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SHADOW SNUGGLED CLOSE to September’s side in the strange bed. His cat, Macy, purred softly from her other side. Shadow lifted his head, scanning the dark room from side to side. Fur bristled along his shoulders, making it hard for a good-dog to settle.
The deserted house held strange smells that spoke to him of sorrow, fear, and death. But September slept fitfully, unaware, her exhaustion holding her captive in dreams that echoed the danger she ignored. Now and again she stirred, whimpered, then fell silent. His job was to keep her safe, staying by September’s side, anchoring her to reality should the nightmares drag her down.
But the house felt unsafe. She’d not asked him to check-it-out, to patrol the building before they’d chosen this room to rest. Instead, September just latched the door closed, as if that would protect them from the unseen threats even a cat felt.
Shadow carefully stood and hopped off the narrow bed. He waited until September settled again, before he padded to the door. Sniffing the base, he whined and pawed the wood, wanting out. How could he protect September and warn her of danger when cooped up in this tiny, second-floor room?
Macy stood and stretched, yawning wide, before joining Shadow at the door. The big cat rubbed his cheek against Shadow’s neck, trilling a question.
Pawing the door again, Shadow’s claws scrabbled the hard wood surface. He watched when Macy pushed between him and the barrier, then stood back, curious. Cats could do things with paws that dogs couldn’t. And he knew Macy’s prickly unease mirrored his own.
Macy stood on his rear legs and stretched high with both paws to reach and grab the lever door handle. His weight hung on the handle a moment, until a small “snick” sound unlatched the door.
Shadow pawed the door, inadvertently shoving it closed. He whined with frustration, and again allowed Macy to shoulder him aside. Watching with interest, he tipped his head when Macy grasped the lever handle, pulled down and released the catch. This time, the cat dropped to the floor, reached beneath the door with one paw, and pulled it farther open.
With a happy wag, Shadow nosed through the opening and padded out of the room. Macy stayed behind, a feline sentry in the bedroom doorway, bushy tail curved around to cover his paws.
Hurrying down the hallway, Shadow briefly sniffed and discounted the closed doors to other rooms. At the head of the stairs, he paused, cocking his head to listen. He quickly paced down the stairs, keeping quiet the better to listen.
At the front door to the house, he examined the floor. His hackles bristled even more. Shadow tracked the scent to the nearby closet, identifying the strongest smells emanating from inside. September’s coat hung there, but something else, something bad-scary-wrong, left its invisible mark near this tiny room. He growled softly, committing the signature odors to memory.
A car passed by outside, slowed to a crawl, and stopped some distance from the house. The engine switched off. Shadow returned to the front door, peering out the murky glass sidelights, but couldn’t see any motion. The porch light illuminated white, unmarked snow filling in a good-dog and September’s footprints from hours before.
Shadow left the entry and worked his way around the house. He sniffed windows in each room, making sure nothing had come in that didn’t belong. In the kitchen, more windows and two doors offered new places to search and guard.
No lights illuminated the rear of the house, but footsteps squeaking on fresh snow brought Shadow to full alert. His lips rose, curling over bright teeth in a silent warning snarl. A shadow entered through the back yard fence. He waited, watchful, as the intruder drew near.
The door lever into the kitchen moved. Metal grated in the lock as the key released the bolt. Shadow braced himself, low growl bubbling deep in his throat, louder and louder. The door creaked open, one inch at a time, revealing a gloved hand and booted foot when a tall, dark figure stepped inside. The intruder didn’t turn on lights. His scent matched the unsettling odors near the coat closet.
Shadow exploded with alarm barks and fearsome snarls. The man’s shouted exclamation morphed into a frightened scream when Shadow’s teeth grappled his right shin and pulled him to the floor. Shadow bit harder, refusing to let go, even when fists rained blows down on a good-dog’s head.
“What’s going on?” September cried out, followed by quick thumping footsteps down the distant stairs.
