Leona raced back into the room and, unclear whom to address, barked wildly, moving from Ralph to Fred to Catherine.
“Can’t you keep this thing quiet for a change?” Ralph asked Audrey.
“Don’t you dare tell me what to do,” she responded.
Ralph opened the glass door and Leona scooted out to the wet lawn. They all were momentarily mesmerized as they watched her run back and forth along the unseen edge of the underground fence. The drizzle had stopped but the sky remained slate gray. Mist rose from the dark lagoon.
“Let me get this straight.” Audrey took a deep breath and glared at Catherine. “It was you who called about the house on Fletcher Lane?”
Catherine nodded, feeling a strange satisfaction. Amity had taught her it was good to get out of her comfort zone.
They heard a low rumble, as if someone were moving furniture upstairs, and the overhead lights flickered and went out.
“Oh great,” Audrey said, looking up to the ceiling, then clicking her computer’s dead keyboard. “Just terrific.” It wouldn’t get dark for another hour, so there was still plenty of light to illuminate the confounded faces.
“So what brings you here, Ralph?” Catherine asked.
It was Fred’s turn. “This is Ralph?”
Audrey interjected and pointed a finger at Catherine: “You are hiding in my office. You are making prank phone calls. I’m the one who should be asking the questions.”
Catherine didn’t hesitate. “And you are using my husband as a bodyguard? Do you always ask him to check up on you after hours? Do you share everything?”
Ralph countered, “Technically she didn’t ask me. I just thought there might be trouble. I mean this guy”—Ralph pointed a thumb at Fred—“only called this morning. Who’s in that much of a rush to sell a house? And besides, he had to meet after the office closed? It seemed a little suspicious, if you ask me.”
“So you’re now in the security business?” Catherine asked her husband.
“No, but maybe it is my business.”
Audrey arched her eyebrows. She had taken a seat at her desk, forearms resting on the surface as if ready for negotiation. “Oh, so now you’re ready?”
Ralph ignored her and stayed facing Catherine. “Yes, so it is my business.” He took a moment to clear his throat. “After all, we’ll be investing together.”
“Oh?” Catherine felt her stomach plummet.
“Riverwalk on Bay Street, a development of one- and two-bedroom condos, retail, and restaurants. Just west of City Hall, near Ellis Square.” As Ralph spoke he gained momentum, gesticulating wildly as if conducting a tone-deaf orchestra. “There’ll even be thirty thousand square feet of office space and a stand-alone parking structure.” He pulled a hand through his long hair. “Don’t look so hurt. Like you’re suddenly going to start taking an interest in what I do? I mean, what do you do all day?”
“I take care of you.”
“Like I need taking care of?”
“I keep a clean house and I cook you dinner. I get god-knows-what stains out of your golf shorts and your underwear.” Catherine had never spoken to Ralph this way. “I even keep you swimming in smooth peanut butter. Smooth. Not chunky. Gets in your teeth. Gives you gingivitis. Imagine that.”
“Well, I’m not your child or your baby.”
“I’ve been taking care of you for thirty-eight years.”
“Don’t kid yourself. If that’s your job, it’s time to retire.”
Catherine wondered if he meant it or was just showing off for Audrey. “I take care of the house and the dog and—”
“No, what do you do?”
Then she thought not of cleaning or grocery shopping or laundering but of the last five months at Seven Oaks. Of creeping with Amity and being pushed on a swing by Fred and taking drives with Karma to antique stores in Bluffton. She’d done more since they’d moved than she had in her lifetime. Her days here had been filled with excitement and emotion. And, since she’d met Fred, hope and—dare she think it—love.
“Your life is as empty as a black hole.”
Catherine steeled herself before speaking. “Black holes aren’t empty.”
“What?”
“Black holes are infinitely dense.”
“And you are so obsessed with that dog you can barely look out the window.”
“That dog?” Catherine asked. “You mean our dog?”
And then Audrey shouted: “Leona!”
They all turned to see that the shih tzu had wandered to the lagoon’s embankment. The dog was on the muddy edge, peering down to the water. “The Invisible Fence is out!” Audrey rose from her seat, fled past Ralph and Fred, and out the door. She kicked off her high heels and, arms pumping, raced across the lawn. Ralph followed.
“Did you mean what you said?” Catherine asked Fred. “You know, about passion? About love?”
