Jacklyn Sheridan – Jack to her friends – has just returned to her (ex)husband’s hometown. A small town south of Atlanta, a quaint and utterly charming little town called Joy’s Landing. Life always seemed to move at a slower, kinder pace here but as Jack will soon learn, the last thing you should trust is appearances. This town has its secrets. On their first night back an unexpected visitor shows up, a great white beast of a dog, and from the looks of him, he’s been on the run for a while. The small house is already bursting at the seams with herself, her son Peter, and her own two dogs, but how can Jack turn him away? Soon Jack finds herself drawn into the mystery of this lost dog and learns that some of the people in her new life are not who she’s judged them to be… and at least one of them practices a deadly deception.
Jacklyn Sheridan – Jack to her friends – has just returned to her (ex)husband’s hometown. A small town south of Atlanta, a quaint and utterly charming little town called Joy’s Landing. Life always seemed to move at a slower, kinder pace here but as Jack will soon learn, the last thing you should trust is appearances. This town has its secrets. On their first night back an unexpected visitor shows up, a great white beast of a dog, and from the looks of him, he’s been on the run for a while. The small house is already bursting at the seams with herself, her son Peter, and her own two dogs, but how can Jack turn him away? Soon Jack finds herself drawn into the mystery of this lost dog and learns that some of the people in her new life are not who she’s judged them to be… and at least one of them practices a deadly deception.
CHAPTER 1
There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day
But when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Rudyard Kipling, “The Power of a Dog”
It was cold. Damn it, I’m inside this damn house and it’s freezing.
My son Peter came into the kitchen - where I was hunched over the stove, if you can believe it - wringing my hands over a glowing burner. He stopped and shook his head before saying “Oh. I thought I’d put the kettle on. You uh, want some tea maybe?”
“Yeah. Sure. That’ll help…long day, huh?”
He nodded as he turned the faucet over the old farm sink. We both grimaced at the sound it made – it barked at us for a full minute before it finally began to spit brownish water into the chipped enamel basin. Holding the kettle – but not under the faucet – he looked the question back at me.
I gave him back a wry face. “Yeah. Let it run for a few minutes. But it should be okay - you’re gonna boil it anyway.”
“Yeah. It probably won’t kill us.” Then he threw a grin at me before turning back to the sink, “We both know it’ll take more than a little dirty water, right Mom?”
Peter handed me a mug. I took it and followed, negotiating a path through the stacks of boxes, around the corner of the kitchen and into – well let’s be optimistic, call it the ‘The living room’. The room where we will do a lot of living, so that’s accurate enough. Maybe the word ‘room’ – maybe that’s the misleading term, in this oh so cozy space.
He sat down on the couch. It was once part of a set. I wonder if it was lonely.
Lord, Woman, don’t you have bigger things to -
Yeah. Got bigger things to worry about.
I sat down with a sigh on the other end. Lucky – she’s our mutt- jumped up, turned around twice and settled in between us.
“So…” Peter started. He blew across the mug before he took a sip.
“So.”
“We made it.”
“Yes we did. We made it. Jeez it’s cold in here.”
He reached past me, grabbed a throw from the end of the couch and with clumsy care sort of spread it over my legs.
Have I mentioned how much I love this lad?
“Thank you. Are all your boxes upstairs?”
He nodded. Took another sip. One hand of his had already found its way down to the dog’s head resting between us. I realized, that was something we both did, did without thinking. Stroke the dog. Calm the dog. Oh, who I am kidding? Calm myself.
Wait.
“Wait, where’s Shadow?”
Peter nodded again, back towards the kitchen. “Under the table.”
“Oh. I guess that’s no surprise. I never expected him to be able to make it up those awful stairs, not with those poor old hips of his. I hope he’s okay.”
“Mom. He’s fine. Sleeping, breathing – snoring even. I just checked.”
“I was worried, you know, about the move. Long way for an old guy.”
Peter smiled. “Speaking as one who knows?”
“Yes, exactly.” Ah. There it was, something like normalcy: my nineteen year old giving me shit about my ‘advanced’ years.
Peter took a slow sip before he relented, “He did okay on the drive down, right?”
“He did fine. Slept most of the way. Whenever I’d look up and check, there he was, stretched out in the back seat - sound asleep. Having glorious dog dreams I’m sure.”
“I knew he’d be okay. All he had to do was keep you in sight.”
That was truth, but it wasn’t supposed to have been that way: Shadow was meant to be Peter’s dog. A rambunctious puppy for an equally energetic five year old, but years ago the goofball dog and I bonded over a broken leg. His leg, that is, after he escaped Peter one day and dashed into the street, earning himself a fast introduction to durability of cars vs. the perishability of puppies. He was lucky to come away with only a smashed hip. We were lucky, too, to have the resources back then to get him the very expensive medical care and attention he required. For the dog it was two operations, some hunks of metal inserted into a hip, and three - no, four months in a crate while he healed. And since Peter was in school, it was me that got to pick him up and haul his gangly pup ass outside to do his business.
