by James Howe
“Sorry to have to interrupt you, Harold,” she said sweetly, “but let me dry you off a little so you can enjoy the rest of your dinner.” Jill’s hands felt good as she rubbed me down, and I would have happily rolled over for a complete MTR (that’s “massage and tummy rub” to you laymen) had I not been so anxious to return to eating dinner. “I don’t know where my head is these days,” she said as she rubbed the hair along my back. “I completely forgot about feeding you guys tonight. And then we raced out here so fast, I left the towels inside and let the door slam shut behind me.” She laughed to herself and shook her head. “I guess I need a rest, too,” she said. “Dr. Greenbriar and I have been working so hard these past few weeks, I’m ready to drop. And Harrison—but I can’t blame him,” she said seriously. “That’s no excuse. It would be awful if something happened just because I let myself get a little tired and careless.”
“Jill,” Harrison called, “I’ve finished drying the rest of them. I’m going back in.”
“Okay,” Jill shouted back above the din of the rain. “I’ll be right there.”
She turned to me and scratched me behind the ears. “Okay, Harold, that’s it. Enjoy your dinner now. And get a good night’s sleep. Night-night.”
And she was gone.
I liked Jill, I thought, as I plunged back into my food. She was clumsy and forgetful it was true, but she seemed nice enough. As for Harrison, well, I wasn’t sure what to make of him. There was something about him that made me nervous. Besides, anybody who preferred reading comic books to chewing on them was a little suspect in my eyes.
Later that night, I tried to sleep. But the raging storm and the determined howling of Howard and Heather kept startling me awake. And then I started thinking about what Chester had said earlier. What were his exact words? Something about an undercurrent of tension that would one day erupt with a terrible force. What could he mean? I wondered.
Little did I imagine then, tossing and turning in my sleep, that the terrible eruption Chester had predicted had already occurred.
[ FIVE ]
“She’s Gone!”
THE NEXT MORNING, I was startled out of my sleep by the sound of Harrison’s voice.
“Oh no!” he cried.
I moved quickly to the front of my bungalow to see what was going on. So did everyone else. Harrison stood in the center of the compound, shaking his head, as Jill flew out of the office door.
“What is it?” she shouted. “What’s happened?”
Harrison pointed at Louise’s bungalow. The door was wide open.
“She’s gone!” he proclaimed.
Immediately, I shifted my gaze to Max. Our eyes met. His jaw fell open, as a look of shock and bewilderment swept over him.
“But how?” Jill asked. “This has never happened before, has it?”
“Not in the three summers I’ve worked here,” Harrison replied. Slowly, he surveyed the entire compound, looking at each of us in turn. Then, suddenly, he called out, “Look!”
We all turned our heads sharply in the direction he was pointing. Unfortunately, I hit my nose on the wall of my bungalow and I couldn’t see a thing except stars. So it took Jill’s words to make clear what it was that had so astonished him.
“Oh no,” she said. “The gate! It’s open!”
“How can it be?” Harrison asked. “There’s no way any of the animals could open that lock.”
“I don’t know,” Jill said, her brow wrinkled in confusion and distress. “Unless one of us . . .” She stopped speaking then, and a strange expression came over her face.
“What is it?” Harrison asked. “What’s the matter?”
“I did it,” she said after a minute. Her voice was soft and a little wavery.
“What do you mean?” Harrison queried. His eyebrows came together to form a hedge across his forehead.
“I did it,” Jill repeated. “I left the gate open. Don’t you remember? When I ran in to get the towels, I accidentally let the office door lock behind me, so I had to go back by the gate. I was in such a hurry and it was raining so badly, I guess I just didn’t notice . . . I . . .” Her shoulders slumped, and it was another moment before she spoke again. In the interim, a flash of lightning ripped through the sky, letting us know that the storm was not yet over. “Oh, I feel terrible,” Jill went on. “It’s all my fault. What are we going to do?”
