recliner, and flat-screen television.
“Bing? It’s me,” I called. When he didn’t answer, I wondered if I’d been wrong about the blood. Maybe Sir had gotten into the trash and had tracked spaghetti sauce through the house.
“It’s okay, baby,” I told Sir as he jumped around my knees, his jowls swinging back and forth. He wanted me to pick him up, which required both of my hands. I dropped Bing’s key in my lemon purse and lifted Sir into my arms. I followed paw prints into the kitchen. It was tidier than I’d left it but smelled odd, like fireworks.
When I got near the door to the breakfast room, Sir began to squirm. I set him on the floor and looked around. The tile counter was bare and glossy except for a bowl of green apples. Bing wasn’t one to decorate with fruit. Either Natalie or the redhead had been playing house.
I walked toward the breakfast room. Bing’s chair was pulled back at an angle. Then I saw him. He was sprawled on the floor, facedown. A dark puddle spread from his chest and met a smaller puddle near his head. I ran to him and pressed two fingers against his neck. It was warm and still. No pulse. And he wasn’t breathing.
I withdrew my hand. My fingers were tipped with red. One word rang out in my mind: murder. I had to call the police. I reached inside my purse for my cell phone when someone grabbed me from behind. Before I could look over my shoulder, pain shot through my neck. My head wouldn’t move. A current ran through my body, over and over, until all my muscles went rigid. I was falling, falling into a black hole. My last coherent thought was, Teen, you been tased .
thirteen
I was dimly aware of a sniffing sound. The wet petal softness of a tongue hit my face. I cracked open one eye and saw a spotted muzzle.
“Sir?” I croaked. “That you?”
He answered with a snort. I lay there too dizzy to move. If Sir was here, then where was I? The dog licked and licked. His tongue slid over my eyes and curled into my nostril. When I tried to push him away, my hand felt limp and boneless. After a minute, I was able to move my head. I saw Bing. He was dead—violently dead.
My arms tingled and I couldn’t think straight. I waited until I could control my muscles enough to sit up. I patted my neck, searching for a bump or wound, but I didn’t feel a thing. I clearly remembered feeling a burst of pain, then my whole body going into a knot. What would do that? Had I slipped in blood or had someone hit me from behind? A taser wouldn’t knock me out. At least it didn’t knock out people on Law & Order.
If I had been attacked from behind, whoever did it might still be in the house. My cell phone was lying on top of my purse. I punched in 9-1-1. When the operator answered, I said, “I’d like to report a dead body. Someone hurt my … my…”
I paused. How to word this? My ex-fiancé? Friend? Maybe I shouldn’t be specific.
“He’s bleeding,” I said. “I think … I think he’s dead. Please, send help.”
“Slow down, ma’am,” the operator said, but the smell of copper pennies rushed up my nose and I couldn’t breathe. I gave the address and clicked off. I was having trouble remembering what had happened before I’d found Bing’s body. Everything was in pieces. The text message. Sir’s bloody paw prints. Green apples. And a dead Bing.
I heard a car screech up the driveway. I walked into the hall and unlocked the front door. A big-shouldered, dark-haired officer looked past me into the foyer. “Did you report a murder?” he asked.
Murder? Had I said that? Behind him, the blue lights on top of his car swirled over the trees. “Ma’am?” asked the officer, blinking at my bloody clothes. “Are you hurt anywhere?”
“No.”
“You’ve got blood all over you.”
“It’s from my dog. He shot out the doggie door.” I pointed, and Sir barked. I motioned for the policeman to follow. When I reached the kitchen, I gestured at the breakfast room. “He’s
“Bing? It’s me,” I called. When he didn’t answer, I wondered if I’d been wrong about the blood. Maybe Sir had gotten into the trash and had tracked spaghetti sauce through the house.
“It’s okay, baby,” I told Sir as he jumped around my knees, his jowls swinging back and forth. He wanted me to pick him up, which required both of my hands. I dropped Bing’s key in my lemon purse and lifted Sir into my arms. I followed paw prints into the kitchen. It was tidier than I’d left it but smelled odd, like fireworks.
When I got near the door to the breakfast room, Sir began to squirm. I set him on the floor and looked around. The tile counter was bare and glossy except for a bowl of green apples. Bing wasn’t one to decorate with fruit. Either Natalie or the redhead had been playing house.
I walked toward the breakfast room. Bing’s chair was pulled back at an angle. Then I saw him. He was sprawled on the floor, facedown. A dark puddle spread from his chest and met a smaller puddle near his head. I ran to him and pressed two fingers against his neck. It was warm and still. No pulse. And he wasn’t breathing.
I withdrew my hand. My fingers were tipped with red. One word rang out in my mind: murder. I had to call the police. I reached inside my purse for my cell phone when someone grabbed me from behind. Before I could look over my shoulder, pain shot through my neck. My head wouldn’t move. A current ran through my body, over and over, until all my muscles went rigid. I was falling, falling into a black hole. My last coherent thought was, Teen, you been tased .
thirteen
I was dimly aware of a sniffing sound. The wet petal softness of a tongue hit my face. I cracked open one eye and saw a spotted muzzle.
“Sir?” I croaked. “That you?”
He answered with a snort. I lay there too dizzy to move. If Sir was here, then where was I? The dog licked and licked. His tongue slid over my eyes and curled into my nostril. When I tried to push him away, my hand felt limp and boneless. After a minute, I was able to move my head. I saw Bing. He was dead—violently dead.
My arms tingled and I couldn’t think straight. I waited until I could control my muscles enough to sit up. I patted my neck, searching for a bump or wound, but I didn’t feel a thing. I clearly remembered feeling a burst of pain, then my whole body going into a knot. What would do that? Had I slipped in blood or had someone hit me from behind? A taser wouldn’t knock me out. At least it didn’t knock out people on Law & Order.
If I had been attacked from behind, whoever did it might still be in the house. My cell phone was lying on top of my purse. I punched in 9-1-1. When the operator answered, I said, “I’d like to report a dead body. Someone hurt my … my…”
I paused. How to word this? My ex-fiancé? Friend? Maybe I shouldn’t be specific.
“He’s bleeding,” I said. “I think … I think he’s dead. Please, send help.”
“Slow down, ma’am,” the operator said, but the smell of copper pennies rushed up my nose and I couldn’t breathe. I gave the address and clicked off. I was having trouble remembering what had happened before I’d found Bing’s body. Everything was in pieces. The text message. Sir’s bloody paw prints. Green apples. And a dead Bing.
I heard a car screech up the driveway. I walked into the hall and unlocked the front door. A big-shouldered, dark-haired officer looked past me into the foyer. “Did you report a murder?” he asked.
Murder? Had I said that? Behind him, the blue lights on top of his car swirled over the trees. “Ma’am?” asked the officer, blinking at my bloody clothes. “Are you hurt anywhere?”
“No.”
“You’ve got blood all over you.”
“It’s from my dog. He shot out the doggie door.” I pointed, and Sir barked. I motioned for the policeman to follow. When I reached the kitchen, I gestured at the breakfast room. “He’s
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