Drop Dead on Recall

by Sheila Webster Boneham

  Jo was watching something to my left, and I followed her gaze. Good ol’ Hutch was headed our way. “This kind of damage took some serious effort, and I’d say a fair amount of anger.” She nodded at Hutchinson as he pulled up a chair. “Anything?”

  A familiar odor tickled my nose, and Connie’s expression told me she smelled it too.

  “I checked the dog place’s parking lot and alley. Found a chisel behind some trash about a block away. Looks about the right size.” Hutchinson laid a bag on the table, “Evidence” stamped into the plastic and a tool of some sort inside. It could have been a chisel, for all I knew about tools.

  “But how do you know …”

  Hutchinson cut me off. “Look familiar to either of you ladies?” The smell was getting stronger.

  Connie glared at him, and a warm wave rolled up my neck and face. “What are you suggesting?” I asked.

  “Just asking a question, ma’am.” He looked from me to Connie and back. “Either of you recognize this chisel or know who it might belong to?”

  We shook our heads.

  He held the chisel toward Jo and pointed to an area along the edge. “There’s a nick in the edge of the blade, something caught in it. Could be a bit of tire.”

  Jo told her partner, “Dispatch called. We caught another case. You go get started and I’ll catch up with you.” She held out her hand for the evidence bag.

  Hutchinson started to protest, but seemed to think better of it.

  “And Hutchinson?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You need to clean your shoe.”

  “Huh?” He raised his right foot to check the sole, then the left. “Aww, shit!”

  “Bingo.”

  When he was gone, I grinned at Jo. “You’d be a good dog trainer.” She didn’t say anything, but her lips twitched.

  59

  Detective Stevens and Connie and I stood looking at the tires from my Caravan. The holes were narrow slits, and clean. Exactly the sort of holes the sharp chisel in Hutchinson’s baggie might make. Jo took some notes, then pulled her phone out and walked away. She was on her way back to us when a mechanic strolled over and handed her a piece of paper. “This was under the wiper.” Jo took it by the edges, read it, and turned it so I could see. My stomach did a half-gainer as I read YOU COULD BE NEXT, printed in large black letters.

  Jo pulled a plastic bag from a pocket in her notebook, slipped the warning into it, and zipped it shut. She gave me a look that made me think of Mom. “You call me if anything—I mean anything—strange happens again. Keep your eyes open and be careful.” I resisted the urge to glance over my shoulder right then.

  When Jo was gone, Connie and I strolled back into the mall, figuring it would be better to walk than to sit in the gritty waiting room, even though the frazzled mother and her noisy mob had left.

  “I’m worried for you, Janet.”

  “Tell me about it!”

  We speculated on what the tire attack was all about. Was it possible that someone—Francine?—thought my car was Greg’s? But why slash his tires? And what was she doing at Dog Dayz anyway? Giselle had left in a huff before I did. But why on earth would she do such a thing? And even if she wanted to, was Giselle ballsy enough to risk getting caught?

  “Who would have a chisel?” asked Connie.

  “I dunno.” Didn’t I have a chisel somewhere in my garage? “Lots of people do, probably.”

  “Francine would have one.” Connie glanced sideways at me.

  “She would?”

  “She’s a handyman, well, you know, handy woman. She has one of those odd-job businesses, like ‘call-a-husband.’ Abigail told me that.”

  “But that doesn’t mean …”

  Connie elbowed me in the ribs. I stopped talking. Greg Dorn had just walked out of the Travelfair agency office with a packet of some sort in his hands. He was cutting across the mall at a right angle to us.

  “I wonder where he’s going?”

  “Can’t say I could blame him for wanting to get away for a while.” I could have stood a getaway myself. “Should we say hello?”

  But he had already disappeared into Macy’s, so we walked on. Connie told me that Fly’s breeder was going to take the dog back since Suzette’s sister didn’t want to keep her.

