Mind Your Own Beeswax

by Hannah Reed

  “Help,” I sputtered, fear cutting off my airway.

  Carrie Ann reached down and rescued me, hauling me up from the floor. “Nobody’s ever died from face kisses,” she said. “Boy, you really flipped out.”

  “What is that thing?” I asked, safely tucked behind my cousin. It had to be the ugliest dog I’d ever seen, a cross between a Chihuahua and something hairier. An alien from space right out of an Aurora story. Hairy antennas. Whiskers in all the wrong places. Long chin hair like a billy goat.

  “Not sure what kind of mix she is,” Norm said. “She came that way from the shelter.”

  “Oh, how sweet,” Carrie Ann said. “A rescue dog.”

  “You girls want to sit down?”

  “I don’t get along great with dogs,” I said, backing up. At least my heart rate was heading back to normal.

  “You’re around Hunter’s dog all the time,” Carrie Ann pointed out.

  “Ben is different.”

  My cousin had her hands on her hips now, chastising me. “You need to get over this goofy fear of dogs.” Then to Norm, “Story was attacked by a dog when she was a kid and can’t seem to get past it.”

  “Aha,” Norm said, understanding.

  Carrie Ann didn’t let it go. “It’s a tiny, tiny dog. How could you be afraid?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, forcing myself forward again. My cousin was right. Humiliating, really, to be afraid of that little thing. But size wasn’t always everything. What about piranhas? Or scorpions?

  Feeling slightly foolish, I sat down and we exchanged expressions of sympathy. I wished I could have come up with something more original than “I’m sorry for your loss” and “She had a lot of life still in her” but words couldn’t possibly help Norm with his grief. Going through the motions was all we knew how to do.

  Two minutes later we were out of conversation. Yet how could we leave the man there all by himself?

  The hairy little dog sniffed around under the table, lapping up crumbs, which were plentiful. I started to relax and even risked extending a finger so the animal could sniff it. This wasn’t so bad.

  During a stretch of silence, I eyed Carrie Ann, hoping she would think of something more to say, because my mind was totally blank. Norm started the ball rolling again. “I heard you were there when they found my wife,” he said to me.

  I nodded, not liking the new direction.

  “Did she say anything? Any last words for me?”

  I was disappointed in myself for not coming up with something for Norm to hang on to for the rest of his life, even if it had to be a lie. But I was caught more off balance by his question than when the dog tripped me. I dumbly shook my head. “She’d passed on by the time we got there,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  What a ditz I was! If I’d been the one in his shoes, I’d want to know that my dying loved one had said something important. Like “Tell Story I love her.” Why hadn’t I thought of something like that?

  Norm looked disappointed in me, too. “Hetty hated when kids came into The Lost Mile,” he said. “She thought only bad would come of it, like what happened with all you teenagers drinking that time. I don’t blame her for worrying so much, because now look what happened. One of you, from that same gang, came back and killed her.”

  Somehow Norm had clumped me in with Lauren Kerrigan, making me feel guilty by association, like I had personally killed Johnny Jay’s dad, then came back to do the same to his wife. And what was with the gang reference? Weren’t we just ordinary kids?

  “It had to have been an accident,” I said, hearing Carrie Ann start to sniffle next to me. If she started crying, I might break down and join her. I shot her a don’t-get-started glare, just as the dog tinkled on top of my right flip-flop. Gross! I picked up a soiled paper napkin from the table and blotted my foot.

  “She does that sometimes,” Norm said, seeing it happen and not even lifting his voice to reprimand his dog. “She must like you.”

  Yeah, right.

  “The police will sort everything out,” Carrie Ann said. “In the meantime, do you have any family you can call, someone who can come and stay with you?”

  “None I’d want around.”

  At least Carrie Ann knew what to say, while I sat there acting like my mouth was numb from novocaine, and anything coming out would be pure slobber. Next she said, “There’s some talk around town that Lantern Man might have been involved in what happened.”

