4 Woof at the Door (7 page)

I drove as fast as I could without being a menace, all the while wondering what I hoped to accomplish. Even if the fight was still going on by the time I arrived, it was extremely risky to try to break up a dog fight. Invariably, the person gets badly bitten in the process, and if both dogs were large, I’d be physically unable to separate them. The best course of action was to startle the dogs—drop a platter right next to them—and work like mad to get the dogs separated and under control in the second or two that followed.

When I pulled into the driveway, Paige Atkinson was pacing on the Bellinghams’ front porch. Still wearing her peach-colored pants suit, she rushed toward me as I got of my car, bringing the leashes with me. “You need to go in there! A few minutes ago, I think I heard Ty cry for help!”

“Did you call the police?”

She shook her head, all the while sputtering, “I didn’t know what to do. Then Beverly told me you were on your way.” It was surprising that these two women could even communicate that much to each other, but Paige continued without hesitation, “She’s waiting for you by Ty’s back door. Something’s terribly wrong. I think Sammy might be in there.”

“Your Samoyed? But how can that be? She can’t jump the fence in her condition.”

“Nevertheless, she’s missing.”

“Is Hank home?”

“No.”

“Are you certain he didn’t take the dog with him?”

“No, but he was so upset today, he said he was going to bring her over to the Bellinghams’. That they could take care of her and the pups till they were born.”

What an idiot! This couple deserved one another! “I’ll see what I can do.” There were no noises whatsoever emanating from inside the house now. “How long has it been quiet like this?”

She gestured at me to hurry to the back yard. “I don’t know! Just get Sammy out of there!”

The heck with my ex-husband; just save my dog.
I opened the gate and trotted around the house to the backyard. I understood the sentiment, but for heaven’s sake! She’d heard the man call for help!

Beverly was sitting on the redwood deck by the dog door, rocking herself, her face drained of all color. “Beverly? Are you all right?”

She shook her head. “I can’t fit through the dog door. There’s blood everywhere. Fight’s over. I keep hearing this noise. Whining and scratching sounds. I think one of the dogs got locked in a closet.”

“That means somebody has to be home.” I had visions of Ty Bellingham badly injured and collapsing as he finally managed to get one of the dogs closed off in a separate room. If one dog was in a closet, a second dog could be loose and in a crazed state, and might attack the first person who went inside.

Beverly shook her head, still apparently in shock. She was wearing work boots, shorts, and an orange blouse over her T-shirt that made her unkempt blond hair look reddish. “Paige and I were banging on both doors. Nobody answered.”

“What about the shouts you heard? Paige said she thought she heard a man cry for help a little while ago. Ty could be in there, passed out from blood loss.”

She just shook her head again. “All that blood.”

I was really losing my patience. “Did you call the police, Beverly? Didn’t anybody call the police?”

My question snapped Beverly out of her numbed state. “Paige told me she was calling! Just before I came back here and tried to get through the dog door.”

“She told me she didn’t call!” I cried in exasperation. “Damn it! Ty could be in there bleeding to death while we’re out here bickering about whose going to call nine-one-one! I’ll go in and use Ty’s phone!”

I pushed the little plastic flap fully open. From my position flat on the deck, I could see that there were indeed blood splatters all over the kitchen floor, which grew ever denser farther from the door. My vision, however, was blocked by the kitchen island.

Keeping a tight grip on the dog leashes, I got my arms, head, and finally shoulders through the door, which was a tight fit, the thick fabric of my teal-colored T-shirt snagging in the process. I needed to move quickly. I was absolutely defenseless in this position and would look like prey to a dog inside. This was as risky an entrance as I could possibly make. As Beverly had described, I could now clearly hear the sounds of a dog straining to escape some inner confines of the house.

While I was halfway in, Beverly said, “Allida. Be careful.”

I made it inside and stood up, surveying the gruesome scene around me with as much detachment as I could muster. Blood splatters and paw prints had come from the other side of the kitchen island. Almost unwillingly, I followed the crimson trail toward the beaded entranceway. I had to grab onto the countertop for support at the horrific vision at its other side. I had never seen so much blood in my life, and I felt woozy.

