by Tracy Weber
“Uh huh. Let me do the talking, okay?”
The three of us hiked along the road until we reached the home’s long, curved driveway. Tiffany pressed her face up to one of the garage’s half-moon-shaped windows. “I see a bunch of tools and a big riding lawn mower, but no cars. Maybe no one’s home.”
“We should knock, just in case.” I handed Tiffany the leash. “Keep Bella back here, out of striking range. She’s grumpier than normal. If someone answers, she might give them a nose-ectomy.”
I climbed the three steps to the front entrance, rang the doorbell, and counted to thirty. Then I rang it again. No answer. “You’re right. No one’s home. Let’s check out the yard. Act worried. Remember, we’re looking for your lost dog.”
“Gretel. She’s wearing a black collar. No tags ’cuz she’s microchipped.”
“Whatever.”
We meandered around the property, trying to act like we belonged there. Bella sniffed every bush while Tiffany pretended to search for her imaginary dog. The back side of the partially fenced yard was bordered by a cliff with a stunning ocean view. A steep path led from the cliff to the beach. The rest of the multi-acre property contained a cleared area of green space with a swimming pool, a tennis court, and a small yellow outbuilding.
“That must be the shed,” Tiffany said. “What do you think’s in there?”
“I have no idea, but I’d sure like to find out.” I pointed to the shed’s entrance. “I’ll see if the door is locked. Why don’t you check out the back?”
While Tiffany tiptoed around back, I tried—unsuccessfully—to peer through the closed blinds in front. I jiggled the doorknob. Locked.
“Psssst! Kate!” Tiffany peeked around the corner. “The window back here is partially open. I think I can crawl through it. Want me to give it a try?”
The trio of disapproving men in my head yelled in unison, Absolutely not!
John ordered me to stay out of trouble.
Dad reminded me that breaking and entering was illegal, and that the last time I’d done it, I’d almost been killed.
Michael added that Tiffany had a record. A new offense would land her in prison.
Rene’s voice vetoed all of them. Go for it!
“Do it,” I answered. “I’ll keep watch.”
Sorry, guys.
Bella stood guard while I nervously scanned for nosy neighbors and returning homeowners. I heard a soft grunt, then a swear word. Then the sound of breaking glass.
I yelled in a whisper, “What happened? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Tiffany whisper-yelled back. “I couldn’t fit through the opening. It was stuck, so I had to break the window.”
All three men in my head groaned.
“You weren’t supposed to … oh, never mind.”
Less than a minute later, Tiffany cracked open the door. Her face was pale; her expression, grim. “You need to come in here, Kate, but you can’t bring Bella.” She pointed to a water faucet. “Tie her to the spigot.” Her eyes begged me not to argue.
I fastened Bella’s leash to the water faucet, ordered her to stay, and prayed for her to obey. Tiffany pushed open the door. “I’ll look for a light switch.” She swallowed hard. “Prepare yourself.”
The smell that hit me when I entered the shed was so foul, it felt like a physical blow. The dark building was filled with cages. Filthy cages. Empty, thank goodness. Any animals that had once been inside them were gone.
Tiffany turned on the light.
Except one.
An emaciated yellow dog cowered in the cage farthest from the door. She was disheveled and terrified; likely covered in fleas. A week’s worth of feces piled in the cage around her. From the size of the dog’s mammary glands, she’d recently nursed puppies.
The note was from Momma Bird.
We’d followed a clue, all right. To the wrong crime. Momma Bird had left directions to Mutt and Jeff’s mother.
Tiffany kneeled in front of the cage and whispered, “It’s okay, baby. Don’t be scared. We won’t hurt you.” Her eyes met mine. “I saw her when I was messing with the window. I had to break in.”
“I would have done the same thing.” I lifted the padlock attached to the cage. “I don’t think we can get her out.”
Tears pooled behind Tiffany’s lashes. “Kate, we can’t leave her here.”
