kept banging shoulders with me, slipped an arm through mine and continued walking. “Come on, Kat, we can’t chicken out now. It’s common knowledge that all successful detectives do their detecting in the hours of darkness.”
My snigger broke through the heavy silence. “Says who?”
“Well…” Tanya paused but didn’t stop walking. “Kinsey Millhone doesn’t investigate a suspect in the noon-day sun, does she? And look how successful she is.”
“She might be successful, but she’s also not real . Kinsey Millhone is a figment of Sue Grafton’s imagination—a character from a book.”
The nearer we drew to the house, the more I wanted to put on my brakes. Turn tail and skedaddle back to the car. Go home. The thought of sharing a family sized pizza with Tater and Lucky and our two canine guests, Stella and Stanley, all of us zoned out in front of the television, seemed a much more sensible alternative to what I was doing right now. I sighed. Where had my brain been hiding when I’d let my hormonal, gung-ho friend talk me into paying our geriatric dog-napper a visit in the middle of the night?
Unease, with all its shivery manifestations, continued to bite at my gut as we neared the four rickety steps leading up onto the overhanging front veranda. Who knew what lay beyond that front door? Jack Lantana, dressed in psychedelic orange and yellow pajamas, leering manically at us while sharpening his axe to a fine edge on wet sandstone?
Beside me, Tanya inhaled a deep breath. “You know what, Kat, I think—”
I never did get to hear what Tanya thought.
From the bowels of the closest wreck, a rusted-out car body that looked like it had been propped up on blocks for the last fifty odd years, slunk two dark creatures of the night.
Guard dogs…
Or to be more precise—large, slit-eyed, black and tan Rottweilers, their fierce growls indicating they were ready to tear out throats and swallow human tonsils.
A harsh panting noise pounded in my ears. I didn’t know if it came from Tanya, the dogs or me. A sour urine-like stench assailed my nostrils. Once again, I didn’t know if it came from Tanya, the dogs or me…
Then, like a well-oiled team, the two dogs slunk in behind us and posed; bodies’ rigid, snarls vowing menace.
Holy catfish!
I clutched at my throat which suddenly felt very exposed, very vulnerable. Retreat would now result in copious blood, a plethora of screams and definite hospitalization—or worse. Hand trembling, I shone the flashlight on our aggressors and my heart did a painful belly-flop. Every hair along the dogs’ backs stood on end. Their mean mouths drooled in anticipation. And the smell of hostility and old meat had my stomach heaving.
“Run!” yelled Tanya.
As if I needed any prodding…
All systems struggling to suck more blood and air and speed from my deeply traumatized body, I flew up the steps onto the veranda where Tanya was already hurling her shoulder against the front door.
“Is it lock–?” A sharp pain turned my words into a piercing scream. Almost brought me to my knees. The leading Rottweiler, the one with the white foam spewing like shaving cream from his mouth, had latched onto the seat of my jeans.
I was going to die. Ripped to shreds by a crazy demented canine. I must have done something horrendous in a previous life to deserve to die like this.
It was so unfair—I was a lover of dogs.
“Quick, Kat…in here!”
Before Cujo could spit out the jagged piece of denim and sink his fangs into exposed flesh, I fell through the open doorway into Tanya’s waiting arms.
Between us, we managed to slam and bolt the door from the inside, catching Rottweiler number one’s nose in the act. A chilling howl preceded by a crashing thump shook the door on its hinges and rattled crockery half a block away.
Tanya grabbed my arm and hung on like it was the last pair of Jimmy Choos on the sales counter. “You okay, Kat?”
With no breath left to do anything
My snigger broke through the heavy silence. “Says who?”
“Well…” Tanya paused but didn’t stop walking. “Kinsey Millhone doesn’t investigate a suspect in the noon-day sun, does she? And look how successful she is.”
“She might be successful, but she’s also not real . Kinsey Millhone is a figment of Sue Grafton’s imagination—a character from a book.”
The nearer we drew to the house, the more I wanted to put on my brakes. Turn tail and skedaddle back to the car. Go home. The thought of sharing a family sized pizza with Tater and Lucky and our two canine guests, Stella and Stanley, all of us zoned out in front of the television, seemed a much more sensible alternative to what I was doing right now. I sighed. Where had my brain been hiding when I’d let my hormonal, gung-ho friend talk me into paying our geriatric dog-napper a visit in the middle of the night?
Unease, with all its shivery manifestations, continued to bite at my gut as we neared the four rickety steps leading up onto the overhanging front veranda. Who knew what lay beyond that front door? Jack Lantana, dressed in psychedelic orange and yellow pajamas, leering manically at us while sharpening his axe to a fine edge on wet sandstone?
Beside me, Tanya inhaled a deep breath. “You know what, Kat, I think—”
I never did get to hear what Tanya thought.
From the bowels of the closest wreck, a rusted-out car body that looked like it had been propped up on blocks for the last fifty odd years, slunk two dark creatures of the night.
Guard dogs…
Or to be more precise—large, slit-eyed, black and tan Rottweilers, their fierce growls indicating they were ready to tear out throats and swallow human tonsils.
A harsh panting noise pounded in my ears. I didn’t know if it came from Tanya, the dogs or me. A sour urine-like stench assailed my nostrils. Once again, I didn’t know if it came from Tanya, the dogs or me…
Then, like a well-oiled team, the two dogs slunk in behind us and posed; bodies’ rigid, snarls vowing menace.
Holy catfish!
I clutched at my throat which suddenly felt very exposed, very vulnerable. Retreat would now result in copious blood, a plethora of screams and definite hospitalization—or worse. Hand trembling, I shone the flashlight on our aggressors and my heart did a painful belly-flop. Every hair along the dogs’ backs stood on end. Their mean mouths drooled in anticipation. And the smell of hostility and old meat had my stomach heaving.
“Run!” yelled Tanya.
As if I needed any prodding…
All systems struggling to suck more blood and air and speed from my deeply traumatized body, I flew up the steps onto the veranda where Tanya was already hurling her shoulder against the front door.
“Is it lock–?” A sharp pain turned my words into a piercing scream. Almost brought me to my knees. The leading Rottweiler, the one with the white foam spewing like shaving cream from his mouth, had latched onto the seat of my jeans.
I was going to die. Ripped to shreds by a crazy demented canine. I must have done something horrendous in a previous life to deserve to die like this.
It was so unfair—I was a lover of dogs.
“Quick, Kat…in here!”
Before Cujo could spit out the jagged piece of denim and sink his fangs into exposed flesh, I fell through the open doorway into Tanya’s waiting arms.
Between us, we managed to slam and bolt the door from the inside, catching Rottweiler number one’s nose in the act. A chilling howl preceded by a crashing thump shook the door on its hinges and rattled crockery half a block away.
Tanya grabbed my arm and hung on like it was the last pair of Jimmy Choos on the sales counter. “You okay, Kat?”
With no breath left to do anything
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