I lifted my foot off the toy and another loud squeak cut through the thick silence as the hollow rubber inflated again. I held my breath when a second dog cleared the shadows. It stopped a few inches behind the first, flanking it on the right.
Watching me.
Still. Silent. Tracking my movements.
The third stepped forward. It was holding something in its mouth. Small. Brown. Furry.
Now I had an idea where all the dead cats were coming from.
The dog with the dead animal slowly crept forward, ears back, tail low. I smooshed my back against the house and held my breath as it moved close, closer, too close. It stopped a couple of feet away, lowered its head, and dropped its prize onto the dewy grass. Then, moving just as cautiously as it had when it approached, it backed away. When it met up with the other two, the pack turned around and raced into the still, dark shadows.
Finally, I was able to breathe again.
Afraid the dogs would be back at any moment, I hightailed it out of there, dashing around the side of the house. Something jumped out of the shadows just as I was about to turn the front corner. I slammed into it, bounced backward and landed on my ass. The air left my lungs with an audible “oof.”
Jerking my head, I looked up.
Jon.
“Why do you keep doing that?” I said, not hiding my exasperation.
“What do you mean, me? I was just looking for you. You’re the one who keeps slamming into people. You need to watch where you’re going.”
“I do watch where I’m going. You’re so freaking quiet and sneaky, I don’t see or hear you coming.” I started to push to my feet. I got a little help from Jon.
He dusted my ass, then gave it a pat. “I’m not sneaking up on you on purpose. When I didn’t see you in the house, I got worried.”
“Okay. Fine. Thanks for coming after me. As it turns out, you had good reason to be worried.” I started toward the house, Jon falling into step beside me.
“What happened?”
“I ran into a pack of dogs. Big ones.”
“Were you hurt?”
“No. Not at all. They didn’t seem aggressive. Although there was something really weird about them.” At the front of the house now, I glanced back.
“Weird? Like what?”
“I don’t know. Just ... something.” I wrapped my arms around myself as a little shiver shot up my spine. “One of them had a dead animal in its mouth. It brought it to me, dropped it at my feet. Like it was some kind of gift.” I stepped up onto the porch and checked the welcome mat. Dead animal–free.
“I’ll call animal control tomorrow.” Jon reached around my side and opened the door. “I think it would be better if you stayed inside after dark until those animals are caught. It’s after midnight. What made you go outside in the first place?”
“I heard voices.”
“Voices?” he echoed, stepping into the foyer.
“Yeah. Women’s voices. I thought it might be Erica. And maybe Samantha. So I came outside to check.”
As Jon reached for the door to close it, the soft sound of a woman’s laughter carried through the still night.
“There it goes again! Did you hear that?” Pushing past Jon, I rushed back out onto the porch, following the direction of the sound with my eyes.
Not far away, I caught sight of a tall shadow. Thin. “Samantha?” I called as I skipped down the front porch steps. I halted in the middle of the front yard, realizing there were shadows bouncing around the taller one. Big, dog-shaped shadows. Taking a step backward, I bumped into a walking brick wall. “I think those might be the dogs I saw before. Is that Samantha? She’s not afraid. Are they her dogs?”
“Uh, you might say that.” Jon looped an arm around my waist, hauling me up to him.
“But ... I didn’t know she had dogs. I’ve never heard barking, never seen them outside doing their doody—”
“We shouldn’t disturb them. Let’s go inside.”
I took one last look at the strange scene—straight out of Dances with Wolves—then let Jon lead me back into the house. This time, he shut and locked the door as soon as we were inside.
Feeling even more shivery than before, I asked, “Is it just me, or do you think it’s a little strange that Samantha is outside after midnight playing with her dogs?”
“Some people might think a lot of what goes on in this neighborhood is strange.”
That statement got my attention. “Like what?” I asked.
Jon shrugged and, taking my hand, headed toward the stairs.
I yanked my hand away, planted my feet, and refused to budge. “Jon, what did you mean by that? Ever since I arrived, I’ve been feeling like things around here are a little ... off. Is there more going on than a few dead stray cats?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” He swept my hair over one shoulder. There was no doubt what he was about to do next.
I shrugged away before he got his first nibble. “Jon.”
“Chrissy.” He cupped the back of my head, pulling me into a kiss.
Just as his mouth settled over mine, I shoved him. “It’s not going to work. You’re not going to distract me. What aren’t you telling me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not keeping anything from you.” Undeterred, he lunged forward, tackling me, looping his arms around my knees. I flopped over his shoulder like a big bag of ... something ... as he stood up.
I smacked him on the back, once for each step he ascended, the sound of each strike punctuating my words. “Jon.” Smack. “You can.” Smack. “Get all caveman.” Smack. “On me.” Smack. “But I’m not giving up.” Smack. “Tell me.”
He set me on my feet at the top of the stairs and gave me some seriously hungry eyes. “Have I told you how sexy you are when you’re annoyed?”
Argh! I shoved past him, slamming the door behind me and locking it.
Jon knocked. “Baby, let me in.”
“Not until you tell me what’s going on. You’re hiding something. What is it?”
He audibly sighed. “You’re going to have to ask them. I can’t say.”
“I left my job, my home, to come here. You should be able to tell me anything.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Fine,” I said, giving the door my best mean eyes. “You can sleep in the guest room.” Frustrated, I flopped onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
Six hours later, I gave up. There was absolutely no chance I was going to fall asleep. Feeling groggy, confused, foggy headed, and slightly depressed, I jumped into the shower, hoping some scalding hot water would wake me up a little. It helped. Figuring a half of pot of coffee would help even more, I staggered down to turn on the coffeemaker.
When I rounded the corner, lumbering into the kitchen, I stopped dead in my tracks.
There was a wire dog cable lying on the kitchen floor.
Right where Michelle had died.
Was this some kind of warning? A joke?
Telling myself it was nothing, absolutely nothing, a weird, terrible coincidence, I dashed outside, down to Samantha’s house, and up her front porch steps. She answered my knock dressed in yet another adorable vintage dress, her hair and makeup picture-perfect. Like always. “Good morning, Christine. What a surprise.” She looked me up and down. I knew I wasn’t looking my best, but who would in my shoes?
“Good morning,” I snapped, trying to peer around her. I didn’t hear any barking. Surely there’d be barking from those huge dogs.
What the hell was going on?
“I need to talk,” I said.
“Sure.” She escorted me into the kitchen.
No sign of dogs.
She invited me to sit at her breakfast bar and poured a cup of coffee.
No sign of dogs. Or kids, for that matter. The kids, I might guess were still sleeping. But the dogs ... ?
She asked, “What do you want to talk about?”
“What I saw last night, for starters. And then what I found this morning.”
Her lip twitched, but otherwise she remained as cool and collected as usual. “What did you see last night?”
“You. Outside. At roughly midnight. Playing with some ... dogs?”
“That couldn’t have been me. I was sleeping. And I don’t have any dogs. After I came home from the party, I took a Xanax and had some wine... .” She slumped onto the stool next to me. “Okay, I’ll admit, I don’t remember anything about last night. All I recall is going to bed and waking up this morning.” Staring down at the counter, Samantha clasped her hands in her lap. “My feet were a little muddy.”
“Did you black out?”
Samantha nodded. “I guess so, if you’re sure it was me you saw.”
I wasn’t one hundred percent certain. “Are you taking more than Xanax? And Valium?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do you have a drug problem?”
She shot to her feet, hurried to the sink, and began scrubbing an empty, presumably dirty, pot.