by Нора Робертс
“Bruno’s always tearing up my panty hose.” Jake, all 220 pounds of him, got a laugh at the remark.
“We’ll fix that for you, Jake. Like everything else, it takes consistency, firmness and understanding. Do not reward your dog when it jumps. No attention, no smiles, no petting. I find the best command is generally ‘Off.’ Using the ‘Down’ command can confuse them, as we want to use this to get them to lie down. I’m going to use Casey to demonstrate. Go ahead and take her off the leash, Annie.”
She called the dog, who raced over and, as Fiona expected, rose up on her hind legs to jump. Fiona stepped forward, countering the balance. “Off !” Casey’s feet hit the ground. “Good dog. Good girl.” Fiona offered a treat and a rub.
“Obviously it’s going to take more than once, but the dog will learn. The instinct is to step back when a dog jumps, to take their weight. But by stepping forward, the dog can’t get its balance. You use the step and the command—both firm—and when your dog has all four feet on the ground again—not before—you offer praise and reward.”
She demonstrated again. “You and everyone in your family have to get on board with this. The discipline can’t come from just you. Don’t let your kids encourage jumping because it’s fun for them, too. Call her back, Annie, and repeat what I just did if she jumps. Step forward, say ‘Off !’ Then reward.”
Fiona nodded in satisfaction as the routine played out. “Okay, let’s spread out so everyone can work on this. We move on to how to teach your dog not to jump on others next.”
She walked around, offered advice, encouragement. People needed praise and reward, too, she knew, so she doled them out.
She ended the class with a second round of sit and stay.
“Good job, everybody. I’ve got a tip for you this week since spring’s coming: some of you might be planning a garden or have one already started. I just blogged about this, so you can refer to that if and when you need a reminder. You’ll be unhappy if your dog digs up your petunias or tomatoes. Dogs dig for several reasons. Sometimes it’s just because they like it. Sometimes because they’re bored. Regular play, exercise and attention can discourage digging, but not always. You’re not always going to be right on hand when that digging urge strikes. So, fill the holes.”
She got a moan out of several students.
“Yeah, it’s an irritating cycle initially. But a lot of young dogs will get discouraged when the hole they’ve dug keeps getting filled. What’s the point? Also offer alternatives to digging. Playtime, a walk, a chew toy. Distract. But because some will just, well, dig in, I advise you to put a few additives in the dirt you replace. Chili pepper’s a good deterrent, and so is dog poop. Seriously. Sometimes a dog digs to find a cool spot. If you have enough room you might designate some shady spot in the yard for him to dig and clear and hang out in when it’s hot.
“Last, those of you who have no plans to breed your dog and haven’t already made arrangements for spaying or neutering, it’s time.”
She didn’t lecture on the subject. Yet.
As her students began heading out, she strolled over to Simon. “I saw your face.”
“That’s because it’s right here, on the front of my head.”
“The look on your face when I mentioned neutering.” She gave him a poke. “He’ll still be a guy. Balls don’t make the man.”
“Easy for you to say, sister.”
“And what are you going to say the first time he catches a whiff of some sexy bitch in heat and runs off to bang her?”
“Score?”
She poked him again. “And following those instincts, he could get hit by a car on the road, get lost. Now, do you really want to add to the stray and/or unwanted dog population? The number of dogs put to sleep every year just so yours keeps his balls and scores?”
“He’s more into dead fish than sex.”
“For now. Responsibly neutering him will help his behavior. Odds are he’ll be somewhat calmer.”
“Most eunuchs are.”
“You force me to give you literature.” She picked up the ball Peck dropped at her feet, winged it. Then watched the car cruise down her drive. “They timed it.”
“Who?”
“I expect Davey let some people know about what happened. That’s Meg and Chuck Greene, from my unit. First class is over, and I don’t have another today until this afternoon. So here they are to see if I need company.”
She seemed touched rather than annoyed, and Simon took it as his cue to go. “I’ve got to take off.”
