The Case of the Invisible Dog (6 page)

“Yes,” I said, caught up in the moment and memories of my own. “But maybe flowers are a nice little clue.”

“Well put!” Shirley exclaimed. “My great-great-grandfather once said much the same thing while gazing at a rose. You have unplumbed depths, Tammy, and I anticipate further revelations. Here is our turn.”

Stupidly, I found myself flattered by Shirley's comments for a moment, until I came back to my senses and remembered who I was dealing with.
Really, Tammy,
I told myself.
Get a grip.

I returned my focus to the matter at hand and found myself surprised as we drove down Augusta Drive. I had expected Matt Peterman to live in a much more modest neighborhood. These homes were all large and spacious, sitting on one or two acres, with long winding driveways, tall oaks and maples, and well-tended lawns and shrubbery. I saw the edge of a private golf course on the other side of the neighborhood, and here and there I spotted golf carts parked on some driveways.

As we made our way down the curving road the homes grew farther and farther apart, and it wasn't until we were almost to the end of the road—which dead-ended into the back of the private golf course—that Shirley told me to take another right turn. That's when I saw the cul-de-sac where Matt Peterman lived. The small road leading to the left on the opposite side was the back entrance to the Sturdy Oaks Country Club, which owned the golf course.

“Drive slowly, Tammy,” Shirley told me as I turned into the cul-de-sac. “I want to get a complete view of the surroundings that have given birth to our invisible dog.”

“Not as nice as the other properties,” I said, gazing at the five homes. Each of them was two stories tall, with brick exteriors, large windows, and good-sized yards. All of them were fenced off at the sides so that you couldn't see the backyard from the street. But they were older and not as well built or designed as the homes on the outside neighborhood. And all of them were identical except in the landscaping designs and the colors of paint on the window shutters.

“Yes,” Shirley said. “Not as nice as the others.”

“Which house is his?” I asked.

“The second one on the right. The first one on the left has been foreclosed on. The one next to it is for sale, as you can see. Chuck and Nancy Brown live next door to our Mr. Peterman, and over there the elderly couple, the Pittfords…Wait a minute. I think I see something—yes. A light. On the Pittfords' front porch. I see a shadow. There is someone on that porch!” she exclaimed excitedly. “This could be the source of our invisible dog. Pull around. There, into their driveway. Hurry! Hurry! Now stop the car!”

I hit the brakes even though I was only halfway up the drive, and before I could put the car into park, Shirley had pushed open the passenger door and leaped out.

“You there!” she yelled, pointing her brown cane at the front porch. “Stop!”

Shirley had been so busy yelling and ordering me around, I hadn't had a chance to look and see what she was talking about. Once I parked the car and turned off the ignition I craned my neck around, but I still didn't see anybody. So when I saw her running up the driveway waving her cane at the front porch, I wasn't sure what to do. Should I call the police? Stay put? Get out and see what was going on?

I immediately eliminated the option of calling the police. What would I tell them? My crazy boss, who believes that she's the great-great-granddaughter of Sherlock Holmes, is trying to solve the case of the invisible dog?

I really did not want to get out of the car. But I felt foolish sitting there while Shirley went running down the driveway. And yes—even though it made no sense—I also felt cowardly. Like I'd abandoned Shirley to fend off danger all on her own, even if it was a danger of her own imagining. So with grave misgivings and a growing fear that Shirley's delusion was much deeper than even Dr. Morgan realized, I forced myself to open the car door and step onto the Pittfords' driveway.

“Aha!” I heard Shirley yell from the front porch. “You have been found out, madam. It is useless to hide.”

“Who's hiding?” a female voice snapped. “And who the hell are you? Hey! Quit jabbing at me with that thing!”

Instead of getting back in my car and driving away, like a sensible person would, I went running down the driveway toward the front porch to see what was going on.

“Hey!” I heard the woman's voice say again. “Knock it off. I'm not fucking kidding. One more time with that thing and I'll kick your ass.”

I ran past the shrubs and up the steps, and as I did, I smelled cigarette smoke and saw curly white wisps billowing off the porch.

