Authors: Annette Reynolds
Nick grinned crookedly. “I’ll be at Sparky’s when I get back. I’ll drop by later. You can show me the brochure. And would you
please
lock your damned door?”
“Honey, you keep kissing me like that, I’ll even put on the deadbolt for you.”
Nick put the last brush stroke of primer on the new wood and climbed down the ladder. Hot, thirsty, and exhausted, all he wanted to do was go home to a beer and a shower – preferably at the same time.
“Hey, Sparky?” he called into the house. The old man’s silver head came into view. “I’ll pick up the tools tomorrow. And do me a favor. Next time you decide to barbecue, notify the fire department in advance.” Karlson waved him away with a smile.
Nick slowly walked down the path, savoring the cool shade. As he approached Number 16, the late-afternoon quiet was broken by the frenetic barking of dogs. Several, from the sound of it. He looked up in time to see Manny, Moe, and Jack – the Nelsen’s trio – crash through the undergrowth and dive under the back deck of the burned out house.
Normally, the threesome stayed fairly close to home, but every once in a while they’d get a wild hair and go for a joy ride, so to speak. Nick listened to their wild yelping and decided they’d probably cornered someone’s cat, and with his luck it would be C.B. DeMille. Nick was tempted to walk on, but as tired as he was he knew Emily would be devastated if anything happened to that cat.
Putting his fingers to his mouth, Nick whistled loudly. The barking stopped for a moment, but began again with even more frenzy. He sighed, and started up the wooden steps, then cut around the side of the house.
“Hey!” he shouted, as he rounded the corner. All three dogs, the fur along their spines standing in ridges, were frantically scrabbling at the dirt along the lattice-enclosed bottom of the deck. Nick whistled again, but they ignored him. Five feet from them now, he clapped his hands and yelled, “Shut the hell up and
go home!
”
And then he heard something else sandwiched between all the other noise, and it sounded like a human voice.
Ch
apter Twenty-Five
“You okay in there?” Nick, down on all fours, had to physically shove aside the dogs. He peered under the deck, but the shadows made for zero visibility.
A man’s voice came from the far right corner.
“I think so, but can you get rid of those dogs?”
Nick could just make out the outline of a darker – human – shadow. “Sure, if you’ll tell me why they were chasing you.”
“I haven’t got a clue.”
The man had a trace of an accent Nick couldn’t place, but he was pretty sure about one thing. He’d found the burglar.
“Who are you?” Nick asked.
“Name’s Phil.”
“Well, Phil, I’ll tell ya what.” Nick sat down cross-legged in front of the small hole in the lattice panel. “I know everyone on the beach, and I don’t know you. So, why don’t you fill me in on what you’re doing stuck under this deck.”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got all the time in the world. By the way, my name’s Nick.”
“Pleased to meet you, Nick.”
Nick smiled, thinking this was the most well-mannered bum he’d ever come across. The dogs seemed to agree with him. They were now quietly sitting in a row behind Nick – panting – with expectant looks on their faces.
“Look, Phil. I know you’re the guy who’s been stealing stuff from the residents.”
“I prefer to think of it as the liberation of excess goods.”
Nick had to chuckle. He hadn’t heard that expression since the late ‘60’s, and then, only from newsreels.
“Okay, Phil. Call it whatever you want, as long as you know that I know. So, what are we gonna do about this? I mean, I
could
call the cops…”
“I wish you wouldn’t, Nick.”
“Give me a good reason not to. The people down here work pretty hard for what they’ve got.”
The man was silent for a moment, then said, “I’d be willing to work off my debt to Salmon Beach society.”
“I can’t make that deal with a man I can’t see.”
“What about the dogs?”
Nick looked behind him again. Manny had fallen asleep. Moe was busy licking himself. And Jack had wandered off somewhere in search of fresh adventure.
“I think it’s safe to say the novelty’s worn off.”
There was a rustling of dry leaves as the man crawled toward the small opening. Nick scooted back a few feet and waited. A set of grimy fingers poked through the holes in the lattice and lifted it aside. What Nick saw looking back at him would’ve been fairly scary if it hadn’t been for the positively childlike grin the man wore.
“I can see by the expression on your face that I must look like a refugee from the Manson family,” the man said. “But I can assure you I clean up very well. How about that deal?”
Nick’s scrutiny went on for a few more seconds, while Phil patiently waited for his answer. It was the man’s intelligent eyes that made the decision for him, and Nick finally stood and dusted himself off.