“Every word,” he answered.
Catherine thought of the afternoon she’d made love to Fred and remembered his gentleness and kindness. She’d laughed that day and felt hope. She’d been happy.
Before either could continue they heard Audrey scream and both turned. As if in slow motion, the earth gave way beneath the real estate agent and her small dog. Several feet of the bank disappeared into the water. Catherine lost sight of them as they fell.
Catherine and Fred made it outside just as Ralph reached the edge. As he called to Audrey, the crusty earth below him collapsed too and he dropped into the lagoon. The surprise of the fall caused him to tumble forward onto his hands and knees.
Catherine felt Fred’s hand grab her elbow.
“Don’t get too close,” he said. “The rains must have eroded the bank.”
Audrey was near hysterics, yelling to her dog. “Come! Leona, come!” With her blond bob now wet and plastered to her scalp, the real estate agent struggled forward, taking one step at a time. Leona, several feet in front of her, dog-paddled for dear life.
Fred grabbed a fallen oak branch and moved as close as he could to the edge without risking another collapse. He called to Ralph, who scrambled forward to grab it, but it was too short. Then Catherine heard a golf cart’s quiet whirr and turned to see Amity pull up to the building. She’d forgotten that her friend was waiting for her to emerge from the office.
Amity was the one who screamed and pointed: “Look out!”
All heads turned to the island to see Mr. Peabody waddle forward. He slipped from the bank, into the water. His long tail twitched eagerly as he swam slowly toward them.
With arms cartwheeling, Audrey somehow caught Leona. She held the small dog above her head as she waded back toward shore. The murky water was only one or two feet deep, but with every third step she sank to her thighs.
Ralph turned to see Mr. Peabody, now forty yards away, then shouted to the group, “My jacket! Get the gun!”
Amity, closest to the office, rushed to the building and the open door.
“It’s hooked on the chair!” Catherine called, and in what seemed like only a few moments later, Amity was back out on the grass beside her.
Mr. Peabody’s eyes, visible just above the water, locked on Leona and Audrey. He barely made a ripple as he skimmed past lily pads and through green moss. Ralph turned and yelled something at the gator, but Mr. Peabody didn’t stop. He neither slowed nor sped, just kept coming with wide eyes and spiked tire-tread back.
A panicked sound came out of Amity, so Catherine turned to her and watched as Amity did the only thing any of them could do. She tightened her index finger around the gun’s trigger, straightened her arms, raised the weapon, and took the shot.
chapter 43
Catherine slammed her hands over her ears as the bullet screamed straight up into the air and the gun whipped behind Amity’s head. Meanwhile, Ralph dove toward the muddy shore where he crouched in the duck-and-cover position. Instantaneously, the alligator splashed beneath the water and disappeared.
“Holy fuck.” Amity looked at t
he gun in her hands, to Catherine, then back to the lagoon. “Holy, holy fuck.”
Everyone remained still, as if the shot had signaled a pause in a disastrous game of freeze tag. Audrey, cradling Leona, stood perfectly still exactly where she’d been, brown water up to her knees.
“Oh my god! What happened?!” Amity asked Catherine. “I get you into the real estate center and the whole world shows up and decides to go for a swim?”
But Catherine was too lost in anxious thought to reply, replaying the image of Mr. Peabody streaming toward the shore, imagining this was how it all would end.
Ralph stood slowly and limped toward the left side of the lagoon. He found an exposed root to stand on and, using a clump of spartina grass, pulled himself up to the lawn. “Oh shit,” Catherine heard him mumble as he hobbled toward them, grabbing his calf.
“You better get out of there!” Amity shouted to Audrey, then moved to assist Ralph.
Ralph turned to Catherine. “What’s wrong with you? I said I’ve been hit!”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Catherine was sure she’d seen Amity point the gun skyward at the last second, but perhaps the bullet had ricocheted off an overhead branch, hit the thick wood of an oak tree, and executed an abrupt U-turn, somehow nicking Ralph along the way. She might have felt sympathy or fear for her husband, but she felt nothing. Meanwhile, Amity pulled a dog leash out of her fanny pack. With Ralph now sitting on the wet grass, she tied the leash as a tourniquet around his slacks above where he held his leg.
Then Fred scrambled crab-style down the embankment.
