WHY AREN’T YOU EATING? YOU’VE got to look good. So eat, you moron.”

I was in the linen closet, my mind not right. So fuzzy. If I got jabbed with another needle, I really didn’t know what I was going to do. And now, the jabber, Marlon, was standing over me. Although not too close. The sight of the Band-Aid on his chin brightened my day, just a little.

He pointed toward my food bowl, topped up with kibble. It was not a kibble I liked. Neither did I like the bowl. But those weren’t the reasons I wouldn’t take a single bite. The reason was that anything Marlon wanted me to do I would not do. Was I hungry? Possibly. But I was at peace with my decision.

Other than the Band-Aid, there was no brightness in my day. Why was I being treated like this? What had I done? I’d won a beauty contest. That was only right. Any beauty contest I entered was over from the start. Even without that golden tuft on the end of my tail, I’d—

I glanced at my tail. The tuft was golden again. A lovely sight, but when had that happened? And how? A faint smell of soap was in the air, and also a hint of oil, the kind Bertha uses in her salad dressing. I don’t like soap anywhere near me, and the thought of oil on my coat is very unpleasant. But still, how nice to have my tail back to normal. Was it a sign of better things to come? I looked beyond Marlon to the closet door, closed tight.

“Eat!”

I got up and moved to the farthest corner, moving, I’m afraid, like someone else, someone who didn’t glide along, or even walk smoothly. What was happening to me? What had I done? I curled up in the corner.

Marlon came forward, shoving the kibble bowl forward with his foot. He kept shoving in until it was right in my face.

“Eat!”

There I was trapped in the corner, the tips of my long—and very elegant—whiskers actually touching the rim of the bowl. The kibble—while not close to my favorite, laid out at the exact same time every day at the inn, the exact same time being the moment I needed it—actually smelled not too too terrible. I pushed the bowl away with my paw.

Marlon’s voice rose. He called me horrible names. Then he shoved the bowl back in my face, this time quite hard.

“Know what I’d do to you if I could? All that’s saving you is the money you’re going to make for me.”

Money? As though … what? I was going to work for Marlon? I do not work. How could anyone, even such a terrible being as him, miss such an obvious fact? I don’t work for anyone, not even those I feel close to, or even … let’s just get it out there, love. I live. I play. I have the occasional adventure. But I do not work. Why would I?

I was about to push the bowl away again when I heard the barking of a dog, not too far away. The barking of a dog is not pleasing to the ear, as you must have noticed. Dogs bark. Cats purr. Is there really anything else to be said?

But in this particular case, I was not unhappy to hear the sound. The not-too-distant bark was a bark I knew well, an odd mixture of shriek and rumble that meant only one thing. Arthur was in the neighborhood.

I pushed the bowl away with my paw.

Marlon’s face went red. He drew back his foot, but at that moment came a knock, not on the door of this closet, but on another door nearby.

Marlon’s kick never came. He softly lowered his foot and went still. When humans are surprised, their smells change. If it’s a nice surprise, then the smell is nice, too, at least to my nose. A bad surprise means a bad smell, which was what we had now in the linen closet.

Knock knock.

Marlon stood very still, not making a sound. Arthur barked again, very loud now, right outside. Not right outside the linen closet, but outside this dwelling I was in.

Knock knock.

A man whose voice I didn’t recognize called out. “Hello? Ms. Vance? You in there? Hello?”

Marlon remained very still. What was happening? Some man I didn’t know was at the door, looking for Ms. Vance. Ms. Vance was someone I did know, although not well, but well enough to have learned she could be trusted, at least when it came to judging beauty. Also Arthur was out there with this unknown man. Why would that be? He should have been at home, and if not at home, then with Bro or Harmony, or Mom. Arthur was not supposed to be roaming around, and therefore lucky for him he had no interest in roaming around. The roamer was me.

What else? The only other thing I knew about this situation was that Marlon had no intention of answering that knock. Meaning the unknown man—and Arthur!—would soon be going away, possibly very soon, even this minute. I lunged forward, right over the bowl, and sank my teeth into Marlon’s ankle, nice and deep.

“Arrgghh!” he cried out.

He looked at me in fury, and was about to try something really dreadful—I just knew it—when there was more knocking, much louder now. And Arthur was barking again, also much louder. A really horrible sound I loved at that moment.

“Ms. Vance? Ms. Vance?” Did I hear a doorknob being rattled? I thought so.

Marlon turned toward the closet door. “Coming!” he shouted. “Coming!”

He raised his pant leg, examined what I’d done. A good job in my opinion, although not his, as I could tell from the look he shot me, a look that promised bad things in my future. Then he moved to the closet door.

The closet door opened with one of those brass levers that get pushed down. Marlon put his hand on the brass lever. He was about to open the door. This was my chance. Was I up to it? I didn’t feel too good. My mind was fuzzy, and my body had given pretty much all it had left on that lunge and bite. A glorious bite, yes, except now I was weak.

But this was my chance.

The door opened. I glimpsed a kitchen in what seemed to be some sort of cabin. Marlon stepped out of the closet. I sprang after him, headed for freedom! Without even looking back, Marlon slammed the door shut with his heel, right in my face. He slammed it so hard I heard a faint crack or splitting sound somewhere above, and I myself got knocked to the back of the closet, rolling and tumbling. How slow I’d become! What was wrong with me?

I heard Marlon’s footsteps, moving away, but not far.

“Yes?” he said.

“Sheriff McKnight,” said the man outside. “Is Pamela Vance inside?”

A slight pause, and then Marlon spoke. “Pamela Vance?”