  Norm’s face clouded over faster than a spring day in Wisconsin, and his tone of voice wasn’t pleasant when he said, “Stupid talk. Who said that?”

  Carrie Ann blinked. “I don’t really remember who started it.”

  “Stupid because Lantern Man wouldn’t hurt anybody?” I really wanted to know, amazed at Norm’s strong reaction. “Or stupid to believe he exists?”

  “It’s time for you girls to go.” Norm stood up abruptly in case we didn’t get the verbal message.

  “I’m sorry we upset you,” I said.

  “I hate gossip,” Norm said. “It hurts people.”

  “Me, too,” Carrie Ann said. “I hate it, too.”

  “If there’s anything I can do . . .” I made the mistake of saying, implying that I might be able to redirect any Lantern Man talk if that would make Norm feel better. Not that I could really do that without raising more gossip, but if saying it helped . . .

  Norm jumped in before I could finish. “Now that you mention it,” he said, “there is. I’m going to have to take care of a lot of details in the next several days, and Dinky isn’t used to being alone. Can she stay with you?”

  Dinky? Norm bent down, fumbled on the floor, and came up with the little ratty dog. Oh no!

  “Uh-uh,” I said, realizing my quick reflex storytelling needed major polishing. I’d have to find time to practice. “But I work at the store every day,” I managed to say.

  “She likes to visit. See how friendly she is? Your customers will love her.”

  “Some of my customers will object,” I said, thinking about his dog’s peeing problem.

  I looked at the scrawny thing and didn’t feel one iota of affection welling from my heart. Was my heart two sizes too small? Or was my reluctance because my foot reeked of dog urine? I pondered a way out. If only I could find the perfect excuse. If only I had more time.

  “Of course she can come for a visit,” Carrie Ann said, taking Dinky out of Norm’s arms and cuddling her. My cousin had claimed responsibility. I liked that much better. “Does she have any special toys we should take along?”

  Norm and Carrie Ann made a big deal of collecting Dinky’s dishes, kibble, toys, and a pink, grimy “blankie.” We were bogged down with enough dog paraphernalia to open a doggy daycare when Norm thanked us for the casserole and shut the door.

  “What are you doing?” I said, hiding my hands behind my back when Carrie Ann tried to get me to take Dinky from her. “You’re taking the creature. You offered, not me.”

  “Story, how could you even think of saying no to him?”

  “I didn’t say no. But I was getting ready to.” I pitched the doggy equipment into the back of my truck and got in.

  “I saw it in your eyes,” Carrie Ann said, getting in with Dinky. “And I couldn’t believe you were going to refuse to help him. His wife is dead. Shame on you.”

  “But look at it.” Dinky blinked back at me. “And it peed on my foot, so it isn’t even housebroken properly. It’s your problem, not mine.”

  “And she is not an it.”

  “She, then. She’s your problem, not mine.”

  “I’m not allowed to have pets in my apartment.”

  We were down the road from Norm’s when I discovered that little tidbit. “What!”

  “No pets.”

  “Then you’ll have to hide it . . . er . . . her.”

  “The landlady lives in the apartment next to me. I’m afraid you’re stuck. But don’t worry a bit, I’ll answer any dog questions that come up.”

&nbs
p; “Oh dear God!” I yelled, sounding exactly like my mother.

  Thirteen

  I never showed up for dinner with my family that night. We had been too close for comfort as it was. Mom and Holly had been at the store the entire day, and I didn’t want to get into it with Mom, which happened almost every time we had meals together. So I called from my truck and told Grams I was too tired and couldn’t make it.

  After Carrie Ann and I unloaded Dinky’s personal belongings, we returned to The Wild Clover. She drove off, I parked the truck behind the store, checked to make sure everything was locked up tight, then Dinky and I walked home.

  The dog scampered along ahead of me on a leash I’d dug out of her stuff. She lunged at the end of it, determined to stay out front as lead pack dog. Sometimes she strained so hard, she gurgled and choked. Dumb dog didn’t even know how to walk on a leash. This was bound to be a major disaster.

