by Craig, Susan
“Normal day, normal sounds, normal routine.”
Her heart beat a rapid tattoo against her ribs as she bent to pet the mixed-breed pup in the first pen. But when half the raucous dogs had quieted—food taking priority over the joy of raising a racket—time and routine had settled her anxiety. More than half finished. The next pen held an aging Airedale named Max. He was one of her favorites, a large handsome dog with a black saddle patterned on his dark tan all-weather coat. Giving him a parting pat as he began to eat, she turned to move on and caught a shadow of movement in the lobby.
She froze, staring. Heart pounding, she pulled off her scarf and looped it around the Airedale’s neck. It would do for a leash. Pulling the dog close to her side, she grabbed the metal scoop used for portioning out the dog food and held it like a weapon. Moving forward…one step, two… She tried to call out a challenge, but produced only a strangled croak. Swallowing hard, she pushed the words out with force. “Who’s there?”
The figure of a man, medium height and slim, appeared at the entrance to the kennel area. “Is that you, Sally?” He began to approach, but the Airedale stiffened, growling low in his throat. Looking warily at the dog, the man halted. “It’s me—Mark. Is that your van by the door?”
Mark Hunter volunteered at the shelter. Owner and manager of Mark’s Spot, a local bar, he wasn’t on the regular schedule, but dropped in to help when he could. Sally found his slightly proprietary attitude toward Diana’s shelter annoying, but he was a strong advocate in the community, and one of their more frequent volunteers.
She drew a relieved breath. “Mark, I’m so glad it’s you.” For once that was the truth. “You really spooked me.”
“I’m sorry. I got here early and saw the van parked close. I know you usually walk, so I thought maybe someone was in here that shouldn’t be… The door was unlocked.”
Hearing the slight reprimand in his voice, Sally regretted her initial friendly response. He was still a pain.
“I came in to check that everything was okay,” he said.
“It is. I just decided to drive over today.”
“How about you? Can I give you a hand?”
“I’m fine now. I was finishing up feeding the dogs, but I haven’t cleaned the kennel runs yet. Could you do that?”
“Whatever I can do to help you.” He turned toward the back door, heading for the outdoor access to the runs.
Sally set the heavy scoop on the portable food bin and looked down at the dog by her side. Fondly, she stroked his back and scratched behind his ears. “Thanks for your support, Max.” She released him back into his pen, replaced the scarf around her neck, and rolled the bin to the next pen and its eager occupant. When the last dog was cared for, Sally returned the food bin to its place and, grateful that Mark was taking care of the runs, returned to the lobby.
Pulling off the scarf and tossing it on her desk, she dropped into a chair. What was wrong with her? She was jumping at shadows. Why was she having such a hard time setting her unease aside? The battle to behave normally was wearing her out. Don’t be absurd, Johnston. It’s only nerves. Deal with it.
All right, she would. She straightened in her chair. Taking a few deep breaths, yoga style, she plugged the computer into its power source, attached the internet cable, and got to work.
Lunchtime, at last. Sally needed a break. It had been a busy morning. Five new dogs had been surrendered. She leaned back in her chair, finally finished with the paperwork, and sighed. It was odd how dogs were usually surrendered during the early part of the day, and those fortunate enough to be adopted generally went home with their new owners in the afternoon. She supposed once a family decided a pet could no longer stay in the home, it was easiest to take care of matters early and be done with it.
Most dogs brought in were large breeds, and that had been the case this morning as well. People always seemed surprised at how big their cute little puppy actually got—she sometimes wondered if people ever bothered to look at an adult dog, or ask about the size of a puppy’s parents. But she felt no animosity toward the owners. Each of them had taken the trouble to drive out to a private shelter where dogs were cared for until a forever home was found for them. This morning all five had brought dog food, beds and toys along, and three cried when they said goodbye.
