Silver Collar

by Gill McKnight

  Lying prone on the floor, she could make out the shadow of approaching feet under the door. And now she could hear an old man muttering to himself. The shadow moved on along the landing. Luc relaxed. It had been a close call, and now it was time to go. She decided it best to slip out the window rather than go through the house. Even as she looked toward her escape route, the window blind lifted and the curtains whooshed in a blast of wind, and a precariously balanced book toppled to the floor. It landed with a hard slap on the bare pinewood. Luc froze.

  The shuffling footsteps halted and then came back.

  “Em? You in there, Em?” an old man asked.

  Luc flung herself under the bed as the door handle began to turn. Slow footsteps entered and moved toward the bed. Luc heard the book being lifted with a fussy tutting and replaced on the desk.

  “Look at the state of this place.” The tutting continued.

  If he finds me, I’ll have to eat him. Luc barely breathed as slippered feet shuffled inches past her snout. I bet he’s all gristle.

  The old man turned to go. Luc watched his feet move away.

  “I never raised her to be messy,” he continued grumbling to himself. “She needs a good talking to, that girl.”

  The laundry basket was pulled upright and the scattered laundry shoved back in it.

  “There’s rules in this house,” he grumbled on, “and she best remember them.” He moved off, dragging the basket with him. “Better wash this load now. It’ll dry by lunchtime in that wind.” And the bedroom door clicked closed behind him.

  Luc slithered out from her hiding place and bolted for the window. She perched on the sill and took a last lingering sniff. Emily. But she needed a souvenir! She couldn’t just leave without one. She scanned the room and made her selection. She grabbed the dress shoes and, clutching them to her chest, scooted out the window onto the porch roof. An excited bark greeted her from below. She looked down to see the stupid ginger dog barking happily up at her.

  Piss off, she hissed, but he barked back, if anything, even happier. Didn’t he know she was a predator who ate his species as appetizers?

  “Wilbur?” the old man’s croaky voice came from downstairs. “What’s wrong, Wilbur?”

  Any minute now, he would come around the corner and see her stuck on his roof like a freakin’ weather vane, and all because that stupid dog wouldn’t shut up.

  Reluctantly, she lifted one of the shoes, her prized possessions, and hurled it as far as she could in the opposite direction. As she had hoped, the mongrel went after it full tilt. Luc leapt from the porch and ran for the fence in the opposite direction, keeping the billowing clothesline between herself and the house. She cleared the fence in one leap and was bounding into the depths of the forest before the mutt had even snatched up the shoe.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Emily came to the fork in the road where the signpost for Covington pointed off to the right. She turned left.

  Sure, she could sail on down to the Covington Post Office and mail the books to her address in Chicago and get them safely out of the way. But part of her could not give up on her almanac. It was perhaps the only bargaining chip she had, and something told her to hang on to it. She had waited too long, searched too hard, and probably paid far too much for the tatty old thing. No way was she just going to hand it over to the Garouls unless there was some sort of deal involved. She was not going to give it up, at least not yet. Instead, she was going to hide it well. Somewhere that would not endanger her uncle. He was her only family, and she had to look out for him. She would surrender the book only after she was assured of his safety.

  If the Garouls were watching her house, it was a reasonable assumption they were watching her, too. She had to act like she was unaware of their presence. First, she would go out and examine her old traps. Luc had all but obliterated them anyway, so she could make a reasonable pretense of cleaning them up. It would give her an opportunity to wander in the woods and stop by one of her old hunt stashes. She would hide the almanac there. Her stash holes were sturdy, weatherproof places, and a book could easily be hidden there for a short period of time. As for her notebooks, those she would burn. She had computer backups anyway.

  *

  One shoe was not enough.

