say.

  “Yes. Like, do you have a big yard?”

  “Yes. There’s plenty of room for him.”

  “He needs a lot of exercise.”

  “I plan to run with him daily once his knee is fixed.”

  “Good. And about the fast food. Do you intend to feed him burgers and fries?”

  Was that a trick question? He had to answer honestly. “No. Maybe the occasional burger as a treat. But I don’t think that kind of diet is good for him.”

  The relief in her eyes showed him he’d made the right answer. “That’s great. Eric thought Mack’s addiction was a joke and constantly undermined my efforts to wean Mack right off of the fast food.”

  She nodded. “Okay. I know you care enough for him to pay for that surgery, and now I feel happy he’s in good hands. Mack is . . . is yours.” Her voice fell away on the last words.

  Nick was so damned grateful to her that all he could do was mumble his thanks.

  She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Do you want me to sign something to make the . . . the adoption official?”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “I only ask one thing. Could I visit Mack sometimes? Not just yet. I don’t want him to get confused while he’s bonding with you. But when you judge the time is right.”