Cry Woof Read online

  Hero cocked his head to let me know it was all right. We couldn’t control human behavior. People were gonna do what people were gonna do. Plus they were both off the clock. He was right, but I still worried. I hoped the rookie hadn’t lost any respect for The Chief. I hoped her Alpha position wasn’t in question. And then there was my girl, Cassie. Her fur was pushed the wrong way, too.

  “It’s not like we meant to go looking for trouble,” she grumbled as she took another bite of enchilada. It was cold — I could tell by the smell. Not as strong. “There were a bunch of people standing practically outside her house,” Cassie said between chews.

  Hero let out a guilty whimper, and I knew what he meant. We’d led her to Prospect Street like hounds on a hunt. So really it was our fault.

  Cassie’s phone rang, making my ears prick. Both of them. Sometimes my bad one acted like it was still good. Cassie set the half-eaten plate of enchiladas on the floor. Mmmm. Enchiladas. “Hello?” she said, and then, “Oh, hey, Hay. I was just going to call you.”

  I could hear the buzz of Hayley’s voice through the phone. It was almost enough to distract me from the delicious dinner in front of me. Almost, but not quite. I loved enchiladas. Even cold ones.

  “Yeah, right?” Cassie said into the phone. “It’s great to have Mom back at work, but she’s back on my case, too.” She forked up another bite.

  I struggled to pay attention to the conversation. To focus on Cassie telling Hayley what happened. But I already knew all about what happened. And … enchiladas!

  Of course, I understood that the dinner on the floor wasn’t mine. It was Cassie’s. Except that food on the floor usually was mine. Or The Cat’s. Or Mine. Floor patrol was one of my jobs. An important one. Clean floors were essential.

  Cassie kept talking. “Yes. Seriously. In the bushes!” She reached over and gave me a pet, then used her foot to shove the plate in my direction. An invitation! For enchiladas! Woof! Did I mention that I loved enchiladas?

  I got to my feet and took a nibble. Mmmm. Tortillas. Did I have to share with Hero? Another lick. Cheese. No, I didn’t. Chicken. I’d already shared Esther’s crumbs. Sauce. And Cassie had given her plate to me.

  I was about to step to the side to block the plate when Hero got up and started sniffing. Not the plate of enchiladas. No. He was sniffing my bed. He’d found something. But, mmmm. So had my tongue. Chicken. Cheese. Tortillas. Enchiladas!

  I could see Hero snuffling at the edge of my bed while I ate. I licked my chops. The only thing under there was …

  Woof! Oh, no. Bunny! Bunny lived under there. Bunny, my sleep buddy!

  Hero couldn’t find Bunny. Hero couldn’t know about Bunny. Ever! Cassie had given me Bunny and I’d unstuffed him myself. He was mine. I gulped down the last of the enchiladas. I turned and growled without licking the plate. Hero took a step back. I felt a little bad. I didn’t usually talk to Hero like that. But Bunny was classified. Totally top secret. And I’d do whatever it took to keep him that way.

  I circled once, twice, three times. Fwump! I lay down on my bed and let out a breath. I loved my bed. It smelled like … me. I pulled out Bunny and gave him a sniff. I loved Bunny. Bunny smelled like me, too.

  Hero was finally gone — retrieved by Riley. My tail thumped just thinking about it. Partly because I knew Bunny was safe. Partly because I knew The Mom’s reputation was safe. And partly because I just wasn’t a two-dog dog.

  Cassie ran a brush through her hair and plopped into her bed. “I’m glad today is over,” she mumbled. She burrowed under the covers. I was glad the day was over, too. Plus this was my favorite time of day. Snooze time. Quiet time. Cassie time.

  I put my head on Bunny just as Cassie’s hand dropped into my scruff. I exhaled slowly through my nose. Woof. I loved the feel of her fingers in my fur. I lay perfectly still, perfectly relaxed, waiting. Waiting for Cassie’s breathing to change. Waiting for Cassie to fall asleep.

  Sometimes I had to wait a long time. But not tonight. Her breathing slowed. It grew steady and deep. I stood slowly and nudged her arm up onto the bed. I licked her cheek. Time for nightly rounds.

