by Leigh Perry
Before he left, Officer Raymond said, “Okay, don’t quote me on this, but from what we’ve found out, the MO here is different from the other break-ins. One of the neighbors saw a single guy running out of the backyard and down the street—the other break-ins were at least two-man jobs, and they had a vehicle. Also, the other jobs were night-time runs, and they moved fast—they weren’t the kind to go looking in closets. I think this guy was just taking advantage of what he thought was an empty house.”
That he offered that as comfort, and the fact that it really was kind of reassuring, showed how crazy that day had become.
“I’m still putting in an alarm,” Deborah said, “and if it goes off, Louis, it’s ringing for help at the station and at your place! You just keep that in mind.”
He laughed and left.
“I take it that you know Officer Raymond,” I said.
“He and I bowl on the same league.”
“And you have his home phone number?” Madison asked. “It sounds like a very friendly league.”
Deborah sputtered, and Madison poked her some more, which was probably what both of them needed. We all realized we were hungry, so I thawed out some chicken breasts and stuffed them with spinach to roast while Deborah took out her frustrations by mashing potatoes until they were as smooth as silk. Under the circumstances, Madison decided against attending the weekly Yu-Gi-Oh! tournament and instead availed herself of her favorite release valve: she texted all her friends and accepted their sympathy.
After dinner, Deborah asked, “Mad, how did you know somebody was in the house anyway? You guys said nothing was touched down here.”
Madison looked embarrassed. “I didn’t want to tell the cops, because it sounds crazy, but just as I came in the front door, I heard somebody telling me to run.”
“Are you serious?” I asked.
She nodded. “I swear it was just like an actual voice.”
“What did you hear?”
“It said, ‘Madison! Somebody’s in the house! Get out!’ So I did. Maybe there’s something to all that talk about guardian angels after all.”
I looked at Deborah, but she refused to meet my eyes. She knew who Madison’s guardian had been as well as I did.
“I’m awfully glad this particular guardian angel was keeping an eye on you,” I said in a slightly too-loud voice. I saw the barest of movement from the armoire, and realized where Sid had been hiding during the break-in and subsequent uproar.
38
Deborah stayed at the house until bedtime and, before she left, insisted on inspecting the outside perimeter with a flashlight in one hand and a baseball bat in the other. She didn’t find anything but the neighbor’s cat.
Madison said she was all right by then, but my maternal instincts said she was putting on a show, so I insisted that she sleep in my room that night so I wouldn’t be frightened. Of course, that meant there would be no conferring with Sid about the break-in, but I assumed he’d have found a way to let me know if he’d seen or heard anything that could help.
Even knowing Sid was on guard, I wasn’t much more at ease than Madison was. I’d checked to make sure all the doors and windows were locked, and I had that baseball bat on the floor next to me, but I kept thinking of what could have happened if Madison had surprised the burglar. I didn’t sleep well.
First thing the next morning, I called my parents—with the time difference, it had been too late to call them the night before. They were understandably concerned about the house, but of course their first priority was for Madison and me. I got their approval for Deborah to put in an alarm system, which was a good thing—she showed up before Madison left for school to take measurements for the equipment she needed.
The sooner the better, as far as I was concerned. While I knew Sid would be extra vigilant from that point on, Madison had no such comfort. Despite sleeping with me, she’d been restless enough to disturb my sleep. Frightened and bleary-eyed was no way for a teenager to face the day.
It wasn’t a great way for me to start the day, either—though I trusted Sid to give the alarm should another break-in occur, I was just as worried about what would happen if somebody saw Sid himself.
I thought the day was looking up when I got a text message from Fletcher asking me to meet him for lunch at Hamburger Haven after my classes, but it turned out that the opposite was true.
Fletcher had gotten to the busy campus hangout early enough to grab a table, and as soon as I sat down, he handed me some papers. “I finished this last night, and I’m dying to see what you think.”
“What is it?”
“It’s my article about being an adjunct. Could you take a look?”
I stifled a sigh. As a composition instructor, I’ve been asked to proof any number of colleagues’ papers, grant proposals, even personal letters. Since even the worst writers seem to think their prose is golden, keeping a friendly relationship after fulfilling a favor like that requires a lot more diplomacy than I had on hand. Then I remembered that Fletcher was a professional writer who was used to being edited. How bad could it be?
While he went to the counter to get our food, I started reading and realized almost immediately how bad it could be.
He had a big grin as he brought back the tray with our burgers and sodas. “Well?”
“I’m appalled.”
His grin fled. “What—?”
“Fletcher, you can’t blow the whistle on Charles! He’ll lose his job.”
“I didn’t use his name.”
“Oh no, you just describe a historian who maintains an impeccable personal appearance while living in college hidey-holes at McQuaid. Nobody will be able to figure that out.”
“I don’t say it’s McQuaid.”
“You said it’s a Western Massachusetts college. Don’t you think somebody might connect that to the Western Massachusetts college where you teach? He’ll be fired, and then how long do you think it will take for every school in New England to get word? Who’s going to hire him? No administration wants to admit that they don’t pay their adjunct faculty enough to live on.”