  Luc begrudged having to share her souvenir with the dog. She hunkered down in a quiet glade and brooded. Her fur was thick with pollen from the flowers she had brushed against or ploughed right through, and bees hummed around her, crawling through her coat. She hardly noticed them. Sunlight illuminated the forest in rich, golden swaths that in turn cast soft-edged shadows. Plant life unfurled and stretched toward the gentle rays, and insects droned drowsily. The noontime was heavy with a lazy, luxuriant heat. Birdsong thrilled high in the leafy canopy, and the breeze idled by, filled with bittersweet scent and the heady promise of summer. Luc didn’t give a rat’s ass. One shoe was not enough.

  That bedroom had been a treasure trove and she wanted more. Why hadn’t she grabbed all she could while she’d had the chance? Luc carefully dug a shallow hole between her feet and buried her shoe. She thumped the earth back in place with her claws until she was satisfied it was well hidden. Then she stood, flung her arms wide, and roared, shaking the bees violently from her pelt. Luc bounded back the way she had come with grim determination and angry buzzing all around her.

  The white picket fence loomed ghostly in the dim forest interior, and beyond it, the sunny green lawn with its thick, colorful flower borders shimmered like a distant fairyland. Luc stopped several yards back and approached cautiously. She didn’t want to run into the little yap-bucket again. If she did, she would stomp on him this time and see how he yapped then. She crept in, watching out for the dog, when a ginger flurry caught her eye. He was in a central flowerbed digging like fury. Muck, flowers, stems, and roots flew through the air. Luc noticed with disgust he was burying the shoe she had tossed him. Stupid mutt. Burying a perfectly good shoe. Burying her perfectly good shoe.

  Now that she had a fix on him, she could orchestrate her entry point. She needed to be obscured from the house and also from the dog, and that meant using the neighboring outbuildings. It was not the most direct route, but it would have to do. Luc hated being out in the open any longer than she had to. Her plan involved a quick dart across the lawn and then a run alongside the clothesline, using the clothes to hide her. Then with a quick hop onto the porch roof, she’d be through Emily’s bedroom window in a jiffy.

  Her sprint across the garden was powerful and swift. Her leap to the porch roof flawless and clean. Her fumbling with the locked window was time wasting and pathetic, her huge claws were useless with such fiddly things. The window had been locked since her last visit, and she had neither the time nor the privacy to break the glass or rip the wooden frame from the wall. The old man and his crazy mongrel could come along and spot her at any moment.

  Luc retreated, slinking down into the shadows of the porch. This was most unsatisfactory. She would have to go in through the back door as before, except this time, she knew there was an occupant, and she had no idea where he was. Her muzzle twisted with discontent. Just then, she heard a familiar click-clacking on the porch boards and her heart sank. The stupid dog was coming back.

  Luc opened the screen door a sliver, took a quick peek, and sidled inside. The kitchen was bright and cheerful, if a little dated. Spotless Formica surfaces held gleaming chrome appliances. The wooden cabinets were painted a jaunty primrose yellow with white trim, and gingham curtains fluttering at the window matched the tablecloth on the dining table in the center of the room. There was a cozy smell of buttered toast and good coffee. A dog bed and water bowl sat in the corner, but Luc was confident her furry friend could not get in through the screen. There was no sign of the old man.

  A sudden metallic rattling came from the room to her right and startled her, but it was only the utility room with a creaky old washer working through its cycle. The old man had taken the laundry hamper with him, an
d now Luc watched mesmerized as Emily’s clothes swished around the circular glass door, but soon she shook herself out of it. She needed to secure the surroundings before she helped herself to anything. At the back of the utility room stood another sturdier door. This one had locks and bolts. It was currently unlocked, and Luc carefully pushed it ajar. From her viewpoint, she could make out rows of shelves filled with cans and boxes of food items. There was a strong smell of fresh coffee and baked bread. A shop? A diner? Then she picked up the moan of old men’s voices, and in particular the old buzzard she had heard this morning. She grunted happily. The old man must work in the shop. The rest of the house was hopefully clear of people. With a little more confidence, she slipped into the hallway and upstairs to Emily’s bedroom.

