The Pomeranian Always Barks Twice

by Alex Erickson

  Detective Cavanaugh and his pinched eyes watched me for a long couple of seconds. I could almost hear the questions flying around in his head, before he finally turned to follow after Junior.

  Completely confused, I met Alexis’s eye, hoping she might explain what it was Junior thought I’d done, but all she did was huff and look away.

  What in the world is going on here?

  Feeling as if the entire world was conspiring against both Ben and me, I left the police station, head down. I got into my van, and with numb fingers I started it up.

  And then, with nowhere else I could go, I did as Detective Cavanaugh had told me to do, and headed for home.

  4

  I glanced out the window for what had to be the twentieth time in the last ten minutes. Manny was on his way home, but had been forced to wait for one of the other veterinarians to show up to replace him before he could leave. If it had been me, I would have been out the door, regardless of whether anyone was there or not, but Manny had always been overly responsible, even when his own flesh and blood was in trouble.

  “What am I going to do, Wheels?” I asked, pacing away from the window. “Ben needs me, but I can’t do a thing to help him.” I felt completely useless, lost.

  Wheels trilled and wound between my feet the best she could. Her tires bumped up against my ankles like bumper cars. It didn’t exactly hurt, but it wasn’t comfortable either. I reached down, petted her for a few minutes, and then resumed my impatient pacing.

  Leroy and Toby were quiet, for which I was thankful. When I’d come in, they’d started barking immediately, needing to go out. Once their bladders were empty and they were given fresh water and treats, they settled right down for their naps. Thankfully, Joanne hadn’t come over to see what all the fuss was about. I didn’t think I could have handled her complaints without completely losing my cool.

  “Calm down, Liz,” I muttered, forcing myself to stop pacing. It wasn’t doing anyone any good, and if I kept it up, I’d pace myself right into a frenzy. I needed to find something to do, something to keep my mind off Timothy Fuller and his murder.

  But instead of doing something constructive, like prepping adoption paperwork, or planning dinner, I found myself heading up the stairs, to Ben’s room. The door was closed and I very nearly knocked before I remembered that he wasn’t there. I closed my eyes and rested my hand on the wood, in the hopes I could feel him in it.

  No such luck.

  Pushing open the door, I entered his domain.

  Ben was at an age where he could get a place of his own, but he’d chosen to stay home to make it easier for him to help out with the rescue. I was under no illusions that he wouldn’t eventually leave us, but for now, I was happy to let him stay. He didn’t cause trouble, didn’t eat us out of house and home, and the fact that he was over twenty and still lived with his parents wasn’t hurting his ability to date.

  His bed was made, nightstand uncluttered. His computer was turned off, and a few scattered papers lay atop the desk beside it. I crossed the room and checked them, not sure what to expect. It wasn’t like I truly believed Ben planned to kill Timothy Fuller and left evidence lying around.

  Still, my chest was tight as I checked the papers to find they were printed pages from the internet about canine arthritis in beagles. He’d circled a home remedy that was supposed to help with the pain and wrote, Tell Mom, beside it.

  “Oh, Ben.” I touched the writing, as if I could feel him in the words, before returning the pages to his desk. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I left the bedroom, closing the door behind me.

  Ben had always wanted to work alongside his dad, and occasionally did when the office was shorthanded, though more often than not, he spent much of his time with me. Maybe, once all of this is over, I’d finally tell Manny to hire Ben on full time. It was about time we let him fly free.

  If he ever comes home again.

  I stamped down on that line of thought and turned toward Amelia’s door. I would not think like that. Ben was coming home, even if I had to find the killer myself.

  “Amelia?” I asked, knocking on her door, though I knew she wasn’t home. Her car hadn’t been in the driveway, and I would have heard her moving around if she was.

  Still, I gave it a good twenty seconds before knocking again, this time louder. As expected, no one was there to answer.

