Chapter Twelve #2
Lavinia and Quintia had given her a quick rundown of how to approach their visit.
Don’t come out of the gate asking questions.
Pretend to be a customer, draw the target into conversation.
Most people would spill whatever information they had with minimal encouragement—but seem too eager, and you’ll arouse suspicion and they’ll clam up.
It had all sounded very easy while they were in the car, but now Michelle suddenly felt as if she’d never spoken to another human being in her entire life.
They must look ridiculously suspicious: three women, co-adopting a single dog?
Michelle stood out like a sore thumb between Lavinia and Quintia—they were tall, muscular, and had an effortless grace.
They looked like they should star in movies or rule an ancient kingdom, not walk around modern-day London.
Meanwhile, she bumbled beside them, just as plain and ordinary as she’d ever been.
“Of course,” the old woman said, squinting over the computer screen. “I can take you over to the kennel in a moment. Are you ladies a couple?”
“No, just housemates,” Michelle said, a blush creeping in. It was the excuse they’d devised en route. It was true, in a way, which Quintia insisted was the best kind of lie.
“Hmmm,” the lady hummed, laboriously moving the mouse for a minute while she completed some arcane forms on the computer. “Have you adopted with us before?”
“Not yet,” Lavinia said. Superficially she looked relaxed, but Michelle could tell from the way she held herself that she was ready to jump into action at the drop of a hat.
Behind them, a lock quietly clicked back into place.
The woman didn’t look up. Quintia had used the distraction of their conversation to slide through a door bearing a no-access sign.
Michelle would be terrified of running into any of the rescue staff members, but vampires probably had their ways of going about undetected.
They probably heard people coming from a mile away with their superior senses.
Meanwhile, Lavinia coaxed the receptionist, Nasim, into talking about her own pet. She leaned across the counter, swiping through dozens of nearly identical photos of a brown poodle.
“This is Bitsy,” she said, showing another picture of said Bitsy lying on the sofa, head resting on her paws. “She’s such a dear. Here she is chasing her ball. She does so love her ball.” More Bitsy followed, and Lavinia and Michelle oohed and aahed wherever seemed appropriate.
After another three rounds or so of anecdotes about the minutiae of Bitsy’s likes (sleeping, watching the birds) and dislikes (vacuum cleaner, the postman), Nasim finally remembered herself. “But let’s get you two your own sweetheart. We are quite full at the moment, so there is a lot of choice.”
Michelle and Lavinia followed Nasim as she came around the counter and led them outside and into the single-storey back building that housed the dogs.
“My father actually used to work here,” Michelle said, trying to sound casual.
“Did he, dear? What was his name? Perhaps I know him.”
“It was a long time ago. Twenty-eight years. His name was Paul Warbrick.”
Nasim stood still for a moment, collecting her thoughts.
Then she narrowed her eyes, studying Michelle.
“I remember Paul. You look a little bit like him. Such a shame what happened to him. I always told him, ‘Paul, that motorcycle will be the death of you.’ And then, well.” She pursed her lips. “You must have been awfully young.”
“I wasn’t born yet when he passed away.”
“You poor sweetheart. Such a shame. He was a lovely man. Wonderful with the dogs, just wonderful. There wasn’t a dog he couldn’t calm down.
Seemed like magic, sometimes, the way he spoke to them.
It was like the dogs listened. But that’s silly, isn’t it.
” Nasim chuckled to herself. “I didn’t know he had a special someone in his life.
Seemed more like the carefree type. He was kind, though.
Always helpful. Not too good to get his hands dirty.
It can be hard work at the rescue—it’s a charity you see, and there is never quite enough money for everything. But we make it work. Here we are.”
They’d come to a stop at the top of a long corridor, partitioned into individual gated rooms for the dogs.
Several of them had started barking once they had come into earshot—another howled a plaintive note.
It was a horrible cacophony, worsened by the relentless concrete of the building.
Nasim led them around, showing off several dogs.