  “She’s up past Chicago, north of the city, actually in Wisconsin, I think. I guess she’s willing to come get Fly, but asked Yvonne if she could meet her halfway.”

  “Yvonne?”

  “Suzette’s sister.”

  “I know that. But I thought Marietta was keeping Fly for a while?”

  “Right. But I imagine Yvonne inherited her, so she’s making the arrangements.”

  You could drive her part way. You’ve been wanting to take photos at Potowatomi again, whispered the helpful little angel on my right shoulder. Her devilish counterpart added, Yeah, and you could do some more nosing around. I made a mental note to call Marietta and offer to drive Fly halfway if her breeder could meet me. I might even take those photos.

  60

  Before I could volunteer to reunite Fly with her breeder, I had familial duties to fulfill. Moving Mom was not going to be a lot of fun. Tom offered to help, and I didn’t try very hard to dissuade him. He had helped her gather a bouquet of at least fifty daffodils in yellows ranging from palest cream to darkest gold. Four or five branches of pussy willow added height at the center of the arrangement, which filled a big cut-crystal vase. Mom was humming something vaguely familiar and tying a big bow around the waist of the vase when I walked in.

  “Hi, Mom. Beautiful bouquet.”

  “Yes.” She stopped her work for a moment and frowned at me. “You’re late, Alice.” Who in the heck is Alice? Mom tilted her head toward me and lowered her voice. “The gentleman here is buying these flowers for his sweetheart. Isn’t that romantic?”

  Tom stood behind her, grinning.

  “They’re lovely. But why are you using Christmas ribbon with daffodils?”

  “Oh, am I? I thought it was a nice contrast.” She gave the bow a final tug and a pat, and stepped back for a better look. Yep, no question, the green, red, and gold plaid bow certainly contrasted with the spring flowers.

  “So, Mom, how about we go for a ride?” I had to work to keep the emotion out of my voice.

  “Oh, my, I don’t know where my boots are.” She adjusted a daffodil. “No, I don’t think so, dear. Thanks, but I really don’t like to ride without my boots. The stirrup leathers chafe my legs.” Mom had been a competitive rider as a young woman, but I was pretty certain she hadn’t been on a horse since before I was born. The sadness of that thought wrapped itself tight around my chest.

  Tom leaned back against the kitchen counter and held me in his gaze, his eyes like a big, warm hug, while I regained control and plunged ahead. “No, Mom, not horseback riding. Let’s go for a car ride.”

  “Oh, yes!” Mom clapped her hands together, twirled around, and lunged for her purse, which was lying on the kitchen table. “We can deliver the flowers! They’ll be so happy to get them.”

  “So much for the sweetheart.” Tom winked at me as he offered Mom his arm. “You bring the flowers, Alice. I’ll take this lovely young lady to the car.” Mom latched on to him with a giggle, and off they went.

  Twenty minutes later we pulled up in front of Shadetree Retirement Home, and I was surprised that Mom remembered the stated purpose of our outing. I was even more surprised that she remembered my name. “Janet, dear, you take the flowers in. Your father and I will wait here.” Ah, well, two out of three wasn’t bad.

  Tom hopped out and hurried around to Mom’s door. He leaned into the car, unfastened her seat belt, and helped her out. “Upsy daisy, there you are. Shall we?” Once again he played the gallant, and she hooked her arm through his. I brought
the flowers.

  Jade Templeton met us at the front desk. “Ah, Mrs. MacPhail. It’s so nice to see you. And what gorgeous flowers! Are these from your garden?” she asked, taking the bouquet out of my arms and setting it on the counter.

  Mom froze, then scanned the lobby, a crease settling across her forehead. She pulled away from Tom, skewered me with a look, and declared, “I’m ready to go home.”

  “Why don’t we take a little walk around?” Jade emerged from behind the counter and started to put her arm around Mom.

  “Leave me alone.”

  I don’t believe I’d ever heard my mother hiss before, and another wave of guilt washed over me. I looked at Jade, then at Tom, for help. “Maybe it’s not time yet. Not if she knows what’s happening.”

