by Dead
distribution center for a new line of educational toys. A little spotlight illuminated the sign, which
hung from a white post with daffodils in bloom at its base. Reggie Cox wasn't kneeling there
sniffing the flowers.
The building had a parking lot at one side. I pulled the Bronco in and left it there, right next to the only other car in the lot. The other car was a red Mercedes. Reggie wasn't leaning on the
Mercedes or running his hands over its chrome. When I got out of the Bronco, he didn't materialize
from the shadows. Neither did Clyde.
Showing dogs will teach you to hold your head up and stride briskly along even when your knees
are knocking together faster than your heart is thumping. I walked through the parking lot, across a
squishy-feeling lawn, and straight to the front door. Did I expect to find a doorbell, ring it, and have
Reggie greet me and offer me a drink? The doorway was dark, the door locked. I didn't knock.
I squished back across the lawn, crossed the parking lot, passed both cars, and made my way to
the rear of the building, where I found what I was looking for, another door, hardly visible in the
darkness. I ran my hands over it searching for the knob. The door felt like metal, heavy fire door
with peeling paint that flaked on my hands. The big sphere of a knob turned easily in my hand, but
I had to shove hard on the door before it budged and swung in.
Kevin Dennehy has more than once called me naive. He must be right. After all I'd read and
heard, I still hadn't freed myself from the mental link between dogs and barking. If there are dogs
here, I thought, why can't I hear them? Are all the doors those same heavy, soundproof metal ones?
Do they muffle the barks and yelps? And where the hell was Reggie Cox? Hadn't he intended to
meet me? Had he left me on my own? I wanted to call Rowdy. I wanted to shout out his name.
The corridor that stretched in front of me, overilluminated by fluorescent tubes hanging from
acoustic tile, could have been an elementary school hallway stripped of its lockers. The first few
doors I came to weren't metal, but ordinary varnished wood, with little rectangular windows above
the knobs. I peered in, but the lights were out in the rooms, and I couldn't see a thing. Offices, I
guessed.
The next door was different, sturdier looking than an office door, and not varnished but, like the
corridor walls, painted that eggshell tan that isn't supposed to show dirt and does, anyway. It was a
swinging door with a stainless-steel plate, the kind that's supposed to keep dirty finger marks off
the eggshell paint that isn't supposed to show them. I put my hand on the cold metal, took a deep
breath, and pushed. The door moved inward.
The room reminded me of my junior high science lab, but it was narrower because of the mesh
cages that lined the two long walls and the wall at the far end of the room. Down the center ran a
stainless-steel table, something like a vet's exam table but longer. More overhead fluorescents
washed the color out of everything, even the caged dogs voicelessly trying their barkless best to
greet me or maybe even to signal my presence. One large dog in a small cage at the far end of the
room retained his voice. The sight of him gave me courage. The sight of my own dog always does.
The wall to my left, the one with no cages, had glass-fronted cabinets on top, and underneath them stretched a long countertop, a work area with a row of metal stools. On the stool at the far end
of the counter, next to another swinging door, sat David Shane. His lab coat was as white and
starched as Austin Quigley's had been until that same morning.
"I didn't know you wore glasses, Shane," I said. They were horn-rims, the only unflattering thing
I'd ever seen on him. "But, then, there's quite a lot I didn't know about you, isn't there? Why didn't
you tell me you had so many dogs? I thought you had only one, and I thought she was spayed,"
"She is," That flashy smile must have worked for him so many times that he'd never realized its
power to work against him.
"I guess you don't know her very well," I said. "She's in season."
He looked straight at me, as if good, wholesome eye contact could keep my gaze fixed on his and
away from the dogs, There were twelve cages in all, twelve dogs.
"You don't know me too well, either, do you?" I said.
"Well enough." By then, he must have caught on that the smile wasn't functioning up to par, but
he couldn't stop it. "I may look like your same old landlady, but I've undergone a sea change, you
could say, Hackneyed but true. Only I haven't been washed in water. I've been washed in blood, and
I've been reborn."
He must have thought I was joking — or losing my mind. He laughed.
"As a sort of new Abe Lincoln," I said. "Defender of the Union. But I'm one up on Abe. I'm the
first president. The first president of the United States of Dogdom. And a woman at that. Imagine.
But that's beside the point. The point is emancipation, Get it?"
"I bought every dog here," he said. "There are two sides to this, you know."
"Sure. The wrong side and the dogs' side," I said.
"Cut the crap. Rowdy got here by mistake. Take him." My father's timid, wary gentleman wolf
stood wide-eyed in a cage next to Rowdy's at the far end of the lab. Clyde's cage, like all the others,
was just large enough to hold him and just too small to give him an inch of space to move.
"Did Clyde get here by mistake, too?" I asked. "He looked like every other dog? It was an
accident? He didn't even remind you of a wolf! Or you needed a wolf so you could test mascara or
develop a better fabric softener, right? Can't be done without a wolf. So when you saw him in my
father's van, you mistook him for a stray and decided to contribute him to research? What the hell
do you do in this lab, anyway?"
"How did you get in here?" The smile had finally disappeared.