  I padded downstairs silently. I never knew who was going to be in the kitchen, even late at night. The Sullivan kitchen saw a lot of action. But tonight the coast was clear. I did a quick crumb check, then stood still, listening. The house was quiet.

  I jumped up and caught the back door latch with my paw. Click. Got it on the first try. I hadn’t always been so good at getting out — I had to learn. And catching the latch was only the first step. I kept the handle down while I hopped backward. That was the hard part. Then, when the door was open far enough, I slipped through. Got my tail clear. Swish. Click. I was out.

  I trotted onto the lawn and inhaled the night air. Night air always smelled good. But it had been getting colder lately. Cold disguised smells — hid them under frosty layers. And it stung the inside of my nose. I raised it anyway and took a deep sniff. I picked up damp leaves. Dying grass. Wood smoke. Then I was ready. My paws moved fast over the lawn. A big leap and I was over the fence. I felt the chilly wind in my ears. Awoof! I loved nightly rounds. Most of Bellport was asleep. Most, but not all.

  My snout throbbed slightly as I trotted down the sidewalk. It still hurt from the scratch. Thinking about the scratch made me think about the cat who gave it to me. Grrrr. I hoped that cat got stuck in that tree. I hoped that cat was still stuck in that tree. I hoped so much I decided to check it out. I moved down the block, keeping my eyes peeled. My ears up. My senses on high alert.

  I was on Prospect Street in a hurry. I padded over to the tree where the feline menace was last seen. But I knew she wasn’t there. Knew because I didn’t smell her.

  Aw, woof. The little devil was probably lapping up a saucer of milk inside Madame’s house. More injustice. I started across the street, my nose smarting. Then twitching. I could smell Bloom’s yard. Asters. Russian sage. Rotting leaves. I could smell cats, too. And that fishy ocean smell. Prospect Street wasn’t near the ocean, though. And there wasn’t even a lake or pond within sprinting distance. I sniffed again. It wasn’t the fishy smell of cat food, either. I knew cat food and this was different. Deeply fishy. My nose quivered and a weird feeling snaked its way into my bones.

  Something was strange. Wrong. Not right. I stopped in front of Madame’s house. It wasn’t a smell tipping me off this time, it was a sound. And a feeling. My hackles rose. The front porch light was dark, but the kitchen light was on in back. I slunk up the driveway for a closer look. Kept a low profile. I could really hear it now — the thing that was making me uneasy.

  Yowling cats.

  Cats were the worst. Besides the claws and the climbing, the lazy beasts never stopped meyowling for food. Only I knew that wasn’t what these cats were meyowling about. Not this time.

  Every hair on my back stood straight up as I stepped onto the back porch. The sound made me want to run but I forced myself to stay. Stay. I was a professional. I was trained. I would investigate.

  I pushed my snout through the cat door. I tried to squeeze the rest of me in, too. But only my head and neck made it.

  It was enough. Enough to see. And really hear. I whined at the sound, but the cats didn’t notice. They were busy yowling and walking all over Madame. Yes. Walking on her. Their lady was on the floor. Not moving. Not responding to the howling and screeching. Not breathing.

  This was bad. Really bad.

  It looked like Madame was …

  Rowf! I needed backup!

  I yanked myself back through the cat door, grazing my scratched nose on the frame. I almost let out a yelp, but didn’t. Not that the cats would have noticed. They were too freaked out to notice anything.

  I must have been a little freaked, too. Because I bumped into a flowerpot. Hard. I lost my balance and half fell, tipping the pot off the stairs. Crash! It splintered on the cement walk below. So much for low profile.

  I turned and raced down the driveway while the lights came
on at Bloom’s. “Who’s there?” a voice called.

  I didn’t reply. I was already halfway down the block, racing home to get Cassie.

  “As if I’d ever socialize with a nobody like you.” Summer sneered in my direction.

  I stared at her, trying to think of a zingy retort. Nothing came to me. I wiped my face — it felt damp — and willed myself not to look away.

  Something warm and wet slid across my cheek, and I smelled dog breath. That was weird. I put my hand out. Another slobbery swipe across my palm.

  Dodge, I told myself in a sleepy haze. It’s Dodge. I’m dreaming.

  Or at least I had been dreaming. “Dodge, no.” I pushed Dodge’s snout away. I was fine with dog kisses most of the time, but … “It’s the middle of the night!” I moaned.

