One Dog Too Many (A Mae December Mystery)

by Farrell, Lia

  The memory never really left him; he still heard the muffled sobs and angry voices of his foster parents.

  “I see the way you look at that goddamn half-breed, you slut!”

  A scream and heavy steps from the bedroom to the living room. Then the front door was thrown open, slammed, and the truck door was opened and closed. Pressure built behind his eyes. Was he the half-breed? Some of the kids at school called him “Injun” or “chief.” He never paid much attention to them, but “half-breed” sounded very ugly coming from his foster father’s mouth, almost as ugly as “slut.”

  If that man hits her again, I’ll … the thought ended there, like always. He wanted so badly to save her but was afraid. Was he big enough, strong enough to fight the drunken man? If only I had a gun, he thought. But if he did, he knew he’d use it. He needed to get out of there soon, or he’d find a way to stop the man for good.

  “Wayne, come here.” Her voice was usually soft and easy to listen to, but at that moment it was high pitched and loaded with pain and fear. He got up and left the bedroom where his little brother lay sleeping. She sat on the edge of her bed with her head in her hands.

  He sat down next to her and put his arms around her. She flinched. “Did he hurt you?”

  Wordlessly, she pulled down the strap of her nightgown to show the purpling bruises that darkened her white skin. He tore his eyes away from the tops of her breasts. His anger and disgust with his foster father joined with feelings even more disturbing.

  “And this, too.” She pulled up her nightgown to show more bruises on her thin, pale legs. A dark triangle of hair showed through the thin fabric of her panties. His mouth felt dry.

  “Don’t …” His voice was low and rough as he pulled her nightgown down. Didn’t she know he was almost a man? She looked into his eyes, pulled him close suddenly and kissed him hard, on the mouth. He felt her strong tongue push past his lips. Gasping, he ran away from the room, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

  Walking back down the hall, he opened the door to his bedroom, taking care not to make any noise. He knelt beside his brother’s bed and shook him by the shoulder.

  “Kurt, get up.” Kurt was ten, tall for his age and slender with dark hair and eyes. They had come to this house together from another foster family when Kurt was only three. Neither boy belonged to the foster couple. Kurt wasn’t Wayne’s real brother, but they were as close as two halves of an orange.

  “I need you. Come out to the kitchen.”

  Kurt sat up and swung his legs over the small bed, placing his toes on the cold floor. He followed his brother down the hallway, a sleepy little boy whose world was about to be ruptured.

  “This is important. Don’t make a sound. He’s not in the house, but he’ll be back soon. He’s only sleeping it off out in the truck. I have to go. I have to leave the house.”

  Kurt looked up at him and said a small, fierce, “No.”

  Wayne hugged the little boy. “When Mom wakes up, give her this.” He handed him a note. “I don’t want to leave you, but something bad is going to happen if I stay here, something even worse than this.” He gestured out at the truck. “Mom knows I have to leave. She knows why. Don’t go to school today. Don’t get on the bus. Hide in the ditch beside the road. Don’t let the bus driver see you. Go to the Wilshire’s house. Tell them Dad hit Mom again. Ask Mr. Wilshire if he’ll come over. He’s a deputy. He can stop him.”

  “Don’t go.” Kurt’s little voice rasped out, then it changed, became hard. “Please.”

  Wayne placed his backpack on the table and finished putting some food in it—peanut butter, crackers, apples, a can of tuna fish and a small can opener, along with a thin white blanket. He reached up and lifted a stack of plates, taking down the money hidden under it.

  Kurt’s eyes widened. “You can’t take that. That’s Mom’s money.”

  “I have to. I’m going to be gone a long time. I’m only taking a little of the money. Don’t wake Mom. Wait until she gets up before you give her the note. Let her sleep as long as she can. If you give her the note too soon, someone might come after me.” He ruffled Kurt’s hair. “Don’t worry, they probably won’t. They’ll be glad to get rid of me.” He hugged the small boy again. “I’m sorry. Someday I’ll come back for you. When you’re older, you can live with me.”