I pulled out my cell phone. “We’re not going to. I’m calling in reinforcements.”
“Michael?”
“No. Better.”
If anybody knew how to kidnap a dog from a puppy mill, it would be Betty from Fido’s Last Chance. She’d devoted most of her six-decade life to saving dogs in distress.
Fortunately, I had her number programmed on speed dial.
Twenty-One
At four o’clock, Tiffany started to get restless. By four-thirty, she was positively agitated. She paced back and forth. She looked at her watch at least five times a minute. She tapped her fingers on my car’s hood and kicked at the bumper. “How much longer until your friend gets here?”
“I don’t know. When I called her, she said she’d leave right away, but Maple Valley is an hour from Seattle, and then she has to catch the ferry.”
“What if she drove by already and we missed her?”
“I don’t see how that could happen. I told her where we were parked and she knows my car.” My Honda was the only vehicle parked on the abandoned road. “We’re not exactly inconspicuous.” I consulted the ferry schedule. “You need to learn patience. If Betty made the 3:45 sailing, she should be here any time. Otherwise it could be another hour.”
Tiffany groaned.
“Got someplace better to be?”
She lowered her chin, then gazed up at me through her lashes. “My smoothie date with Chad.”
I should have guessed. With Tiffany, drama was always about a boy. She went through more boyfriends than Rene did peanut butter cups. This time, though, she seemed truly bereft. Could Chad be different?
I shaded my eyes with my hand and peered down the street for the five-hundredth time. Betty’s white, 1990s-era Toyota 4Runner finally rounded the corner. I handed Tiffany my car keys.
“That’s Betty now. Load Bella into my car and take her back to the studio. If you hurry, you should be back in Seattle in plenty of time for your date. Tell Michael the truth about what happened, but if anyone else asks—including Chad—you didn’t break into the shed. I did. In fact, you tried to talk me out of it.”
“You seriously want Michael to know that we did this?”
“Not really, but I’ll have to tell him eventually anyway.” I motioned for Betty to pull over, then turned back to Tiffany. “I don’t know how long I’ll be stuck here, so tell Michael to pick up the puppies from Rene and take Bella home.”
“How will you get home?”
“Hopefully I’ll be able to catch a ride with Betty to the studio. Worst case, I’ll take a taxi home from her rescue in Maple Valley.”
Tiffany looked conflicted. “I feel bad stranding you here.”
“I’m not stranded, I’m with Betty. Now go.” I squeezed her arm. “You did a good thing here today.”
Tiffany trotted to my car looking so happy, I was surprised she didn’t belt out a show tune. She quickly loaded Bella into the back seat of my Honda and peeled off for the ferry. I strode over to Betty’s SUV, pointed down the road, and spoke into her open window.
“The shed with the dog is about a half-mile that way.”
I nodded to the mid-thirties African-American man seated in the passenger seat. His biceps bulged underneath a white, untucked T-shirt, and his muscular body looked uncomfortably crowded even in the large passenger space. I couldn’t be sure, but I suspected his height topped six feet by several inches.
Betty tilted her head his direction.
I reached through the window and offered my hand. “Thanks for helping. It’s nice to meet you.” He replied with a firm shake but said nothing. I gave Betty a questioning look.
“Jamar doesn’t say much. Hop in and take us to the dog.”
I climbed into the seat behind Betty and directed them to the house’s curved driveway. Betty stopped in front of the garage and set the parking break.
“Shouldn’t we hide the vehicle somewhere?” I asked.
“Absolutely not,” Betty replied.
“What if someone comes back?”
She pointed her thumb at her friend. “That’s what Jamar is for.”
Betty was running this show, so I didn’t argue. Still, parking in plain sight didn’t seem like the best shed-prowling strategy, even for a not-always-competent sleuth like me. Jamar opened the back of Betty’s SUV and retrieved a metal water bowl and a large bolt cutter. The three of us strode purposefully to the shed.