  I rolled toward the wall and pulled my knees up, willing both Summer and Dodge away. Summer faded, but Dodge took the covers in his teeth and pulled.

  Dodge had never pulled my covers off before. Ever. So whatever he was trying to tell me had to be important. I rolled back over and sat up, rubbing my eyes.

  “What?” I asked, shivering.

  Dodge let out a sharp “Rowf!” Not his usual “woof.” This bark meant business.

  I put my hands on either side of his big square head and gazed into his brown eyes. “What is it, boy?”

  His eyes widened slightly and he pulled away, backing toward the door. “Rowf!” Again, sharp and insistent.

  “Okay, okay,” I told him, getting to my feet. Whatever it was, it was serious. He wanted me to follow him. “I’m coming.”

  I pulled a pair of sweats over my pajama bottoms and shoved a mini-flashlight into my pocket. A rumbling sound made me stop for a second — the garage door. I hurried to the window in time to see Mom pulling out in the police cruiser. Only it wasn’t just Mom; it was Mom and Dad. That meant something major was going on.

  “Wow. Big-time, huh?” I looked at Dodge, impressed that he’d gotten the lead on this while I was sound asleep. “So what happened?”

  Dodge shifted his weight from foot to foot and whimpered. Most of the time Dodge and I didn’t need words — we could communicate with eye contact and body language. But every once in a while I wished we could just talk. Like right now.

  “You’ll just have to show me,” I told him as we left our room. He led me down the stairs, first to my jacket, then to the garage. I hopped on my bike and followed him through the darkness, down Salisbury Drive and onto Elm. When we turned onto Prospect Street I immediately saw flashing lights — an ambulance in front of Madame’s house. Mom’s cruiser was parked next to the curb. I stopped pedaling and almost lost my balance.

  “We can’t get too close,” I told Dodge as I hid my bike between a hedge and a garage several houses down. “We don’t want to risk getting caught.” We couldn’t stay away, though, either. We snuck into Erica Bloom’s yard and hid behind her potting shed.

  It was a busy scene, I realized with a shudder. The first floor of Madame’s house was lit up like a Christmas tree, and through the lace curtains I could see the shapes of the people working inside. Mom stood alone at her patrol car with her phone pressed to her ear, so I had to assume Dad was inside. Which meant …

  I shook my head to clear it, pulled my hood up around my ears, and looked around at the people I could see. Erica shivered in her pajamas at the edge of her lawn, her face a mask. Across the street, Henry Kales stared at Madame’s house like a zombie. A man I only half recognized approached Mom. He was short and skinny with a paunchy belly and bristly hair.

  “That must be Bill Heinz,” I told Dodge as I watched the new neighbor gesture with his hands. Dodge put his nose in the air and breathed in and out so deeply I could see his cheeks filling with air. “I’ll bet you can read him from here,” I said with a chuckle. “What’s he smell like?”

  Bill was nodding emphatically at Mom. He yawned and stretched. I wanted to decide that he seemed suspicious, but couldn’t be sure.

  Dodge and I sat there for a long time. Watching. Sniffing. Waiting. My butt got cold and my back got stiff. Bill stopped talking. Henry paced on the sidewalk. Erica went back into her house. “I wish we could get closer,” I said with a sigh.

  Dodge let out his own deep breath; we were in total agreement.

  Finally Dad came out of the house with a stretcher and two EMTs. Dad was no stranger to stretchers; he was the town coroner. But tonight he looked grim. The body bag on top was all zipped up. It was what I’d suspected but didn’t want to believe.

  Dodge’s nose twitched and he let out a whimper. I scooted toward him and wrapped an arm around his neck. Only one person had lived in that house — the one coming out in a bag.

  “Oh, Dodge.” I gulped. “Madame LeFarge is dead.”

  I smelled the plastic body bag before Cassie saw it. And I knew. I guess I knew from the moment I stuck my head through the cat door. I’d encountered dead bodies before. Only this time I didn’t want to know.

  But now Cassie’d said it out loud. Madame was dead. Now I knew it and felt it. Cassie put her arm around me. We felt it together.

