by Ann Cristy
Cady would have scoffed, laughed even, at the preposterous notion that Rafe of the large family, the huge circle of friends, could be lonely. She looked at her father’s serious, almost grim look and did neither. “Father, you’re wrong, I’m sure of it. Rafe is one of the most gregarious men I’ve ever known. People are naturally drawn to him.”
“I suppose you’re right. You should know your own husband,” Professor Nesbitt declared woodenly, lifting his grip and heading toward the small private plane that would take him to the airport at Ithaca. A car would be waiting there to take him to his home.
Cady couldn’t get her father’s words out of her head on the return car trip to the hotel where they would stay overnight. Rafe was busy talking to an aide now and then, but she felt his intent stare.
What had Trock said to her while they were walking in the rose garden at the Highlands? That so often Rafe was alone, that his family was very offhand in coming to see him, that there were long hours when he was by himself. Before Cady could consider any more of the questions plaguing her, they were drawing up in front of the hotel and a coterie of media people was lining the sidewalk.
On entering the hotel lobby they were again besieged by well-wishers and autograph seekers. Cady watched, smiling, as her husband fielded questions and signed numerous pieces of paper or copies of the article that he had written for Day Magazine.
Cady didn’t feel the tug on her arm at first. When she turned around, she looked straight into the eyes of a woman who was a little taller than herself, but older and more careworn. The stranger’s brown hair was streaked with gray, the eyes tired but with an innate warmth. Cady smiled and inclined her head, thinking the woman wanted an autograph.
“Mrs. Densmore, I know you’re a busy woman, but I just have to talk to you. I read the writeup of your opinion of dog fighting. Did you mean it? Are you against the destruction of the bull terrier through illegal fighting?”
Cady frowned at the intense woman, noting how she twisted her hands together. “Yes, I’m very much against pit fighting.”
The woman looked nervously at the crowd of people around her. “I don’t like talking here, but I have to speak with you.”
Cady looked at Rafe, who was conversing in an absorbed way with a man who looked like a student. Then she turned to an aide, touching his arm. “Would you tell the senator that I’ve gone upstairs, please?”
The man nodded and smiled, throwing a quick glance at the harried woman at Cady’s side.
Cady led the woman to the elevator and pushed the button for their floor. Neither one spoke until the elevator stopped and they had traversed the hall leading to the suite. Cady ushered the woman inside and pointed to a sofa in the all-white window-walled room. Cady rang for coffee, then joined the woman on the couch. “Now, Mrs… ”
“My name is Proctor, Ruth Proctor, and I’m a widow.” The woman crossed, then uncrossed her legs, her gaze sliding away from Cady’s. “My husband was a wonderful man, Mrs. Densmore, but when he was killed in an industrial accident, I found myself in the position of having to get a job after years of being a housewife. Luckily I found a job with our local police department and can even walk to work. I have one son who has been no trouble to me, but I have a brother-in-law who was nothing but trouble to both my husband and myself.
“I told him to stay away from my son and me, and he did until about two months ago. Then he came to the house apologizing for being a hindrance to us, and by way of making it up he said he wanted to present our son with a dog, a genuine pit terrier with papers and everything. At first I thought a dog would be too much work, but Max—that’s the dog’s name—turned out to be a wonderful companion for my son and a good watchdog. He’s very smart and clean. Both Jerry, my son, and I love Max.
“About a month ago my brother-in-law, Ted, came to the house and said he wanted to take Max overnight because he was keeping some valuables in the house. I didn’t want the dog to go, but I didn’t feel that I could refuse because Ted had given us the dog. When Max was returned to us on Sunday, he was badly marked with some really deep slashes. Ted said that someone had tried to break into his house. I didn’t believe him because Ted always lies, but I didn’t say anything. Twice more he borrowed the dog. This past time he didn’t return him.” Ruth Proctor sobbed. “I think Max is dead. Jerry wants me to tell the police, but I don’t want to get my brother-in-law in trouble if he isn’t breaking the law. He has a record, you see. I just don’t know what to do.” She wiped her eyes with a crumpled tissue. “Mrs. Densmore, my son is in misery.”