“It’s slippery!” Catherine shouted. “Be careful!”
The coffee-colored water reached Fred’s shins, and he high-stepped toward Audrey. Because Leona was so uncharacteristically quiet in Audrey’s arms, Catherine wondered if the renegade shot had somehow hit the shih tzu, a single bullet shard through her peanut heart.
Catherine felt something close to jealousy when Fred reached Audrey and placed one hand on her elbow, his other around her waist. She heard the outline of his voice calming her as he might a skittish animal. “It’s okay. C’mon. That’s right.”
And then next to her, Amity gasped. “Jesus,” she said, breathless. “He’s back!”
He’s back. Catherine recognized the line as straight from a bad horror movie, from a final scene where the monster—stake through heart and spike through head—roars back to life. A scene where the audience understands anyone still alive is a goner. Fifty yards away, Mr. Peabody wasn’t taking no for an answer. He floated lower in the water, only black eyes and wide snout visible.
Fred grabbed Audrey and half-carried, half-dragged her toward shore.
Catherine was going to tell Amity to fire another warning shot, to scare the alligator and be sure to keep Fred safe, but before she could find her voice she heard the click of an empty cartridge. She turned to see Amity holding the gun skyward like a referee starting a hundred-yard dash, in a wide-legged stance, prepared for the gun’s recoil. Amity pulled the trigger over and over. Empty clicks on a quiet soundstage.
“Hurry!” Catherine shouted, though clearly there was nothing more her friend could do.
For a moment Catherine imagined that Fred and Audrey were partners at a picnic, in a three-legged race for their lives. Mr. Peabody continued forward steadily. He did not lurch or flail as in a National Geographic special, but swam intently, a premeditated killer focused on his prey.
As the gator advanced to thirty yards, Catherine felt her whole future evaporating. She heard herself screaming wildly, shouting who knows what into the world, and praying suddenly to a god she’d never called on. When Fred and Audrey reached the mucky shoreline, Mr. Peabody was only twenty yards away. Catherine searched the manicured lawn for something to throw, a rock or a branch or even a pinecone, but found nothing.
Then she heard a siren from the direction of the clubhouse and caught a glimpse of a flashing blue light as a Prius raced toward them. She lost sight of the car after it tore straight across the golf course, through a bunker, then dipped into the fairway. As it approached, Catherine recognized the red-haired security officer at the wheel and beside him what looked like a large blow-up doll, like drivers used in high-occupancy lanes of the New Jersey Turnpike. After skirting a clump of pampas grass, the Prius slammed to a stop beside her and Amity and Ralph. Both occupants jumped out and Catherine recognized the passenger as Fred’s dog walker, Ida Blue.
The uniformed security guard pulled out his holstered gun as the alligator closed within ten yards. He fiddled with the safety until the large woman elbowed him aside and grabbed his weapon. She clicked open the lever, knelt, and fired.
The bullet splashed within a foot of the alligator’s snout. Mr. Peabody bucked backward and his long tail whipped high into the air and down, making a splash as big as Catherine had ever seen. Within seconds, the dark shadow retreated to the far end of the lagoon. Catherine lost sight of the gator as he fled behind the island.
The guard returned to the Prius, where he pulled out a nylon rope and first aid kit. He tied the rope into a lasso and threw it to Fred. “Get her out of there.”
Fred grabbed the rope and looped it gently over Audrey’s head and shoulders as he took Leona from her. “It’s over,” he told Audrey. “Just hold on tight.”
Her eyes wide and blinking, Audrey did as she was told. Fred pushed her, one hand on her buttocks, up the incline while the guard grabbed her outstretched arms. Once safe, the security guard threw the rope to Fred, who was able to scramble up the hill. They all gathered in a ragged circle on the grass as Ralph clutched his leg.
“She shot me!” Ralph cried to the security officer, pointing to Amity. An inch-long rip and what looked like drops of ketchup stained his khakis.
“Okay. Relax. Take a deep breath.” Catherine saw the guard’s name tag—RUSTY—as he bent down, untied the dog leash, and pulled up the hem of Ralph’s pants.
“I can’t bear to watch,” Ralph said, looking away.
“Looks like you were bitten.”
“The gator bit me?”
“Nope.” The guard snapped his gum. “Mighta been a rusty nine iron.”
“Huh?”
