The Lost - J. D. Robb [53]
We circled each other around the debris on the sidewalk. Then—too late—I saw that she’d gotten between me and the gate. A second later, she reached back and slammed it shut.
Trapped.
Screw you, I’ll jump over the fence. Watch this.
But it was four feet high, and it had arrow-shaped uprights, sharp arrow-shaped uprights, between each iron post. I pictured myself half inside, half out, impaled in the middle.
Okay, you got me, I told Monica, and lay down on the hot brick walk. Now what are you going to do with me?
She put me in the bathroom. I don’t know why I let her. Exhaustion, partly, but also the growing suspicion that I wasn’t a violent dog at all, that growling was my whole arsenal, after which I had nothing. Well, barking, and some fast footwork, but that was it. I even kept an eye on Monica’s calf while she guided me into the house, imagining my teeth sinking into its tan firmness—her shriek of pain—the taste of blood. But I couldn’t do it. What was I, a vampire? No, I was a retriever.
“Sam? It’s Monica.” She was out in the kitchen, but I could hear her plainly through the closed bathroom door. “I just tried you at home, but I guess you’re . . . Oh. Oh, I’m sorry. I won’t keep you; I just wanted you to know Sonoma’s here. Sonoma. No, here. Well, I guess she got out.” Light laughter.
I waited for the ax to fall.
“I have no idea; maybe you left a . . . Oh, she’s fine, none the worse for wear. I don’t know. I know, it’s so . . . No problem, I’m here all day, just pick her up whenever you . . . Sure, that’s fine. Okay, Sam, we’ll—You’re welcome, see you soon. Oh, please, don’t give it a thought. Bye-bye.”
She brought me a bowl of water. She brought me half a piece of toast with peanut butter. After an hour, she let me out.
Oh, such transparent manipulation. I wasn’t fooled for a second. I snooped around the house awhile, then lay down on the comfy couch in the living room, dirty paws and all. What are you going to do about it? She put her hands on her hips and shook her head in a cute, exasperated way. Uncharmed, I curled into a ball and took a nap.
When I woke up, she was all sweet-smelling in clean clothes and fresh makeup, running a feather duster over the furniture. A feather duster. I rest my case. One whole living room wall was covered with framed photographs, mostly of the twins. She was a photographer, too? She looked at her watch just as the doorbell rang. I jumped off the couch.
Benny! Sam! Benny! Sam! Joyful squeaking, ecstatic circling. They smelled like Hope Springs, but also like Delia. And pizza! I sat when Sam said, “Sit,” though, and didn’t shove my nose in his crotch, and I didn’t lick Benny on the mouth, another no-n o. It probably made no sense to be on best behavior now, but it was the only defense I had. I’d figured it out in the bathroom: Monica hadn’t told Sam on the phone about my adventures in the garden because she didn’t want to upset him while he was visiting his comatose wife. She’d tell him now, though.
But it was Sam, not Monica, who said, “Benny, why don’t you take Sonoma out to the car? Monica and I have to talk about something.”
“Okay,” Benny chirped, and patted his thigh for me to come, the way his dad did. “Come on, Sonoma!”
I didn’t want to go. Instinct told me it would be better to be there when Monica lowered the boom. On the other hand, prompt, willing obedience was all I had left, so I trotted outside after Benny.
A neat, empty rectangle of sour-smelling mulch had replaced the massacred flowers and hosta, and the brick walk had been swept clean, neat as one of Monica’s countertops. Nice of her to tidy up the scene of the crime, I thought sullenly. She probably had OCD.
I wanted to hear all about