“Where does your brother-in-law live, Ruth? I’ll go with you tomorrow and we’ll ask him where the dog is.” Cady knew she was sticking her neck way out and that Rafe would be angry with her, but at the moment all she could see was a young boy’s face, hurt and miserable without his dog.
She made up her mind that she would tell Rafe before she accompanied Mrs. Proctor, and she arranged to meet the woman the next day. But somehow there never seemed to be an opportune moment to talk with him.
That evening she and Rafe attended a formal fund raiser. They were both so tired when they returned home that they fell into bed. The next morning Cady found a note from Rafe telling her that he had let her sleep while he went to a meeting at campaign headquarters. Cady left a note telling Rafe where she was going and why. Then she called down to the desk and ordered a rented car. As an added precaution she left the address where she and Ruth Proctor hoped to find the dog.
When she picked up Ruth Proctor, the woman was nervous, but Cady felt confident that she was doing something that would not shame her husband and at the same time would help a young boy.
CHAPTER SIX
“My brother-in-law is a bully, Mrs. Densmore, but he doesn’t want trouble with the law. He went to prison a few years back and it almost killed him.” Ruth Proctor spoke in a rather shaken voice as she and Cady sat in the parked car on a seedy residential street. “That house used to belong to my mother-in-law, and when she owned it this street was beautifully kept up. Her house looked the best of them.” She shrugged. “Streets change. Sometimes the people that move in don’t care about the property. That’s what happened to this street. My husband was sure that Ted would change if we let him have his mother’s house. He didn’t.” Ruth Proctor stopped speaking in the nervous way she had when a car came down the street and several men alighted from the vehicle. They went around the garage of the house toward the back. “There’s an old barn out in back,” Ruth whispered. “The property stretches all the way to the next street. Mrs. Densmore, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think it would be a good idea to go in there. We should call the police. Even if we go in the back way… ” Her voice trailed off.
Cady nodded. “Right, but we can’t leave to call them. Let’s take a look at the barn and see if they have pit dogs there. If they do, we’ll go into your brother-in-law’s house and call the police.”
Ruth Proctor looked horrified. “What if someone sees us?”
“Didn’t you say that you knew a way onto the property that wasn’t used very often?” Cady asked the skeptical woman. “If we use that, no one will see us.”
“Yes, through old Mr. Schuler’s orchard. Gerald, my husband, and I used to go there when we wanted to be alone. There’s a hole in the fence, then a path that will take us right to the back door of the barn. But that was years ago… ”
“We’ll try that. Maybe we’ll find Max in the barn.”
Ruth pressed her lips together and nodded.
They turned the car around and went down another street that had a cement and coal company on it and a large empty lot. Ruth Proctor pointed to a narrow dirt drive that led through the vacant lot. Cady drove until she came to a high mesh fence.
It took a few minutes to find the break in the fence. Cady blessed the jeans she was wearing as the torn wire, then the brambles and burrs along the path, pulled at her. The orchard was overgrown with weeds, but there were some nice-size apples on
the trees. The women looked at each other, then ran the short distance from the orchard to the barn.
Cady tried the door. It stuck, then opened partially. She decided not to try to force a larger opening in case it would make a sound. She listened for a moment, with Ruth Proctor pressed at her back. She could hear the sounds of men laughing, followed by a brief silence. One man spoke. Then there was an awful din of growling, snarling, tearing, pain-filled shrieks. Cady could feel her stomach rise into her throat as she imagined the agony of the yowling animals. She turned to face Ruth and whispered close to her ear, “Go to the house. Call the police. Those dogs are being killed. Hurry!” Ruth Proctor gave a quick nod and scurried away.
Cady squeezed through the narrow opening, snagging her long-sleeved pullover on the splintered wood. Her nostrils distended, assaulted by the smells of blood and excrement. She stood still in the murky area, adjusting her eyes to the dimness. She saw three dogs in pens, all of them scarred, one lying on its side, bleeding from several gashes, its breathing harsh. At first none of them moved when they saw her. Then the dog nearest to her— the biggest one—rose to his feet and leaned against the mesh, his short tail waving slowly back and forth, a low sound emanating from his throat.
