Drop Dead on Recall

by Sheila Webster Boneham

  “Where are you going? Hey! She couldn’t have walked to Scott’s! It’s too far!”

  Bill was right, of course. It was more than a mile to the grocery store so unlikely that she’d go on foot. Still, Mom had been acting pretty darn weird lately. I drove as slowly as I dared, ticking off a couple of drivers behind me and scanning the area as best I could without leaving my lane. Nothing. I parked in Scott’s lot, rolled all the windows down for Jay, and ran into the store. I made a quick tour, checking each aisle in turn, and started back to the door I came in.

  “Morning!” came a cheery voice. Louise has been a cashier at Scott’s for as long as I can remember. I haven’t a clue what her last name is, but I do know that her son studies art at the University of St. Francis here in town, and her daughter is in the Air Force. Funny what we learn and don’t learn about people.

  “Have you seen my mom this morning?”

  “Don’t believe I have.” Her freckled forehead crinkled under her brassy yellow bangs. “Something wrong?”

  “Long story. Look, here’s my card with my cell phone number. If she shows up could you please call me right away, and try to hang on to her until I get here?”

  Louise lowered her voice and clucked softly. “She’s been having some problems, hasn’t she?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Sure, I’ll keep an eye out.” As I speed-walked to the exit I heard her add, “Let me know, okay, hon?”

  I hit Bill’s button on my speed dial as I rushed back to my van and surveyed the parking lot again. “Anything?”

  “No, no sign of her.” I couldn’t tell which he was now, pissed or scared. Probably both. “How could she do this to me? I have better things to do with my time!” Okaaay, pissed on the outside, scared silly on the inside.

  I opened the back of the van to check on Jay. Even with the windows wide open, I don’t like to leave him in the car on warm days. He lay quietly with his paws crossed, but stood when I opened the crate door. I clipped a leash onto his collar and put him in the back seat, something I rarely do. He’s safer in his crate. But I needed someone to talk to, and he hardly ever back-seat drives.

  I turned south out of the parking lot onto Maplecrest. I was about three blocks short of Mom’s street when Jay started to bounce on the back seat, barking out the driver’s side window and scaring the bejeepers out of me. “Quiet!” He switched to a high-pitched whine that I thought Memorex could have used in one of their glass-shattering ads for audio tape, then realized with some surprise that those ads were ancient history. Jay danced on the seat, his tailless bum gyrating like a hula dancer.

  When my adrenalin leveled off and my brain started to function again, I realized what Jay was telling me. Ohmygod. There was a church entrance to my left and no traffic in the oncoming lanes. The van’s tires protested mildly as I whipped them left into the parking lot. Jay bounced and wriggled and whined. I scanned the parking lot, lawn, and church entrance, but I couldn’t see a thing. I got out and grabbed the leash as Jay sprang into the front seat. He pulled me into a breathtaking run toward the church.

  And then I saw her, prone and unmoving, as still as death.

  33

  A scattering of white dogwood petals glistened against dark mulch beneath the tree, and a heady blend of lilac and exhaust filled the air. All my senses focused on the scene before me, and the rest of the world receded in a blur.

  Mom lay in a semi-fetal curl on a circle of grass ringed by hedges of forsythia, her head pillowed by her purse, the picture of peace under the stony gaze of St. Francis and his sparrow. She wore slacks the color of a good summer lawn, brown leather flats, and a white cotton sweater festooned with embroidered flowers. I gave her the sweater for her birthday, and hadn’t seen her wear it before. She was so still.

  Numb though I was, I felt the slack of the leash rise and go taut, the bite of leather against my fingers as Jay yanked me forward. Traffic whooshed and rumbled not twenty yards away, and birds murmured somewhere, not close, but not too far. We were moving fast, yet in my memory those seconds run long and languid. My heart expanded until it pressed all the air from my lungs, but still there was room for fear, and a forewarning of sorrow. Time stalled as I took in the prostrate form. Fear would have frozen me in place had it not been for my dog.