So. He’d been my shadow ever since.
No, I’d known that he would have to sleep downstairs here. The narrow stairs up to the two bedrooms above were steep and unforgiving; the old wood was bare and worn, polished slick from decades of use. I knew this only too well myself, after spending this very afternoon trudging up and down, down and up, too many times, bringing up boxes, bags and furniture.
Shadow is a big dog, a golden retriever. Years are not kind to big dogs.
“I should have put down a blanket or something for him. That crappy old linoleum floor must be frigid. Damn it –“
I started to get up, to fix this. Fix one damn thing. Peter put a hand out.
“Mom. Don’t worry. I put down an old comforter for him – I swear, he’s good.”
“Really?”
Peter gave me ‘his’ look. One of them anyway. This one was: No, Mother, I just said that to piss you off. Yes, of course I meant what I just said. He followed it with the one that said: I love you, but you are an idiot.
Oh yeah? Well don’t forget: Half of your genetic code is mine, dear boy. Half.
Poor boy.
#
A little later, Peter was rinsing out the cups. I was kneeling by a table, giving Shadow some delayed love. Yes, I’d woken the poor old dog up but he didn’t seem to mind. Head raised, eyes closed, he gave himself over to pleasure as I stroked and fondled the great gold head. He sighed. I let his head settle back down before pushing myself up. Now it was my turn to sigh when my knees reminded me again of all those trips up the stairs.
I saw Lucky standing by the back door. Not asleep, no. This dog was dancing.
“Oh, crap. Look at Lucky.”
Peter turned from the sink and peered.
“What? Can’t see over the countertop.”
“She’s over here by the back door. I think she needs to go out. Crap.”
“So. What’s the matter?”
“We can’t just let her go. She’ll get lost.”
Another look: his best, most practiced and it’s a classic: REALLY, Mother??
“Yes, really.”
He turned off the faucet, grabbed a towel. “What? I didn’t say anything.”
My turn for a look. (Guess he might come by it honestly.)
I talked down to the dog. “Lucky, it’s the middle of night.” She didn’t care. “Fine. Hang on, please, let me go get my shoes.”
The boy and I crossed paths; he headed for the back door, I headed back to the living room where I was thinking I’d left loafers. Lucky whined. I called over my shoulder, “DO NOT open that door. Wait. Please.”
Both of them sniffed at me, but the door stayed closed. I was coming back when he said, “Hey Mom. Wait.”
‘What?”
“There’s…there’s actually something out there.”
I joined them at the door; it’s a half and half – solid bottom, glass panes on top. Peter pointed.
“Where? I don’t see –“ But then, I did see it…a something - a shading - a shape? An otherness distinct from the other shadows at the edge of the tree line moved, shifted and became a separate and distinct and alarmingly mobile thing. A big damn thing. Jesus, that’s big-
“You think a bear, maybe?” Peter asked, his eyes lit with interest.
“A bear? Not this close to the city.”
“ Oh, come on. Mom. ‘The City’? Really? Atlanta’s a city - and an hour away. Joy’s Landing? Town. If that. We’re, like, in the middle of nowhere.”
I probably gave him a look then.
So Peter quickly added, “Hey, I’m not complaining, I like it here.”
I shrugged, turning back to look at my boy’s ‘bear’. “What I started to say, son, was this: whatever it is, it is very pale, almost white – and no matter how far from the city we currently find ourselves, I doubt seriously there are polar bears in these southern woods.”
Peter grinned at me, then turned back to the window: “Uh-oh, look: whatever it is, it’s coming closer.” Without thought, I stepped back from the door. So, I noticed, did Peter.
Slowly, moving with infinite caution, the SomeBigWhiteThing edged away from the trees and came towards us. It took a step, then crouched… before another step, and another -
We said it together: “DOG.”
Peter let out a breath. “Wow - that’s a big damn dog. What is that? Mastiff?”
“No, it looks…” I mused, “More like, oh damn it, I know this, wait a minute, I’ll get it - Newfoundland. No. No?…Great Pyrenees? Or, maybe… Kuvasz.”
“You made that last one up.”
I shook my head. I like dogs. Always have. And, I read, a lot.
“Wonder if he’s lost?” Peter said.
“Why would you think that? It probably belongs up the hill at the big house.”
“Naw. Look - his coat’s a mess. Looks like he’s been out in the woods a while.”
Between us, Lucky was still prancing and it was clear she’d picked up the scent of the other dog. She barked, once, but once was enough. The stranger heard; we watched his eyes perk up.
Peter was saying, “I bet he’s friendly. Look, Mom, he’s just sitting there. He’s just…waiting.”
Before I could respond, Peter was opening the door.
“Peter, what the hell…oh jeez!”