“Unhand me, you villain!” Shirley shouted as I ran onto the porch. She was trying desperately to hold on to her brown cane, which a large young woman wearing scrubs was just as desperately trying to grab away from her. The woman kept darting back and forth, and I couldn't see much of her features except for the brassy frosted-blond highlights shimmering all over her head.

“What are you?” the woman shrieked. “Some kind of a freak?”

“To someone of your low intelligence and limited vocabulary, it may indeed appear that way,” Shirley snapped back, tugging on the cane with all her might. “But I am a freak only in the sense that those who are blessed with uncommon brilliance may seem freakish to those who are not. Unhand me, I say! Ah, Tammy, there you are,” Shirley said with a—considering the
circumstances—remarkably
serene smile as she noticed me standing a few feet away. I stood there staring, most likely with my mouth hanging open. “Just in the nick of time, as always. I may require a bit of assistance.”

“Do you know this asshole?” the woman on the porch demanded, huffing and puffing and still tugging on the cane while Shirley did her best to hang on, despite the woman's superior size and strength. Now that she had stopped moving around, I took in her narrow eyes, already forming crow's feet at the edges, the bitter shape of her large mouth, and the pug nose that didn't fit with the rest of her face. “ 'Cause I think she may have a screw loose. I was just sitting here minding my own business, having a
cigarette—which
isn't against the law, by the way, this
is
private property—and the next thing I know she comes running at me with this cane and poking it at me. What is she? Some kind of anti-smoking nut?”

I cannot describe my emotions at that point. To say I was mortified is such an understatement that it doesn't bear mentioning.

“It is not your cigarette that bothers me,” Shirley retorted as the woman gave another fierce tug on the cane. Shirley stumbled for a moment, but then quickly recovered her position and gave a fierce tug back. “I myself have one or two habits that any doctor would advise me to stop immediately. For example, I indulge in a bear claw every morning in spite of its high content of sugar and fat. I know better, and yet I seem powerless to resist. No, madam, it is your presence on this porch that I find disturbing. I believe that you are the mastermind behind a criminal and dastardly plot to convince a man of the existence of an invisible dog.”

“An invisible dog? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Perhaps, Shirley,” I said in my most reasonable tone, wishing I could sink into the ground, “before we jump to any conclusions, we should let this woman explain what she's doing out here.”

“I don't have to explain a fucking thing,” the woman said, grunting in between her words while she and Shirley kept tugging back and forth on the cane.

“That's true,” I said calmly, which took every ounce of self-discipline that I had. “But if you can give us a reasonable explanation, I'm sure that my, er, partner and I will be on our way. No harm, no foul.”

“Not that it's any of your business, but I'm the caregiver for the Pittfords, okay? And the only time I get to myself is when they finally swallow down all their pills and go to sleep. I watch a little T.V. and come out here and have a few cigarettes. I was just having one last cigarette before going to bed. And then you two freaks show up, and this one starts attacking me with her cane.”

“My dear young woman,” Shirley said, abruptly releasing her hold on the cane and sending the ‘dear young woman' stumbling backward. “Your explanation is a sound one. My apologies. Sometimes in the course of an investigation a wrong turn is taken. Fortunately, thanks to the good common sense of Tammy here, we have seen our mistake early on. Now, if you would be so kind as to return my cane, we have some questions for you.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, you ain't getting your cane, and I ain't answering any of your questions. What I am gonna do is call the cops.”

“No!” I exclaimed. The very thought of police officers appearing on the scene was too horrible to contemplate.

“Don't come any closer!” she yelled, thrusting the cane in our direction.

“We are really sorry,” I said desperately. “It was a
misunderstanding.
Come on, Shirley. Let's just go.”

“Not without my cane, Tammy. It has been handed down for generations and the original owner…No. I am not about to leave it behind. I would rather die. Besides which, I have questions for this young woman. Questions that I believe she will answer when I show her this!”

