California Schemin' - Kate George [88]
He turned toward the house, looked directly in my eyes, and brought the gun up. I dropped to the ground and crawled away. The first shot shattered the window in the kitchen door, sending glass flying everywhere. I called the dogs to me, and we scrambled across the kitchen floor as bullets thudded into the house.
I sat at the bottom of the stairs, my back to the wall, hugging the dogs to me. My heart was beating so fast I couldn’t get enough air. The shooting had stopped. I expected Wallace to burst through the door at any moment. Bile was rising into my throat. Nothing happened. I strained my ears but I couldn’t hear anything. I let go of the dogs and got up. I crept up the stairs and sneaked down the hall to the bedroom overlooking the porch.
Wallace had the trunk of his rental car open and was rifling through the contents. I didn’t know what he was searching for, but I was really hoping it wasn’t explosives. I dug my cell phone out of my pocket and called Tom at the barracks. The State Police may not be near enough for the troopers to get here before Wallace left, but maybe they would catch him on the road.
Whatever it was he was looking for, he didn’t find it. He let out a yell of pure frustration and threw his gun at my house. It thudded against the wall. Wallace took a couple of deep breaths and, having calmed himself, got in the car and drove away.
My knees shook as I stumbled back down the stairs. I knelt down to look at Diesel. I slid my hands along and under his jaw. He didn’t flinch, and there didn’t appear to be any serious injury, but the next call I made was to my vet. That idiot Wallace was going to be easy to catch.
Tom caught up with me at the veterinarian’s office. Diesel had been x-rayed and found to be sound. He was fussed over by the doctor and vet’s assistants when they heard what had happened. When Tom came in, he had a huge grin on his face, and I smiled in return.
“Did they get him?”
“Just like you thought. He took his rental back to the airport stinking to high heaven. The rental agency called the New Hampshire State Police. They caught up with him arguing with the gate attendant at SWA. They weren’t going to let him on board reeking of skunk regardless of what state he was senator of.”
“What’ll happen to him?”
“I imagine he’ll be extradited to California. After he serves that sentence, he can come back here and serve time for attempted murder.”
“That would be good.” I gave Tom a hug and loaded Diesel in the truck.
A wave of sadness hit me as I pulled into my drive. My house was a mess. The sadness faded, and an intense desire to hurt Senator Wallace hit me. He had ruined my home. I surveyed the damage. Well, maybe it wasn’t trashed. The kitchen door would have to be replaced along with some pieces of siding, but other than that, it was still the same old house.
I got out of the car, let Diesel out and walked over to the gun still lying in my flowerbed, the instrument of Stripe’s demise. Proud of myself for remembering not to just pick the thing up, I went onto the porch to find a rag or towel. There's always stuff like that lying around. Not that I’m a slob, but the dogs love to drag stuff out of the house.
I went to pull an old towel out of Tank's bed, and there, curled into a ball, was Stripes without a scratch to be seen. He lifted his head and looked at me reproachfully. I hadn’t fed him his dinner. I ran to the truck and pulled out the forgotten cans of cat food from where Max had left them and popped one open. Everything else in my life might be shit, but my hungry skunk was still alive.
I left the open can of cat food on the floor and turned back to the house. I pushed open the door and stopped on the threshold. The glass had been swept from the floor. The chair I had toppled scurrying away from the door had been righted,