  She made straight for the dresser and opened the top drawer, pulling out a pretty pastel sweater. Next she swiped a handful of underwear. More shoes! She definitely needed those. She went to inspect Emily’s footwear. There was nothing quite as exciting as the dress heels she had stolen earlier, but a slipper would do. And the hairbrush! The glorious hairbrush. She couldn’t help but bury her snout in it again. She was busy sucking in the powerful smell of Emily’s scalp when she heard a vehicle pull up. A quick glance out the window confirmed the RV had returned. Luc was as upset as she was excited. She didn’t want to go just yet, but she did not want to be seen with her booty either. She was confused at this urge to steal Emily’s stuff. Not that Luc didn’t steal. A hen, a pig, anything bright she liked the look of. Luc stole from all over the place, and always had. She acted on her urges, but this one was different, and she needed to think it over more, but this was not the time or place. She had to get away before old men, small dogs, or Emily spotted her.

  She hesitated long enough to see what path Emily took. It looked like she was heading for the shop. Good. That meant the back was clear.

  On her way through the kitchen, she grabbed a few other random items from the countertops. It all added to the excitement. Outside, the dog was nowhere in sight, but she could hear his barking from the front of the house. He had also spotted Emily’s arrival. Having Ratty running around her heels should slow her down some giving Luc an extra minute or two to get away.

  Luc loped past the laundry and snatched at items from the clothesline. She recognized a shirt Emily had worn yesterday. She grabbed that, too. And weren’t those her jeans? She yanked them off the line as well.

  Heaped high with plunder, Luc leapt the fence and thundered into the woods panting with excitement. There was no having to share this time. This loot was all her own.

  *

  “I’m home,” Emily called. The shop bell tinkled, and she entered carrying a squirming Wilbur in her arms. A chorus of hiyas from Norm’s buddies greeted her. As usual, they were sitting around sipping on Cokes and coffees.

  “Did you catch it in time?” Norm said.

  “Catch what?” she asked.

  “The mail.” He gave her a funny look.

  “Oh,” she said, relieved. At first, she thought he was referring to werewolves. “Yeah. It’s all okay,” she answered then swerved for the connecting door to the house.

  “Here.” Norm reached out his arms for the dog.

  “You can’t have a dog in a food store,” she said.

  “It ain’t a food store. It’s a general store,” he said.

  “You serve food, so no dogs. In fact, you need to get a No Dogs sign,” she said and kept on walking. “I’m grabbing a shower then I’ll start on lunch. See you soon.”

  “We do coffee, cake, and some sandwiches,” Norm said. “That’s not food,” he continued to argue, but she let the door swing shut on his grousing and deposited Wilbur on the kitchen floor. He made straight for the screen door, wagging his tail excitedly.

  “In one door and out the other, that’s all you’re good for,” she said and followed him out onto the porch.

  “Oh no!” The destroyed flowerbed immediately caught her eye. “Don’t tell me you’re a digger. Uncle Norm will skin you alive. He loves his garden.” Emily suspected the love affair between Norm and Wilbur had run its course.

  The flowerbed looked like a small meteorite had hit it. Remnants of marigolds, begonias, and petunias lay strewn around a crater that seemed almost too large for the small dog to have dug. Most of the soil and plant debris littered Norm’s immaculate lawn.

  “You’ll be in the pound quicker than a blink. What the—” The shine of patent leather peeked out from the heap of soil. With a sinking heart, Emily leaned over and pulled out a shoe. “These are my best heels, you little booger!” The Wilbur story was history as far as she was concerned. Wilbur stood nearby wagging his tail harder than ever.

  “I should have left you where I found you.” Emily stalked back to the house, rigid with disgust and holding her chewed up shoe at arm’s length. Wilbur proudly followed her.

  Norm met her in the kitchen. “I sent them old boys home and shut early. What ya got there, Em?”

  “One of my best shoes, that’s what. He buried it in the garden. What was he doing upstairs? These were in my room.”

  “Oh.” Norm looked guilty.

  “Did you let him upstairs?” Emily asked.