It had been emotionally draining, and she’d been running on empty to start. She pushed the surrender forms into the file. Mark had gone, but Ginny Carstairs was capable, and Jamal Wolcott would be along before three. She could drive home, eat lunch, and maybe even sneak in a power-nap before coming back to the shelter.
“You just go right along and don’t worry about a thing.” The striking fifty-something brunette pulled a cup of yogurt and a can of green tea from the mini-refrigerator below the counter in the lobby. “And take your time. You know things will be slow until about three. And if anything interesting does happen, I’ll give you a call.”
“Thanks, Ginny. I appreciate it.”
A brisk North wind hurried Sally into her van. She stopped at the end of the driveway and got out to pick up her mail. It usually came shortly before noon. When she opened the box, her breath caught in her throat. A folded sheet of notebook paper lay atop the bills and junk mail, its ragged edge toward her. Every instinct told her to shut the box and run. Instead she took the stack of mail in her gloved hand and, slipping quickly back into her car, flung it onto the passenger seat. Her head bowed, she stared at the steering wheel for a moment, then reached for the note.
‘You did well to send Donovan away last night. I was proud of you. I know that it is me that you want, my Sally, but that would be wrong, too. You belong to Trent. Remember that, be strong, and stay true. Semper fi.’
She flung the note away. ‘My Sally.’ Her stomach rolled. She bent her head, eyes closed, and concentrated on breathing through her mouth. Then fear tore her eyes open and she peered at the thick line of pine trees edging the west side of the drive. The click of her door lock was muffled by the roar of the engine as Sally backed out of the driveway and turned back to the shelter. Whipping the van into the shelter parking lot, she stopped in the middle of the open area. Still scanning her surroundings, she pulled out her cell phone.
“Jim…” Clearing her throat she tried again, but could not keep the quiver out of her voice. “Jim, can you pick Tyler up after school and keep him busy until I call you? I’m going to call the police.”
“Absolutely. Don’t worry about Tyler. Are you all right? Sally, what’s—”
Sally disconnected, cutting off Jim’s question, and dialed 911.
Half an hour later, a patrol car pulled into the shelter parking lot with lights flashing. A small man in his mid-fifties got out and approached Sally’s car, reaching inside his uniform jacket to pull out a black covered notepad. She sat behind the wheel, not turning her face to his until he tapped gently on the window. The van’s engine was running; the note still lying on the passenger side floor where it had landed when she threw it from her.
“Ma’am, I’m Officer Billings. Will you open your car door, please?”
He had salt and pepper hair beneath his uniform hat. For some reason that comforted Sally, and she opened the door.
“Are you all right? Can you stand?”
“No, not all right.” She took a deep breath. “But I can stand.”
As she moved to get out of the car, Officer Billings held out his hand. “Let me help. You look a little pale.” He led her to the bench outside the shelter door.
“There’s a note on the floor in the van,” she said.
“Fine. You sit here. I’ll get it.”
After collecting the note, he gently escorted Sally from the car into the shelter. Ginny hurried to open the door to the back office and ushered them inside. Billings dismissed the volunteer, and seated Sally in one of the chairs facing the desk. “I’ll just be a moment,” he said and left the room.
Returning almost immediately, he set a cup of hot coffee in front
of her, and settled himself in the desk chair. “Have a sip or two, please. Then tell me all about this.” He raised the note, now in a plastic envelope.
Sally raised the cup to her lips. The coffee was strong and sweet—not really to her taste, but it did make her feel better. She took another, larger sip and began to speak.
An hour later, Billings had drawn the whole story out of her, from college to the present. He set down his pen and leaned back in the chair. “Now, Mrs. Johnston. Do you know anyone who might have a reason to do this?”
She shook her head. “No one.”
“Have you seen anyone hanging around the house or shelter lately?”
“Well, there are volunteers around the shelter all the time, but no one without a reason to be there, no.” It can’t be someone I know.
“All right then. You said the notes began again about six months ago. How many have there been?”
Sally thought for a moment, counting. “Eight.”