Manny woke up with a snort, saw the addition to the group, and gave a perfunctory growl before putting his head back down between his paws. Moe had already gone in search of Jack.
“I guess I could use some help around here,” Nick said.
As the man called Phil got to his feet, Nick saw his height almost matched his own, but he was much leaner. Displaying a set of near-perfect teeth, he held out his hand. Nick took it with a fleeting sense of trepidation. This wasn’t any ordinary street person.
But there was some quality in him – something Nick couldn’t name at the moment – that made Nick push aside any reservations he had.
“I’m very grateful for your leniency,” Phil said. “I guess I’m lucky you’re the man who found me.”
Phil came into the living room pulling one of Nick’s t-shirts over his chest. Nick looked up from the sports section of the paper and tried to keep the look of astonishment off his face.
The shower and change of clothes made a marked difference in the man. His thick, graying hair – pulled back in a ponytail earlier – was now combed back. It hung about three inches past his shoulders, but the dampness didn’t control the natural waves. He’d trimmed his beard and mustache, and Nick could see he was younger than he originally thought. If he had to guess, Nick would say he was close to his own age.
He put down the paper. “There’s beer in the fridge. If you’re hungry, there’s some ham. Make yourself a sandwich.”
“I’ll pass on the beer, but some food sounds pretty good. Thanks.”
As Phil acquainted himself with the kitchen, Nick said, “So, where’re you from?”
“Nowhere, really. But I’ve spent the last seven years or so in New Orleans.”
“Doing what?”
“Odd jobs. Nothing special.”
“That’s a long time to do nothing special,” Nick commented.
“I suppose it is.” Phil came into the living room holding a plate. “Okay if I eat this in here?”
Nick shrugged. “It’s where I do all my fine dining.”
Phil smiled and took a bite.
“You have a last name?” Nick asked.
The man seemed to think about it for a second, then replied, “Madvick. You?”
Out of habit, Nick answered, “Patrick. So, what brings you to Washington?”
Phil chewed and swallowed. “I needed a change of scenery.”
Nick took in the scar just about his left eyebrow. “Something happen in New Orleans you don’t want me to know about?” He saw a look of something like pain cross the man’s face.
“No, not really,” Phil replied. “Seven years is my limit in any one place.”
“What you’re telling me, in other words, is it’s none of my business.”
Phil smiled. “Yes, but it seemed rude to say it to the man whose food I’m eating and whose clothes I’m wearing.” He stood and carried the plate into the kitchen.
Nick heard water running. The man was actually cleaning up after himself.
He didn’t know what to make of this Phil Madvick, if that was his real name. Nick could hear the education in his voice and his words. Despite his secrets – something Nick could relate to – there was a disarming openness about him. He was, for lack of any better word, charming. He made Nick
want
to trust him. But there was something else he still couldn’t put his finger on. Something he was seeing but not recognizing.
“So, what would you like me to do first?” Phil asked.
Nick got out of his armchair. “You can start tomorrow,” he said, as he fished a set of keys out of a ceramic bowl. “And you’d better still be around.”
“Scout’s honor,” Phil said, holding up two fingers.
“They do it different out here,” Nick said, putting up three fingers in the traditional Boy Scout salute. “Come on. I’ll show you where you can bunk for now.”
As Nick unlocked the door to Number 70, he said, “This place belongs to a buddy of mine. He’s overseas right now.” He flicked on the overhead light and let Phil enter the one-room cabin.
“Is he in the Army?”
“Air Force.” Nick opened a window to let out the stale heat. “He only uses it for fishing.”
“Spartan,” Phil said, looking around. Nick raised an eyebrow, and the man quickly went on. “But, a veritable palace compared to what I’m used to.”
“I’m sure,” Nick said dryly. “Anyway, it’s got everything you’ll need.” He tossed Phil the key. “Stay in for the rest of the night. I don’t want you talking to anyone until I can talk to them first.”
“I understand.” Phil held up a paperback copy of a Mickey Spillane novel he’d plucked from a small shelf. “Besides, I’ve never had the pleasure.”
Nick wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic, and he suddenly felt at a slight disadvantage. “Where’ve you got your stuff stashed? I’ll get it for you.”
“That’s okay. I can get it tomorrow.”
“I don’t mind.” Nick could see unease run through the man’s body.
“I’ve got it pretty well hidden. And I really don’t need it tonight.”
“Have it your way,” Nick said. “The phone works.” He wrote his number on a pad of paper. “But I’ve got plans tonight, so if something comes up leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
“What time should I be on your doorstep?” Phil asked.