  “I thought he was in the garden. When I went up for the laundry hamper, he must’ve followed.”

  “These were my best pair. They’re my interview shoes. They cost a fortune.” Emily waved the slobbery, muddy shoe at the dog before tossing it in the trash. “You’ve just blown your get out of jail free card, mister. It’s the pound for you.”

  “Look, go get your shower and I’ll make lunch.” Norm tried to placate her. “How about soup?” He began to usher her toward the stairs. She allowed herself to be bustled out. Her nerves were already at the breaking point, and she needed the restorative powers of hot water and scented soap, and she was not coming out until she was as shriveled as a prune.

  Upstairs, her bedroom looked…odd? Things had been touched, rearranged, poked at even. Her books! She had not left her books like that. She went out to the landing.

  “Uncle Norm?” she called down the stairwell. “Did you say you were in my room?”

  “Yeah,” he called back over the burble of the kettle. “I got your laundry.”

  “Were you moving my books about?”

  “Yeah. Some fell over. I picked ’em up. Do you want mushroom soup or tomato?”

  “Mushroom, please. I’ll be down in ten.” She relaxed a little.

  “Em?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Have you seen my wallet?”

  “No. Try looking under the shop counter. You sometimes leave it there.”

  “Okay.”

  Her shower was a quick one after all, and things still weren’t right. She took clean underwear from the freshly laundered pile uncle Norm had left on her bed, but she couldn’t find her hairbrush anywhere, and a slipper was missing.

  “I’m gonna kill that mutt.” She went down for lunch.

  “My hairbrush has vanished,” she said, dragging her fingers through her damp hair. “And one of my slippers. Did you find your wallet?”

  “Nope. Not in the shop.” Norm shook his head. “I found a dead squirrel on the stoop though.”

  “A squirrel?” Emily looked at Wilbur. “He must have moved like lightning to snag a squirrel.”

  But Norm was too busy scratching around in the kitchen drawers to care. “I was sure I left my wallet here,” he said.

  “Do you think Indiana Jones has been doing more digging?” She nodded at Wilbur who was eating his third meal of the day as far as she could tell. Norm shrugged and sat at the table.

  “I’ll wander around the yard and do a spot check after lunch,” she said, tasting her soup. “Thanks for taking care of lunch, Uncle Norm.”

  They listened to the local radio as they ate.

  “I hate getting old and forgetful,” Norm said and scraped back his chair, heading over to the sink to wash his bowl. Emily brought hers over, to
o, and put her arm around his slumped shoulders. They stood for a moment and looked out at Norm’s well-tended yard with its stretch of crisp lawn and bright flowerbeds and the vegetable plot with its small greenhouse already bursting with spring produce. It was immaculate, bar the mess Wilbur had made in the central flowerbed.

  “No, you’re not, Uncle Norm,” she said and gave him a gentle squeeze. “We’ve both lost things. Dollar to a dime the answer is out there.” She nodded at the garden, but her gaze drifted over it to the shadowy tangle of forest that lay beyond.

  Chapter Nineteen

  What is it? Jolie frowned up at the tree.

  An initiation tree, Mouse said.

  An initiation what?

  Mouse scuffed her paws, then sank to a squat on the ground. She looked exhausted. Her ears drooped and her muzzle was slack. No Taddy here.

  An initiation what? Jolie repeated, all thoughts of Tadpole pushed to the back of her mind. She looked in amazement at the big maple. She had never heard of such a thing. Above her, the bizarre tree was decorated like Christmas come early. Only creepier. The weirdest things dangled from it. A hiking boot strung up by its laces. Bunches of keys swayed like wind chimes. Colorful scarves waved gaily alongside pantyhose and an assortment of odd socks. Shirts of all colors and in all conditions streamed from the tree limbs. Some were ripped to slithery ribbons; others, intact, billowed like sea sails. Pants strung up by their legs hung heavy and sullen, while sweaters waved their arms crazily in warning. Her hackles rose just looking at the macabre sight.