Michelle petted a gentle Labrador, tried to coax a shivering bulldog from the corner of its kennel, and was scratched accidentally by an over-eager mutt with a shaggy black coat.
“We’re just here today to have a look,” Lavinia said while Michelle kneeled at the fence of an older dog, a one-eyed German Shepherd. The sign beside the fence said “Dora”. “Can we come back sometime next week, when we’ve had some time to think?”
“Of course,” Nasim said. “Always best to be sure. You may want to ring ahead though—you’re lucky I was in today. We’re currently understaffed.”
“Oh?” Lavinia said. Michelle envied the ease with which she said it.
“Horrible business, really. John, who used to work here. He was…murdered.” The last word was a whisper. “It’s been a horrible shock to all of us.”
“Really?” Lavinia said, raising her eyebrows, mimicking surprise. “What happened?”
“Must be an absolute nutter. Sliced him with a knife, the police said. No idea why anyone would want to hurt the man. He was a bit odd, kept to himself, not the chatty sort. But great with the animals, always. A bit like your father, love,” she said to Michelle.
Dora the German Shepherd sauntered over from her bed and sniffed Michelle’s hand.
She was a handsome dog, her fur coat healthy and shiny.
“The police asked whether anyone would want to hurt him and I said to them, no, absolutely not. He minded his own business, and that’s that.”
“You don’t think he was doing anything…illegal?” Lavinia prodded. “Like drugs?”
“Oh no, nothing like that,” Nasim dismissed the suggestion. “Liked a spot of gambling now and again, but that’s neither here nor there. Seemed pretty lucky, too. But never felt too good to work with the dogs. There are always so many poor sweethearts that need a new home.”
Dora looked at Michelle with a single, plaintive brown eye, allowing the soft fur of her chin to be stroked.
“Been a working dog, that one. She was abandoned when she lost her eye though—no longer good enough for the farm. She’s retired now, sweet girl.” Nasim patted Dora’s haunch. Despite the loud barks of some of her fellow creatures, Dora stayed quiet, looking almost melancholic.
“She’s gorgeous,” Michelle said. “Don’t you think, Lavinia?”
“She is,” Lavinia said, smiling. For a moment, Michelle lost herself in that smile; it was as if they were truly just two women, looking for a canine companion to complete their family.
Then she had to remind herself that this was all a ruse.
They weren’t here for a dog, and they weren’t together either.
They were hardly even friends, really. And yet, there was that connection that ran between them, forged irrevocably the night Lavinia had saved her from the demon.
Nasim showed them some other dogs, but Michelle kept looking back at Dora, who sat at the fence, attentively following their every move.
With an expert touch, Lavinia extracted all information Nasim had on the victim, which wasn’t much.
It seemed like he’d kept to himself mostly and, although Nasim loved to gossip, she didn’t know much of substance.
Still, they’d been in the kennel for over twenty minutes by now, allowing Quintia sufficient time to find out as much as she could.
“I think we should head home, have a think,” Lavinia said to Michelle, nodding to Nasim. “Thank you for showing us around.”
“Yes, thank you,” Michelle echoed. She threw one last glance at Dora, still sitting at the fence, waiting for someone to take her home.
“I think she’s already sold,” Nasim said to Lavinia.
“I know that look. Same one I gave my little Bitsy when she came into the rescue!” They walked back into the reception building.
“And if you would like to hear more about your father, sweetheart, just let me know. It’s just me and Bitsy at home, and we love to have some company over.
I can’t bring him back, but it’s nice to reminisce sometimes, isn’t it?
” She gave Michelle’s arm a squeeze. Once they’d reached the reception, she grabbed a leaf of paper from a stack on the desk.
“And here is an application form for Dora. I think she would be perfect for you two.”
Nasim waved at them through the window as they walked back to the car.
When they were safely out of earshot, Michelle said, “Why do I feel like we’re the ones who got played?” She looked at the adoption form in her hand.
Lavinia laughed, holding the passenger door of the car open for Michelle to get in.