  He zipped the backpack shut, put on his jacket and stepped outside into the early summer morning. It was foggy, the kind of mist that lay on the ground in white puddles. He hesitated, looking back through the kitchen window. Kurt peered out at him. His heart clenched. The little boy raised his eyes to his brother and then turned away. Even from beyond the house, Wayne could sense Kurt’s despair. For a moment, he wanted to go back, but he couldn’t. He raised an arm in farewell and let the mist take him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  March 25

  Tammy Rogers

  It was a beautiful morning, sunny and cool. Tammy Rogers drove her two-seater convertible into Rosedale and parked behind Birdy’s Salon. Her mother, Grace, owned the historic brick building that housed the salon. Tammy rented one of the storefronts for Local Love and an apartment on the second floor, where she lived with her three cats and countless plants. Other than her cozy apartment, complete with a raised deck overlooking a small courtyard, Grace used the rest of the second story for storage. The other storefronts on the street level housed a coffee shop, a jewelry store and an antique store. Tammy used her building key to let herself in the back door and went up the rickety stairs to her apartment, picking up a bundle of mail on her way.

  She unlocked the ornate iron door that the antique dealer downstairs insisted he’d purchased in New Orleans. Though he said he was practically giving the door away at the price she negotiated, he wanted her to have it “for safety’s sake.” Until Ruby’s murder, Tammy had always felt safe in the building where she’d practically grown up, spending time in the salon with her mother and grandmother. Her innate sense of style was strengthened there, and although her mother was skeptical about her living in what she described as “that ratty old attic,” Tammy created a sumptuous nest for herself.

  Tammy had painted the door a deep blue and distressed it to look old. She pulled the iron filigree outer door shut and locked it behind her. She dumped her mail and pocketbook onto her tiny kitchen table and fussed over her cats, apologizing for her absence. She filled their large crystal water bowl with fresh water and put dry food into three silver bowls. After filling a Mexican pottery pitcher with water, she stepped out onto her verandah to water her outdoor plants. The sun was warm on the sheltered eastern side of the building and she lingered over the pots, pinching off violets and snapdragons that were now past their prime.

  “Tammy,” a deep voice called from down below. She looked over the railing. Ben stood by the gate of the small courtyard. “Is Local Love closed today?”

  Tammy shaded her eyes. “Not for you, handsome. I’ll be right down. The gate is always locked. No one seems to know where the key is. I’ll meet you at the front door.”

  Tammy ran down the stairs, after grabbing her keys and cellphone and locking the door behind her. She entered the office of Local Love through the service door and turned the bolt to admit Ben. Standing there in his uniform, he looked very official.

  “Is everything all right?” Tammy asked, breathless. “Mae?”

  “Everything’s fine. Don’t worry. I wanted to thank you for staying there last night, and I have a favor to ask.” He stopped, looking at her a little self-consciously.

  “Don’t be shy, honey. You know I’ll help if I can.” Tammy tilted her head and gazed up at him in amusement.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this in the middle of a murder investigation. I wanted to ask you to take me out of your listing for the dating service. I know I paid for another six months, but I don’t think I’m going to need them.”

  He looked straight down at his shoes. Tammy didn’t even need to hide her triumphant smile. She couldn’t
resist toying with him a little bit.

  “Have you been unhappy with my services?” She unsuccessfully suppressed a giggle.

  “No, not at all. Don’t tease me. You know it’s because of Mae.”

  Tammy reached out her hand and gave him a playful tap on his cheek. “I tease everybody I like, you know. Of course I’ll take you off the list, but you better be good to my friend, or you’ll be on my bad list, Sheriff.”

  “Of course. Thanks. I better get back to work.”

  They smiled at each other in perfect understanding. He walked away. Mae’s right, thought Tammy. He does have a cute butt.

  She locked the door behind him and went back upstairs to curl up on her dark orange velvet couch with her phone. She checked the battery status. It had a full charge. She had already left him multiple messages, if he didn’t call back soon, she’d turn it off.

