"Meg, he's right," Michael said.
He half-dragged me up the path behind Jeb and Mrs. Peabody. We had to wait for a moment between waves to cross one spot, but we made it up to the top of the hill and stood looking down at the churning mass of water occupying the spot where we'd been standing--well, wading anyway--only a few minutes before.
"I'm so sorry about the poor little dog," Mrs. Peabody said. She sounded genuinely sympathetic, probably because she hadn't known Spike very well. And probably never would now.
"Oh damn," I said. I was astonished and embarrassed to find tears welling up in my eyes.
Chapter 25
Puffin, Come Home
Of all the stupid things, I told myself as I scrubbed at my eyes with the back of a sleeve that was already sopping wet. I take everything in stride--a dead body, a murder, my own aunt confessing to the crime, both parents nearly managing to get themselves killed in a storm. And now I break down over Spike, of all things.
"Don't worry; he'll probably turn up," Michael said, putting his arms around me. "And if he doesn't, we'll figure out some cover story to tell Mom."
"No, we'll tell her the true," I said, standing up straight and bracing my shoulders. "That I carelessly took him out in a hurricane and callously ignored him while the surf carried him away and it's all my fault"
"It's not your fault," Michael began.
"No, it's all my fault, and I'll never forgive myself," I said. "Please, let him turn up somewhere. If we could just find him safe and sound, I promise I'll--"
Just then, a familiar yapping broke out somewhere behind us.
"Spike!"
We all whirled, and I was relieved to see Spike running toward us.
"What was it you were about to promise if Spike turned up safe and sound?" Michael asked.
"Not to feed him to the sharks on the trip home," I said.
Michael chuckled.
"Good dog!" I added, rather pointlessly, as Spike arrived at my feet, panting and still yapping.
His normally sleek black-and-white fur was now a uniform muddy grayish brown, and I didn't envy whoever had to wash him before Michael's mother saw him again. Not me, I vowed, no matter how glad I was to see him un-drowned.
I quickly noticed that he wasn't just barking. He was running back and forth between my feet and a pile of rocks at the edge of the cliff, yapping all the way.
"Are you trying to tell us something?" Michael asked, leaning down toward Spike the next time he arrived at my feet. Spike growled at him and turned back to me.
"You're both watching far too many Lassie reruns," I said as Spike ran off again. "The bit where Lassie finds the lost child is an overdone cliche; and besides, we've already found all our lost relatives."
"Oh, you're no fun," Michael said, pretending to sulk. "Can't we just go see what he's found?"
"Dead fish washed up from the storm, I expect," Jeb put in.
"Never mind, then," Michael said.
"Let's head down and see how Dad's doing," I said. "And then--"
I heard a low rumble down by my ankles.
"Cool it, Spike," I said.
Spike growled again, then butted my ankle with his head. I glanced down and started.
"What the hell has that fool dog got there?" Jeb asked.
"Aunt Phoebe's walking stick," I said.
Noticing we were paying attention to him, Spike began wagging his tail and trying to bark, his efforts a little muffled by the walking stick in his mouth. He held it at one end--the lower, narrower end. The stick had been pretty battered and gnarled to begin with, but I could see several obviously new chips and scratches. And was I imagining the telltale dark stain on the top third?
"Is that blood on one end of it?" Jeb Barnes asked.
"Could just as easily be mud," Michael said.
"Careful!" I said as Jeb reached down toward the stick. "He bites!"
"Well, not with that stick in his mouth," Michael said. "But he could choke himself trying."
"We don't want him to run off with it," Jeb said.
"How fast can he run?" Michael said. "The thing's so heavy, he can barely drag it"
"Someone give me a handkerchief," I said. "I'll try to get it away from him."
Holding Michael's handkerchief behind my back with my right hand--fluttering cloth sometimes spooked Spike--I knelt in the mud and extended my left hand.
"Here, Spike," I called, fixing an insincere smile on my face. "Here, boy. Come here, boy."
Spike paused six feet away and looked at me, then at the others.
"Back away some more," I said, not taking my eyes off Spike.
"If we back any farther away, we'll fall off the cliff," Jeb said.