  Jay had no qualms at all. He dragged me into the grassy circle, skidded to a stop, crouched low, and ran his velvet muzzle along Mom’s arm and neck. Still whining, he covered the side of her face with short, hot swipes of his tongue.

  “Oh my goodness! Laddie, stop that, you silly boy!” She opened her eyes and struggled to sit up. Laddie was her Collie. He died before I was born.

  The spinning in my head slowed and changed directions. Mom was alive. From all appearances, she was well, physically at any rate. I pulled Jay gently off and had him lie down, then laid a hand on my mother’s arm.

  “Mom, what are you doing here?”

  She flinched and swatted at me. “Who are you?”

  I hooked my hands under her arms to help her to her feet. “Come on, upsy daisy.”

  She tried at first to pull away, then cooperated, sort of, and made it to her feet, swaying and swiping with moderate success at bits of vegetation clinging to her pants. I picked up her purse and Jay’s leash, and off we went to the van. Once I had everyone safely locked into his or her spot, I called Bill at Mom’s house and Louise at the grocery store, and got behind the wheel.

  Half an hour later Mom was snoring softly in her own bed, Jay was sprawled on the cool linoleum by the back door, and Bill and I were still duking it out in the kitchen. The only thing we agreed on was that Mom wasn’t safe on her own. Bill, of course, wanted me to take full responsibility.

  “Look, I’ll do the legwork, but you’re going to have to help. If one of us is checking out nursing homes—that would be me—seems fair for the other to take care of her in the meantime.” I moved into his line of vision and made eye contact. “That would be you.”

  I took his “Harumph” for agreement. The clock on the wall said it was 4:37, which meant it was probably about 5. Mom’s clock had been twenty minutes slow for as long as I could remember. I’d taken my watch off when I was at the computer and had forgotten to put it back on, so I had to go with the guesstimate. “I’ve been asking around a bit already. If I get going now, I can probably stop at one or two places, you know, nursing homes, on my way home, and do some more research tonight.” I neglected to mention that I had an agility class at 6:30. Dog-related activities had no status in Bill’s world view.

  _____

  Jay bounced and wriggled all over the kitchen in the hope of getting some dinner, while I changed into my running shoes and poured his rations into the fanny pack I use for training treats, adding some raw carrot slices and Colby-jack cheese cubes for variety. “You’ll have to eat on the run tonight, Bubby,” I told him.

  I took a quick look at my e-mail, hoping the magazine editor had sent the contract for the photos she wanted. No such luck. I didn’t see anything else that couldn’t wait until later except one message from Greg Dorn’s e-address. I opened that one and read.

  “Janet, it’s Greg. Greg Dorn.” Well, yeah, Greg, I sort of got that from the address at the top of the e-mail, I thought, then mentally smacked myself for lack of compassion. The man was, after all, grieving. I read on. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but please stop asking about Abigail’s personal affairs. Please. That’s a job for the police, not her friends. Just let Abigail rest in peace.”

  34

  I put Greg’s message out of my mind when I walked into Dog Dayz twenty minutes later. People and dogs of all sizes and styles were arranged around the room in various poses and configurations. A Sheltie, a Miniature Poodle, a Beagle, and a Rottweiler were lined up at the back of one ring practicing a group sit-stay and watching their owners chatter to one another thirty feet aw
ay.

  I set up my crate, put Jay inside, and went to see what was up with the gathering by the table that hugs one wall of the training room. Ten or so people surrounded it, oohing and aahing. A sheet cake held center stage among paper plates, napkins, and plastic forks, and although pieces had already been carved from its fringes, the design in the center was intact, a digital icing photo of Fly taking a jump, and underneath it the icing caption Fly … Congratulations for soaring above the rest! A sign drawn in a rainbow of marker colors hung on the wall above the cake, announcing the reason:

  New OTCH

  Scotswool On the Fly

  New UDX

  #2 Border Collie in Open Obedience for last year!

  In the running for #1 this year!

  A big bowl of homemade dog biscuits sat to the side of the cake.

  I checked out the room to see who else was there. Mostly I noticed who wasn’t. Not that I really cared where Tom Saunders was, I reminded myself.