  Feeling like an intruder in my own home, I pushed open the door and glanced inside. Unlike Ben, who tended to clean up after himself, Amelia let her messes lie. Her bed was unmade. A pair of candy wrappers lay on the nightstand beside the bed. Her laptop was gone, the desk a mess of textbooks and stacked papers. In other words, the room of a college student.

  She wasn’t on the bed, earbuds in, while she scanned a textbook. Nor was she sitting at her desk, hammering out a paper the night before it was due. She was gone, living her life, learning to become whatever it was she decided to be.

  What I wouldn’t give to have her there with me now.

  I started to close the door when I noticed an index card poking out between a pair of books on a shelf next to the door. I went to push it in when I noted there were numbers printed on it. I tugged the card free and saw it was a phone number, and a name.

  “C. Chudzinski,” I said aloud. The mysterious new boyfriend? A professor looking to help his favorite student? It was written in Amelia’s handwriting, and there were no other notes telling me who C. Chudzinski might be. The books were old YA novels she no longer read, so they weren’t any help either.

  I shoved the card back where I found it and left the room, closing the door behind me. Whoever it was, Amelia would tell me in her own time.

  A car pulled into the paved driveway. I bolted down the stairs and to the door. Wheels followed after, anxious because she recognized the sound of Manny’s Ford. He struggled a bit with the weird automatic transmission that always caused the entire car to shudder when he pulled to a stop or started to go. It gave him away every time he came home.

  I threw open the door and hurried outside to meet him. His curly hair was dark, and falling into his eyes. His brown eyes were worried as they found me. He was still wearing what I always called his pet scrubs—blue fabric with kittens and puppies printed on them. Somehow, despite how ridiculous they were, he made them look good.

  “Where is he?” Manny asked, stepping past me, into the house, like he expected Ben to be waiting there for him.

  “He’s still with the police,” I told him. “They’re going to hold him overnight! What are we going to do, Manny?”

  He ran his fingers through his hair as he turned back to face me. “What can we do?” He sounded far calmer than I did, though he was still worried. I could see it in his eyes. “You said they think he killed that man?”

  “The detective told me they have a witness.” I still couldn’t believe it. The witness had to either be corrupt, or blind. “But I know it’s not possible.” And then, quieter. “It’s not possible, is it?”

  “Of course not, Liz.” He wrapped me in a hug. He smelled like wet dog and sanitizer, but it comforted me anyway. “Ben will be fine.”

  “How do you know?” I asked. I could feel my fragile grip on my emotions slipping. Ben was my son. He was in jail. There was no way I could get past that.

  Manny stepped back and somehow managed a smile. “Trust in the law,” he said. “And if that doesn’t work, trust in Ben. He knows how to handle himself. We all know he didn’t do it, and the police will eventually realize that. They’ll find who killed that man, I promise.”

  Oh, how I wished I could believe that.

  “Now, tell me exactly what happened,” Manny said.

  Taking a few moments to calm my nerves, I went over it again. It wasn’t any easier than when I’d told it to the cops. Actually, it was worse. I kept wondering how things would have gone if I would have done things differently, convinced Timothy to hand over Stewie right then and there, or if I’d refused to let Ben run off with the woman
in the bikini.

  “Do you think Duke could be responsible?” I asked about halfway through the tale.

  “Duke?” Manny’s eyebrows, which were thick and dark, met in the crease between his eyes. “Why would you think that?”

  “He wasn’t with Courtney when I met with her at her house. He could have gone back to Timothy’s to sneak Stewie away while I was there. He might have gotten into a fight with him over the dog, accidentally killed him. Or what if, when he got there, he found Timothy’s body after someone else, like Timothy’s nurse, killed him? Duke could have told the police he saw Ben to cover his own tracks.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Duke.”

  No, it didn’t, but I didn’t have anything else to go on.

  “Maybe it was Junior,” I said, mind spinning as I searched for someone else who could be responsible for the murder. “He was accusing me of all sorts of things, none of which made any sense. He acted like I had some ulterior motive for showing up. Maybe he decided to blame Ben for a murder he committed instead.”