Shirley reached into one of the pockets on her jacket, and for one heart-stopping moment I was afraid that she was about to pull out a gun. But much to my relief she pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “Well?” Shirley asked
condescendingly
while she waved the money up and down. “Will this take care of any temporary discomfort that we may have caused you?”

“Maybe,” the woman said with a shrug, immediately losing all her bluster. “Guess it depends on what you want to know.” The woman held out her hand for the twenty.

“My cane first,” Shirley said pulling the bill back toward her chest.

“No way. The money first.”

Shirley threw her head back, and for the first time since the day we met, I finally heard her laugh. It was not a pleasant sound.

“I like your spirit, young woman,” Shirley said once she had finished laughing, and then she handed the woman her twenty-dollar bill. “My cane, if you please?” After tucking the twenty inside her jeans, the woman handed Shirley back her cane. “And now if you will be so good as to answer some questions.”

“Sure. A deal's a deal. Just keep that cane to yourself, if you don't mind.”

“I do not mind at all. What is your name?” Shirley asked.

“Angie Berger,” the woman told her, taking a pack of cigarettes out of her pants pocket.

“And you are the caregiver for the Pittfords?”

“Yeah.” Angie pulled out a cigarette and lit it before plopping down on the top step. “I'm going to take a load off. I've been on my feet for twelve hours.”

“And we shall ‘take a load off' as well,” Shirley replied, the phrase sounding clunky and unnatural in her mouth. She sat down stiffly next to Angie while I just stood there keeping an ear out for the sound of police sirens. I hadn't seen any lights come on in any of the houses around us, but I was still afraid someone might have heard the commotion and called 9-1-1.

“Angie?” Shirley asked genially, as if their earlier hostilities had never happened. “I suppose you are curious about the invisible dog to which I referred earlier?” Angie took a long drag on her cigarette and shrugged her shoulders. “You are aware, of course, that there is no such thing as an invisible dog?” Angie nodded her head indifferently as she exhaled a long plume of grayish white smoke. “Excellent. Now, since nicotine is as addictive as heroin, am I correct in assuming that your smoke break this evening is a long-standing habit?”

“I've tried to quit. But you spend all day taking care of two old people and see if you don't need a cigarette.”

“There was no judgment in my statement. If anyone is to be judged it is not you, Angie. It is the companies that make a profit from people's weakness. Down through history—I have made a study of the subject—some of our greatest financial leaders amassed their fortune at the expense of others. The path to progress has always been a bloody and messy affair. And yet without these great entrepreneurs, their innovations and willingness to take risks, where would civilization be today? It is a complicated question, and the ethics involved could take a lifetime of study. There are good arguments to be made on both sides of the equation.

“But we are straying from the topic at hand. I inquired about your habit simply to ascertain whether or not you have ever seen a dog in that yard over there,” Shirley said, brandishing her cane in the direction of the house to the right of Matt Peterman's.

“Nope.”

“Have you seen a dog in any of the five houses on this street? Or even a stray dog just wandering around?”

“Nope. Not that I can remember.”

“And have you ever been kept awake at night by the barking of a dog?”

“Oh, sure. Lots of times.”

“You have?” Shirley asked with great surprise and interest.

“Yeah. In my last apartment when I was living with my boyfriend Bob—we split up, which is why I have to do this live-in crap for a while—the people next door had this little yapper dog. You know the kind? Barks at everything. It used to wake me up all the time. I'd knock on the wall but—”

“I am sorry to interrupt your most interesting story, Angie, but time is of the essence. What I meant to say is, have you ever been kept awake at night by the barking of a dog in this particular neighborhood?”

“Here? No. It's so quiet that I usually leave my bedroom window open. The Pittfords keep that house at, like, ninety degrees.”

“Did you hear that, Tammy?” Shirley asked after we had returned to my car and backed out onto the street. Shirley had given Angie another twenty dollars with instructions to contact the office immediately if she spotted a dog in the neighborhood. She also made her promise not to tell a soul anything about what they had discussed. “So quiet that she leaves her bedroom window open at night,” Shirley said thoughtfully. “And yet our client, Matt Peterman, claims to be kept awake by the constant barking of a dog. Pull up next to the sidewalk in front of his house. Any thoughts about what we've learned so far?”

