“I didn’t hear anything,” Ray said.
We sat in my room listening to the recording from the previous night. Jack lay dozing in a warm spot by the window. The sunlight bounced off him, creating a golden halo around his body.
“Me either.” It was the third night in a row that I’d left the cassette player recording on the porch before I’d gone to bed. Howling was what I hoped to hear, but static was the only thing that played from the cassette.
The tape ended and we sat back.
“Maybe we need longer tapes. Like a couple of hours’ long,” Ray said.
I nodded. A couple of hours into the night would definitely be better than the half-hour tapes I had now.
“Tysko’s has them,” Ray said. “We could get some today.”
I rewound the tape. “I don’t have enough money, and I can’t ask my dad.” If he didn’t believe there was a coyote, he definitely wouldn’t give me money to try to record it.
“I’ve got some,” Ray said. “We could pool our cash together.”
“I thought you were saving up for that new yo-yo.”
“Yeah,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “but I don’t want Jack to be blamed either.”
I knew then that Ray was a solid friend.
I opened the drawer where I kept my money and jammed the bills and coins into my pocket. “Let’s go,” I said. At that, Jack rose. Anywhere I went, he went, too.
“Millie, we’re going to Tysko’s,” I shouted through the open basement doorway as we passed to the back door. I could hear the washer and dryer humming.
“Okay,” she called up.
After Ray grabbed his money, we left our bikes at his house and walked with Jack across the street to Tysko’s. The doors stood open, and a dust devil blew across the wide plank floors. We walked past the breads to get to the shelf of batteries and cassettes, but old Mrs. Tysko came around the corner and blocked the aisle.
She put her hands on her hips. “What do you boys need?” she asked. She looked mad.
“Cassettes,” Ray said.
She looked at Jack and me and then pointed to Ray. “You may shop.” Then she looked at me and arched an eyebrow. “That dog is not welcome here.”
“Jack’s okay,” Ray said and touched Jack’s head.
She kept her eyes on me. I felt like a criminal. “I know all about that dog.” She pointed to the doorway. “You can come here alone, but that dog is not welcome in the store or in the ice cream area outside.”
Ray began to protest, but I said, “It’s okay. We’ll wait outside.” I didn’t want to stay in there with her anyway.
“This time you can wait outside,” Mrs. Tysko said. “But don’t ever bring that dog to my property again.”
“C’mon, Jack,” I said. We walked out, sat on the wooden steps, and I rested my chin in my hands. It was so unfair. After a few minutes, Ray came outside with the cassettes. He looked apologetic. “Wasn’t your fault,” I said, getting up.
He sighed. “Yeah, I know, but still …”
Jack hunted that rabbit and now people wanted to charge him with everything. I stood and stretched. Then I remembered what my dad said about the war and people being unhappy about things. I said, “They just need someone to blame. That’s why we need to get that coyote on tape.”
We rode home slowly and zigzagged up the hill. As we got closer to the house, Jack started barking, but even Ray and I could hear the thrashing in the woods. I threw my bike down without letting go of Jack’s leash and tore into the woods. Ray ran behind us.
“Hey!” I yelled through the trees.
Branches snapped close by but the sound grew farther and I slowed down by the blueberry bushes.
Then I saw it.