  Jade tried again to take my mother’s hand, inviting her for a “little tour of our home.” Mom jerked away and hugged her purse to her chest with both hands wrapped so tightly around it that her knuckles went white.

  “No. I don’t know you.”

  “Not yet, but I’d like to get to know you.” Jade took a step toward Mom. “Why don’t I show you around and we can talk? Would you like to see the garden?”

  No sale. Mom pulled away from Jade again and wove her arm through Tom’s. He patted her hand. “Why don’t we both take the tour?”

  “No. I want to leave.”

  My eyes started to burn, and I needed to sit down. Tom signaled with his free hand toward a chair. He was reading my mind again.

  “Let’s walk around and see if we can find the exit.”

  That perked her up. She let her purse drop to her side, clutching the handle in her left hand and Tom’s strong arm in her right, and off they went.

  The lobby opened into a large common area. Two men were playing chess at a table in the center, and several ladies were gathered around a television at one end. A small gray and white cat lay curled on one of their laps. Another woman sat in a lounge chair, a vacant look on her face and a pink teddy bear upside down on her lap. Tom led Mom around the room, and I collapsed into the chair in the lobby. Jade patted me on the shoulder. “It’ll be fine. This is the hardest part.”

  For once in my life, I was speechless.

  As they approached me on their fourth lap of the lobby and hallway, Tom spoke to me. “What time do you have to pick Jay up?”

  “They close at six.”

  He kept Mom moving, but slowed their pace. “Look, this is going to take a while. Why don’t you call and see if you can pick him up and take him home.”

  “I don’t …”

  “Janet, you don’t want to be without your dog again tonight and you know he wants to go home. Go ahead. We’re fine. When you get back, we should be all settled in.” I knew he was right, at least about the first part. I was going to need a warm, furry friend tonight. I had one at home, but two would be even better.

  61

  Ten minutes later I pulled into the vet clinic parking lot and took the last space. By the time I’d paid the bill, put a week’s worth of vitamin K pills in my bag, and made an appointment for a follow-up liver function test, Jay was dragging the kennel assistant into the lobby, wriggling his bum off and “awoooing” a long list of indignities he’d endured since the day before. I’d never seen him so happy to hop into the back of the van.

  Call me paranoid, but before I let Jay out I walked the perimeter of the fence and the entire backyard, back and forth in parallel tracks, looking for anything remotely out of place. Nothing showed up. Jay barreled into the yard, checked to see if Goldie was out, updated a few of his favorite sites, had an enormous drink from the bowl I keep under the spigot, and crashed under the patio table with a huge panting grin on his face. There’s no place like home.

  I sat with him, stroking his side with my bare foot for about five minutes before I got up and opened the back door. “Sorry, Bubby, but I have to go take care of other stuff for a while. Come on.” Leo sashayed into the kitchen and bonked noses with Jay, and the two of them lay down side by side on Jay’s favorite rug. I wanted nothing more than to stay with them, but duty called. “See you guys later. I’ll bring something special home for …” I didn’t dare finish the sentence—dinner would have them both up and hopeful. They are not opposed to moving the meal schedule up a few hours.

  I was about to turn out of my subdivision onto Maysville Road when the car behind me blasted its horn several times. You talkin’ to me? I glanced in my driver’s side mirror and saw a neighbor I knew only by sight scramble out of the car and scurry toward me. Had she been a dog, I would have said she displayed classic avoidance behavior as she arced her path away from the back of my van before veering back toward my window. She had a hand clamped over her mouth and her eyes were enormous. I was already opening the door, my heart climbing into my throat.

  “What?” My feet were on the ground and moving along the side of my van. The neighbor held one hand over her mouth and waved me toward the hatch with the other. I rounded the back bumper and stopped.

  The back of my van below the rear window was smeared with a thick black and red mess, and the air reeked with the coppery smell of blood. Dangling from the windshield wiper was a wet furry mass of gore.