“Oh, don’t be rude. Wait two minutes so I can introduce you. You didn’t bring Quirk and Xena,” Fiona called out.
“We’re having a people day,” Meg called back.
They got out of opposite sides of the car, met in front of the hood and joined hands before they crossed over. Stopping, Simon noted, to greet the dogs.
“Who’s this handsome boy!”
Simon watched as Meg, a breezy-looking woman he pegged as late forties, stepped into Jaws’s excited leap.
It worked, he had to admit. They’d have to practice.
“That’s Jaws. Meg and Chuck Greene, this is Simon Doyle, Jaws’s human.”
“Simon!” Meg stuck out a hand, then grasped Simon’s in both of hers. “I bought a set of your stacked tables from Sylvia. I love them. I’ve been hoping to run into you.”
“Meg and Chuck live over in Deer Harbor. Chuck’s a retired cop, and Meg’s one of our lawyers. Simon was here when Davey came by,” Fiona added. “And I’m fine.”
“We needed to check the cabin,” Meg told her. “We’ve got somebody coming in over the weekend.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t buy that for a minute. “Meg and Chuck have a pretty cabin in Moran State Park they rent out.”
“Since we were so close, we just came by to see if we could talk you into meeting us for lunch. We thought we’d grab an early one at the Rosario.”
“Meg.”
“And we’re entitled to look after you.”
“Thanks, but I’m going to stick close to home today. You can pass that on to the next shift.”
“Where’s your cell phone?” Chuck asked her.
“Inside.”
“I want you to start carrying it with you.” The tap he gave her nose spoke of affection, and authority. “I don’t think you’ve got a thing to worry about, but use that common sense you’ve got so much of. Carry your phone.”
“All right.”
“Are you spending any nights here?” Chuck asked Simon.
“Chuck!”
“I’m not talking to you,” he said to Fiona.
“Not yet.”
“Wouldn’t hurt. You do custom work, don’t you?”
“Are you talking about sex or wood?”
There was a beat of silence before Chuck roared out his big laugh, then slapped Simon on the back. “Maybe we’ll talk sex over a beer sometime. On the wood, Meg’s been after a new china cabinet. Can’t find anything that suits her. This one’s too big, that one’s too small, the other one’s not the right wood. If she could tell you what the hell it is she wants and you make it, I’d stop hearing about it.”
“We can talk about that. You’d want to show me the space.”
“If you’ve got time this afternoon, after three.” Chuck reached in his wallet and pulled out a business card. “Home address is on there.”
“Okay. More like four.”
“That’ll work. Well, come on, Meg, let’s get this party started. You?” He pointed at Fiona, then kissed her cheek. “Put your phone in your pocket.”
“Yes, sir, Sergeant Greene.”
“You take care, Fee. We’ll see you this afternoon, Simon.”
They walked back to their car as they’d walked from it. Hand in hand.
“They’ve been married over thirty years, and they still hold hands,” Fiona murmured. “He was a cop for twenty-five, down in San Francisco.” She waved as they drove out. “They moved here about ten yea
rs ago, and he runs a tackle shop. He loves to fish. She does real estate and some family law.”
“Did they get married when she was twelve?”
“Oh, boy, she’d love that. She’s in her late fifties, he had his sixty-third birthday in January. And yeah, they both look easily ten years younger. I think it’s love and happiness. Or just lucky genes.”
She picked up the ball one of the dogs had dropped hopefully at her feet, threw it again. “I’m telling you because I always want to know about people, so I tend to give backgrounds, but also because it might help you with the design.” She tilted her head. “Since you’re so strict about it. Anyway, Chuck figures everybody can find every place on the island. I can give you directions.”
“I’ll find it.”
“All right. I’ve got to go clean my house, do some laundry and other exciting domestic chores before my afternoon session.”
“I’ll see you later, then.”
He called the dog, headed for his truck.
He didn’t kiss her good-bye, Fiona thought, and sighed a little, thinking of the Greenes holding hands.
