hoping he’d come bounding out of the kitchen or the bedroom with his usual ecstatic doggy face. Where else could he be? I made myself check the other rooms, dreading what I might find, but the puppy wasn’t there. The dog’s bowl was half filled with food and the sack of puppy chow sat on the kitchen counter where Robbie had left it.
I clapped my hands, feeling a cast-iron weight plunge to the pit of my stomach. “Here, Hairy! Come on, boy!” But I knew I was wasting my time. Maybe Robbie had taken the dog home with him, or Hairy had gotten away from him. But the leash hung in its customary place by the kitchen door.
I was on my way to telephone when I noticed the books on my coffee table weren’t exactly as I’d left them; the drawer to the end table sagged partially open. And there, behind my uncle’s ugly old leather chair, the little needlepoint footstool with the wobbly leg lay on its side. Someone had ripped off the backing and torn away the trim. Whoever had been here was looking for something, and I didn’t think they had found it.
But they would be back.
C HAPTER E LEVEN
“ B ut Hairy was there when I left!” Robbie said. “I let him out just like you told me, and we played fetch for a while, then I fed him.”
The boy had been practicing shots at a basketball hoop above the family’s garage, and sweat trickled down his red face as he bounced the ball on the asphalt. “Hairy—he minds me real good. I wouldn’t let him get away.”
“I know that, Robbie. You take good care of him. But think about it—did you remember to lock the door?” I tried not to sound accusing, but somebody had ransacked my apartment, and it didn’t look as if the lock had been forced.
He shrugged. “Twisted that knob thing the way you showed me—tried it too. That door was locked sure as I’m standing here.” The ball bounced feebly, then rolled away into the grass. “I don’t know how he got out.”
“I believe you, Robbie, but I had to ask. You understand, don’t you?” I paid him the three dollars we had agreed on, plus whatever change I had, and he stuffed it into his pocket. He didn’t answer me, didn’t look up.
“If you see Hairy, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”
He nodded, still not meeting my eyes. I wasn’t forgiven yet. “Old Hairy, he’ll come if you call him I reckon. Always does,” Robbie said.
But I had called until my throat hurt. I called some more.
The police, when I phoned, weren’t unduly concerned about a missing pet.
“Ma’am, are you sure you had the door shut good? Dogs can be right smart, you know. Why, I’ve heard of—”
“Look, somebody searched my apartment,” I said. “They were looking for something.”
“Anything missing?” Did I detect a smidgen of interest in his voice?
“I told you—my dog—and who knows what else!”
“Somebody will be right over. That address again?”
I sat down to wait.
It didn’t take long. The young policeman who showed up at my door looked familiar, so familiar I guess I must have stared.
“Dennis Henderson,” I said finally.
He gave me a puzzled look.
“Miss Arnold’s social studies. Eighth grade.”
“Oh … yeah … right.” I could tell he didn’t remember me.
“Didn’t you sing in the choir for a while? Aunt Caroline used to brag on your tenor.”
Now he smiled. “Right! She’s the one got me to liking music. In fact, I’m taking voice training now. Sure hated to hear about her accident. Your aunt was some nice lady!” He stood in the living room looking about as if he expected a guided tour.
I gave him one. “Look at this footstool—ripped apart! And that end table—somebody’s been going through it. They’ve been in the bedroom too. Dresser drawers aren’t quite right.”
He frowned. “Aren’t quite right?”
“Not like I left them. Everything’s out of place. Now, about my dog. Have you heard anything?”
“Not yet. Anything else missing?”
“Not that
I clapped my hands, feeling a cast-iron weight plunge to the pit of my stomach. “Here, Hairy! Come on, boy!” But I knew I was wasting my time. Maybe Robbie had taken the dog home with him, or Hairy had gotten away from him. But the leash hung in its customary place by the kitchen door.
I was on my way to telephone when I noticed the books on my coffee table weren’t exactly as I’d left them; the drawer to the end table sagged partially open. And there, behind my uncle’s ugly old leather chair, the little needlepoint footstool with the wobbly leg lay on its side. Someone had ripped off the backing and torn away the trim. Whoever had been here was looking for something, and I didn’t think they had found it.
But they would be back.
C HAPTER E LEVEN
“ B ut Hairy was there when I left!” Robbie said. “I let him out just like you told me, and we played fetch for a while, then I fed him.”
The boy had been practicing shots at a basketball hoop above the family’s garage, and sweat trickled down his red face as he bounced the ball on the asphalt. “Hairy—he minds me real good. I wouldn’t let him get away.”
“I know that, Robbie. You take good care of him. But think about it—did you remember to lock the door?” I tried not to sound accusing, but somebody had ransacked my apartment, and it didn’t look as if the lock had been forced.
He shrugged. “Twisted that knob thing the way you showed me—tried it too. That door was locked sure as I’m standing here.” The ball bounced feebly, then rolled away into the grass. “I don’t know how he got out.”
“I believe you, Robbie, but I had to ask. You understand, don’t you?” I paid him the three dollars we had agreed on, plus whatever change I had, and he stuffed it into his pocket. He didn’t answer me, didn’t look up.
“If you see Hairy, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”
He nodded, still not meeting my eyes. I wasn’t forgiven yet. “Old Hairy, he’ll come if you call him I reckon. Always does,” Robbie said.
But I had called until my throat hurt. I called some more.
The police, when I phoned, weren’t unduly concerned about a missing pet.
“Ma’am, are you sure you had the door shut good? Dogs can be right smart, you know. Why, I’ve heard of—”
“Look, somebody searched my apartment,” I said. “They were looking for something.”
“Anything missing?” Did I detect a smidgen of interest in his voice?
“I told you—my dog—and who knows what else!”
“Somebody will be right over. That address again?”
I sat down to wait.
It didn’t take long. The young policeman who showed up at my door looked familiar, so familiar I guess I must have stared.
“Dennis Henderson,” I said finally.
He gave me a puzzled look.
“Miss Arnold’s social studies. Eighth grade.”
“Oh … yeah … right.” I could tell he didn’t remember me.
“Didn’t you sing in the choir for a while? Aunt Caroline used to brag on your tenor.”
Now he smiled. “Right! She’s the one got me to liking music. In fact, I’m taking voice training now. Sure hated to hear about her accident. Your aunt was some nice lady!” He stood in the living room looking about as if he expected a guided tour.
I gave him one. “Look at this footstool—ripped apart! And that end table—somebody’s been going through it. They’ve been in the bedroom too. Dresser drawers aren’t quite right.”
He frowned. “Aren’t quite right?”
“Not like I left them. Everything’s out of place. Now, about my dog. Have you heard anything?”
“Not yet. Anything else missing?”
“Not that
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