“You got stuck by a broken golf club shaft. I didn’t invent the game, in fact I don’t even know why people play if it’s so damn frustrating. Can you imagine if this club had teeth?” He laughed until he saw no one thought it was funny. “But for sure you’re gonna need a tetanus shot.”
Ida Blue pulled a pouch from the first aid kit. As she unfolded it, it became a metallic poncho that she wrapped around Audrey, still silent and pale. Catherine imagined an aluminum-foil turkey about to be baked.
“Well, your timing was perfect, but how’d you know to come?” Fred asked.
“A golf club?” Ralph interrupted. “Are you sure?”
Rusty nodded to Ralph, then answered Fred: “Got a call from a Mr. Ralph. Said there was suspicious activity. An after-hours arrival to the real estate center. And this little lady”—he turned to Ida Blue—“confirmed it. You see, she’s psychic,” he explained.
“A psy-chic side-kick,” she added, smiling.
“We need all the help we can get ’round here. Prank phone calls. Half-dozen reports of home entry. Nothing taken, just evidence of intruders. Can’t have those shenanigans at Seven Oaks.” Catherine and Amity made eye contact. “That’s the problem here. People figuring gates keep nut jobs out. I reckon that’s what keeps ’em in. Islands make people go crazy.”
“Just look at Bachelor in Paradise,” Ida Blue said, helpfully.
Fred put his hand on Ida Blue’s shoulder. “I know you’re a damn good dogsitter, but how’d you learn to shoot like that?” he asked.
“My uncle made us shoot apples off Princess Diana’s tiara,” she explained, though nobody understood the reference. Then, in the distance, they heard a muffled, barely discernible rumble of thunder. There would be no more rain that evening.
Catherine looked to R
alph, who was staring into his cut, a wound barely bigger than he’d get shaving. He looked up to her and smiled sheepishly before picking out slimy marsh grass from his shoes and pathetically trying to sweep soupy moss from his khakis.
“Catherine, honey?” Ralph asked her. “Would you mind getting me a towel?”
She stood exactly where she was, next to Fred. Then, for the first time in her life, she felt sorry for her husband. “A gun, Ralph? Really?”
“We moved to Georgia,” he replied. “You know it’s south of the Mason-Dixon Line.”
Then Catherine looked back to Ralph’s pants. Audrey’s going to have a helluva time getting those stains out, she thought.
chapter 44
Six weeks later
Yee-haw!” Ida Blue shouted when she saw the golden retriever veer off the sidewalk and toward a fire hydrant. She yanked the dog’s leash while the other dogs kept their forward momentum. Within moments all five were back on track, a peloton in the Tour de France, heading home from their third walk of the day.
As they turned down her street, a minivan passed and beeped. Ida Blue waved wildly, yet she could barely keep track of her clients anymore. After her recent Good Morning Savannah appearance she was now the hometown hero, too busy to watch daytime TV, to hang on Dr. Phil’s every word. Instead of telling obsessive housewives that their parakeets needed more exercise or their dogs didn’t like hats, she had commitments to dogsit and to lecture skeet-and-trap clubs about gun safety.
“Whoa!” she shouted as the pack neared her mailbox. As they careened to a stop, she transferred the leashes to one hand, then reached inside to find grocery coupons and a handwritten envelope with MISS IDA BLUE written in big oily letters. Without opening it, she recognized Rusty’s scrawl. Each week he dropped off a hand-drawn card or placed a colorful bouquet at her door. On two occasions, he’d even regifted presents from his housesitting clients—a book on trout fishing and a ten-dollar gift certificate to the Waffle House.
With mail in hand, she led the pack to her side gate. Her new enclosure might have been outside her budget if she had the wherewithal to keep one. All she knew was that the money was coming in faster than she could buy rope toys, grooming brushes, and do-it-yourself plastic fencing. She unhooked the leashes and the dogs rushed forward to cool off in the kiddie pool, a plastic tub decorated with goldfish floating in clouds. It reminded her to check her YouTube channel. In her latest three-minute clip, while she sat in a swimsuit and matching tasseled swim cap, she discussed the importance of keeping pets hydrated in the heat. As she did, tailed torpedoes splashed around her. Forget dancing cats, she had photogenic dogs, and within the first two weeks the video had received more than a hundred thumbs-up.
Good Karma Page 24