Words With Fiends by Ali Brandon Page B

of angry tragedy that seemed almost palpable, while the dressing room itself—usually such an innocuous spot—felt heavy with inescapable oppression.
    â€œStop it,” she whispered to herself. “He may still be alive.”
    A bag over either shoulder, she made her swift way to the vestibule again, in time to hear Robert passionately protesting, “But I can’t leave her. Hank and Hal hate her. They’ll send her to the pound, and she’ll die there! She’ll be safe with me. I swear it!”
    Teen and cop were facing off, Wing looking weary and Robert clutching Roma protectively to his chest, his expression stubborn. The small hound did her part by giving Robert’s chin a quick lick with her long pink tongue.
    The cop sighed. “Officially, I should have animal control pick her up and hold her until a family member claims her. But if the dog vanishes before I can do that”—he paused and deliberately turned his back on Robert—“I guess it is what it is.”
    The teen needed no further encouragement to dash for the door, Roma barking excitedly all the way. Wing, meanwhile, was succumbing to what sounded like a suspiciously fake bout of coughing. When he turned around again, Robert and Roma both were long gone.
    â€œCoulda sworn there was a dog here,” he said with a shake of his head. “Guess not.”
    â€œGuess not,” Darla echoed, managing a smile. “But if Robert happens to find her, I can guarantee he’ll keep her safe until we know what happens with her owner.”
    While the officer locked the dojo with the keys that Master Tomlinson had left on his desk, Darla blinked against the midday sun, barely noticing the chill in the air. A glance at her watch showed that it was just after twelve, though the nightmare in the dojo had seemingly gone on for hours. She didn’t know if the sensei had survived his trip to the ER . . . didn’t want to know yet, until she’d thought of a way to break the news to Robert should the worst happen.
    â€œMs. Pettistone, can I give you a ride?” Officer Wing asked as he headed toward his squad car.
    Darla followed his glance to the gear bags at her feet and then shook her head. “They’re light, and I need the walk to clear my head. But thanks.”
    â€œSuit yourself,” he said with a professional nod. “And I’ll ring you as soon as I hear anything about Mr. Tomlinson’s condition.”
    Darla watched him pull out into traffic; then, shifting the bags onto her shoulders again, she started down the sidewalk in the direction of the bookstore. Little more than an hour ago, her biggest worry had been succumbing to stage fright and forgetting the moves to her katas. But now . . .
    She swiped away a sudden tear and concentrated her thoughts on Robert, instead. Hopefully the teen was almost back to the store now, Roma in tow. What Mary Ann would say about her young tenant bringing home a dog, Darla wasn’t certain, but surely the kind old woman would make a temporary exception to the “no pets” rule, given the circumstances. And if not, then Hamlet would find himself with a canine roommate . . . at least until they learned Master Tomlinson’s fate.

SIX
    â€œJEEZE, KID, THAT’S AWFUL,” JAKE REPLIED ONCE DARLA finished giving her an account of how she and Robert had found Master Tomlinson in the dojo dressing room that morning. The PI leaned against the register counter—Darla had gone ahead and opened the store as usual—and absently rearranged the stack of giveaway papers. “So, have you told him yet?”
    Darla shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.
    By the time she’d made it back to the store, Robert was already hunkered down in his apartment, with Roma settled on a stack of pillows on his sofa. His door was double-locked against anyone—that was, any Hal or Hank—who might be