“Easy, boy. I’m not going to hurt you,” Cady said softly. She looked into those sad eyes again, the proud white snout marred by a jagged scar not yet healed. “In fact,” she whispered, feeling anger rise in her, “I’m going to free you.”
The cage wasn’t locked, but she tried to be careful lest she make a noise. She released the three dogs, but only the big one followed her as she made her way toward the front of the barn where the shouting of the men and the snarling and growling of the dogs was becoming more frenzied. She pushed back a tattered curtain and saw the men and the pit terriers. All seemed to be foaming from the mouth. Blood was everywhere.
One of the dogs was flagging and the men were yelling, “Kill, Blanco, kill!”
Horror held Cady for tense moments; then she looked around for some way to stop the fight. She saw a large hose of the type used by firefighters coiled on the floor just in front of her. The hose was attached to a huge spigot, which Cady surmised acted as the shutoff valve. Next to the spigot a key dangled from a nail on the wall— doubtless the key to the spigot. Without a second thought Cady reached for the key and inserted it, turning it easily. She felt the rush of water at her feet and strained to aim and hold the nozzle of the hose. A few of the spectators were turning her way, but it seemed to Cady they were looking in slow motion as the water erupted from the nozzle. She felt as though she were on the back of a wild steer. She aimed the hose into the crowd, but it had a life of its own and sprayed everywhere. She closed her eyes and hung on to the exploding snake in her hand, knowing she couldn’t hold it long because the power was too much for her. She felt the dog at the back of her legs, but she could hear nothing except the roars of the men and the pulsating bellow of the water.
Next thing she knew she was on the ground next to the dog, lying in odorous mud, an angry, very wet man standing above her with the key in his hand. Cady gave a quick glance toward the arena where the dogs had been fighting. Both animals were lying on their sides, tongues lolling, bodies heaving as they fought for air. Fresh blood oozed from several deep cuts.
“Who the hell are you? And what the hell are you doing in my barn?” The man, whom Cady assumed was Ted Proctor, brandished the key like a weapon.
Cady swallowed once, deciding to brazen it out, hoping that Ruth had gotten to a phone. “That’s my dog in there. It was stolen from me.” She looked back at the white dog behind her, which was pressed close to her back. The terrier wasn’t looking at her; he was looking up at the man. “And this is my dog as well. See, he knows me,” Cady lied. “The police have been called and you’re going to be arrested.” Cady tried to sit erect in the goo but only succeeded in covering herself more completely with mud. The white dog was getting browner.
One of the other men was standing nearby and heard the conversation. He was soaked and leaning forward, trying to shake some of the excess water from his body. “Damn it, Ted, I don’t want no trouble with the cops. And you didn’t say nothin’ about no dames, either. I’m gettin’ outta here. Otis, you comin’ with me?”
“Yeah, Harry, I’m comin’. Wait till I pour the water outta my wallet. I got a good mind to punch that broad.” The scowling Otis squished toward Cady, his feet making a sucking sound as he tried to make his way through the mud.
“Just hold it right there, buddy. You’re not punching anyone.” Rafe’s voice was harsh, his body thrusting forward as he moved in from the front door of the barn.
Cady recognized the two men just behind him as campaign aides. She stared goggle-eyed at her husband. He was all denim-clad menace, his eyes a leaping green fire. This must be the look that his political foes described as Rafe’s street-fighter stare, Cady mused, unable to look away from the man she loved. He must have read her note, she thought. How fast he’d gotten here! Oh, Lord, Rafe, please be careful.
“What the hell is going on here, Ted?” another man whined. “I don’t like all these people. You said this was going to be private, just a few friends. I don’t like it.”
“Shut up, Frankie,” Ted muttered. “They got no right on my property.”
Cady felt immobilized as she continued to watch Rafe. The glitter in his eye held hard amusement. He was poised on the balls of his feet, a slight upward curve to his lips. She wanted to speak to him, but the words stuck in her throat.