  “Isn’t it exciting?” Marietta Santini had stepped in beside me. “That makes four OTCH dogs who have trained here!”

  Here and elsewhere, I thought, although I didn’t say it. Truth is, most of the best trainers and competitors take classes, seminars, and lessons from anyone they think can teach them to be better trainers and competitors. But still, Suzette had been training at Dog Dayz since she got her first dog, a Shetland Sheepdog named Mimi.

  There’s nothing quite like having your peers admire your dog’s achievements, and Suzette was wallowing in the outpouring of congratulations when I walked up to the table. “Fly has a chance to be number one Border Collie this year now,” I heard her say. Now? As in now that Abigail and Pip are out of the running? Despite what she’d said at her house, she didn’t sound all that worried about Pip and Abigail’s absence demeaning her standing with Fly. Suzette tossed a cakey plate into the trash, then picked up a clean paper plate and fanned her face with it.

  “Is it hot in here, or is it me?” Her face was flushed, and tiny beads of perspiration glistened on her forehead. She folded the plate and shoved it into her back pocket. “I think I’ll take Fly out to pee.” They exited through the back door.

  _____

  Suzette came back without Fly and I walked over to congratulate her a little more privately. Who do you think you’re kidding? The Janet Demon was back. You want to see if she says anything incriminating.

  Suzette’s face was glossy with perspiration and pale but for two bright-pink spots on her cheeks.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, putting my hand on her shoulder.

  She swayed slightly. “Must be all the excitement. I don’t feel too great. I think I’m getting the flu or something. Think I’m gonna go home.” She swayed again, and gulped down half a bottle of water. “I’m so thirsty.” She finished off the bottle.

  I put a hand on her arm to try to get her to sit down for a minute. “My God, Suzette, you’re burning up!” I offered to drive her home, but she declined. “I just need some sleep. I already put Fly in the car.” She started to leave, but turned back. “I need to talk to you. Was going to tonight … but …” She put her hand against the wall and panted. “God, I think I’m gonna barf.” She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed, then very softly said, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow” and turned to leave.

  I offered again to drive her home, but she waved me off. “Feel better!” I called to her back. Suzette raised her right hand in acknowledgment as she disappeared out the door.

  35

  Marietta Santini made her usual pre-class announcements, including an invitation to finish the cake so she wouldn’t have to do it herself. I thought a few extra calories would help her long frame look a little less skeletal, but I kept my thoughts to myself. Then she picked up a beautifully wrapped package and looked around for Suzette and Fly, so I piped up. “Suzette wasn’t feeling well and went home, but she asked me to thank you all for your support.” People and dogs dispersed and resumed training, and I turned to find Tom and Drake standing behind me.

  “Hi.” Tom grinned. His brown, green, and white plaid shirt made his eyes look like melted milk chocolate, which I’m sure is why my mouth began to water. “How’s your mom? I heard what happened.” He squatted down and ruffled Jay’s ears with both hands. “You’re a genuine doggy hero, aren’t you, fella?”

  “Where did you hear that?” News always races along the dog-training grapevine like a pack of Beagles on a hot scent, but the speed of this transmission had to be record-shattering.

  “Ran into Connie at the gas station on my way here.”

  “Gad. I talked to her less than an hour ago, on my way here.”

  “Your mom okay?”

  I filled him in.

  “So Jay saw her and barked?”

  “He couldn’t have seen her. She was lying on the ground in a little meditation garden there at the church.” I caressed Jay’s silky cheek with the back of my hand and felt the love from his warm brown eyes wash over me. “Sometimes they just know, don’t they?”

  Tom waited a heartbeat as he gazed into Jay’s eyes and stroked the dog’s soft cheek with his thumb, then stood and shifted topics. “Are you going to the funeral?” Abigail’s service was at ten the next morning.

  “Not much looking forward to it.” Talk about an understatement. “But yes, I’ll be there. You?”