“Making them admit that is the point of the article!”
“And that’s a great message to get out, but you don’t have to ruin Charles’s life in the process.”
“But a college teacher squatting that way—it’s such a compelling image.”
“The adjunct office is full of compelling images—pick somebody else’s story. Include a picture of us all crammed into one room, and then compare it with regular faculty offices or even grad-student offices. Or just give the numbers—tell people what you make for teaching a class.”
“Numbers aren’t sexy, Georgia.”
“I can see that, but you’re a good enough writer to make it work.” I handed him back his manuscript. “The rest of the piece is great, and I really love the way you describe the way tenured professors look down on us. But you can’t ruin Charles’s career.”
“Can I at least mention that I’d heard a rumor of somebody living on campus?”
“Only if you imply really strongly that this rumor came from another part of the country.”
He finally agreed, and we ate in relative peace, but I could tell he was sulking. So I told him about the break-in at the house, thinking I’d get a little sympathy, but I got more sulking. He was irritated that I hadn’t called him so he could cover the story. The fact that I might be more concerned with my daughter’s mental well-being than him writing yet another article about a local break-in apparently didn’t occur to him.
I don’t think either of us enjoyed lunch very much, and when he left, all I got was a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. As he walked away, all I could think was that his butt wasn’t that great.
39
“I think I’ve got it,” I said. “Madison, how about you?”
I’d left
for home as soon as my last class was over, not wanting Madison to be nervous about being at home by herself, but I needn’t have bothered. Deborah was there installing the alarm system when Madison got there, and she’d just shown us how it worked and helped us set our access code. Speaking as a professional, I had to admit my sister did a good job with the instructions: she was clear, concise, patient.
Madison said, “It’s a great system, but you know what would make me feel safer?”
“A hunky bodyguard?” I said.
“A dog.”
I should have known that was coming. Madison had talked about getting a dog on and off for years, but apartment living and dogs don’t mix well.
“Mom, you always said we could have one if we got a big enough place, and this house is plenty big. The backyard is even fenced in.”
“Madison, you know living here is only temporary. I can’t bring a dog into my parents’ house.”
“I texted G-mom, and she said that she and G-dad are fine with it.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “I was thinking we could get an adult dog from the pound, so it would already be house trained.”
“What if we have to move? I don’t know how long I’ll be at McQuaid, and it’s hard enough to find affordable apartments without having to try to find a place that will take a dog. We can’t get a dog and then abandon it in a year.”
“Aunt Deb says that if anything like that happens, she’ll take it. Then we can still come visit.”
“How nice of Aunt Deb,” I said, glaring at my sister. No wonder she’d been so helpful during the security-system lesson—she’d known this was coming.
“I know it’s a lot of work,” Madison was saying, “but I’ll be responsible for walking him, feeding him, and bathing him. All the day-to-day stuff.”
“Sweetie, having a dog isn’t cheap.”
“I know, but I’ll chip in part of my allowance, and Aunt Deb says I can work for her to earn money toward paying for food and shots and stuff.”
“You’ve really thought this through,” I said, but I was looking at Deborah, not Madison. My sister knew exactly why I didn’t want a dog: Sid. She also knew I couldn’t explain that to Madison without breaking Sid’s confidence, and that Madison would be really hurt if I just refused without an explanation. If I hadn’t wanted to throttle her, I would have applauded her skillful manipulation.
“Well?” Madison said.
“Let me think about it,” I said. “Now would you mind going to your room for a minute? I want some alone time with your aunt.”
“It was my idea, Mom, not Aunt Deb’s. I really do want a dog.”
“I know you do, but you caught me by surprise. I need some time to make up my mind, okay?”
“Okay.” She looked worried, but she went upstairs.
As soon as I heard Madison’s bedroom door close, I said, “Did you put her up to this?”
“No! Get the family Bible, and I will swear on it that I did not suggest a dog to Madison, especially not for home security. I’m a locksmith—I don’t think there’s any substitute for a good lock and an alarm system. Any dog you’d want around a kid would be just as likely to love a burglar, too.”
Thinking of Dr. Kirkland’s dog, I had to agree. He’d attacked Sid, but only as an extra-special chew toy—he hadn’t tried to bite me.
Deborah went on. “I admit that when Mad presented the problems and asked my advice, I did offer to help, but only when I saw how much she wants a dog.”
I looked at her, but she wasn’t fudging—Madison wanted a dog that much. And hadn’t I told Deborah just the other day that I would never let things like job-related moves and a skeleton in the closet prevent me from giving Madison what she needed?
Apparently she needed a dog.
So I called upstairs. “Madison, get your shoes on. We’re going to the animal shelter.”
She nearly ran down the stairs, and hugged me, then Deborah, then me again. It was very sweet.
I was pretty sure that Sid’s reaction wouldn’t include quite so much hugging.