“I’d like to see the rest, please.”
“Well…” Sally looked away, feeling foolish. “I threw them all away.”
“I see.” Officer Billings sounded disapproving.
Sally felt stupid, then remembered. “No, wait. I have the first one. I didn’t realize what it was. I thought it was just a nice bit of encouragement from someone, so I stuck it in my desk drawer—the top drawer.” There. She wasn’t a complete idiot.
Officer Billings pulled a thin pair of gloves from his pocket. “I’ll go get that. Top drawer you said?”
“Yes, right hand side, toward the back. A paper torn from a spiral notebook, like the others were.” At least it would prove she wasn’t making this up—not that he’d acted if he doubted her, but she was asking the officer to believe a lot on the basis of one little note. Now there could be no question of her wasting his time.
Billings paused at the doorway. “I’ll need you to sign a complaint, Mrs. Johnston. I wish you’d called us in sooner, and kept those notes, but we’ll do the best we can.”
He sounded so much like her father had during her teens, patient and long-suffering, that she nodded and rose to follow him from the room. “Thank you.”
“I need you to come down to the station,” he continued. It doesn’t have to be today, but we’ll need your fingerprints for comparison I’d also like you to bring me a written description of each note, how you received them, and all you can remember of the circumstances at the time. Can you do that this week?”
“Yes, sir, I will.”
“Good. Before I go, I want to check your house and grounds… with your permission?”
“Of course. I’d appreciate that.” Sally drove over to her house with Billings following in his squad car. Together, they walked around the outside of the house, and then through each room of her home, finding nothing.
As she opened the front door for him to leave, Officer Billings seemed to drop his professional manner, and spoke in an avuncular tone. “Everything is secure now, but you really should get deadbolt locks put on the exterior doors. A woman living alone should have more than just a keyed privacy lock. We’ll keep an eye on things as much as we can, but if you see anything suspicious, you call us right away, won’t you?”
“Yes, I will. Thank you so much for your help.”
With a nod, he turned away and returned to his car.
Sally shut the door and heaved a sigh of relief. She scrunched up her shoulders and arched her neck, rocking her head back and forth to relieve the tension. Then she stood tall and smiled. The burden was off her shoulders. The police would deal with it now. Feeling more relaxed than she had in weeks, she picked up her cell phone and called Jim.
Twenty minutes later, Tyler burst through the door, his face shining from fresh air and happiness. “Mom! One of Mr. Sanderson’s horses is going to have a baby. We saw her and after the baby gets born, Mr. Sanderson said I can come back and visit it. Thanks for letting me go with Dr. Donovan to see.”
Sally looked at Jim gratefully. He’d turned the afternoon into a treat for Tyler. “You’re welcome. And did you remember to thank Dr. Donovan?”
“He already has.” Jim smiled at her son, then turned back to her. “And now I have a favor to ask. I happen to have a cooler full of Harvest Inn take-out in the back of my truck, and I need a few volunteers to eat it with me. Think you two can help me out?”
“Please, Mom, can we?”
Sally smiled gratefully. “I think it’s the least we could do.” While Jim and Tyler brought in the cooler, she began to set the table. She would have invited Jim to dinner anyway, even though cooking a meal was absolute last on her list of things she wanted to do right then. Thank God for thoughtful friends and take-out food. Jim had been a life-saver this afternoon, too. She’d given him almost no explanation when she’d asked him to watch her son, but he deserved one. She would to tell him everything once Tyler was in bed. Minutes later, Sally’s earthenware dishes held big Idaho bakers buried under steaming hot Yankee pot roast topped with cheese, bacon crumbles, and sour cream. Jim poured three tall glasses of milk, and they all sat down to Tyler’s “best meal ever”.