“I’m usually up by seven.” Nick started for the door. “But you stay here. I’ll come get you.”
As Nick reached in to pull the door shut, Phil was sitting on the bed, untying his shoes. He looked over at Nick. His smile wasn’t all there as he said, “Thanks again.” Then he picked up the book and laid down.
Nick slowly walked back to his house, unable to rid himself of the image of Phil Madvick’s lost smile. He hoped to God he wasn’t making a mistake.
But as he entered his bathroom and turned on the faucet to take that shower he’d wanted nearly two hours ago, Nick was once again impressed at how careful the man had been. The towels he’d used hung neatly on the rack. The sink was clean. The counter had been wiped down. His filthy clothes were folded and stacked in a corner. The room was actually cleaner now than it had been when Nick showed him in.
He stepped under the spray and decided to take him at face value. Everyone had skeletons. Everyone had troubles.
Nick smiled to himself. What the hell…He had a great story to tell Maddy.
DOG DAYS
Chapter
Twenty-Six
He hadn’t thought of himself as Danny Phillips in many years. So many, in fact, that even now he wasn’t quite sure he could remember that time in his life. But as he lay on the twin bed, chalky moonlight streaming across his fully-clothed body, Phil Madvick tested the name on his tongue. How long had it been since he’d said his real name out loud? It was a question he pondered to pass the time until he either fell asleep, or dawn came.
When he finally remembered, a sour smile crossed his features. Of course. No wonder he’d forgotten. It had been his motivation for leaving the States, because there didn’t seem to be any reason to stay after that. And there certainly wasn’t any inducement to keep a name that had brought him nothing but sorrow.
He’d been on his own for nearly six months; too long to be separated from Maddy. He’d missed her terribly. Was scared without her. He stole a postcard from a drugstore in Ellensburg, addressed it to her care of the University of Washington, and wrote a message. He even went so far as to buy a stamp, but hadn’t seen any point in mailing it. There was no way for her to contact him. And that was what he really wanted: contact.
So, despite his father’s warning, Danny went back over the Cascade Mountains. Back to Seattle. But Maddy was gone.
He’d hung around the University District, trying to discover where she’d moved. One afternoon, as he sat outside a coffee house nursing a mocha – a rare indulgence – a group of students came out of the bookstore and settled at the table next to his. He pricked up his ears when their conversation segued into the photography assignment they’d been given that morning.
Loathe as he was to talk to strangers, Danny turned to the nearest girl and said, “Excuse me. Do you know Maddy Phillips? I think she’s taking photography.”
The girl thought about it, shook her head, then said to the others, “Anyone know a Maddy Phillips?”
“Maddy’s gone on to bigger and better things,” a curly-haired male had said, lighting a cigarette. “She got accepted at Brooks.”
“Brooks?” Danny had asked.
“Yeah. Brooks Institute. Santa Barbara.” The student tilted his head back and blew a thin stream of smoke into the air. “You missed her by a couple of months. You know her from Tacoma?”
Danny had nodded, afraid to say anything more.
“Maddy did some awesome stuff.” The boy directed his comments to the others. “She’s still got some prints hanging in the library. Amazing…”
“Thanks,” Danny said, getting up. “Guess I’ll have to look up her folks.”
Before leaving Seattle, he’d made a pilgrimage to the university’s library. As he’d gazed at Maddy’s photographs, Danny felt her latent presence. They brought him momentary peace, and he’d left the building with one of the smaller prints tucked into his backpack. He’d already become quite proficient at that sort of thing.
It took him five days to get down to Santa Barbara. His VW beetle overheated on a regular basis, and he blew a tire just outside Paso Robles. But once he got there, it wasn’t hard finding her.
It took him another three days to get up the courage to knock on the door of the rooming house where she lived. The owner, an older woman, told him she’d moved and closed the door in his face. When he rang the bell and asked where, she looked at him suspiciously. “I’m her brother,” he’d said. But she wanted proof before she’d give him any more information, and he’d had to hand her his driver’s license, which still showed his parent’s Tacoma address. That, and his real name.
The woman – still not certain she could trust him – finally gave him Maddy’s forwarding address after Danny offered to mow her lawn.
When he got to the Pacific Garden Apartments, Danny had to make sure he had the right address. The immaculately-kept grounds, the ocean view, and the security gate all spelled big money. Quite a jump from the boarding house, and he’d wondered how Maddy had made that leap.