“If this is your broad, take her and get outta here while you can still walk.” Ted brandished the key in his hand, waving it toward Cady’s head.
Rafe’s face seemed to take on a yellow cast as he looked from the key to Cady. “Cady, come here.” His voice was hoarse.
Cady struggled to rise, slipping in the stickiness. “We have to get Max, too, Rafe,” she panted, almost erect.
“Wait a minute here.” Ted hooked the key around Cady’s arm, jerking her back into the mud. “What’s this about—” he started to ask.
With an angry snarl Rafe launched himself through the air at Ted, who was looking down at Cady.
As Ted looked up, hearing the threatening rage in Rafe’s yell, he attempted to bring the steel key up to protect himself.
Cady threw herself upward, latching onto Ted’s arm so that he couldn’t bring the key into position.
Ted swore. The dog behind Cady whined, then growled. The other men began shouting and milling about. Rafe hit Ted chest high, flinging him into the mud alongside Cady.
Cady was almost blinded by the mud, but when she saw the man called Frankie try to come to Ted’s aid, she picked up a handful of mud and threw it straight into his face and yelled, “Get him, boy,” to the dog.
“You lousy bitch,” Frankie squealed, then he howled as the bull terrier landed on him with a ferocious snarl.
There was no way to tell friend from foe when the police whistle sounded. Ruth Proctor was screaming, “Mrs. Densmore, Mrs. Densmore, where are you? Oh, help, help, someone, we have to find Mrs. Densmore.” Her voice was shrill and bordering on hysteria. Cady knew that even if she screamed back, the other woman might not hear her. The din was ear shattering.
Cady was struggling to her feet when she saw Frankie tear himself away from the dog and try to make a break for the back door. Without thinking Cady launched herself at his back, hearing her husband’s voice in her ears.
“Cady—don’t—uuuuuhhh!” The breath left Rafe’s lungs as he was pummeled backward.
Cady looked over her shoulder at Rafe as she lay astride Frankie’s back. The bull terrier had now positioned himself at Frankie’s head, his growls and snapping jaws keeping the prone Frankie immobile.
“Damn it, lady, get offa me. Aaagh, I got mud in my mouth… ”
A policeman leaned down and lifted Cady from Frankie’s back. “Here you are, ma’am. Stay right here and let me take care of this fellow for you. Easy, n
ow, dog. Take it easy.” Though the policeman spoke in soft tones, his face had a don’t-mess-with-me look as he dragged Frankie to his feet.
Before long the police had restored order, and Ted and two of his friends were being led in handcuffs to police cars.
Cady patted the dog whose head was pressed against her leg and tried to wave to Ruth Proctor as the noise lessened gradually.
Finally Rafe managed to introduce himself to the police. As Rafe helped her to her feet, Cady could see the incredulous looks on the faces of the two officers, but she was too busy trying to reassure the crying Ruth Proctor to say anything. Rafe could handle it.
As the police led some of the men away, Cady told them she wanted to speak to Ted. “Where’s Max?” she confronted him. “Have you killed him?”
“Naw, don’t be stupid,” Ted rasped, then stepped closer to the policeman as Rafe made for him again.
“Watch your mouth when you speak to my wife,” Rafe ordered in a menacing tone. “Now where’s this Max?”
Before Ted could respond, Ruth Proctor let out a groan and knelt beside one of the dogs, cradling the dirty, bloodstained animal to her.
“Hey, Ruth, for God’s sake be proud of him. He’s the best fighter I ever had,” Ted asserted. Ruth laid the dog’s head on her jacket, then rose to her feet, walking toward her brother-in-law.
“Don’t you ever come near me or Jerry again, Ted Proctor.” She lifted her arm and smacked him full force in the face, rocking him back on his heels. “And don’t you ever come near my dog again, either.”
“Good for you, Ruth,” Cady applauded as the officers led Ted away.
Before long Rafe and his aides had arranged with the police for the care of the dogs and assured Ruth Proctor that Max would be taken to the best veterinarian possible. Since there were no known owners for the other dogs, the police told Rafe they would contact the SPCA.