  “Or, he’s simply upset,” Manny said, as levelheaded as ever. Unlike his mother, who was as excitable as a Chihuahua on a bad day, Manny rarely got worked up. And even when he did, he still managed to exude calm, which often helped keep me from completely flying off the handle.

  “You’re probably right,” I said. Blaming others wasn’t going to help Ben. Not unless I found proof.

  An idea started to form, one that I was reluctant to dismiss. Manny wanted me to trust the police, but so far, they’d accused Ben of murder on the word of a single witness. That didn’t inspire much confidence in their abilities.

  “Come on,” Manny said, taking my arm and leading me to the table. “You should eat. I’ll whip up some sandwiches for the both of us.”

  “Sure,” I said, though I was far from hungry. I sank down into a chair and turned my idea over in my head, tried to see where it could go wrong.

  The easiest thing to do would be to stay put and wait for the police to work things out on their own. It was what they were trained to do.

  But I’d seen those made for TV movies where the police arrest the wrong man, and without intervention, would have ended up convicting him of the crime. Could I really take that chance with my son’s life?

  Manny was humming as he made a pair of tomato sandwiches. I knew what he’d tell me to do, that there was nothing more I could do, that I should let the police handle it and stay right here at home, doing nothing.

  But it wasn’t like I was thinking of doing anything more than chatting with a person or two to see what they had to say. What harm would there be in that?

  I forced a smile as Manny handed me a plate. If I let him see the thoughts working behind my eyes, he would surely try to stop me.

  “Did you get a chance to talk to Amelia yet?” I asked, changing the subject away from Ben and his predicament in the hopes Manny wouldn’t pry into my thoughts. I took a bite of my sandwich to hide my nervousness.

  “No,” Manny said, wiping tomato juice from his chin. “Do you really think something is up with her?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “She’s never been secretive before.” I considered telling him about the name and number I’d found in her room, but decided it was really none of our business. She was a grown adult at this point and was allowed to have her own secrets.

  “All kids go through it,” Manny said.

  “I guess. Ben thinks she might have a new boyfriend.”

  Manny looked surprised. “Really? It would be news to me. Do you think we should talk to her?”

  “I don’t know. She’s been kind of moody lately.” Thanks to Ben’s current predicament, my mind was traveling in some pretty unsavory directions. What if it was drugs? Alcohol? What if she was struggling in school and was about to drop out? What if it was a cult?

  And then, thinking of the name and number, as well as Ben’s guess about her current relationship status: What if she was pregnant?

  “It’s probably nothing,” Manny said. “She might have wanted to get a jump start on the day. Nothing sinister about that.”

  “I hope so.”

  We finished our meal in silence. I shouldn’t have brought Amelia up because now I was worried about both my children, when by all rights, I should be focused on Ben.

  “I should be getting back,” Manny said as he gathered the plates and put them into the sink. “Theresa came in to cover for me, but said she can’t stay long. If you need me to stick around here, I can always call Ray and see if he can make it.”

  “No, that’s okay,” I said. “You should go. It’s not like there’s much else we can do but wait.” I went over and kissed him. It was shocking how calmly he was taking it all in. The man was a rock, unfazed by anything. “Thanks for talking me off the ledge.”

  “Always.” He kissed my forehead, and then grabbed his keys. “If you hear something, call me immediately.”

  “I will.”

  He started for the door, stopped. “Liz?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you know if Ben’s talked to an attorney yet?”

  “No, I don’t. They wouldn’t let me see him.”

  Manny nodded, seemingly to himself. “All right. I’ll call Lester, just in case.”

  “Do you think he can help?” Lester Ives was an attorney we knew, but I wasn’t sure he knew anything about murder cases.

  “Can’t hurt,” Manny said. “And Liz?”

  I hugged myself as I said, “Yeah?”

  “It’ll be okay.”

  “I’m sure it will.” I forced a smile.

  He winked, blew me one more kiss, and then he was gone.