For once, I was absolutely right.
40
I’d halfway hoped that there wouldn’t be a dog Madison liked at the Pennycross animal shelter, but she picked one out right away. After a little paperwork, she was the proud owner of a one-year-old dog the woman at the shelter assured us was well behaved and house trained. Deborah fronted Madison the adoption fee and money for the alarming amount of supplies we had to pick up on the way home—kibble, a leash, food and water bowls, a brush, a bed, and other accessories. All I had to do was bring it home. And tell Sid.
I snuck up to the attic as soon as Madison and her canine pal went to bed. Sid was slumped down in his old armchair reading, and didn’t acknowledge my presence.
“I guess you heard.”
He turned a page.
“Madison named him Byron—she’d had the name picked out for years, apparently. He’s extremely affectionate, and I can tell he adores Madison already.”
Another page.
“Did you know Akitas are Japanese? Madison just loves that. They’ve got a reputation of being tough for new dog owners to handle, but apparently Byron has a milder temperament than most Akitas. He’s handsome, too. Do you want to see a picture?”
I was trying to think of something else perky to say, when he said, “I suppose this means I’m stuck up here from now on.”
“Nope. He’s going to sleep in Madison’s room, and during the day, we’ll put him in the big bathroom downstairs in case of accidents.”
“Great.”
“Or you could let me introduce you to Madison—and her dog—and we could go from there.”
“Oh, so this is my fault? You bring a dog into my house—”
“It’s not your house, Sid. It’s our house, and that includes Madison. She’s got rights, and one of those rights is to have a pet. If you wanted a pet, we’d see if we could swing that, too.”
“If I wanted a pet, it wouldn’t be a dog! You know what happens when dogs see me, Georgia. They freak out!”
“Not this one.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’ve already met.”
“When did—? Oh, no you didn’t! You didn’t bring home the dog that stole my arm.”
“Yeah, I kinda did.” It was love at first sight for Madison—by the time I realized she wanted to adopt the late Dr. Kirkland’s Akita, her heart was set on him. “I know he ran off with your arm that night, but at least he didn’t wet the floor and whimper like that Rottweiler we saw that time. I’m sure we can train him not to chew on you.”
He just glared at me.
“Honestly, I feel sorry for him. I heard Kirkland’s daughter-in-law say they’d gotten rid of him, which is just mean. The poor dog’s owner dies, and then her family just dumps him. The woman running the shelter said he was heartbroken.”
“That is pretty cold,” Sid admitted. “Getting rid of a dog isn’t like selling a house or old furniture. You don’t abandon a member of the family!”
“Exactly.” I stopped. “Wait. Did I miss some subtext, Sid? Do you feel as if I abandoned you when I left you here?”
“No subtext,” he said firmly. “We both know you couldn’t take me with you.”
“Okay, but—”
“No, I mean it. I was thinking more along the lines of a clue. If the dog saw Dr. Kirkland murdered, the murderer might not want him around.”
“They say the police always look at family members first. Of course, the police probably have done just that, and haven’t found anything.”
“But they don’t know what we know.”
“Do you suppose that old TV trope is true, that when a dog sees a person who attacked their owner, they’ll react somehow?”
“I don’t
know. If Byron had been here when our burglar showed up, it might have proven it.”
“I thought we’d decided that it wasn’t burglars who killed Dr. Kirkland.”
“Of course it wasn’t, any more than a burglar just happened to break in here.”
I sat down hard on the couch. “You think that was connected to our search for Sid?”
“Of course they’re connected. Honey, I know connections. ’Cause, you know, my foot bone’s connected to my ankle bone. My ankle bone’s connected to my leg bone. My leg bone’s connected to my—”
“Let me know when you make it to your head bone.”
“Better a head bone than a bonehead,” he replied with a lipless sneer. “I mean, we just happen to get broken into the day after you took me to JTU, a few days after the break-in at your office? And you didn’t see a link?”
“I’ve been trying not to see links,” I admitted, “but now it’s looking like somebody else has made the connection between me and you.”
“And between us and the late Dr. Kirkland.”
“Oh God, Sid. I’d been thinking that, as bad as it was, at least Madison hadn’t been in danger, because the local burglars weren’t killers. And now you tell me she was in the house with the real murderer? She could have ended up like that poor woman!”
“Hey, hey!” Sid said. “It’s okay. You’ve got an alarm now, and a dog. Madison is safe.”
“What the hell was he doing here, anyway?”
“It sounds like he or she was searching for something, and I’m guessing that was me.”
“That would certainly explain why he was looking in closets instead of running off with computers or televisions. And thanks to Sara, there are plenty of people who know about you.”
“Coccyx, Georgia, I never intended to put you and Madison into danger. I should have let that guy find me.”
“I wanted to help you find yourself, so I’m just as much to blame as you are.” I took a deep breath. “And you’re right. We’re on our guard now and doing everything we can to keep ourselves safe. And I mean all of us.” I was so emphatic I almost convinced myself.