He boosted the dog in, hesitated, then shut the truck door and strode back to her. He gripped her shoulders, drew her up and into a kiss that was hard and brief and satisfyingly hot.
“Put your phone in your pocket.”
When he went back to the truck, drove off without another word, she smiled after him.
Part Two
The great pleasure of a dog is that you may make a fool of yourself with him and not only will he not scold you, but he will make a fool of himself too.
Samuel Butler
Eleven
Two days later, Fiona started her day with a call on a missing elderly man who’d wandered out of his daughter’s home on San Juan Island.
She alerted her unit, checked her pack, added the necessary maps and, choosing Newman, was on her way to Deer Harbor and Chuck’s boat. With Chuck at the helm she briefed the unit while they carved through the passage.
“The subject is Walter Deets, eighty-four. He has early-onset Alzheimer’s and lives with his daughter and her family on Trout Lake. They don’t know what time he left the house. The last time anyone saw him was before he went to bed at about ten last night.”
“There’s a lot of wooded area around the lake,” James put in.
“Do we have any information on what he’s wearing?” Lori rubbed Pip’s head. “It’s pretty chilly out.”
“Not yet. I’ll talk to the family when we get there. Mai, you’ll be working with Sheriff Tyson.”
“Yeah. We’ve worked with him before. Is this the first time he’s wandered off ?”
“Don’t know yet. We’ll get all that. The search began just after six, and the family notified the authorities by six-thirty. So they’ve been searching for about ninety minutes.”
Mai nodded. “Tyson doesn’t waste time. I remember from before.”
“They’ve got a couple of volunteers picking us up, driving us to the location.”
By the time they got to the lake, the sun had burned away the mist. Tyson, brisk and efficient, greeted them.
“Thanks for the quick response. Dr. Funaki, right? You’re base?”
“Yes.”
“Sal, show Dr. Funaki where she can set up. The son-in-law and his boy are out on the search. I’ve got the daughter inside. He got dressed—brown pants, blue shirt, red cotton jacket, navy Adidas sneakers, size ten. She says he’s wandered once or twice, but hasn’t gone far. He gets confused.”
“Is he on any meds?” Fiona asked him.
“I had her make a list for you. Physically, he’s in good shape. He’s a nice guy, used to be sharp as a tack. Taught my father in high school. History. He’s five-ten, about a hundred and sixty-five pounds, full head of white hair, blue eyes.”
He led her inside a spacious, open-floor-plan house with killer views of the lake.
“Mary Ann, this is Fiona Bristow. She’s with Canine Search and Rescue.”
“Ben—Sheriff Tyson—said you’d need some things of Dad’s—for the dogs to smell. I got his socks, and his pajamas from last night.”
“That’s good. How was he feeling when he went to bed last night?”
“Fine. Really fine.” Her hand fluttered to her throat and away again. Fiona could hear barely controlled tears in her voice. “He’d had a good day. I just don’t know when he left. He forgets, and gets confused sometimes. I don’t know how long he’s been gone. He likes to take walks. Keep fit, he says. He and my mother walked miles every day before she died last year.”
“Where did they like to walk?”
“Around the lake, some light hiking in the woods. Sometimes they’d walk over to see us. This was their house, and after Mom died and when Dad started having trouble, we moved here. It’s bigger than our house, and he loves it so much. We didn’t want him to have to leave his home.”
“Where was your house?”
“Oh, it’s about three miles from here.”
“Could he have gotten confused? Tried to walk there to find you?”
“I don’t know.” She pressed her knuckles to her lips. “We’ve lived here for nearly a year now.”
“We checked Mary Ann’s old place,” Tyson added.
“Maybe he and your mother had a favorite spot, or route.”
“They had so many. Even five years ago he’d have been able to find his way through the woods around here in the dark, blindfolded.” Her eyes teared up. “He taught Jarret—our son—how to hike and camp and fish. He’d declare Hook and Line Day—hook school and drop a line so he and Jarret could—Oh God, wait.”