  As soon as the door closed, I sagged against the wall, exhausted from keeping on a brave face. I went from having what felt like the perfect life, to wondering if I was going to get through the day with either of my children at my side.

  “You can do this,” I muttered, pushing away from the wall. I was all butterflies and nerves inside, but I refused to let Ben go down without putting up some sort of fight.

  I took a few minutes to make sure Toby and Leroy were taken care of, taking them both out back for one more potty break, and then making sure they had enough food and water. Then, once that was settled, I picked up the phone and called my pet sitter, Lenore Cosgrove.

  “Hi, Lenore, it’s Liz,” I said when she answered, keeping the fear for Ben out of my voice. I didn’t need to worry her. “Do you think you’ll be able to come in and keep an eye on the dogs for me? I know it’s short notice, but it’s an emergency.”

  Lenore chuckled a dry, raspy laugh. “Of course, I can,” she said. “Give me a moment to grab my shawl and I’ll be right over.”

  “Thank you so much,” I said, relieved. “I’m not sure how long this will take. I have to run some errands, but Amelia should be home to relieve you before too long.” At least, I hoped she would be.

  One crisis at a time, Liz.

  “It’s no bother at all,” Lenore said. She grunted, and I imaged her rising from her rocking chair, where she liked to sit to knit. “I was hoping to get another chance to spend a few hours with those two dogs of yours before they’re gone. They’re blessings sent straight from Heaven, let me tell you.”

  “They are,” I agreed. “I’ll see you when you get here.”

  We said our goodbyes and I put a can of soup on low heat as I always did for Lenore when she came over. She lived only a few houses down, all by herself. She was eighty-five, and looked every day of it. When her dog, Bobo, had died, many thought she would go with him, she was so depressed.

  Thankfully, in a moment of inspiration, I asked her if she might like to spend some time with a pair of puppies I’d recently taken in, thinking she might want to take one home with her. She didn’t want to go that far, but she did enjoy spending time with them. One thing led to another, and before long, I was paying her to pet sit whenever I knew I was going to be out for more than a couple of hours. She’d pr
obably do it for free, but I’d never ask her to do such a thing.

  “Lenore’s coming over,” I told Wheels, who’d followed me into the kitchen. “Be good for her, okay?”

  Wheels purred, rubbed her head against my leg, and then rolled over to her water dish. It was as close to a “yes” as I was going to get.

  Lenore showed up fifteen minutes later, back stooped, but with a broad smile on her wrinkled face. I let her in, showed her the soup, and then left her to the mercy of the elderly dogs who loved her just as much as I did.

  With the animals squared away, I got into my van, started it up, and headed back to the scene of the crime.

  5

  No other cars sat in Timothy Fuller’s driveway as I pulled to a stop. The house didn’t just look empty; it felt empty. There was no police tape strung across the doorway like I’d expected there to be. I supposed that since the murder took place out back, there was no reason to seal up the house. The front door would be locked, but the curtains had been pulled wide, as if someone had decided to let in the sun before leaving. The ceramic Pomeranian out front looked weathered and alone.

  I wondered where Stewie was being kept, and prayed someone hadn’t called the shelter to come and get him. From what little I knew of Junior, I wouldn’t put it past him. I knew for a fact the shelter was already overfull, and with a good many of the dogs being puppies, or young enough to still act like a puppy, Stewie wouldn’t stand a chance.

  I got out of my van and walked over to the window and peered inside. Old furniture sat amid machines I didn’t recognize, but were obviously there for health reasons. A mask sat on the armrest of the couch, attached to a box by tubing. Another machine stood near the wall, next to a small statue of a soldier.

  It was heartbreaking, really. How hard had Timothy’s life been before his untimely demise? It couldn’t be easy getting to sleep with a mask like that covering half your face. And then to be confined to a wheelchair, so he couldn’t go out and do things on his own. To go through all that, and then be murdered? I couldn’t imagine.

  Had he been a soldier once? A businessman? Was his inability to walk due to his illness, or something else?