  At home I showed Dinky around the backyard, pointing out better places to do her business than on my foot.

  At some point I finally realized that, at least physically, I had the upper hand in our relationship. I abandoned some of my dog-fear-induced anxiety, because Dinky couldn’t take me in an attack like the big vicious dog from my childhood had. And we’d find out soon enough which one of us would win the seat of power and control. I was confident and determined. It wouldn’t be the canine.

  Dinky decided to take a nap inside the house and I was sitting on my front porch when Hunter surprised me by coming by on his Harley. He offered me a sweet ride on the back of his bike. I had purchased a black leather jacket for just such an occasion, since I absolutely loved motorcycles.

  So with the powerful motor beneath me, and my arms wrapped around Hunter’s lean mean pecs, we headed north out of town toward Holy Hill, a national shrine perched on the highest point in southeastern Wisconsin. Unlike the small church I had converted into my store, this one’s steeple towered high above several small communities, its lights glowing and illuminating the sky for miles.

  We rode past the building and drove in a loop across the countryside. For those who don’t know about Wisconsin’s topology and think the state is as flat as Kansas, nothing could be further from the truth, at least in this part of Wisconsin, where two giant ice sheets collided under great pressure during the Ice Age. The earth between them exploded up and out, creating large deposits of rock and sand as well as deep crevices.

  Because of that history, Moraine sits among hills, valleys, steep ridges, and deep and plentiful lakes.

  With the clear night and sweet smell of approaching summer, I forgot all about death, disaster, and dogs.

  An hour later, Hunter parked his bike in front of my house. The night air was warmer and drier than yesterday, so we sat out on my front porch, handholding on an old love seat, which might eventually (hopefully not too far in the future) live up to its name. Although the thing had failed me miserably in the past.

  “Did Carrie Ann call you?�� I asked, still concerned about my cousin’s sobriety.

  “No, why?”

  “She’s drinking again.”

  I could see he was disappointed, even though he tried to hide it. Hunter didn’t like to throw around personal opinions until he had all the facts. That was the cop part of him.

  “I could smell alcohol on her this morning,” I said. “She promised she’d call you.”

  “I haven’t heard from her yet.”

  “Call her then.”

  “I’m not her parent or her jailer. She’ll come to me if she needs help.”

  “You have all kinds of experience. Can’t you fix her?”

  Hunter shook his head. “Only she can do that. But if you’re worried, I’ll find some way to run into her and see how she’s doing.”

  “Thanks.”

  The investigation into the case of the death of the two women in the woods came up next.

  “We’re making an announcement in the morning,” Hunter said, “so I’d appreciate you keeping what I’m about to tell you to yourself. At least until then.”

  I glanced over at P. P. Patti’s house and saw her pass by a window.

  “I won’t say a word to anyone,” I said, wondering briefly if Patti had planted bugs at my house, then decided that kind of thinking, while perfectly realistic, was way too paranoid. “But keep your voice down anyway, just in case.”

  “In case what?” Hunter asked.

  Had I said that out loud? “Never mind. I’m just tired. Tell me.”

  “We’ve ruled out the murder-suicide theory. Lauren didn’t shoot herself.”

  I sat quietly and took that in. Two murders! That meant I was involved on a daily basis with a whole bunch of potential suspects, and I really didn’t want someone I knew or liked or lived near to be a killer.

  For example, I had sat right down in Norm Cross’s kitchen, totally unaware that he could be considered the prime suspect. He was married to Hetty, and I knew as well as everybody else who watched enough television that spouses were the first ones the police hauled in and grilled. And even if the cops let them go, thinking they didn’t do it, by the end of the show it almost always turned out that they actually had.

  “Did you question Norm Cross?” I asked. “Did you find out where he was during that time and if he had a motive?”

  “We spoke to him, yes.”

  “And what did he say?”

  Hunter grimaced like he really didn’t want to say what he was about to say. “You’re edging into confidential territory. I can’t discuss that with you.”

  “Oh, right,” I agreed. So what did that mean? Did he have something on Norm Cross?