I hesitated. I admit it, I did. For one fast heartbeat. Then I followed my son out into the dark of this cold night.
Peter had stopped a few feet in front of the dog. He slowly held out a closed hand, holding it low, below the thing’s nose, saying in a calm voice, “Hey there big guy. It’s okay.”
The dog’s head tilted to one side. He seemed to ponder, seemed to consider the offer with great and careful deliberation. He looked first at Peter, then up to me, then back to my boy.
Peter took another step closer. The dog edged back.
We froze.
Standoff.
Then I had an inspiration. “Hang on, don’t move, I’ll be right back,” and I turned back to the house.
Returning, I said, “Here: dog biscuit.”
Peter reached behind, took the treat and held it out. A big black nose began to twitch, before a tongue snaked out for one quick, quivering lick across a very dirty snout. Peter took a half step, still holding the biscuit outstretched, still speaking nonsense words of comfort in low and measured tones. Delicately, the dog stretched, reached out with that great shaggy head and took the offering. His head tossed up. One crunch – cookie gone.
Peter said over this shoulder, “He’s hungry. You got more?”
I stepped closer. “Nope.” The dog raised his head. I said, “It’s okay big guy… You know, I think you’re right, boychik. I think he has been out in the woods for a while. Maybe he’s lost –“
“Or somebody dumped him.”
“Either way, he’s got manners.” I wanted to wag a finger, but I didn’t and I kept my voice calm, “Which is so very fortunate for you, young man. You are not off the hook, just so you know. We’re so going to have some fellowship later about walking out the door and right up to a strange animal. You ever hear of rabies, idiot child?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Peter was stroking the dog under its chin. The big dog’s eyes were still open, flicking back and forth, watching both of us, but he stretched out his head, clearly enjoying the attention. Now I felt bold enough to reach out too, slowly offering my own closed hand under his nose. When it was accepted, I reached out with a shy caress.
Damn it all. As soon as I began to stroke him, the dog sighed, sunk down and rolled over, surrendering his belly.
“Oh, yeah, who’s a vicious dog? Who’s a big bad dog?” My son was teasing us both. “Who’s a big dog, who’s a - ” Peter looked down. “Boy. Jeez, he’s a mess. Mud and burrs and crap all over, and he’s mad thin - if he belongs to somebody then they’re doing a shitty job.”
I suppose another mother would have given the boy shit about his language.
But it’s not his fault he grew up with a mother with a potty mouth herself, is it?
Feeling bold, I tugged, tentatively, at a clump of brambles and fur matted into the dog’s belly, a mess that firmly resisted my hesitant efforts. So I gave up; stood and wiped my palms on my jeans. “Yeah. Cleaning this beast up is going to be a real pain in the ass. And since it’s way past my bedtime, you can get started in the morning.”
Peter grinned up at me. “Should have seen that coming”
“You feed a dog, you get a dog – and you know this. BUT – AND I AM NOT KIDDING – this is temporary. Good God, we can’t afford another mouth to feed. Don’t give me that look, I’m serious. So, tomorrow you clean up this…this albino… Wookie…creature - and then, then you can go into town and find Animal Control.”
The dog was snuffling Peter’s hands, searching. “Yeah, okay. I get it. But we can feed him tonight, right? A real meal?”
I sighed; good and deep, and long and dramatic. Oh, I am good at those sighs.
And still. There was only one answer to that question.
“Yes. Of course. You know you didn’t even need to ask - but he stays outside – you hear me? It’s late, he’s a mess and I’m exhausted, way too tired to deal with a dogfight. Who knows? Maybe in the morning he’ll be gone, back to wherever the hell he came from.”
Sometimes a little humorous view on life can be entertaining and refreshing. That is the best thing I loved about this book. The main character is facing quite a few challenges in her life that would have most people bitter and angry at the world. She faces the obstacles and is determined to forge ahead even as she makes a few wry comments along the way and shares her thoughts with us. I think I would be her in similar situations.
The main action of the story, a.k.a. the murder, doesn't happen for a few chapters in. Actually, the reader does not witness the horrible deed or even show up right after it occurs. The main character, Jack, doesn't even find out about it until it is rather old news around town. She gets pulled into it because of the stray dog she finds and ends up taking in.
When it comes to the speed of the story, it does move rather slow but not in a painful way. The reader gets caught up on the main character's life and what brought her to that one moment. We learn more about the town and the minor characters, even the animals.
If you like books driven by pets, I think you'll enjoy this one. While the stray dog isn't exactly the main character, his thoughts are at times revealed to us. We also can't help but feel for him and want to take him in ourselves.
The mystery? Good luck figuring it all out. Wasn't apparent to me for quite some time, which is a good thing. Those that are easy to figure out can be rather dull. I really enjoyed the tone of the writing and the main character's thoughts. Enjoyable read that will be a great way to end your summer.