Much to my surprise, Harrison came over to Jill and put his arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry,” he said softly, “we’ll find her. It was a mistake. It could have happened to anyone. Come on. Let’s give everyone breakfast, and then you and I will go out looking for her.”
Jill seemed as surprised as I was at Harrison’s concern. She looked at him warily out of the corner of her eyes. “What if we don’t find her?” she asked.
“Then she’ll find us,” Harrison said calmly. “She’ll wind her way back home sooner or later.” He smiled then and said gently, “Okay?”
“Okay,” Jill replied, accepting Harrison’s attempts at reassurance, and together they went back inside the office.
AFTER breakfast, Chester and I put our heads together to consider Louise’s escape. Harrison and Jill had let us out early for exercise, since there was no way of knowing when the storm would start up again.
“What did I tell you?” Chester asked me.
“I give up,” I answered, not at all sure what he was referring to.
“Didn’t I say there would be trouble?”
“What trouble?” I countered. “Louise ran away. Makes sense, if you ask me.”
“Oh, really?”
“Sure.”
“Would you care to enlarge on your theory?”
“I’d be delighted,” I replied. “Louise was very upset about Max’s flirting with Georgette. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“So, when she saw that the front gate had been left open last night, she seized the opportunity to run off and teach Max a lesson. She’ll be back.”
“And that’s it?”
“Simple, really. Just opened the door to her bungalow, and out she went.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Chester replied, licking his paws. His long tongue moved slowly between each of his toes as he reflected on what I’d said. No doubt he was impressed with my powers of deduction. “And did she unlock Max’s door, too?”
“Huh?” I asked, completely thrown. “What do you mean?”
“What I mean is that Max’s door was open this morning, too. You may not have noticed that, but I did. You have to learn to be observant in this business, Harold.”
“What business is that, Chester?”
“The business of crime detection,” Chester answered, neatly snapping his head in my direction to look me squarely in the eyes.
“Crime detection?” I responded. I could feel the hairs along the back of my neck rise slightly. Chester has always had the ability to alarm me, often unnecessarily. I was hoping this was the case. “Chester,” I said, “I think you’re getting carried away.”
“On the contrary,” he replied, “it may well have been Louise who was carried away.”
“Oh,” was all I could say, for Max’s voice suddenly bellowed throughout Chateau Bow-Wow.
“It’s no good,” he groaned, “no good!” Chester and I looked out to see him sitting in the middle of the compound, a forlorn expression smeared across his face like after-breakfast jam. The ever-present Georgette was at his side.
“Now, Max, you mustn’t carry on so,” she said softly.
“Hussy,” I heard myself utter under my breath.
“I can’t help it, Georgette,” Max cried, his voice cracking. “It’s all my fault this happened. I never should have spoken to her the way I did.”
I could see Taxi moving in Max’s direction; Max looked up and saw him coming.
“I’m sorry, Max, I—” Taxi started to say.
“Not now, Taxi!” Max fairly shouted.
“But, Max—”
“
No, Taxi, I want to be alone!” And Max picked himself up and lumbered back to his bungalow. Georgette followed. He turned to her suddenly and said, “Please, Georgette. I need some . . . space.”
“Of course,” she answered, her feathery voice at its featheriest, “I understand. This is not the time for . . . us.”
She turned and walked away, her spirit trailing behind her like a long shadow on a sultry summer day. Taxi, meanwhile, stood in the center of the compound. From the look on his face, he was not pleased that Max had dismissed him so abruptly. After a moment’s deliberation, he moved away toward one corner of the compound and began to scratch himself behind the ears.
“Come on,” Chester said to me, “we’ve got some exploring to do.”
“Okay,” I answered, “but I don’t know what you expect to find. Anyway, if you’re suspecting Max of anything, I guess you can rule him out now. Boy, is he upset. Poor fella.”
“Is he?” Chester asked pointedly. “Perhaps he is a ‘poor fella,’ as you say. Or perhaps a poor actor putting on a good show.”
