I turned on the canine kitchen destroyer. “And as for you, mister . . .”
The dog moaned and slid under the table.
Joe stared at me. A long, hard stare. “Well done. You’ve frightened the pup. Are you happy now, Daisy?”
I gasped. Joe never looked at me like that.
He spun on his heel and pushed hard on the back kitchen door, letting it slam behind him as he headed outside.
Chapter Twelve
I stormed upstairs, taking the steps two at a time, ready to give the cause of our angst a piece of my mind. I adored Sarah, but I’d been the unfortunate brunt of her foul moods and dramatic temper tantrums over the years. She could be funny, inspiring, creative, and quite sweet sometimes, but there were other times when she could be a bitch on wheels.
As I reached her room, ramping myself up to finally tell her what I thought after years of stuffing down my feelings, I heard the sound of violent sobbing from behind the door.
Crying as if her heart was broken.
I sagged against the wall.
Jeez, what a day this had been. I trailed back downstairs, almost light-headed with hunger. In the kitchen, Jasper was still hiding underneath the table. Overcome with remorse, I knelt down and met his mournful gaze.
“I’m sorry, baby, I shouldn’t have yelled like that.” I reached out and he gave my hand a small lick, but he was hesitant about approaching me. “Come on out, it’s okay.”
Bridge to Engine Room. Urgent need for more patience.
I sat down on the rough exposed wooden floor and sighed. I’d wait. Wait until he was ready. For as long as it took. “I’m sorry, Jasper,” I repeated. “It won’t happen again.”
His tail wagged slowly from side to side.
“It’s not your fault. Come here.” When he finally bear-crawled out from underneath and into my lap, I bent over and hugged him, burying my face in his soft fur.
Jasper licked my arm as if to say, Don’t worry about it, I forgive you.
What had happened to my former happy, peaceful existence? My best friend was incarcerated, a killer was running around on the loose, and the house was a complete mess. Like its owner.
“Hey, Jasper, want to get out of here for a while?” I whispered. “Go for a walk?”
He jumped to his feet, panting and dancing around me in excitement.
I stood up and looked out of the open window to see Joe tinkering with a bicycle basket.
“I’m taking the dog for a walk,” I called.
“What about dinner?” Joe didn’t even bother to look up from his repairs.
“I’m not hungry anymore.” I wanted to apologize for my earlier snappishness, but somehow the words stuck in my throat.
I hurried toward the front door, desperate to get out of the place that had once been my sanctuary. Jasper took the lead and I simply followed, stumbling after him down the street, hanging on to his leash like a lifeline.
Thoughts jumbled around in my head like so many angry bees buzzing around the hole in the siding when we’d first bought the house.
We’d called an exterminator, who plugged the opening, but warned us about the bees being irate when they tried to get back inside come late afternoon.
Around four o’clock, I had stood there watching in amazement at how many bees had showed up. Hundreds upon hundreds of them had swarmed around, confused and agitated, until they had finally figured out their home was no longer a place they could come back to.
What the hell was I going to do? About Sarah, and her lack of canine responsibility and, to be honest, lack of responsibility in general. About Joe, and his lack of support with the parental duties. About Angus, and the lack of community interest to help set him free. I was a one-man band where that was concerned.
Jasper and I walked and walked, me trailing along behind him in a daze, until it finally occurred to me it was getting dark and I hadn’t been paying attention to where we were going.
“Hey, Jasper, we should head back.”
I stopped for a moment to get my bearings until I realized I was right in front of Eleanor’s house. A red Vespa was parked outside.
Her house was a Victorian, but much smaller than Martha’s. It was painted the palest shade of Wedgewood blue, with white shutters, a white front door, and white rosette and ribbon detailing on the gable. In the tiny front garden, Eleanor had planted only flowers that were white, or a very pale shade of the lightest blue. Sweet alyssum, white verbena, snapdragons, and delphiniums.
Suddenly a light went on over the porch and the front door opened.
“Come on in, Daisy.” I recognized her husky voice even though I couldn’t make out her face in the twilight.
I gasped. “How did you know it was me? Are you psychic?”