by Josh Lanyon
“Why is it you want a dog again?” Rick asked.
“For company.” I heard what he wasn’t saying. Dogs need company too. “But it doesn’t seem fair to get a dog who might become dependent on having me around.”
“So why not get a cat? Or a parakeet,” he asked. “It’s not just about you. You gotta think about what the dog needs.”
“That’s why I’m trying to pick a dog that won’t care.” Although I liked him more for his concern over my someday dog, I knew what I was doing. “See, when I was growing up, I could never have a dog. My mother’s the goddess of chaos. I went to school and spent my free time wherever she worked. We moved constantly.”
“What does she do?”
“She’s…” I hesitated, not because I was embarrassed by my mother, but I’d learned that people could be awfully judgmental, and I didn’t feel like dealing with questions. “She’s in entertainment.”
He eyed me. “Cool.”
“So, after my recent health situation, I think it’s high time I tried some things I’ve been meaning to get around to.” I’d wanted a dog the way any kid does. After my brush with death, I wasn’t about to wait for the things I wanted anymore. Not if they were possible. “I moved here because the Fillmore Arms is the only place in Pasadena that takes large-breed dogs.”
Lucky for me, when I called they had a vacancy.
Lunch itself got serious when Rick offered me chips with a choice of hot sauces. He had both my favorites, Yellowbird Habanero and El Yucateco. The fruity, smokey habanero heat forced us to open some more of his ice-cold beers. I couldn’t say when I’d had a better home-cooked meal. Not recently, and none cooked by an amateur.
Suddenly, Chancho sprang to his feet and bounded toward the door. The knock came a few seconds later. Rick backed Chancho away from the door and told him to sit. Even though every muscle beneath his fur shook with the desire to leap forward, he stayed put while Rick opened it.
Stephani entered with Pepper, who walked clumsily but with great care. A plastic cone made her look like an old-fashioned Victrola. I noticed they’d stitched the cut over her eye. Poor thing.
Chancho gave Pepper an interested sniff, but she stiffened and her hackles rose. Rick told him to leave her alone, and he dutifully backed away some more.
“She’s okay.” Stephani looked much more relaxed than she had the night before.
“That’s good.” Relief for the dog, and Stephani, filled me.
“No, it’s not.” Stephani sank onto one of Rick’s barstools with a gusty sigh. “When I came in, Dave said there’s no one to take her.”
“What about Jeff’s family?” Rick offered Stephani one of the tacos. She shook her head.
“They don’t want her.” While she unwrapped her scarf, Pepper lunged at us. “Wait. No!”
Despite how slowly Pepper moved on the way in, she fired up the afterburners and snatched a taco right off the platter Rick held.
“Whoa.” I met Rick’s surprised gaze. “Jesus. Did you see that?”
“She’s a bit of a handful.” Stephani flushed as she gave the dog a gentle rebuke. “Bad dog. Aren’t you, sweetie? Aren’t you a handful?”
Rick ignored the schmoopy dog talk. “Why won’t his family take her?”
“They have white carpets or something. They travel a lot. Idiots. She’s a doll.” She put her face right into Pepper’s cone. “Aren’t you, Pepper? Aren’t you?”
“She’s a good-looking dog.” Rick knelt and called her forward. She trotted over, eager for cuddles or probably more tacos. “Someone will want her.”
Chancho yipped and gave a warning growl before butting his head against Rick’s shoulder.
“All right,” Rick reassured his dog. “Easy there.”
Chancho’s possessive behavior seemed meant to remind Pepper whose human Rick was. It was easy to forget the sheer power of a dog like Chancho when he was being an affable cuddly guy. Now, for the first time since I’d arrived, the air tightened with menace.
“Hush,” Rick commanded, but the dog continued with the narrowed eyes and subtle growling. Rick looked pained as he rose and started clearing our lunch dishes. “As you can see, I can’t foster her.”
“Chancho gets jealous,” Stephani informed me.
“No kidding.”