  “I have student conferences all morning, winding things up before finals, so it’s not a good time to cancel.” He paused, his eyelids drooping a bit and the corners of his mouth matching them briefly. Then his eyes regained their sparkle, and he said, “Hey! How about I take you out for dinner tomorrow evening and you fill me in?”

  Some small, non-hormonal part of my brain registered how clever and cute that was—the grown-up version of the yawn-and-stretch arm-around-the-shoulder technique so well known to teenage boys of my generation. Some things never change, do they? You’d think the thirty years since he invited some lucky girl to the prom would make it easier to ask for a date.

  A date? Dinner with a friend isn’t a date, whispered one of my little friends. I wasn’t at all sure which one, demon or angel, or whether she was right, but the point was moot in any case. I was on deadline to get some photos out to one of my publishers, so I asked for a rain check.

  Tom nodded and smiled, but I thought his shoulders sagged a notch. He promised to cash the rain check soon.

  36

  I arrived at St. Hubert’s around 9:45 and found small clusters of friends and family members in the lobby outside the chapel. I paid my respects to Greg, who greeted me as warmly as ever in spite of his “butt out” e-mail of the night before. Maybe he was out of his mind with grief?

  Connie was standing outside the chapel, signing the guest book, so I joined her, greeting a few people I knew on the way. “Hey.”

  She put the pen down and turned around. She glanced at something behind me and curled her lip in a positively feline snarl.

  Giselle had just emerged from the ladies room, dabbing at her face with what might have been a bright pink bandana, though it was so wadded up that it was hard to tell. Her skin was even more sallow than usual, except for a number of red blotches scattered across her cheeks and chins like cartoon cherries. She clumped into the group surrounding Greg, parting the well-wishers like a rhino through a herd of antelope. Her black stretch leggings reached half way down her calves, highlighting every roll and dimple along the way, and her faded black knit tunic clung to the ample contours of her torso. Fuschia roll-down socks peeked out between the fish-belly skin of her legs and her black canvas high-tops, underlining a huge crescent moon tattooed on the outside of her left calf. Black nail polish, eye shadow, and lipstick, and her trademark greasy hair, completed the look.

  “Oh, Greg, it’s so sad!” she sobbed, making an open-armed lunge toward the widower.

&nbs
p; Even at that distance, I could see Greg’s jaw muscles clench, and the crimson tinge of his cheeks made me wonder which was winning, his urge to flee or his urge to clamp his fingers around Giselle’s throat and squeeze. Socialization trumped biology and he held his ground, fending off Giselle’s proffered embrace by turning ninety degrees, as he might to teach a puppy not to jump up. He gave her a venomous glance, then turned toward the chapel and said to the other people gathered around him, “I think it’s time.”

  The only comment I could conjure was, “Hunh.”

  “Right.” Connie unpursed her lips and took my arm. “Come on, we may as well take a seat.”

  We sat down behind Marietta and several Dog Dayz members, about halfway to the front of the chapel, and I asked Connie if I’d missed any other excitement.

  “Suzette’s not here,” she whispered. “Pretty tacky of her not to show up.”

  “She wasn’t feeling well last night. Maybe she’s sick.”

  “Even so, she could have made an effort out of respect for Greg.” Connie lowered her voice further so I had to strain to hear her. “Let’s face it, not many people are here because they loved Abigail. And Suzette and Greg … uh …” She shifted in her seat. “Anyway …”

  “What?”

  “I’m a blabbermouth. Forget it, okay?”

  I was a bit put out, because in all the time I’ve known Connie, I’ve never thought she said or did anything by accident, and the sense I had now that she was trying to plant ideas in my head bothered me. “I don’t know, I just don’t see it with Suzette and Greg. But I guess it’s possible.” I rolled the idea around in my mind. “Do you really think they were involved?”

  “I don’t really like to gossip.” Yeah, right. Connie leaned forward and said something to Marietta, and I decided to drop the Suzette and Greg issue until later. The morning sun cast shafts of gold and rose and heavenly blue through the stained-glass window behind the altar, washing the front of the chapel in shades of faith and hope. The altar itself was a simple affair of warm golden oak flanked by two simple sprays of white lilies.