  Hunter and I shifted on the love seat and progressed from handholding to Hunter’s arm around my shoulder and my head resting against his chest.

  What did I really know about Norm? Not much.

  He had lived with a mean woman, he didn’t know how to train his dog, and he was overly tolerant of substandard conditions judging by the inside of his house. Norm might have done away with Hetty, and I wouldn’t have blamed him one bit, but why would he hurt Lauren?

  “It also could have been random,” Hunter said.

  “Not out here.”

  “You think random acts of violence only happen in big cities?”

  “Norm Cross is worth investigating thoroughly,” I advised.

  “Well, Sherlock, I’ll keep that in mind.” We heard a noise coming from inside the house. I tried to ignore it.

  “What’s that whimpering sound?” Hunter asked.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  Hunter got up and opened my front door a crack. That was all Dinky needed to slide through and race for me, leaping up and down on my leg, scratching away with her minuscule toenails until I picked her up. Which by the way was the first time I’d actually held the thing. And it wasn’t pleasant. Her fur was coarse, and some spots where she didn’t have any at all felt like fish scales to me.

  But I suffered through the ordeal.

  And told Hunter how I ended up with Norm Cross’s unruly dog and how my cousin had manipulated me. I didn’t see that much funny about it, but Hunter began laughing and wouldn’t stop. Every time he looked at Dinky, who sat on my lap like a crowned princess, with all that wild coarse fur in all the wrong places, having decided I was her newest best friend, he started in again.

  “Oh, man,” he finally said, wiping his eyes. “I needed a good laugh after the day I’ve had. That’s the goofiest looking animal I’ve ever seen. But it’s good to see you tackling your phobia head-on by accepting the challenge.”

  “This is all Carrie Ann’s fault.”

  “If you’re right about her drinking again, at least she hasn’t lost her wit and spunk.”

  “I have a serious question if you’re done laughing at me.” Some of the talk I’d overhead at the cop shop came back to me.

  “I can be serious,” Hunter said, not looking serious at all.

  “Lauren wasn’t killed right a
way. She crawled away, right?”

  Hunter nodded, no longer smiling. “I’m not sure how you found out, but yes.”

  “So, why didn’t the killer shoot her again?”

  “Ah, a fine question. Lauren might have pretended to be dead until the killer left or she could have passed out, regained consciousness, then crawled for help. Or the killer might have wanted to watch her suffer.”

  My imagination took over and I pictured a trail of blood as long as The Lost Mile. “Who would do a thing like that?”

  “You’d be surprised. The world is an ugly place.”

  I looked down at the thing in my lap. To lighten the mood, I said, “Not half as ugly as this dog.”

  That got Hunter going again. I stifled my own laughter. Now that I really looked at the situation, it was sort of funny.

  Holly pulled up in her Jag and got out, carrying a brown lunch bag.

  “I brought you a care package from Grams,” she said, dropping it down on one of the porch’s side tables. “Casserole and cherry pie. Hey, Hunter. You’re just the man to confirm or deny the latest. Rumor has it, Hetty Cross and Lauren Kerrigan were both murdered.”

  Hunter held his arms up over his head and glanced up at the sky, a sure sign of frustration. “The minute I think the thought, it’s out on the streets.”

  “What is that thing?” Holly looked at my lap. “And it’s alive. Whatever it is, it just moved.”

  “I’ll tell you the story later. Will you take our roommate inside with you and get acquainted?”

  “Roommate? Acquainted? That has a permanent ring to it.”

  “Only temporary.”

  “Does it have a name?”

  “Dinky.”

  My sister hooted. Hunter joined in. I had to admit, the dog’s name was a riot.

  Holly picked up Dinky and correctly identified the critter. Or almost. “A puppy!” she said.

  “No, I think she’s just a very small dog,” I said.

  “I bet she’s still a pup.” Cooing at Dinky, Holly went inside.

  Hunter and I watched the stars for a while, sitting comfortably together, then he kissed me good-bye before roaring away on his bike.