“Mm-hmm.” Rick’s gaze drifted over me. “He only gets jealous of other dogs, though.”
“Good to know.” He held his hand out, and I gave him my plate.
“I can’t take her.” Stephani complained, “She’s still growing. I can’t afford to feed her, and she needs more training, and I have Lulu, and I don’t know how they’ll get along.”
“Even to foster her for now?” Rick asked. “I can help with the cost of food.”
She shook her head. “Pepper isn’t very socialized with other dogs. I’m afraid she might hurt Lulu without meaning to. Lu’s so small compared to her.”
“She seems to be okay with Chancho here.”
“She’s still dopey. Believe me, I had to leave the vet’s place through the back. She lost her mind near the cages.”
“It won’t be easy to find someone to take her on. Everyone here already has a dog.” I felt Rick’s eyes on me. “Almost everyone.”
My neck tingled. “Oh, no.”
“It’s only going to be for a few days.” Stephani pleaded, “And you said you’d help.”
“Yeah, but I meant I’d splash the cash. I can’t take care of her. I go to the doctor, like…every other day.” This was an exaggeration, but not very far off. “When they sign off on me, I’ll go back to work. Plus, she’s a Lab.”
“And?” A wicked smile played over Rick’s lips.
“And that means she’ll chew everything I own to bits.”
“Not if you keep her with you.”
“How can I do that? I work twelve-to-sixteen-hour days.”
“All the more reason,” she said. “Humans need balance. Get some.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“You could take her until you go back,” Rick said reasonably. “You’re home now, right? She’ll keep while you’re at the doctor’s. Jeff left her alone all the time. And what did you plan to do with your Afghan while you’re at work?”
“I have a day-care place lined up. I—” They stared at me, waiting. “I suppose I could see if they’ll take Pepper.”
“You mean you’d board her?” She said the word like it meant take her out back and shoot her.
“If they can watch her when I can’t, I might be able to foster her.” I cautioned, “I’d want to think about it for a while first.”
“Yay. I knew you’d do it.” Stephani threw her arms around me, pulled me close, and kissed my cheek. “I’m sure we can find people who will help.”
“Wait just a minute, Stephani,” I said. “You said yourself she’s not socialized. They’ll test her to see if she’s okay with the other dogs. If they can’t make it work, she can’t go to day care. And if she can’t go to day care—”
“I’m sure it will work. And you’ll love her. You really will. She’s such a sweet dog. Jeff kept her cooped up in his place alone all the time. She just has to spend some time with other dogs to see that it’s not so scary, and then she’ll be fine.”
“I’ll probably be in jail, anyway.” Would I even be at liberty to take the dog? Rick’s thoughtful expression said he knew something I didn’t. “What?”
“The investigation is ongoing. Will be for a while yet.”
“That’s not very reassuring.”
“Look at her.” Pepper leaned drunkenly against Stephani’s leg. “None of this is her fault. She’s practically still a puppy—a crime victim, for God’s sake. She needs someone to take care of her.”
“Oh, all right.” I was going to adopt a dog of my own soon, so it might be valuable experience for me.
Anyway, how hard could it be to take care of an already housebroken dog?
Chapter Five
; Housebroken, my ass.
The only way I could take care of my new “foster dog” was to wrap the eight-foot leash Rick gave me around my waist and keep her physically with me at all times. First, she figured if I could pee in the bathroom, she should be able to as well. And then I couldn’t stop her from nosing into every single box as I unpacked, disturbing my carefully laid plans, chewing my shoes, and generally making a total pest of herself.
Therefore, I had to unpack and get rid of the moving boxes and wrapping paper on hyperdrive, which made it necessary for me to rest every two hours. But did Pepper rest? Nope.
I thoroughly exhausted myself dog-proofing the house, and after every dust-up, Pepper turned to me with a smug doggy smile, which I refused to believe was simply the way she looked with her mouth open like Stephani said it was.
But then Pepper would push her nose into my leg, and I’d dig my fingers into her glossy black fur, and we’d achieve détente for a few minutes.