  Then I felt something else. My nose. It tingled. Something brushed my tail. I twitched it off, not really paying attention. I smelled dust and thyme. A familiar yowl made my spine stiffen. It was my attacker’s yowl. The reason I’d come to investigate in the first place! But that was before a body was put in a bag.

  I stared as the body was loaded into the ambulance. The Dad climbed in behind it. He was the coroner. Bodies in bags were his job. We watched them drive away, Cassie and I.

  The taillights disappeared and I turned to watch The Chief. She was talking to Kales. He looked like he’d been kicked. Like he needed to find a quiet spot to lick his wounds.

  “So you were the one who found her?” The Chief asked. She wrote stuff on a pad of paper. Kind of like Cassie’s notebook, only smaller. Kales nodded. Answering and not answering. There but not there.

  “I heard a crash and went over,” he said. “She usually yells at me to get away from her porch the minute I step off the sidewalk. But this time there was no yelling. Just the cats …”

  I wondered if the crash was the flowerpot I’d knocked over. Kales wasn’t the first one to find Madame. I was. Right after her cats. And maybe someone else.

  The Chief asked more questions but didn’t get much out of the neighbors. She’d be done soon. Nothing else to dig up tonight. A little bit of light was starting to show in the sky. I nudged Cassie under the chin with my muzzle. Her arm was still around my neck, the way I liked it. But we needed to move.

  “Right. We should go,” she whispered. She got to her feet and walked stiffly to her bike. She kept to the darkest shadows. I kept close to her side.

  By the time we got home, the sun was getting ready to rise. We were dog tired. Cassie took a shower while I waited outside the door. Tile floors weren’t for dogs, unless it was hot.

  The Mom and The Dad were both home when we went downstairs. They looked like old tug toys. Chewed up and stretched out.

  “We got an emergency call late last night,” The Mom reported to the pack as they ate their cereal. It wasn’t a pancake morning. There would be no bacon.

  “Madame LeFarge is dead.” The Chief wrapped her paws around her coffee mug. Steam rose in front of her face.

  “What? How?” Cassie gasped. She sounded surprised. She sounded like we hadn’t just watched the whole thing. She was a top-notch actress. Good Cassie.

  The Dad nodded and let out a big breath. He didn’t seem as sad as The Mom. He liked a body. Spent a lot of time with them. “I’ve ordered an autopsy,” he said. “The emergency call warrants it. But it looks like she just slipped and fell in her kitchen.”

  The Mom’s forehead got all bunched. Cassie looked surprised all over again, for real this time. There was no tangy lie smell in the air like there was a minute ago. She looked a little disappointed, too. I was with her. We were both thinking: Slipped and fell in her ki
tchen? That was not how a lady as crazy as Madame would die.

  No. Way.

  On Saturdays Dodge and I always went to Pet Rescue, the shelter where I volunteered. Pet Rescue was one of my favorite places on the planet, and helping find forever-families for animals was one of the best things I did, right behind detective work with Dodge. But after our all-nighter on Prospect Street, I was beat. My eyes were scratchy and I had a throat tickle. I was seriously tempted to skip Pet Rescue and kick it on the couch. But I knew those fuzzy orphaned faces at PR were counting on me, and I had a feeling that sticking to my regular routine might help me shed the uneasy feelings I’d been having about Madame.

  I wasn’t sure if he was picking it up from me or feeling it himself, but Dodge seemed tired and creeped out, too. He usually loved going to PR, and raced ahead and wagged at the front door. But today he hung back all droopy tailed. Not wagging. Not whining. Just looking. It was like the shelter was emitting Dodge repellent or something.

  “Come on,” I coaxed. He came, but reluctantly. And the minute I opened the door I understood why. In fact, I probably should’ve heeded Dodge’s warning.

  “Cassie! I’m so glad you’re here!” Gwen called desperately from behind the reception desk. Gwen practically ran Pet Rescue and was usually unflappable. She could mop up a puppy puddle with one hand, fill out adoption forms with the other, and never let her latte get cold or her community college homework go undone. She was on top of things.

  But not today.

  Today Gwen’s pink-streaked hair was hanging in her face, and even through the fringe I could tell she was frazzled. There were three takeout coffee cups on the counter, all half filled with cold caffeine. “We just got thirteen new animals — all cats!” she explained, shaking her head. “And they are not happy about it.”