a second,” and I heard more muffled discussion. All I could make out was Greg snapping, “Thanks, but that won’t be necessary.” Then to me, “Janet, I hate to ask, but is there any way you could bring Pip to me? I, uh, don’t want to leave here right now.”
I was more than a little curious about what was going on over there, and had a leash in my hand before he finished the sentence. “We’re on our way!”
Twenty minutes later I pulled up in front of Greg’s house, behind the decrepit Yugo that had tried to eat my fender on my last visit. Its right front tire rested halfway up the curb and its tail end was not quite out of the street. A peeling bumper sticker claimed, “My other car is a broom,” and another boasted, “It’s hard to be humble when you own a Maltese.” No question whose car it was. I glanced in the open passenger-side window as I walked by. A book lay on the front seat, the top edge bristling with multi-hued slips of paper. Spells for Lovers. Another, Magick Love Spells , lay beside it. Ho boy.
Pip was all wriggle and whine from the van to the front door, and could hardly contain himself as we waited for Greg to answer the bell.
But it wasn’t Greg who opened the door. It was Giselle Swann. She was wearing black over-stretched pants and the biggest black lace teddy I’d ever seen with a black cable-knit cardigan hanging, unbuttoned, over it. Her eyes were rimmed with black liner that narrowed them more than was natural, and she had a silver ring I didn’t remember in her left nostril. It contrasted nicely with the brilliant raspberry gloss on her lips. Although my mouth may still have been agape, I was beginning to recover when Giselle reached for Pip’s leash.
“Thanks so much, Janet. We so appreciate your bringing Pip home and caring for him.” A blast of cheap powdery scent assaulted my nostrils and I reflexively lifted my hand to catch a sneeze, preventing Giselle from taking hold of the leash. We? The little demon was back at my left ear. What does she mean, “we”?
25
“Giselle! What a surprise!” I sneezed once, twice, three times, fished a semi-used tissue from my pocket, and blew the rest of her powdery perfume out of my nose.
She ignored me and tried once more for the leash. “I can take Pip. Greg’s tied up right now.” I hoped she was speaking figuratively. Pip ducked backward, away from her hand, and let out a loud squeal as he rocketed through the door, bumped Giselle sideways, and pulled the leash from my hand.
“Pipper! How ya doin’, guy?” Greg’s voice mingled with Pip’s whiney talk, and Percy the Poodle yipped in harmony. “Nice to see you, Pipper! Come on, want to go out and check your yard?” Greg fended off the bouncing Border Collie and invited me in. I squeezed past Giselle and followed Greg through an entrance foyer as big as my living room, emerging into a family room that easily accommodated the expansive leather sectional and chairs arrayed in front of a TV screen big enough for an IMAX. To the right a wall of rough-hewn pale gray Indiana limestone extended from floor to ceiling, with a fireplace nestled beneath an arched opening. An enormous watercolor painting of a Border Collie working a flock of sheep graced the wall over the mantle. Behind the seating arrangements was a billiard table, and there was more than enough room to ensure that no one sitting in front of the television would get clobbered by a cue in play.
Two sets of French doors and the biggest window I’ve ever seen in a house made up the wall facing the fireplace. The doors opened onto a flagstone patio beyond which a lush lawn sloped to a pond that separated the Dorns’ property from their neighbors. Most of the yard was open, but a picket fence surrounded the deck off the family room and enclosed a square of grass maybe forty by forty feet. Lawn covered the inside of the fenced area, too, except for a large maple in the center. A wide border of irises and peonies
I was more than a little curious about what was going on over there, and had a leash in my hand before he finished the sentence. “We’re on our way!”
Twenty minutes later I pulled up in front of Greg’s house, behind the decrepit Yugo that had tried to eat my fender on my last visit. Its right front tire rested halfway up the curb and its tail end was not quite out of the street. A peeling bumper sticker claimed, “My other car is a broom,” and another boasted, “It’s hard to be humble when you own a Maltese.” No question whose car it was. I glanced in the open passenger-side window as I walked by. A book lay on the front seat, the top edge bristling with multi-hued slips of paper. Spells for Lovers. Another, Magick Love Spells , lay beside it. Ho boy.
Pip was all wriggle and whine from the van to the front door, and could hardly contain himself as we waited for Greg to answer the bell.
But it wasn’t Greg who opened the door. It was Giselle Swann. She was wearing black over-stretched pants and the biggest black lace teddy I’d ever seen with a black cable-knit cardigan hanging, unbuttoned, over it. Her eyes were rimmed with black liner that narrowed them more than was natural, and she had a silver ring I didn’t remember in her left nostril. It contrasted nicely with the brilliant raspberry gloss on her lips. Although my mouth may still have been agape, I was beginning to recover when Giselle reached for Pip’s leash.
“Thanks so much, Janet. We so appreciate your bringing Pip home and caring for him.” A blast of cheap powdery scent assaulted my nostrils and I reflexively lifted my hand to catch a sneeze, preventing Giselle from taking hold of the leash. We? The little demon was back at my left ear. What does she mean, “we”?
25
“Giselle! What a surprise!” I sneezed once, twice, three times, fished a semi-used tissue from my pocket, and blew the rest of her powdery perfume out of my nose.
She ignored me and tried once more for the leash. “I can take Pip. Greg’s tied up right now.” I hoped she was speaking figuratively. Pip ducked backward, away from her hand, and let out a loud squeal as he rocketed through the door, bumped Giselle sideways, and pulled the leash from my hand.
“Pipper! How ya doin’, guy?” Greg’s voice mingled with Pip’s whiney talk, and Percy the Poodle yipped in harmony. “Nice to see you, Pipper! Come on, want to go out and check your yard?” Greg fended off the bouncing Border Collie and invited me in. I squeezed past Giselle and followed Greg through an entrance foyer as big as my living room, emerging into a family room that easily accommodated the expansive leather sectional and chairs arrayed in front of a TV screen big enough for an IMAX. To the right a wall of rough-hewn pale gray Indiana limestone extended from floor to ceiling, with a fireplace nestled beneath an arched opening. An enormous watercolor painting of a Border Collie working a flock of sheep graced the wall over the mantle. Behind the seating arrangements was a billiard table, and there was more than enough room to ensure that no one sitting in front of the television would get clobbered by a cue in play.
Two sets of French doors and the biggest window I’ve ever seen in a house made up the wall facing the fireplace. The doors opened onto a flagstone patio beyond which a lush lawn sloped to a pond that separated the Dorns’ property from their neighbors. Most of the yard was open, but a picket fence surrounded the deck off the family room and enclosed a square of grass maybe forty by forty feet. Lawn covered the inside of the fenced area, too, except for a large maple in the center. A wide border of irises and peonies
Similar Books