Nothing that ever happened to me compared with witnessing a murder and being beaten over the head with a lamp. Her plight forced me to practice empathy.
Still. How was I going to clean, shop, cook, run errands, do laundry, etcetera, with Pepper actively working against me?
I texted my mother to commiserate, and she sent me an entire phone screen full of LOLs and laughing emoticons.
Welcome to motherhood, Bubba.
Thanks a lot. For the record, I’ve never been, nor will I ever be, a Bubba.
You’re welcome. She texted that she was working and didn’t have time to chat. I appreciated making contact. I did feel isolated since my illness. I tried calling Factory, but my sous chef told me she’d have the staff throw me out if she saw me before the doctor released me to work.
So at dusk, I took Pepper outside, where she tried to put her nose to the ground and sniff around. But with every other step, her cone banged flat against the concrete like a suction cup. Even with my newly acquired empathy, I found this hilarious.
I tried not to laugh. I really did. I may have taken some pictures. Okay, I took lots of pictures. Her dozy frustration was my first #dogsofinstagram post.
That night, at the trash bins, we found Dave with a young woman I’d never met. They waved. I went over to say hello.
Pepper went crazy, struggling against the leash, barking madly, wrapping herself around my ankles clumsily until we both nearly got killed.
“Hey, Lonnie,” Dave greeted me while I got unwound. “You took Jeff’s dog? That’s so nice. I would have—”
“Right.” The young woman laughed lightly. “You’d take the only dog in the world that doesn’t like you?”
“All right. It’s not funny. Yeah.” He flushed. “I get along with the other dogs fine, but Pepper has hated me since day one.”
“It’s funny if you know Uncle Dave,” she said. “He’s such a pushover for the dogs in the complex. Every one of them adores him, except Pepper.”
“I’m taking her for now.” I had to drag her away to get her to settle down. “Honestly, we’re feeling our way.”
“Have you met my niece Sharona yet?” He pointed to five overstuffed garbage bags. “Look what she’s making me do.”
“Recycle?” I asked. “What a monster.”
“She’s helping me clean out my place.” He presented her with a slight bow. “Sharona’s going to be a professional organizer, like Marie Kondo. We love that show.”
“Call me Shar.” She thrust out her hand and gave mine a firm shake. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen. Razor thin, pretty, and dressed in a twinset and short floppy skirt like her idol. She sparkled in the way of girls-next-door, if those girls had fairy blood. “Nobody is making you do anything, Uncle Dave.”
Pepper started barking at him again. I had to haul back on her leash.
“Aw… Hey, girl. Knock it off.” Shar got between Pepper and Dave. “Remember me? How’re you doing? Unhappy this evening, huh? Poor baby. Must have been so traumatic seeing Jeff like that.”
“She’s still a little dopey,” I said. Pepper plopped down and rolled over with a thunk of her cone.
“I would have taken her”—Shar stood and whipped her dark hair away from her face—“but I can’t have dogs in my building. With the new organizing business, I don’t have a lot of time anyway, but—”
“Speaking of which.” I took out my phone and scrolled through images until I found one of my sock drawer. It was unforgivably weird, but I showed her anyway. “I fold everything, just like Marie says.”
“Good for you!” She clapped her hands. Pepper thought that meant it was time to stand and flop her weight against Shar’s leg. “Do you like it?”
“I just started, since I had to take some time off work. Before Pepper came along, I was bored out of my mind.”
“Well, the upside of putting things neatly in drawers is keeping them away from this one.” She smoothed her hand down Pepper’s back. “You don’t want her swallowing a sock.”
“God no. We’ve already had a couple skirmishes in what I gather will be ongoing sock wars. I learned quickly that I can’t leave anything lying around.”
“If you’re having any trouble related to organization, I can help.”
“She’s a miracle worker,” said Dave. “She’s got me tidying all my crap up.”
“Uncle Dave,” she chided, whether for his language or his habits, I didn’t know.