It was Ty. He was now wearing a long black wig instead of his blond one. He was bare chested and barefoot, wearing only his bell-bottoms. He was on his side, curled in the fetal position. His exposed cheek sported three bright red, finger-wide marks that appeared to be grease paint. It was as if Ty’s features had been graced with Indian war paint.

I steeled myself as best I could with the intention of feeling for his carotid artery, but I realized it was too late. Ty was dead. His throat had been slit.

Chapter 6

Against my will, I studied Ty’s body, horrified and yet mesmerized. Part of me was screaming that my eyes were playing tricks, that if I looked hard enough, the horror would be exposed as some elaborate Halloween-style hoax.

This was crazy. Ty’s arms and chest were covered with scars, as well as by fresh claw and bite marks. Ty’s pants were ripped in numerous places, the accompanied jagged wounds there all too apparent. Yet the cuts on his fingers were straight lines, as if he’d defended himself against the knife-wielder.

How could Ty be dead—stabbed to death, I was certain—yet wounded from bites and claw marks all over his body? Had he been attacked by Doobie, closed him up in a closet, then gotten stabbed to death in his kitchen? That made no sense. The scars on his arms appeared to be healed bite wounds.

“Allida?” Beverly called. “Is everything all right?”

That had to be the stupidest question I’d ever heard. “No, it’s Ty. He’s dead.”

Beverly shouted, “Paige. Why didn’t you call the police! Allida’s in there, and she says Ty is dead.”

“Oh, my God!” Paige cried. “I’ll go call now. I thought my dog might be inside. I didn’t want the police to shoot her.”

What was wrong with these people? What kind of an idiot hears a dog growling, a man cry for help, and phones a dog psychologist instead of the police! A better question: What kind of an idiot dog psychologist enters a house under these circumstances?

I spotted an old-fashioned black phone on the wall on the other side of Ty’s body. The telephone cord below it had been cut. Ty was beyond help, and I needed to get out of here. There could still be a second dog, who at this moment might be on the other side of whatever door the locked-in dog was behind.

I started to head for the back door, but my vision grayed. I closed my eyes for a moment, willing myself to summon the strength to leave this horrible place without vomiting or passing out.

Just then I heard a rumbling growl, coming from the direction of the living room. Oh, good Lord! Was this Doobie? I whirled around toward the sound.

It was a wolf.

I gasped, feeling my blood turn to ice water.

The wolf considered the body his kill. That also meant he was worried I might steal it from him. I had to get away from Ty’s body.

“Twenty feet” popped into my head—some obscure fact about the distance wild animals instinctively registered as a sufficient distance for other animals to maintain. Or was it twenty yards? Meters?

My heart in my throat, I backed away from Ty and from the wolf, being careful not to look him straight in the eye, which the wolf would take as a direct challenge. Crap! If anyone ever needed a bigger kitchen, this was the time. This room was too small to allow me the distance I needed from Ty’s body.

Petrified, I backed to the opposite corner of the kitchen, along the same wall as the door, bumping into the refrigerator. Still facing the wolf, I smoothly boosted myself up on the counter. The wolf could easily leap up here after me. I could only pray that he wouldn’t.

The wolf was still standing in the beaded entranceway of the kitchen. If he’d flown to the attack immediately, I’d be history. He had to have been checking out whatever door Doobie was behind till he heard me in the kitchen.

I struggled to keep from panicking—to think of a means of escape. I would have to get down on the floor and flatten myself to make it out the dog door. Might as well make a general announcement that I was wolf bait. Nor could I make it to another room in the house. Wolves can run some forty miles an hour, and there was no chance of my sneaking out the doorway when that damned beaded curtain started clacking.

The wolf took a couple of silent steps toward me, his muscles moving in perfect coordination. I was about to die at the claws and jaws of a graceful, beautiful animal. Small consolation. This wolf had a slightly darker coat and was smaller than Kaia—but I wouldn’t want to stake my life on my belief that this was a different wolf from the one I’d met. Was this wolf domesticated?