She dashed away.
“How’s his hearing?” Fiona asked Tyson.
“He wears a hearing aid—and no, he didn’t take it. He’s got his glasses, but—”
He broke off when Mary Ann rushed back. “His fishing gear. He took his fishing gear, even his old fishing hat. I didn’t think—I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”
Armed with data, Fiona worked with her unit on strategy.
“He had three favorite fishing spots.” She marked the map Mai had posted. “But he also tended to try others, depending on his mood. He’s both physically fit and physically active. So while his mental condition may bring on confusion, turning him around, disorienting him, he could overdo it. He takes meds for high blood pressure and, according to the daughter, tends to get emotional and upset when he can’t remember things, and he’s starting to have some trouble with his balance. He needs a hearing aid and isn’t wearing it.”
The problem, as Fiona saw it, as she assigned sectors, was that Walter might not, as small kids and the elderly tended to, take the paths of least resistance. He’d tax himself, she thought, facing steep climbs rather than easy slopes.
He’d probably had a purpose and a destination when he started, she thought as she gave Newman the scent. But along the way, it was very likely he’d become confused.
How much worse to be lost, to look around and see nothing familiar, when you once knew every tree, every path, every turn?
Newman was eager and scented along a drainage. The air would rise upslope, and the chimney effect, the rise of the tree lines, would disperse the scent in several directions. When they moved into an area of heavy brush she looked for signs—a bit of torn clothing in the briars, bent or broken branches.
Newman alerted, then chose a path that challenged the quadriceps. When it leveled, she stopped to give her partner water and drink some herself.
She checked her map, her compass.
Could he have detoured, backtracked or looped away from the fishing spot, angled toward his daughter’s old house? Going for his grandson after all? The Hook and Line Day?
Pausing, she tried to see the trees, the rocks, the sky, the paths as Walter would see them.
For him, she imagined, getting lost here would be like getting lost in his own home. Frightening, frustrating.
He might
become angry and push himself, or scared, only more confused and wander in aimless circles.
She gave Newman the scent again. “This is Walt. Find Walt.”
She followed the dog as he clambered over a pile of rocks. Veering toward Chuck’s sector, she noted, and called her position in.
When they headed downhill, Newman alerted, strongly, then pushed his body through brush.
She pulled out her tape to mark the alert. “What’ve you got?” She used her flashlight, switching it on to chase away those green shadows.
She saw the disturbed ground first, the depressions, and got a picture in her mind of the old man taking a spill, catching himself by the heels of his hands, his knees.
Briars pulling and tearing, she thought. And, playing the light, she saw a few strands of red cotton snagged on thorns.
“Good boy. Good boy, Newman. Base, this is Fee. I’m about fifty yards from my west boundary. We’ve got some red threads on briars and what looks like signs of a fall. Over.”
“Base, this is Chuck. We just found his hat. Fee, Quirk’s alerting in your direction. We’re moving east. My boy’s got something. I’m going to—Hold on! I see him! He’s down. Ground falls off here. We’re going down to him. He’s not moving. Over.”
“I’m heading your way, Chuck. We’ll assist. Over. Newman! Find Walt. Find!”
She ignored the radio chatter as they continued west, until Chuck re ported again.
“We’ve got him. He’s unconscious. Pulse is thready. He’s got a head wound, a lot of scratches—face, hands. He’s got a gash on his leg, too. We’re going to need some assistance getting him out. Over.”
“Copy that,” Mai said. “Help’s on the way.”
Tired, but fortified with the hot dog she’d grabbed in Deer Harbor, Fiona turned toward home. They’d done their job, she thought, and well. Now she had to hope Walter’s physical stamina would hold the line against his injuries.
“We did what we could, right?” She reached over and gave Newman a pat. “It’s all you can do. You need a bath after all that...”
She trailed off, stopped the car. A second dogwood stood pretty as a picture across from the first. And both, she noted, were tidily mulched.