Waiting for Sally to settle Tyler in bed, Jim busied himself scooping ash out of her fireplace. It was a mess. Did she ever empty it herself or did she merely wait for random visitors to take a hand? Perhaps the parents of Tyler’s friends… the UPS man… neighborhood moms collecting for charity? Grinning at the thought, he re-laid the fire. After she finished Tyler’s bedtime routine, he intended to get some answers. Grateful as he was that she’d finally called the police, he wanted—no, he needed—to know what had happened.
Finally she came out of Tyler’s room and flopped down on the living room couch. Jim turned from the fire he was building and gave her a sympathetic glance. “Tough day.” Tell me what happened, love.
“Yeah, it was. But I feel better now that the police are handling it. Thanks for taking care of Tyler. ”
“No problem.” Gently. She’s exhausted. “So what happened to change your mind? You sounded pretty shook up on the phone.”
“I was. There was another note. I found it when I came home for lunch.”
Jim felt the automatic kick of adrenaline. “Where?” Had the bastard gained access to Sally’s house?
“In the mailbox, on top of the mail.”
His tension dropped down a notch and he went back to tending the fire.
“I thought I was going to be sick. I drove back to the shelter and sat in the car till the police came.”
“How long did that take?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe half an hour”
Too long. Much too long. He stifled a sigh. It looked like he’d be sleeping on her couch tonight. The stalker had been at her house, and there was no way he’d be leaving Sally and Tyler alone after that. Problem was, he knew Sally wouldn’t take kindly to the idea.
“The officer was very helpful,” Sally said, going on with her story. “He walked me into the shelter, and after we talked he came over here and checked to be sure the house was secure. I have to go in sometime this week to get fingerprinted and leave him a report on everything I remember about the notes. I know it’s important, but it’s just one more thing interfering with getting my Economics paper done.” She grimaced. “The timing on this is lousy.”
Jim moved from the briskly burning fire to sit on the floor facing Sally. He pulled her athletic shoes off and put her feet on the couch, resisting the temptation to wrap his hands around her slim ankles and massage his way up her legs. Leaning his back against a large, overstuffed chair, he stretched out his legs. “How did he feel when you told him about the other notes?” Jim knew what the answer would be, but he wanted to hear her admit it.
“Well, he was polite, but he wasn’t too happy that I only had two to give him. He said I should have called the police long ago.”
Jim’s back jolted upright. “Two!” Shit. What else hasn’t she told me? “What two?”
Sally looked at her
hands. “Well, I wasn’t entirely straight with you last night.” She faced Jim head on. “The notes here began six months ago…”
Jim eased back against the chair and tried to keep his face expressionless as Sally talked, but inside he was raging. Six months, and not a word to him—or anyone. Was the woman detached from reality? Never mind that the notes had been “encouraging” at first. She should have gone to the police as soon as the second note came—or surely after the third! Self-reliant she may be, but clearly Sally needed looking after. And stupid sap that I am, I’ve volunteered myself for the job.
“Stop looking at me like that. I said I should have told you sooner.”
Jim wiped the scowl off his face and looked at Sally. Male instincts kicked in—he immediately grabbed the high ground. “You’ll be less touchy when you’ve had some sleep. You’re worn out. You should go to bed.”
Too much in need of rest to bother protesting, Sally agreed. “Sleep sounds good. Thanks for the dinner, by the way. It was much, much appreciated.” She swung her legs off the couch, stepped over him and walked to the entryway where his coat hung. Waiting, she looked back.
Jim stood. “You’re welcome. It was no problem.” He crouched in front of the fire stirring it and adding a few new logs. As he rose, he unbuttoned the cuffs of his plaid flannel shirt and folded them back. He saw the small frown on her face as she watched.
“Jim, I don’t mean to be unappreciative, but I’m really tired. I’d like to go to bed.”
“No problem.” He sat on the couch and stretched out his khaki-clad legs toward the fire. “I’m tired myself.”
She stood there, staring at him. She doesn’t get it yet. Jim braced himself for a fight. She was exhausted. He figured that would give him an extra second or two… Wrong.