  The cushion under Tammy’s cheek vibrated. She opened her eyes and looked at her phone. There was a notice on the screen indicating that she had three missed calls. Refreshed from her catnap, she smiled. Two of the calls were from Patrick. Tammy broke her own rule and called him back immediately.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, Patrick. It’s me.”

  “Hi, yourself. How are you this morning?” He sounded normal; breezy and friendly as usual.

  Crap. Maybe she had been imagining things last night. The last few times she had seen him he had seemed to be interested in her as more than a friend, but maybe not.

  “I missed three calls from you. Did you need something?”

  “I did, yeah. Do you think Mae’s all right? She was really quiet last night.”

  Tammy suppressed a sigh. Both Noah and Patrick were apparently reserved for Mae. “I think she’s doing fine. She’s finally getting over losing Noah.”

  “Is she interested in that Ben guy?”

  Was he jealous? “She is. I hope you’re … all right with that.”

  She waited for him to say something. “Patrick, are you still there?”

  “Yeah. Listen, I need to get going. Stuff to do, you know.”

  “Wait. I didn’t mean anything by that. I know you miss Noah.”

  “I do. I want Mae to be happy; it’s just hard for me to see her with anyone besides my big brother.”

  This conversation wasn’t going at all as she’d hoped. “It’s hard to picture for her too, but it’s been a long time. I’ll let you go. Bye.”

  “Bye, Tammy.”

  Someday Patrick would quit worrying about Mae and see what was right in front of him. Maybe.

  Chapter Twenty

  March 25

  Mae December

  Mae hurried out to the barn. It was a cool, pretty morning. The kitchen was a mess after her dinner with Tammy and Patrick and she was in a rush to get to her chores. Two of her boarders were going home, and a new dog would be arriving. Refreshed by the cool morning air, Mae resolved once again not to dwell on the investigation into Ruby’s murder.

  Rusty was going home. His owner, Mrs. Blackwell, was coming by at around eleven. She had brought the dog to Mae, saying that he was difficult (“impossible” was her word) to handle and asked for some help in training him to walk more calmly on a leash.

  Mae always washed the dogs before they went home. She didn’t do a full grooming, since she lacked the equipment and the inclination to do trimming, but she gave them a bath, dried them, brushed them and put a bandana around their neck. When she started her business, she had neck bandanas made that read, “I was a good boy (or girl) at Mae’s Place.”

  All the Rhodesian Ridgeback needed was exercise and he calmed right down. Since both of the Blackwells worked full-time, Mae started getting the big dog used to standing and walking at very slow speeds on the treadmill she set up in the barn. If they stayed with the program, they’d find him a much easier dog to live with.

  Mae finished drying and brushing Rusty. Mrs. Blackwell talked on her cellphone as she walked toward the barn. Mae grabbed a “good boy” bandana and tied it quickly around his neck.

  “Hi, Mrs. Blackwell. We’re in here.”

  Mrs. Irene Blackwell walked in through the double doors, dropping her phone into her purse. Her pointy high heels were caked in mud.

  Rusty barked a loud greeting.

  “Good morning, Rusty.” She gave him a timid pat on the head. “Well, how was my boy?”

  “Great! He needs a lot of exercise, though. I’ve been walking him a mile every day, outside when the weather was decent, or inside on the treadmill when it wasn’t. Do you have a treadmill?”

  “Yes, we do. We never use it. Wait a minute, are you telling me my dog actually walks on the treadmill?”

  “Yes, I’ve only just started him on it. Exercise is definitely the key with him. He’s a sweet teddy bear when he gets enough exercise.”

  Irene put her hands on her hips and stared accusingly at the dog. “Well, he’s not very sweet at home. He’s actually been eating furniture. I’m about at my wit’s end. He even chewed up one of our kitchen cupboards last week. I work full-time and so does Ron, and we can’t give him the exercise he needs. I still have bandages on my elbows where I hit the concrete last time I tried to walk him.” Desperation was all over her face.