“Don’t let her eat that!” Dave shoved Pepper away from something on the ground near the Dumpster. He scooped up whatever it was and threw it into the Dumpster. “Don’t let her eat anything she finds on the street. There have been several dog poisonings in the area.”
“Intentional poisonings?”
“They were.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Over the last three months, pet owners have been finding scraps or bags of poisoned meat. Two dogs died before their owners realized something was wrong. A few others have been treated for poisoning and survived. Seems like someone’s deliberately attacking the local dogs, so please, please keep a sharp eye out.”
I tightened Pepper’s leash. She jerked and sneezed unhappily but finally subsided next to my leg. “What kind of person poisons a dog?”
“Dunno. Police came by to warn the residents, though, so it must be serious. People are assholes.”
Shar said, “Uncle.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Jesus.” Pepper couldn’t get her mouth on much of anything due to her cone collar, but I moved her away from the offending trash area altogether.
“She’s a great dog, despite hating me.” Dave eyed her fondly. “Does she still get into everything?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, watch out. Nothing has happened to the Fillmore dogs yet, but you can’t be too careful.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
He nodded. “Gonna be quieter around here now that you’re looking after her. I got a lot of complaints, before.”
“Because of the dearly departed?”
“I don’t know about dearly. Jeff left Pepper alone a lot, so she’d bark and scratch at the door. He had a way of ruffling the other tenants’ feathers too.”
Was that what the kids were calling assault these days? “Seems to me people aren’t surprised somebody killed him.”
“Well, I’m just sick about it.” Shar tightened her hands into fists. “And you shouldn’t listen to gossip. Jeff could be really nice, and I hate that everyone’s trashing him now that he can’t defend himself.”
Dave winced. “Now, honey, there’s a reason people talk about him like that. I told you, he—”
“He was spoiled. He was rich, and he liked to rub it in. So what?” She set her jaw. “Not to make excuses, but it’s his building. His family has owned the Fillmore Arms for the last hundred years. Maybe he just wanted people to take care of things?”
Her words got me thinking the obvious: Like he took care of Pepper?
“Did you ever go out with him?”
I asked.
“Me? No. To him, I was a bothersome kid.” She laughed ruefully. “He barely noticed me until I started my business.”
“Speaking of which, we’d better get this finished up and go back inside. There’s so much more to do.” Dave picked up a mammoth trash bag and threw it into the Dumpster.
Despite his words, she stayed where she was, eyes downcast. “Jeff was going to hire me to organize his place. That would have been so awesome.”
“I’m so sorry, honey.” Dave met my gaze as he put his arm around her. “I’m sure there will be other clients.”
He knew Shar had dodged a bullet. If Carla and Rick were to be believed, Jeff was worse than bad news with the female population of the Fillmore Arms.
“Maybe you could give me some suggestions?” I asked, feeling rather avuncular myself. “I’m pretty organized, but I suppose I could always use some new tricks.”
“Thank you!” She dug around in her skirt pocket. “That would be great. I’m trying to build up my business, so if you know anyone else, can you pass my cards along?”
I took a few, sure some of the staff at Factory would be interested. Then I helped the two of them load up the rest of the garbage bags.
Footsteps slapped our way from behind us, causing Pepper’s ears to perk adorably. She turned and tried to run toward the sound, but my feet got tangled with hers again. Neither one of us knew how to walk on a leash. Mom would say we both needed obedience training.
Pepper nearly pulled my weak ass over, but Dave steadied me. We definitely needed one of those face halters when Pepper healed.
Or whoever took her would. Not me.
“Whoa, Pep.” I stopped her from charging Dave again. “Wow. Knock it off, dog.”
“Hey, Pepper. Hi, baby.” The newcomer’s intensely blue eyes and flawless face turned my way. “Do you remember me? I’m Caleb.”
My heart did an embarrassing little shimmy. “Of course.”
I met Caleb in the laundry room, where he’d started a load, removed his clothes to add to it, and then returned to his apartment wearing only a thong. Now I considered his six-pack abs and tight derriere a perk of living in the building.