“Not really.” My mood was growing worse by the moment. It was already close to one o'clock in the morning, and all we had accomplished was talking to an unhappy caregiver who hadn't told us much of anything that we didn't already know. I was frustrated and tired, and Shirley seemed to be in no hurry whatsoever. Once I had parked in front of Matt's house she simply rolled down the window, and then sat there rubbing her chin and staring off into the distance. I finally cleared my throat and got ready to ask her just how long she thought this might take.

“Listen,” she blurted out before I had a chance to speak. “What do you hear, Tammy?”

“I don't hear anything.”

“Exactly. It is just like the curious incident of the dog in the night.”

“But we don't hear a dog.”

“And that is the curious incident. Come,” she said, opening her door. “We are barely touching the borders of this mystery. It is time to go deeper.”

I got out of the car with a sigh, hoping that whatever it was Shirley planned on doing she would at least do so quietly. Shirley stood on the sidewalk next to my car, staring at the houses one by one as she turned her head.

“What do you see, Tammy?” she asked when I joined her. “Take your time.”

“I see a quiet neighborhood with five houses and no dog,” I finally replied, feeling sure there was some point she was trying to make that I had completely missed. Probably because it would turn out to be completely irrelevant.

“Five houses,” Shirley said thoughtfully. “One with a Foreclosure sign, one with a For Sale sign, one inhabited by an elderly couple, one that has recently had a couple move in, and one that is owned by our client. Five houses with a private golf course on one side and trees on the other. No noise, no traffic, just beautiful peace and quiet. Everyone who lives on this cul-de-sac enjoys the serenity of the countryside, even though they are only minutes from a busy interstate. Everyone, that is, except Matt Peterman, who is being driven to his wit's end due to sleep deprivation because of a barking dog. A dog that by all accounts does not appear to exist.”

“It is very strange,” I said after a moment. We were looking for an invisible dog. What else
would
it be but strange?

“Very strange indeed,” Shirley said gazing at Matt's house. “More than strange. I feel something sinister in the air. Follow me.”

Shirley took off down the sidewalk, tapping her cane as she went. I watched her for a moment, tempted to simply get in my car and drive away. But there were bills to pay; there are always bills to pay. I ran after her, instead, with a cold knot of dread in my stomach at the thought of what she might do next.

“Where are we going?” I whispered once I caught up with Shirley.

“We'll proceed first to the Brown residence to discover once and for all whether or not they have a dog.”

“But isn't it obvious that they don't?” I asked, hoping to avoid what I knew she was planning to do next. We had narrowly avoided having the police called on us after our run-in with Angie. I didn't think the Browns would be as understanding if they caught us prowling around their yard, no matter what explanation Shirley offered regarding an invisible dog.

“What appears at first to be obvious is not always the truth,” Shirley retorted. “If it were, then there would be no need for courts, or lawyers, or judges, or me. Now then, it should be a simple matter to discover whether these people do, or do not, have a dog.”

We had arrived at the Browns', and I hesitated as Shirley went striding across their lawn toward the side fence. A security light came on as she passed the side of the house, and Shirley ducked down and huddled against the wall. I stood out front, frozen, waiting to see if any lights came on inside. The night had grown colder than I'd expected, and my hoodie was no longer keeping me warm.

But no lights came on inside their house, and I didn't see or hear any movement to indicate that the security light had awakened anyone. It went off, and I still hadn't moved. I knew it was ridiculous to stand out there. The moon was almost full, and if one of the Pittfords or the Browns happened to wake up to go to the bathroom or get a drink of water, and happened to glance out their window, there was a good chance they would spot me, in spite of my dark clothes.

And yet…I couldn't bring myself to move. I was caught up in a situation that was beyond me, a situation that I never would have expected to find myself in. (Then again, who would?) I wanted nothing more than to march over to Shirley and quit. And insist that if she wanted a ride home then she needed to leave with me right then and there.