Shadow released the intruder, but redoubled snarled warnings as the man scrambled to his feet and raced away out the door. He wanted to follow the man as he limped to the fence and grappled the gate open, slamming it shut behind him. But Shadow needed to protect September, so stayed to guard the open doorway. Icy wind blew snow into the room as September hurried into the kitchen and stood shivering in bare feet.
“Good dog, Shadow. Somebody tried to get in?” September peered out the open door, then slammed it shut and shot the bolt. “They’re gone, baby-dog. You scared them off, what a good boy! Somebody else knows about Angela’s house key.” She switched on the yard lights, peering all around the fenced area. “He’s gone now.” She clicked on the kitchen lights.
He wagged and pressed hard against September’s thigh. His fur still bristled, though. Shadow worried the stranger might return. He didn’t like this empty house with fear-filled smells and strangers entering doors in the black of night.
“How’d you get out of the room? Never mind, just glad you did.” She rubbed her eyes. “No more sleeping tonight. I better call the police. Hey, where’s Angela? Didn’t she ever come home?” She gasped and made a strange face. Shadow whined in reaction. “Oh crap. I hope you didn’t just scare Angela half to death! Before we call the police, I better call to see that wasn’t her, and she’s okay.”
GEORGE LIMPED BACK to his car, breath white in the cold night air. He silently cursed his folly. He’d planned to catch September asleep and eliminate her as easily as Angela. Then he could stage the murder–suicide and wash his hands of the whole business.
The dog came out of nowhere. Thank God he got the fence gate closed, and locked from the outside, or the monster would’ve come after him.
He started the car and rubbed his bruised flesh as the heater roared. The boot had kept fangs from rending flesh, thankfully, but his ankle would swell. Now the damn woman would call the police, they’d find Angela’s body, and, just damn! He’d given her his office address. If she shared that tidbit, he’d have more questions to answer.
His phone buzzed and he fumbled to get it from his pocket. But no call registered. George realized the noise came from Angela’s cell, September calling. George smiled. Perhaps things could still be salvaged. He cleared his throat, and accepted the call.
George lowered his voice, turning it raspy and broken. “Hello? September? What time is it?” She’d expect Angela to be groggy, if awakened unexpectedly.
September sounded uncertain. “Is this Angela? You sound funny. Are you okay?”
He cleared his throat again, letting his words gargle. “Got a horrible case of laryngitis. Texting easier.” He threw in a coughing fit, hoping to convince September, or at least allay suspicion. “Snow caught me, so I’m at a friend’s. You got in the house okay?”
“Yes, just fine. But I worried when you didn’t get home.” She hesitated, then continued briskly. “Somebody tried to break into your house a little while ago. Shadow scared them away, but they must’ve had a key, and I was scared he’d gone after you. Anyway, I’ll call the police shortly—”
“The police? Oh don’t bother. Probably my maid service. They come early.”
September’s voice sharpened. “At this hour? Really? Through the kitchen door?”
He added more coughing. Damn! She was right, but now what could he say? “Neighbor lady’s son. You know kids. Comes before work. Key only works for the kitchen door.” He croaked the words, talking too fast, and hoping he hadn’t dug a deeper hole.
She blew out an exasperated breath. “I shouldn’t keep you talking, Angela, that just makes laryngitis worse.”
He added heavy breathing for effect, relieved. “Thanks. Will text you.” He disconnected, thought for a moment, then smiled as he thumbed the message.
<Heard from housekeeper son, he’s afraid of dogs. Sorry for scaring you. When bank opens, get lockbox info & meet at house?
He waited breathlessly for her reply.
>Okay.
George grinned but quickly sobered—he wouldn’t risk the mutt’s jaws again. His plan would work, but it meant reaching out to Mrs. Wong for help. She had little patience for mistakes, but he couldn’t risk botching the job any further. Wong had resources. Very effective people. People he never wanted to meet.
He steeled his jaw, and dialed the special number again. With Angela and September both gone, he could bury that part of his life forever, and never worry about Kaliko Wong again.