“She’s the registered owner of this cabin.”

“Ah,” said Marlon. “I see. I’m just renting it. Through a home share. So I actually don’t even know this person you’re talking about.”

“WOOF WOOF WOOF.”

That was Arthur, no doubt about it. Some of his barks are all about confusion and most of the rest are about wanting a treat, but this one was unusual. It sounded angry. Arthur has many shortcomings but you can’t call him the angry type.

“And you are?” said the sheriff. Wasn’t Carstairs the sheriff? Or had he messed up in some way and lost his job, maybe after all that frightening business at Catastrophe Falls? All I knew was that this new sheriff—if that was what we were dealing with—had a much more pleasant voice.

“The renter,” Marlon said.

“Your name?”

Another pause, longer than the last. “Marlon.”

“Can you open the door, please, Marlon?”

“Uh, sure. Sure thing.”

I heard the soft creak of the door opening. And then right away “WOOF WOOF WOOF.” And more woof-woofing, yes, furious, for sure. Why Arthur would be furious was a question I couldn’t answer, but I had no problem with it and wouldn’t have minded if that barking went on forever.

“Hey, Arthur, easy there,” the sheriff said. “He doesn’t seem to like you, Marlon.”

“I don’t know why,” Marlon said. “I’m an animal lover, big-time.”

“WOOF WOOF WOOF!”

“Mind shortening up on that leash a bit?” said Marlon.

“It’s short enough,” said the sheriff. “C’mon, Arthur, be a good boy.”

Just like that, Arthur amped his barking down to a growl. That was a surprise. How often had people asked Arthur to be a good boy with no result whatsoever? I wanted to meet this sheriff. Oh, yes, and badly. I tried to rise, but my legs weren’t quite ready to do it.

“How long is your rental?” the sheriff asked.

“Oh, a week, maybe two. It’s such a beautiful part of the country.”

“So you’re on vacation?”

“Pretty much.”

“Where are you from?”

A very slight pause, and then, “Florida.”

“What part?”

“The Orlando area.”

“Can I see some ID?”

“ID?”

“A driver’s license will do.”

“But what’s this about, sheriff? I thought you were looking for … for Ms. whatever her name was.”

“Ms. Vance,” said the sheriff. “Pamela Vance. I was told she was staying here at her cabin while the county fair’s going on.”

“That’s strange. I’ve never met her, as I already told you. And she’s certainly not staying here. I’m by myself.”

“WOOF WOOF WOOF!”

“Arthur,” said the sheriff. “Please.”

“Grrrrr.”

“I’m pretty busy,” Marlon said, “so if that’s all …”

“Busy?” said the sheriff. “I thought this was a vacation.”

“A working vacation,” Marlon said. “Work never goes away, as I’m sure you know.”

“What is it you do?”

“I’m an investor.”

“An investor in what?”

“Various industries.”

“Such as?”

“Biotech, for one.”

“Way above my pay grade,” the sheriff said. “Your ID, please.”

“I don’t—” Marlon stopped himself. Then came a very faint rustling sound, the kind of sound that might be made by a hand sliding into a pocket. “Here you go.”

A brief silence. “Marlon Pruitt,” the sheriff said.

“Correct.”

“An accurate photo of you. Except no Band-Aid on your chin.”

“Shaving cut,” Marlon said.

Another silence, except for the growling, now very low, like Arthur was tiring of it. He tired easily, of many things.

“Any relation to Randa Bea Pruitt?” the sheriff said.

“Never heard of her.”

“Have I seen you before?” the sheriff said. “You look a bit familiar.”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Marlon said. “I know I’ve never seen you.”

I heard a very soft smacking sound, maybe the wallet getting handed back to Marlon.

“If you happen to see Ms. Vance, tell her to call my office,” the sheriff said. “Here’s my card.”

“Sure thing,” Marlon said, “although I doubt I’ll see her.”

“Been to the county fair yet?” the sheriff said.

“I have no interest in fairs,” said Marlon. “But you still haven’t told me what this is about.”

“Ms. Vance is a possible witness in an investigation.”

“Ah,” said Marlon.

Whoa. Back up. The sheriff’s card? Was he leaving? Oh, no! I tried to rise, but again my legs wouldn’t help. I needed to make a sound, to cry out. But my mouth and throat were so dry hardly any sound at all came out, just a faint little whimper I could barely hear myself.

“WOOF WOOF WOOF!”

And what was this? The sudden skittery pawing of a clumsy runner on polished floors? Was Arthur in the house? Arthur! Yes! Arthur was coming to the rescue! Skitter skitter skitter, closer and closer, a beeline toward the closet, because—he knew!

But then a kind of strangled “Eek,” from Arthur, followed by a skidding sound.

“Hey!” said the sheriff. “What did you just do?”

“Grabbed the leash,” said Marlon. “I don’t want to pay for any damages to the property, and your dog was out of control.”

“There was no need to grab so hard,” the sheriff said. I heard something new in his voice, a sort of hardness, very strong and deep.

“It wasn’t intentional,” Marlon said. “I’m an animal lover.”

“So you say.”

“I’m sorry,” said Marlon. “Hope I didn’t hurt you, fella. Can I give him a treat?”

“Maybe some other time,” said the sheriff. “Come on, Arthur.”

No no no. I tried to cry out one more time, now doing a little better, but Arthur was barking again, and no human could possibly have heard me. Moments later, the sheriff and Arthur were out the door and gone. A car started up and drove away. Arthur didn’t stop barking, but the sound faded away to nothing.