“Prepare yourselves,” I said. “The smell’s pretty bad in there.”
Jamar opened the door and muttered a string of swear words under his breath. Muscles on both sides of Betty’s jaw twitched. She kneeled in front of the dog’s cage.
“Hey there, Mama. Don’t you worry, we’ll have you out of there in no time.” She gestured toward the lock and spoke to Jamar without inflection. “Do it.” She handed me the water bowl. “Go fill this from the faucet outside.”
By the time I returned, Betty had coaxed the ultra-thin animal out of her cage. She cautiously sniffed Betty’s outstretched fingers. Betty pulled a piece of jerky from her pocket and reached toward her. The dog flinched, then slinked forward and snatched the food from Betty’s hand. I set the water bowl on the ground and slid it in the animal’s direction. She buried her face in it and began drinking thirstily.
“The cretin didn’t even have water in that cage.” Betty’s tone held no possibility of forgiveness. “Jamar, take the dog back to my truck and make sure that she’s safe to travel.”
Jamar gently gathered the dog in his thick arms and carried her across the yard, replacing his earlier swear words with whispered assurances. The dog responded by licking his face and nibbling treats from his huge fingers.
Betty stared around the filthy room, as if memorizing it and trying to forget it at the same time.
I placed my hand on her arm. “We should get out of here.”
She picked up the bolt cutter, dumped the water out of the bowl, and motioned for me to follow. She grumbled as we crossed the wide expanse of grass. “I don’t understand people. All this beauty, all this space, and they locked her up in a stinking three-by-five cage. This place should have been a dog paradise, not a torture chamber.”
“How many animals do you think they had in there?”
“I counted thirty cages, but I’m betting there were more dogs than that. I don’t want to think about what happened to the rest.”
Neither did I.
By the time we reached the house, Jamar had placed the dog in a shady spot near the driveway and was gently palpating her abdomen. Betty said something to him that I couldn’t hear, then nodded and walked back to her SUV. Jamar didn’t follow.
“What do we do now?” I asked.
She opened the driver’s side door. “We wait.”
“Shouldn’t we leave before the owners come home? I’d like to be somewhere else before they find out that I broke into their shed. Like Alaska.”
“We’re not leaving until I talk to the sad excuse for a human being who’s responsible for that hellhole.” The look she gave me was clear. There would be no further discussion.
I joined her in the front seat of the 4Runner and watched out the window as Jamar fed and examined the timid animal. I turned to Betty. “That dog’s a yellow lab, right?” I asked.
“Yep. A small one.”
“The puppies Michael and I are fostering are medium-size labradoodles. Could she be their mother?”
“Labradoodles.” Betty grunted. “Figures. Every backyard breeder in Washington produces designer mutts these days. They mate pet-quality labs like that one with a small poodle and sell the pups for twenty-five hundred dollars a pop.”
“Twenty-five hundred dollars? Apiece?”
“You think that’s expensive? That’s just the start of the money people spend when they buy designer puppy-mill dogs. Lord knows what kind of health problems those animals will have. You can bet the so-called breeder didn’t do any genetic screening. Sad how easy it is for them to take advantage of people. The breed’s not recognized by the AKC, so there’s no paper trail.”
I shook my head. “That’s not what I meant. If the puppies are worth twenty-five hundred dollars apiece, it shouldn’t be hard to find them a home.” I filled Betty in on Bella’s digestive upset and my newest puppy dilemma. “I know you usually work with hard-to-place dogs, but you’ll have the mother. Can you keep the puppies with her and rehome them through Fido’s Last Chance?”
“How old did you say they were?”
“We don’t know for sure, but we suspect around seven weeks now. Michael doesn’t want to send them to a shelter for adoption because they’re not vaccinated yet, but I don’t think we have another option.”
