Spencer Quinn - Dog on It

Many thanks to my editor, Peter Borland, and my agent, Molly Friedrich.

I could smell himor rather the booze on his breathbefore he even opened the door, but my sense of smell is pretty good, probably better than yours. The key scratched against the lock, finally found the slot. The door opened and in, with a little stumble, came Bernie Little, founder and part owner (his ex-wife, Leda, walked off with the rest) of the Little Detective Agency. Id seen him look worse, but not often.

He mustered a weak smile. Hey, Chet.

I raised my tail and let it thump down on the rug, just so, sending a message.

Im a little late, sorry. Need to go out?

Why would that be? Just because my back teeth were floating? But then I thought, What the hell, the poor guy, and I went over and pressed my head against the side of his leg. He scratched between my ears, really digging his fingers in, the way I like. Bliss. How about a little more, down the back of the neck? I hunched my shoulders a bit, giving him the idea. Ah, nice. Very nice.

We went outside, me and Bernie. There were three trees out front, my favorite being a big shady one just perfect for napping under. I lifted my leg against it. Wow. Hadnt realized I was that close to desperation. The night filled with splashing sounds and I zoned out a little, listening to them. I managed to stop the flownot easyand save some for dampening the rock at the end of the driveway and the wooden fence that separated our property from old man Heydrichs next door, plus a squirt or two between the slats. Only doing my job, but dont get me started on old man Heydrich.

Bernie was gazing up at the sky. A beautiful nightsoft breeze, lots of stars, lights twinkling down the canyon, and what was this? A new tennis ball on the lawn. I went over and sniffed it. Not one of mine, not anyones I knew.

Wanna play fetch?

I pawed the thing. How did it get here? Cooped up all day, but Id kept an ear cocked; except for when I dozed off, of course.

Bring it here, Chet.

I didnt want to, not with this strangers smell on it.

Come on.

But I never said no to Bernie. I gave the ball a lick or two, making it mine, then took it over to Bernie and dropped it at his feet. Bernie reared back and threw the ball up the canyon road.

Uh-ohwhered it go?

Whered it go? He really couldnt see it? That never failed to surprise me, how poorly he saw after the sun went down. I tore after the ball, bouncing up the middle of the road in plain sight, got my back feet way forward and sprang, totally airborne, snaring it on the short hop, the way I like, then wheeling around in one skidding motion and racing full speed, head low, ears flattened by the wind I was making, and dropped it at Bernies feet, putting on the brakes at the last moment. If you know something more fun than this, let me in on the secret.

Got it on the short hop? Couldnt tell from here.

I wagged my tail, that quick one-two wag meaning yes, not the over-the-top one that wags itself and can mean lots of things, some of which Im not too clear on myself.

Nice. He picked up the ball and was rearing back again when a car came slowly down the street and stopped in front of us.

The window slid down and a woman leaned out. Is this thirteen-three-oh-nine?

Bernie nodded.

Im looking for Bernie Little, the detective.

You found him.

She opened the door, started to get out, then saw me. Is the dog all right?

Bernie stiffened. I felt it; he was standing right beside me. Depends what you mean.

You know, is he safe, does he bite? Im not that comfortable around dogs.

He wont bite you.

Of course I wouldnt. But the idea was planted in my head, for sure. I could tell by all the saliva suddenly pooling in my mouth.

Thanks. You never know about dogs.

Bernie said something under his breath, too low for even me to hear; but I knew I liked it, whatever it was.

She got out of the car, a tall woman with long fair hair and a smell of flowers and lemons, plus a trace of another smell that reminded me of what happens only sometimes to the females in my world. What would that be like, having it turned on all the time? Probably drive you crazy. I glanced at Bernie, watching her, patting his hair into place. Oh, Bernie.

Im not sure where to begin. Nothing like this has ever happened to me.

Nothing like what?

She wrung her hands. Hands are the weirdest things about humans, and the best: you can find out just about everything you need to know by watching them. I live over on El Presidente. She waved vaguely.

El Presidente: Was that the one where the sewer pipes were still going in? I was bad on street namesexcept our own, Mesquite Roadbut why not? I didnt need them to find my way.

My names Cynthia Chambliss. I work with a woman you helped.

Who?

Angela DiPesto.

Mercy. I remembered endless nights parked in front of motels up and down the state. We hated divorce work, me and Bernie, never even accepted any in the old days. But now we were having cash-flow problems, as Bernie put it. The truth was, I didnt really know what cash-flow problems meant, but whatever they were, they woke Bernie in the night, made him get up and pace around, sometimes lighting a cigarette, even though hed worked so hard to stop.

Bernie didnt commit to anything about Angela DiPesto, just gave one of those little nods of his. Bernie was a great nodder. He had several different nods I could think of off the top of my head, all very readable once you knew what to look for. This particular nod meant: strike one.

The fact is, Angie spoke of you highlyhow you stuck it to that creep of a husband. She gave herself a little shake. I can do that way, way better. So when this happened, and you being practically in the neighborhood and all... anyway, here I am. She rocked back and forth slightly, the way humans do when theyre very nervous.

When what happened?

This thing with Madison. Shes disappeared.

Madison is your daughter?

Didnt I say that? Sorry. Im just so upset, I dont know what Im...

Her eyes glistened up. This was always pretty interesting, the crying thing; not the soundI could relate to thatbut the waterworks, as Bernie called them, especially when Leda was on the producing end. They get upset, humans, and then water comes out of their eyes, especially the women. What is that all about? Bernie gazed down at the ground, shuffled his feet; he didnt have a handle on it, either, although Id once seen water seeping out of his own eyes, namely the day Leda had packed up all Charlies things. Charlie was their kidBernie and Ledasand now lived with Leda except for visits. We missed him, me and Bernie.

This womanCynthia? Chambliss? whatever her name wasthe truth is, I have trouble catching names at first, sometimes miss other things, too, unless I have a real good view of the speakers facetook a tissue from a little bag she carried and dabbed at her eyes. Sorry.

Nothing to be sorry for. How long has Madison been missing?

The woman started to answer, but at that moment I heard something rustling in the bushes on the far side of the driveway. The next thing I knew, I was in the bushes myself, sniffing around, maybe even digging, but only the littlest bit. Some kind of smell was in the air, frog or toad, or... uh-oh: snake. I didnt like snakes, didnt like them at

Chet? Youre not digging in there, are you?

I backed out of the bushes, trotted over to Bernie. Oopsmy tail was down, tucked back in a guilty manner. I stuck it right up, high and innocent.

Good boy. He patted my head. Thump thump. Ah.

The woman was tapping her foot on the ground. So youre saying you wont help me?

Bernie took a deep breath. His eyes looked tired. The booze was wearing off. Hed be sleepy very soon. I was feeling a bit sleepy myself. Plus a little taste of something might be nice. Were there any of those rawhide chew strips left in the top drawer by the kitchen sink, the ones with that Southwestern flav