"Remember? I've undergone a mystical transformation. I passed right through the walls. And you
haven't answered my questions."
"I did not take your father's dog. I'd never have done that, Holly. Someone else was here when he
came in. I wasn't here."
"Does it matter? You knew who he was. Tell me some- thing. I'm curious. He's a big dog. How
much did you pay for him? You bought him by the pound, didn't you? How much was he worth to
you per pound? And how much is left of him?"
"This is a prep area," he said, as if I'd asked for a guided tour.
"How nice for you," I said. "Because I'm about to take a close look at Clyde. And when I'm done,
I'm going to do to you exactly what you've done to him. If he's been neutered, Cambridge is going to
be filled with a lot of wailing women, pretty boy."
"This joke has gone far enough," he said. "Take your dog. Take the wolf. And get out. I won't
press charges."
"I will," I said.
"You don't seem to understand. I bought these animals."
"They aren't animals," I said. "They're dogs."
He couldn't seem to understand that I wasn't kidding. "You're making a fool of yourself," he said.
"I paid for every one. Researchers have to. There's no law against it."
"You seem to have forgotten what I just told you. I'm the new commander in chief here. Actually,
I'm the new head researcher. And for my experiment, I need a subject. A healthy, talkative male.
And all I've got so far is a recalcitrant one. I've aske
d you a whole lot of questions, and you haven't
answered one."
I reached into my shoulder bag and pulled out the Ladysmith.
"You're in big trouble," he said, his deep voice sounding a little more high-pitched than usual.
"You don't like it, but buying these dogs was not illegal. I didn't steal them."
"So Pete Quigley did," I said. "Some of them. Big deal. You were his market. But tell me
something. Where did you get my dog? Where did Rowdy come from? Did Pete bring him in, too?
Tonight? I thought Pete was locked up by now."
Shane reached up and took off the horn-rims. His hands were shaking.
"You're making a mistake," he said. He stood up suddenly. The metal stool toppled over with a
clang. He jumped.
"Speak, boy," I said. "Talk to me."
"You're off base. Where'd you get that name? Wait a minute. That was that woman who was
murdered, right? Quigley? From the drugstore?"
"Good boy. Pete is her son. He's a sick character. Almost as sick as you. Keep talking."
The dogs knew something was going on. A beagle was trying to raise his head and bay, but his
cage didn't give him much headroom, and when he opened his mouth, no sound emerged. The
Akita hurling himself against his wire mesh door got to me, too. He was a giant, handsome dog
who'd once had a giant, handsome voice to match his looks.
"I swear to God I've never heard of him," Shane said. "This is crazy. I buy animals. I'm entitled to.
But not from this guy. I've never heard of him."
With the revolver still in my right hand, I stuck my left hand back into my shoulder bag, pulled
out a leash, and backed step by step toward Rowdy's cage at the far end of the lab.
"You are very slow, Shane, and I am very angry. This is no joke. First, you answer every question
I've asked you. Lightning fast. Then you help me get every one of these dogs out of here — Rowdy
and Clyde and every other dog — or, I promise you, I am going to debark you, and the only
anesthetic you'll get is the same one you gave to these dogs. None."
"That's not true," he protested. "For God's sake, stop this. It's crazy. I'm talking now. I don't ask where the dogs come from. They get brought here. Usually at night. It's all private."
I took my eyes off him for a second to scan the latch on Rowdy's cage. Just as I was about to
release Rowdy, I heard the swinging door, the one next to Shane, not the door I'd come in. Through
it stepped Reggie Cox. I dropped the revolver in my bag.
I'd threatened Shane. Reggie Cox gave him no more warning than any other Maine guide would
have given his animal prey. Shane's wrestling coach at Andover or Exeter or wherever wouldn't
have been proud of him. He didn't put up any kind of a fight. He never had a chance. In a couple of
seconds, it seemed, Reggie had him as securely trussed in clothesline as if he'd been a dead deer
strapped to the hood of a pickup l truck. With a wide strip of silver duct tape across his mouth, L
Shane made no more noises than his debarked dogs, but I guess Cambridge had taught him that
expressing his feelings was good for his mental health. He wet his pants.
I opened Rowdy's cage, fastened his leash to his collar, and let him out.
-24-
"Thought for a second there you were going to save me the trouble," Reggie said jovially.
My thoughts came in slow motion, frame by frame. Pete Quigley, a thief, but a petty thief, a city
kid who wouldn't know a fly rod from a curtain rod. Kevin asking the right question: "How did he
get so efficient?" I knew the answer, and it wasn't by spackling walls with a putty knife. How? By
skinning and butchering deer. Moose. Bear. The printer Libby had offered me. Something Ron had
said. He shoveled driveways, looked after people's houses. He'd looked after them, all right. The
dog show. Pete, Austin, Sissy. Mimi and her retainers, Libby and Reggie. With the gracious social
re- flexes of a princess and the egalitarian spirit of a Cambridge liberal, Mimi had smoothed over
some awkwardness. She'd introduced everyone to everyone else, not omitting the Maine guide who
shoveled the walks, hosed out the dog pens, the capable guy who did everything for Mimi, people
said, her diamond in the rough. Had he done it for her? I couldn't imagine why. And that sweet way
with dogs, maybe some- thing about his scent, the rumble of his voice. He almost hadn't needed to
steal them. He must have just appeared, and they'd trailed after him like rats after the Pied Piper.