Betty frowned. “He’s right to be worried. I wouldn’t put puppies that age in a shelter, either.” She stared at Jamar and the lab for several seconds, seemingly conflicted. After what felt like a century, she looked back at me. “My foster homes are all full, but we sometimes make exceptions for puppies. I’m sure we can help you out if you need us to.”
I didn’t realize how worried I’d been until I felt my body relax. I slumped back into the seat and released a deep breath. “Thank you, Betty. You have no idea how much that would mean to us. Hopefully it won’t take long to find a permanent home that wants both puppies.”
The muscles around Betty’s eyes tightened. “Sorry, Kate. If I take them in, I’ll adopt them out separately.”
“Separately?” Separating Mutt and Jeff seemed inconceivable. “Why? Would it be that much harder to find a home for both of them together?”
“Yes, but that’s not the problem. I only place a dog if I’m sure it’s not coming back.”
“I don’t get it.”
Betty sat up straight and turned ninety degrees to face me. “I could find a home for the two puppies together without that much difficulty. Keeping them in it—that’s the challenge. How much trouble have those puppies given you already?”
I flashed on destroyed gardens, shredded pillows, and puppy-pellet-filled tennis shoes.
“A little.”
“Believe me, it’s going to get a lot worse when they hit adolescence. Trainers have a term for it: littermate syndrome.”
“Littermate syndrome?”
“Littermates adopted out together bond more with each other than they do with their owners. They can be downright impossible to train.” She frowned. “I’m not saying it can’t be done. The owner has to spend time with each puppy individually and take them to separate obedience classes. With a lot of work, they can end up being downright great dogs.”
“So what’s the problem? We just need to find someone willing to train them.”
“Honey, that’s a big ‘just.’ Most people don’t adequately train one dog, let alone two. People see cute little puppies like yours and their brains shut right off. They con themselves into believing that two dogs will be easier than one.” She snorted. “Tell that to your friend a few weeks after those twins of hers are born. When the dogs reach adolescence or start being destructive, their so-called families slap them with an invisible ‘return to sender’ label and bring them right back. Then the dogs have one strike against them and are even harder to place the next time.”
“So you won’t help?” The d
istressed expression I wore was genuine.
“Guilt trips don’t work with me, Kate. If you want to place those dogs together, I’ll help you evaluate potential homes. But I will not adopt out puppy littermates through Fido’s Last Chance. Not unless I personally know the family and am certain that they’ll stick it out through the tough times. You shouldn’t either. It’s not in the puppies’ best interests.”
“You don’t know anyone who would qualify?”
“Other than you? No one that doesn’t already own more dogs than are legally allowed.” She placed her hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Kate. Truly, I am. When you’ve been in this business as long as I have, you know when to make the tough decisions.”
I didn’t like her words. I didn’t like them one bit. But I had to admit, she might be right. The puppies had been a handful, even for Michael and me.
Jamar knocked on Betty’s window and gestured with his chin toward the road. Then he opened the SUV’s side door and gently placed the dog on the back seat.
Betty glanced in her rearview mirror. “Heads up, Kate. The prison warden is home.”
We opened our doors and joined Jamar outside.
A black BMW with the vanity plates INVITRO parked next to the SUV. I glanced at the driver, then did a double take.
It can’t be.
Dr. Steinman—Dr. Dick’s business partner at Reproductive Associates—eased out from behind the wheel. He approached Betty wearing a curious expression. “Can I help you?”
His eyes shifted toward Jamar. Curiosity shrank to wariness.
Then his gaze landed on me.
Wariness exploded in fury. His face turned so red it was practically purple. He charged toward me, yelling. “What kind of a scam are you pulling? First you show up at my clinic under false pretenses. Now you’re at my home? I ought to call the police.”
Jamar stepped between us, wearing the same fierce expression Bella wore when she blocked me from danger.
“I’d back off if I were you,” Betty said. A small vein throbbed in Dr. Steinman’s forehead, but he took three steps back.
Betty continued. “If anybody’s calling the police, it’s us.”