We were walking in the direction of Louise’s bungalow when we bumped into Howard and Heather. They both jumped in surprise.
“Sorry,” I said, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Oh . . . oh . . . it’s nothing,” Howard said. “No, it’s nothing—”
“—at all,” said Heather. “Oh my, I’m so jumpy today. I don’t feel quite myself. No, I—”
“Sorry about that beastly howling last night, old chap,” Howard said to me. He turned with a nod to Chester. “Certainly hope we weren’t the cause of Louise’s . . . uh . . .”
“. . . departure,” Heather added. She giggled suddenly. And then, just as suddenly, she gasped and tried to catch her breath.
“What is it?” Howard cried.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Heather replied, after letting out a great sigh. “I’m having such trouble breathing today. I don’t know what . . . it . . . is . . .” She looked at Howard, her big eyes wide in bewilderment. The two of them stared at each other a long moment, their heads bobbing up and down in unison.
“I think we’d better—” Howard began.
“—go home,” Heather finished. “Yes, dear. I think we’d best. Do excuse us,” she said, turning to us. “I’m just not—”
“—herself,” said Howard. And they turned and left. Chester and I watched them go.
“Typical werewolvian behavior,” said Chester, his voice full of authority. I’m sure I would have asked him to elaborate, if it were not for the fact that I didn’t really care in the least what he had to say. So I changed the subject.
“Weren’t we going to do some exploring?” I asked.
“Yes,” Chester answered, snapping himself out of his pensive mood. “Follow me.”
I followed Chester to Louise’s bungalow, where we stood for what felt like a long time, staring at the emptiness inside. “Just think,” I said, feeling a tear come to my eye,” last night she was here. Today, she’s gone.”
“Yes,” said Chester slowly. “That’s exactly the word. ‘Gone.’”
“Escaped,” I added. “But soon she’ll be back with us.”
“Nonsense,” Chester said scornfully. “She didn’t escape. And she won’t be back. No one comes back from murder!”
“Murder?”
“Of course, murder,” Chester replied evenly. “It’s all falling into place, don’t you see?”
“What’s falling into place?”
“The suspects. The motives. And now the evidence,” said Chester.
I was confused (which around Chester is a normal state of being, so it didn’t alarm me). “What evidence?” I asked.
“Look for yourself,” he said, with a nod toward the bungalow. “What do you see?”
I surveyed the interior. “A rug. A water dish. A food dish,” I said. “Just like mine.”
“Ah, but it isn’t just like yours, Harold, and that’s the key.”
“Why? I don’t see anything so different.”
“Look again. And this time use your powers of observation, such as they are. Now, what do you see?”
I scrunched up my eyes and looked carefully at each square inch of space as if studying for a final exam at obedience school.
“Well?” Chester prodded.
“A rug. A water dish. A food dish,” I proclaimed.
Chester sighed and shook his head sadly. “Sometimes I despair, Harold,” he uttered. “Allow me to fill you in on what you’ve missed.”
“Please do.”
“The rug. How is it different from yours?” I shrugged. “It’s all jumbled up,” Chester went on. “A real mess, in fact. And the food dish? Almost filled with food. These observations may seem insignificant, but wait, my friend. Now we come to the water dish, perhaps the most significant item of all. And yet it isn’t really the water dish, but what lies around it that is so disturbing.”
Thoroughly confused, I looked at the water dish and the floor around it. Nothing struck me as unusual.
“But don’t you see?” Chester asked. “What is lying all around the water dish?”
“Water?” I ventured.
“Exactly!” he exclaimed triumphantly.
“But what else would you expect to find around a water dish?”
“Ordinarily, the appearance of water around a water dish would not be out of the ordinary in the least. But given the unusual combination of factors, it is most striking. And it will be given serious consideration in our investigation.”
Suddenly, Lyle zoomed by us.
“Faster than a speeding bullet—” I heard him call out as he passed. “Able to leap buildings in a single bound!”
