Sharon Henegar - Sleeping Dogs Lie

“Was the caller a man or a woman?”

“I couldn’t tell. It was in that middle register that could be either.”

“Did you notice anything about the voice? An accent maybe, or a lisp or something?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“I see. So what did you want me to do?”

I felt my jaw tighten. “I want you to look for Bob.”

“I see.” Didn’t the man know any other phrases? “I can't act on a message that doesn’t exist. You should make sure the message machine is turned on and go home. Or you could stay in case the caller rings back, or Mr. Richardson returns. Personally, I think you should just go home.”

“That’s your personal opinion? Not a professional one?”

“In this case it's both. You’ve had an exciting evening and you should call it a night.” He was speaking slowly and evenly.

Did he think I was demented? Perhaps that I had made up this whole unlikely scenario? Crazed widow fakes kidnapping to get attention? The last thing I needed was any more attention of the variety that might include the press; my experience when Roger died was enough to last several lifetimes.

“Thank you, those are no doubt excellent suggestions,” I said. “I'm sorry to have bothered you. Good night.”

He had more to say. The receiver was squawking as I hung it up. I picked up the answering machine. I wanted very much to smash it on something hard. I swallowed, and held it closer to the light to ascertain that it was still set to take messages. As far as I could tell it was. I put it back where it had been.

“Come on, Jack,” I told him, grabbing his leash. “Let’s go for a ride. You can have some of Emily Ann’s food when we get to my house.”

I locked the car door as soon as Jack and I were inside. I was in a mood to see phantoms rising out of the swirling fog, crouching just beyond the pool of light that preceded me as I drove back up the drive. I made a left and continued across the river, following the dark curve of the road as it headed west.

“Jack,” I said, “what’s going on here? Do you know who that blonde woman was?” I glanced over at his attentive face. “You want to know what she looked like? Well, if she were a dog she’d be a standard poodle,” I told him. “Groomed for the show ring.” I drove for a while, thinking. “You know what seemed really weird? That business of them getting in the same side of the car. Nobody does that anymore. Bucket seats must have ended that. I haven’t seen anyone do that since I was about seventeen years old and we know how long that’s been.”

Jack cocked his head to one side as though to ask, how long?

“Just do the math yourself,” I told him tartly. Not that I cared if anyone knew my age, let alone a dog, but I didn’t think I could do the math and drive at the same time, at least not tonight. “That car must have been old enough to have bench seats. It really was a classic.”

I glanced in the rear view mirror. Headlights. They felt too close. I slowed to make a right turn, then speeded up. The headlights maintained the same distance. “How long has that car been behind us?” I asked Jack. I told myself it was ridiculous to be worried, but at the next intersection I made another right turn, and so did the other car. I drove a few blocks and made a quick left into a residential area and floored the accelerator. I'd gone only half a block when a car turned from the street I'd been on.

Was I being followed, or was it a coincidence? A couple of random turns in this neighborhood of curving streets should tell me. I signaled and turned right. Damn it, I thought, stop with the signaling. I'd been law abiding for too long, no matter what Officer Johnson might think. I curled around the next bend before I saw if the other car turned or not.

In the middle of the block I noticed a house that had no lights on. I pulled into the driveway and doused my lights, hoping that no one was home to call the cops or get out the tea and cookies. I slid down in my seat so that my head was level with the headrest. Jack whined and nudged his short front legs into my lap, and I hugged him hard as we cowered in the dark.

My heart had time for only three or four quick thuds before headlights appeared at the end of the block and swung around the corner. As the car accelerated, I sat still as any cornered prey, hoping for invisibility. It worked. The other car swept past and disappeared around the next corner. It was black or some other dark color. The driver was alone in the vehicle. In a few seconds it was gone.

I didn’t waste any time. I started Bob’s car and rolled back into the street, using gears instead of brakes to slow my backward movement. I left the headlights off until I'd gone nearly a block. The street remained deserted behind me.

“Don’t worry, Jack, everything’s going to be okay,” I assured him—and myself—as I retraced my turns and headed for home again. I drove a little over the speed limit, and no headlights stayed in my rear-view mirror for more than a few blocks. And no one pulled me over for speeding.

Ten minutes later I was home. As I pulled into my drive, I reached up to the passenger-side visor to press the button on the remote control for the garage door. A rattle of panic ran through me when it wasn’t I couldn’t feel it. It took a moment to remember I wasn’t in my own car. I'd have to go through the house to raise the garage door to park Bob’s car inside.

I fumbled in my purse for my own keys and led Jack to the porch. He graciously allowed me to enter first and bounced in behind me. Across the living room, Emily Ann flowed off the couch and stretched, her thin tail waving. She and Jack touched noses in greeting before she came to lean against me so I could rub her chest.

“Hey, sweet pup,” I said, “were you a good girl?” She was always a good girl, so this was a mere formality. I padded into the kitchen. A bottle of merlot sat on the counter. I wrenched the cork out of the bottle and poured myself a glass. “Did you take any messages?” I said to Emily Ann, who had followed me. “I'd better check.”

I keep only one phone in the house, in the bedroom, and the dogs jostled at my heels as I traipsed down the hall. The bedroom was in darkness, but no red message light blinked. Emily Ann had taken no calls. Bob had not phoned to tell me he’d met someone else and been swept off his feet, or that the woman in red wanted a ransom. I took a swig of my wine, and looked down at the dogs. Jack sat in front of me and looked up beseechingly, the tip of his tail moving on the floor.

“Oh. Yes. Your dinner,” I said. Emily Ann, hearing a word related to food, wagged as well. “You’ve had yours, you opportunist,” I told her. We trailed back to the kitchen, where I grabbed a cake pan from a lower cabinet. I went to the garage where I kept the bin of dog food and scooped some into the pan, grabbing a handful for Emily Ann as well.

Being in the garage reminded me that Bob’s car was still sitting in my drive. I reached for the button to open the garage door, but my hands were full of dog food. First things first. I went back to the kitchen, settled Jack with his dinner, and fed Emily Ann’s snack to her piece by piece as I drank a couple more sips of wine.

One thing about feeding dogs, it’s not a time-consuming occupation. In less than two minutes the food was gone, and I let both dogs into the back yard. Another couple of minutes and they were back, jostling each other for my attention. I patted them both, took one more sip of wine, and picked up Bob’s keys so I could bring in his car.

That’s when the phone rang.

“Maybe it’s Bob,” I said to the dogs. They heard the excitement in my voice as an invitation to play and began to tussle with each other. I had to push around them, and before I reached the bedroom, the machine beeped to signal that the outgoing message was over.