Lab rats. The connection to David Shane, who hadn't lied, who'd bought those dogs from Reggie,
the dogs and the fly rods and Ed Nichols's hand-tied flies. Shane probably hadn't even known
where they'd come from. He'd been offered them just as I'd been offered that printer. "Don't ask,"
Libby had said. Shane probably hadn't. But he hadn't needed to ask about Clyde or Rowdy. He'd
known their names. He'd bought them anyway.
I thought I knew everything. Except why. And whether he knew I knew. Shane hadn't spoken
Reggie's name. If he didn't know, why tell him? Play innocent. Take my dogs, get out, and worry
about the others later.
He was still standing near where he'd dumped Shane.
"Maybe you just didn't wait long enough," I said.
He gave that same laugh. "What were you gonna do? Turn one of your wolves loose on him?"
Good. He'd been listening from behind the door, not watching, and I'd tucked the little revolver into
my bag before he'd seen it. He'd been otherwise occupied.
"I'd have thought of something," I said. "That son of a bitch stole my dog."
"Your big, ferocious dog, huh? He's a real tough guy. Both of you are pretty tough, huh? You and all the rest of them bastards around here, thinking you're tough, thinking you're so smart."
"If I were so smart, I wouldn't be here now."
"I know who you are," he said. "People talk about you. Holly Winter. Libby told me all about you.
Showed me your name in one of them dog magazines. Sneaking around, dropping hints like I don't
know nothing. I'm onto you, see? You drop this little hint, say any damn thing you want, and it goes
right over my head, right? Say anything to that dumb jackass, and he don't get a thing, right? Call
the dog honey, right? Honey. Just happen to be nosing around the drugstore, right? And you give
one of them innocent looks. And I'm such a dumb jackass, I don't get nothing."
A honey, I'd called Rowdy. I remembered saying it because it wasn't a word I usually used. I'd
heard Faith use it, and I'd said it. Otherwise, I still didn't know what he was talking about.
"Drop the act," he said.
"I'm not acting. All I want is to take my dogs and go home. This whole thing can end there."
He pitched his voice high. "Oh, Reggie, help me find my poor lost wolf." His voice dropped again.
"Bitch! Hanging around pumping Libby. But she didn't tell you nothing, did she? Did you ask her
how good in the sack I am? Did she tell you?"
"She's crazy about you, Reggie."
"Damn straight she is. The old lady kicks her around, too. Worse than the old man did me. You
should've seen him. You know I watched? You know that? I watched. He knew, all right. He knew."
"Ed Nichols?"
"Shut up, bitch! I'm so dumb I'm invisible, right? I'm standing there, six feet of me, and you and
all your rich friends are talking bee sting kits, and I'm deaf and dumb, right? Jesus Christ Almighty,
I'm so deaf and dumb, I'm not there."
I started to say something.
"Shut up! You know what started this? Another loud- mouthed bitch, that loudmouthed bitch and
her stupid allergies. Can't just hand over the prescription, right? 'Oh, gee, so you're allergic, too?
Isn't that interesting,' she says, and then I can see by that look on her face, she's spotted me, and
she's gonna run through it again, and there's old Mimi standing there ready for an earful."
He'd not only misinterpreted everything I'd done, but overestimated me as well. I'd had all the
pieces, but I'd acquired them accidentally, and I hadn't put them together. The guilt-ridden doctor
had done his best. He'd given Ed Nichols a new prescription for a beesting kit. He'd warned him.
And I'd known that Reggie was the one who did everything. He drove the car, shoveled walks, ran
errands, took Ed fishing. Ed and Mimi Nichols didn't run their own errands. They had them run-by
Reggie. Let Reggie take the prescription to the drugstore. Let him carry the bee sting kit. If anything
happens, Reggie will know what to do. He's so capable. Reggie can do anything. He'd sure known
what to do.
"You filled the prescription at Quigley's," I said. "And at the show, Sissy remembered? But if you
forgot the kit or if he forgot it, nobody would have blamed you."
"Damn straight. Nobody did." The laugh was louder than ever. "Then that little bitch opens her
mouth, and I hear what's coming sooner or later. Old Mimi'd be saying, 'Oh, no, Ed's bee sting kit
was right in his closet where he left it,' and she's gonna chime in with, 'Oh, but this man here had
his own kit.' "
"On the trip when Ed died, in June," I said. Have you ever had real Maine blueberry honey? June
is when the bushes are in bloom. That's when the bees are turned loose, thousands of bees.
"In Cherryfield?" I asked.
"Deblois."
Deblois is next to Cherryfield, not far from Machias, where Reggie had grown up. Deblois
consists almost exclusively of blueberry barrens. They stretch for mile after mile. The signs warn
you to stay away when the bees are loose. Even if you're not allergic, it's no place to wander around.
"Didn't he see the signs?" I asked.
"Not the way I took him," Reggie said. "You thought I was so dumb, just like Nichols did. Big