But I was learning that what I wanted was frequently at odds with reality. Like the reality of that funny sound my car was making again. And the filling in my back molar that I really should have checked out. And the reality that if I quit I'd be back to waiting tables. My Rainy Day Fund was almost gone, and waiting tables hadn't paid the bills.

When I was in Hollywood and one of my friends or I was having a bad day, we'd always say, “Life isn't like the movies, you know!” It was our little joke. But out here in the real world it isn't such a joke.

Worst case scenario: if the cops showed I could always come up with a story. I knew how to talk my way out of situations. I'd explain that Shirley was the one in charge here; she was the boss. When I'd realized what she was up to, I only stayed because I was trying to get her back in the car.
But she's a little…you know,
I'd whisper, pointing to my head and rolling my eyes slightly as the cops nodded
understandingly.

I made my decision. And when I ran through the yard and the security light came on, I thought my heart would burst right through my chest.

“What took you so long?” Shirley whispered when I ducked down against the wall right next to her.

“I'm not used to this kind of thing.”

“You underestimate yourself, Tammy. Underneath that commonplace exterior you have nerves of steel. Now, once the security light goes back off, I need you to lift me over this fence so that I can take a look around. A dog always leaves a trace of itself.”

“Me?”

“Who else?” she asked. Then the light went off. “Ready?”

“As ready as I'll ever be,” I muttered.

“That's the spirit. Follow me.”

Shirley stood up but stayed pressed against the wall and slid over to the fence inch by inch. I followed her lead until she reached the fence, and then I stopped next to her.

“Cup your hands together,' ” she instructed. “There, where I have lifted my foot. Now take a deep breath and lift me up.”

As I have mentioned, Shirley is an extremely tall woman; I am not. So although I gave it my best try, I simply did not have the upper-body strength to lift her high enough so that she could heave herself over the fence. And the sharp heels of her black boots digging painfully into the palms of my hands didn't help matters.

“It's no good,” I gasped. “I can't do it.”

“That is apparent, Tammy,” Shirley shot back as she leaped off my hands and dropped down to the ground. “However, in any given situation, while there are always limitations, there is usually more than one possibility. We are not defeated. Not yet. We shall simply reverse our positions. I shall lift
you
up to the top of the fence and—”

“No way. I'm sorry. I'm not going to go wandering around their backyard by myself looking for invisible dog clues.”

“Of course you're not. You have neither the training nor the temperament for such a task. What I was going to say is that once I have lifted you to the top of the fence, you should be able to reach over and undo the latch, enabling me to gain entry.”

“Oh. Well, I guess I could do that.”

“It is not a guess, Tammy. It is a certainty. Now here we go.”

Shirley cupped her hands together, and I put my right foot inside them while grabbing on to the side of the fence. With a great thrust of power she lifted me up in seconds, pushing me toward the top of the fence until I was able to reach over and undo the latch.

“Got it,” I told her.

“Excellent.”

I kept my grip on the edge of the fence while Shirley lowered me down. As soon as my feet touched the ground and I stepped back, Shirley pushed the gate open with her cane and darted along the side of it until she disappeared from my sight. I stayed against the wall to prevent the security light from coming on, and then I waited. It was now close to one-thirty in the morning. It was dark and cold, I was tired, and it was so quiet and still that I could hear myself breathing.

The endless minutes ticked by until I couldn't stand being out there by myself one second longer. I slid against the wall, and when I had reached the fence, I poked my head around to see if I could locate Shirley. She was nowhere to be seen.

“Shirley?” I whispered as loudly as I dared.

“Yes?” she whispered from right behind me.

“You scared me to death,” I hissed once my heartbeat slowed to something like normal and I was able to speak again.

“Nonsense, Tammy. You are still among the living.”

“Where did you come from?”

“I was just making my way back along the front yard when you made your ill-timed, and not-very-well-thought-out decision to search for me at the point and direction from which I started. Now then, I have made a complete and thorough search of this yard, and it is just as I suspected. There is no dog to be found here.”

Which is what I had told her in the first place, but I held my tongue. There was no point in arguing with Shirley Homes.