  62

  I swallowed a mouthful of saliva, managed to keep my cookies, and stepped toward the van.

  “Is it …?”

  I got a close look. “It’s not real.” My initial horror metamorphosed into red-eyed rage mingled with relief. “It’s a stuffed toy.” A stuffed blue merle Australian Shepherd toy to be precise. At least it looked like the blue merle version. It was hard to tell, saturated as it was with a mess that looked an awful lot like blood.

  A thin nylon cord was tied around the neck, the other end fastened to the rear window wiper blade. The throat of the toy was torn open and the stuffing hung out, all of it sopping. There was an index card tied to the cord, but the side facing out was blank and I didn’t want to touch it until the police arrived.

  “But why?” She still had one hand over her mouth, the other running through her short brown hair. Her blue eyes were enormous and her face an odd shade of mint green. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

  “Not exactly. I don’t think so.” We introduced ourselves, then she said, “My God, I thought it was a real puppy.”

  I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Jo Stevens’ number as I asked, “Did you see anyone around my car?”

  “No, I just came out. I did see someone pull away from the curb across the street from your house when I was putting some things in my car. I didn’t pay much attention.”

  I signaled her to hang on while I told Detective Stevens what had happened and listened to her instructions. “Stay where you are. Pull off to the side of the road, but stay put. I’m near Georgetown.” About half a mile away. “I’ll be right there.”

  I explained that “some things” had been going on, and said the detective would like her to stay if possible, but she was on her way to work, so I got the information and thanked her again. “What do you remember about the car?” I asked as she was getting behind her own wheel.

  “Oh, gosh, I didn’t pay much attention. It wasn’t a car, really. A van. Red, I think, or brown. Kind of ratty looking. That’s really what caught my eye. It was rusty, you know, patches of rust, and didn’t have any sign or anything like, you know, carpet trucks or plumbers or whatever.”

  “Did you see the driver?”

  “Not really. I think he might have been wearing a red hat.”

  “He?”

  Her forehead wrinkled, “To be honest, I’m not sure. I guess I was thinking a man because, you know, it looked like a work van. I figured you were having some work done on your house.”

  I nodded.

  “I’d recognize the van if I saw it again, though. One of the rust spots was shaped lik
e Texas.”

  She took off, and the police arrived a few minutes later.

  “Oh, too sicko weird.” Jo Stevens’s reaction when she saw the mess about summed up my opinion. She put on a pair of latex gloves and carefully turned the note over. My mouth went dry as I read the cut-out words pasted to the paper to spell out in rainbow colors, “Back off, you nosey bitch.”

  “That would be you, I presume?” Jo removed her gloves and pulled out her pen and notebook.

  “I guess.” It came out like a croak.

  She looked me in the eye and said, “I agree with the first part. You need to back off whatever you’re doing that’s pissing this nut case off.”

  I didn’t answer, but decided that since I really hadn’t done much, I might as well do something to deserve all this attention. If Jo read my reaction, she didn’t pursue it right then.

  “We’re going to have to process your car, so you’ll have to leave it here.” I explained that I needed it the next day to take Fly to her breeder, and was assured that I could have it all to myself in a few hours.

  “Look, Janet, I don’t like this at all.” You don’t like it? I thought. “I want you to be very careful until we get to the bottom of these threats. This,” she pointed her pen at the toy, “is the work of a serious nut. A dangerous nut.” Almost as an afterthought she asked, “Do you need a ride?”

  She arranged for a uniformed officer to drive me to the nursing home, promising they would park my car in my driveway when they finished. I handed her my spare key. I also told her what my neighbor had told me, including her contact information, and that the stuffed toy was a now-defunct version of the one on my dashboard. It looked sort of like Jay must have looked as a puppy.

  I kept the rest of my thoughts to myself. If I got my hands, which I realized were shaking as I settled into the police car, on whoever was threatening my dog, probably the same person who tried to poison him, the cops could well find themselves processing another dead body.