Doobie, in the meantime, was making a relentless racket from the other room. I had no idea if this was going to drive the wolf into a greater frenzy or, with the possibility of Doobie making a flank attack, distract the wolf from attacking me.

The wolf padded closer. I flattened myself against the cabinets. A growl rumbled in his chest. His muscles were primed to spring at me.

“Allida?” Beverly called, pushing open the dog door a crack. “Are you coming out?”

The wolf started to head toward the dog door. I couldn’t let him get out! He’d dash through that opening and maul Beverly before she had any idea what hit her!

“Get back, Bev!” I hollered. “Block the dog door!”

I had the two sturdy choke collars in my hand, which would do me no good as long as the wolf was set to attack me. If I could get the lead on him, I might be able to stop him from heading through the dog door.

“What’s going on?” Beverly yelled, but also let the dog door swing shut behind her.

“There’s a wolf in here!” My hands were shaking so badly I dropped one leash. I crouched down on the counter and, with trembling hands, managed to loop the leash through the facing handles of the side-by-side refrigerator/freezer.

In the seconds that this action took, the wolf growled at me. He seemed torn by competing instincts, by judging who was the greater threat to steal his prey—me or Beverly on the other side of the dog door. He took the triangular approach and trotted over to Ty’s body, keeping menacing yellow eyes on both me and the dog door.

Growling and in a stealth-like crouch, the wolf darted back toward me. I stood up again, still on the counter.

Dear Lord, help me! How could I have been so stupid as to get myself into this mess!

Beverly called again, her voice choked with emotion, “Allie! I can’t just leave you in there alone with a wild animal! Tell me what to do!”

As she spoke, the wolf paced in a small circle between the door, the body and me. He was extremely agitated, panting and salivating. The other animal locked in a back room was now making more noise, too. I didn’t know how Beverly could help me and was afraid my answering would spur the wolf into taking the offensive.

The police would be here soon. If this wolf was domesticated, I might be able to wait this out. If not and the wolf attacked, he could quickly shred me. Plus, Paige had already lied once about contacting the police.

I scanned the room. I needed a net, a tranquilizer gun, and a steel cage. Beside me were a blender and a toaster. There was a butcher knife on the counter above Ty’s body. Even if I could reach that—which I couldn’t from here—I didn’t like my chances of fending off this wolf with a knife.

I had to tilt things for the wolf in favor of the dog door, while still allowing Beverly to keep it shut. “Beverly! Count to ten, then throw something through the door, and brace it shut again.”

I said a silent prayer. My heart was pounding so hard it felt as though my chest would explode. My hands were trembling terribly. I made as big of a noose-like circle with the collar of the tethered leash as I could, holding it open before me with trembling hands. My throat was the bait that would tighten the noose, and heaven only could help me now.

The wolf sprang toward me.

Just then, Beverly hollered, “Ten!” Her shoe came flying through the entrance and whacked against a cupboard, sounding like a gunshot.

It’s too late, I thought.

And yet the wolf flinched a little and hesitated in his charge toward me. I slung the noose over his head and threw myself out of his path, staggering sideways along the counter.

He snarled and snapped at me, but the leash held, keeping him tied to the refrigerator.

“I’m coming out,” I cried and dove through the dog door and was soon panting beside Beverly, who was all set to whap me with her other shoe. When she saw it was me and not the wolf, she dropped her shoe.

“What the hell happened?” she cried as I struggled to get to my knees. She grabbed hold of me by the upper arms and shook me. “What was a wolf doing in Ty’s house?”

“I don’t know! I wouldn’t have gone in there if I’d known he was there!”

“Did the wolf kill Ty?”

“No. He was stabbed.”

The full realization of what I’d just seen and experienced hit me full force. I felt nauseated, dizzy with fear. If that wolf had been fully set on attacking me, I never could have survived.

Someone had unlocked Ty’s dog door. The same person who’d stabbed him? Who’d put the wolf in the house? I’d come so close to getting mauled! “Thanks, Beverly. You saved my life.”

I flinched automatically as the gate flew open. Paige came running up to us. “I called nine-one-one,” Paige said. I must have looked as horrible as I felt, for her jaw dropped when she saw me. “What happened in there?” she asked.