  “Irene, do you think you could hire a dog walker? These big guys have to be walked at least once a day. Twice is better.”

  “Good idea. I’ll look into it. I’d like to walk him sometimes, too. He pulls me all over the place, though, so I’m not sure that I can.”

  “I was going to offer to come to your house one day and show you how to walk him and how to put him on your treadmill.”

  “Oh, would you? That would be great. I don’t know why he’s this hard for me to control.”

  Mae hesitated. How could she be diplomatic about this? “It’s possible that he doesn’t see you as his leader.”

  The woman blinked a few times. She looked taken aback. “Am I supposed to be his leader?”

  “Definitely. In Africa, Rhodesian Ridgebacks form large packs with distinct leaders. I’m afraid that Rusty sees you and your husband as siblings or littermates, rather than leaders. Let me show you how he walks for me.”

  Mae snapped the leash to the big dog’s collar. “Come on, Rusty, let’s walk.” She took a step forward with Rusty beside her on her left. He walked with her all the way to the Blackwell’s car. There was no pulling or stopping to sniff things. He heeled perfectly.

  Mrs. Blackwell’s jaw dropped open. “Amazing. How much would you charge for a home visit?”

  “I’m not certified as a professional dog trainer, you know. I just haven’t had time to take the certification course yet, but I do some consulting about obedience. To be an expert trainer, you have to have the reflexes of a mink, the temperament of the Dalai Lama, and the charisma of a movie star. But I’d be happy to come over for a consultation with the two of you, or the three of you. I charge forty dollars an hour.”

  Mrs. Blackwell took a check out of her large black purse. “I’ll call you for an appointment and here’s your check for the week. Thank you. He always seems happy at your place.”

  No surprise there, Mae thought. She didn’t treat him like a houseplant. “No problem, he’s a wonderful dog.”

  Mrs. Blackwell got Rusty into her car as Mae’s next client pulled up. Her business was always like this, with everything happening at once.

  It was the Great Dane’s owner. Christiansen was ready to go.

  “Hi, John.”

  “Hi, Mae. How was he?”

  “Perfect, as always.”

  Christiansen was a lovely black and white spotted Dane. When Mae first met him, she was glad to see that his owners had chosen not to alter his ears surgically. Cropping was cruel and unnecessary, unless a dog was going to compete in shows. To Mae it was a much more natural look to have his ears hanging down rather than standing up in points. The dog had only one unfortunate habit. When he saw John, he ran at him, jumped up and rested his front
feet on John’s shoulders. Both John and Christiansen were over six feet tall. They made a startling sight.

  John laughed heartily, standing chest to chest with the dog.

  Mae looked at them in exasperation. What a moron. Meaning John, of course, not the dog.

  “You know, John,” Mae’s voice was firm. “You need to start curing him of that habit.”

  “Why? I like it. He’s always so happy to see me when I get home.”

  “I’m sure you like it, but what about Lila? Does she like it?”

  “Oh, sure she does.”

  Was the man demented? She probably liked it about as much as being flattened by a freight train. Mae sighed. John’s beautiful wife was petite and Christiansen was a huge silly Marmaduke.

  “John, you’re asking for trouble by laughing at him and letting him think this is okay. If he jumped on a child, you could really have a problem on your hands. I think we should work on it. I did a little training while you were away.”

  “Christiansen,” Mae called. When he came over, she held him by the collar. “Okay, now you call him.” She released the dog.

  As the huge animal dashed toward John, she yelled, “Christiansen, stop!”

  He stopped. “Sit.” He sat.

  “Wow. That’s great. How do you do that?”

  “No big deal. You say your commands only once and in a stern voice. I’m sure he’ll respond.”

  Was John up to the job? He seemed clueless about how to become the boss in the relationship with his dog.

  “Dogs need rules that don’t change, John. If he isn’t supposed to jump on people, you can’t let him jump on anyone, even you.”

  John left looking humbled. She knew she sounded like a scolding schoolteacher, but better for him to hear this from her than from an angry judge during a lawsuit.