Chester shook his head. “That Lyle is a disgrace to the species,” he said. Then, back on the track of his previous thought, he said, “Come on, Harold, I need to talk this out with you right now.”
We found a quiet spot under a tree in a corner of the compound. The storm seemed to have abated for the moment, and I thought how pleasant it would be just to lie here for a while and commune with nature. But Chester had other ideas.
“The rug, the food dish and the water on the floor all add up to foul play, my dear Harold, don’t you see? Signs of a struggle, old boy!” Old boy? I thought. “My guess—and it’s only a guess, mind you—is that someone pushed Louise’s head into the water while she was drinking. She resisted, which accounts for the spilled water and the wrinkled rug.”
“And the food?” I asked.
“She never finished her dinner,” Chester said simply. “She was . . . shall we say . . . interrupted.”
I must confess Chester’s deductions began to awaken in me the possibility that what he was suspecting was true. Still, I wasn’t going to give up my theory of Louise’s escape so easily.
“What if it happened just as Jill and Harrison said?” I asked. “Isn’t that possible?”
“Sure, it’s possible,” Chester answered. “But it’s unlikely.”
“Why?”
“If Louise had run away, it’s only logical she would have finished eating her dinner first, since she couldn’t have known when she’d be eating her next meal. And why the appearance of a struggle? And why,” Chester added, “was Max’s door open as well?”
“So you’re saying Max did it?”
“I’m not saying anything—yet. Obviously, Max had the motive. And the strength to pull it off. Let us picture the scene: He comes to Louise’s bungalow telling her he wants to apologize. She lets him in. He pushes her head into the water. She struggles, but he has the strength to hold her down. Afterward, he drags her body out through the front gate.”
“But he’s so upset today,” I said, still not believing Max capable of such an act.
“Either that or, as I suggested before, he’s pretending he is. To throw us off, you see?”
I allowed as how I did. “What about Georgette?” I asked. “She could have done it. I wouldn’t put much past her.”
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br /> “Yes, that’s possible, too. The only problem there is that I doubt she has the strength to hold Louise’s head down. What’s more likely is that they’re in cahoots, she and Max. She may have been his accomplice. Unless, of course,” and here Chester thought for a moment, “I have the method of the murder itself wrong. Hmm, that will bear some thinking.”
In the distance, Lyle dropped from the branch of a tree onto Taxi’s head. Taxi, not in the mood to wear Lyle as a hat, shook him off so violently that he landed several feet away. Stunned, he picked himself up and screamed at Taxi, “I can tell when I’m not wanted! Don’t think I can’t take a hint!” And he stormed off.
“What about Lyle?” I asked. “Do you remember how he threatened Louise yesterday?”
“Indeed, I do,” Chester answered, nodding slowly. “‘You haven’t seen the end of me,’ he said. ‘Just watch out!’ And you know, Harold, Lyle is just crazy enough to do it. When you think about it, the murderer could be anyone here.”
“Anyone?” I asked, puzzled.
“Anyone!” Chester affirmed. “We know, for instance, that Howard and Heather are part werewolf—”
“You know,” I corrected.
“Oh, come on, Harold, no normal dog howls like that.”
“That’s true,” I concurred, “I don’t.”
“True. Of course, you’re not normal either, but we’ll overlook that for the moment.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Besides, werewolves are very hairy. Look at how hairy Howard and Heather are.”
“They’re wire-haired dachshunds. You said so yourself.”
“They’re very hairy wire-haired dachshunds,” Chester countered, refusing to allow logic to blow his theory. “And if they are werewolves, they can change shape anytime they want.”
“Huh?” I inquired.
“Werewolves can change into anything, anytime at all, in order to assist them in their pursuit of evil.” I tried to imagine Howard and Heather changing shape. It was hard to picture Howard as a clothes hanger or Heather as a toaster-oven. I was about to mention this to Chester when he spoke again.