Chapter 18 Sandra
SANDRA
I glance over at Travis's office. He's working, head down and focused. Hopefully busy enough that he won't question me.
"Kennels are done. We're running low on the special diet kibble," I call out to him as I take the keys for the van off the hook. "I'm going to go out and get a couple of bags. Are you okay keeping an eye open while I'm out?"
He doesn't even look up, just waves a hand. "Sure. I'm here a while."
Remembering my duty, I pull my phone out and tap a message.
Me: This is me messaging like a good girl to let you know I’m going out to pick up some dog food and check out a foster home.
Piston: Was that so hard?
Me: Yes.
Zero: Poor baby, we’ll kiss it better later.
Beast: Thanks for the headsup. :) Guys really, how do I turn off the notification sound?
I grab the keys to the van and run by the bulk store first. We weren’t really that low, but it would look strange if I came back with nothing and there was no receipt.
This feels like the plot of a cozy mystery.
Local girl who works at a dog rescue comes up with a zany plan to bring down fake foster homes for puppies.
I’ve probably watched too many real crime shows.
Our whole software system is basically five spreadsheets in a trench coat wrapped together under an interface someone developed ten years ago.
Every time something goes wrong, Travis has to call an ex-volunteer’s cousin in Vancouver.
But the dogs.
I have to at least drive by and see. My phone sends me deeper into the Ditch, past a cluster of office buildings and then into an area that's more warehouses and a self-storage place before I end up out the other side and in a residential neighborhood.
It's not sketchy exactly, but it's definitely not where people with money end up buying. The lots are fairly big, though, so that might make sense if they take in a lot of dogs. Some of the houses look cared for, but most haven’t seen updates since at least the seventies.
The GPS takes me down a side street. The foster home looks like it should be at the very end of it.
There are a half dozen cars spread out between the driveway and the road.
Because it’s the last house, it has an even larger property than most. I see at least one dog tied up out front.
I pull up in front of it, and consider my plan.
It's a bad plan, I know that, but I’m not trying to actively invade their house or anything.
I’ll just go up there, say one of the dogs needs special diet and drop off a bag to make sure they have enough.
Worst case scenario here is that I’m going to feel like an idiot and they tell me to leave.
I can always say I must've gotten the wrong address out of our files.
Just to be sure though…
Me: [sends location] If I vanish, this is the murder house.
Piston: What the fuck?
Me: Kidding!
I close my eyes, draw a deep breath for courage, then push the driver-side door open.
Then I grab one of the bags of dog food from the back to bring to the front door.
The dog out front just lifts their head and watches, but before I even get to the top of the front steps, I hear barking.
Nothing alarming, but at least a few dogs.
I ring the doorbell.
Pause, then heavy footsteps coming my way, and the door swings open.
I find myself looking up at a guy with a buzz cut, a ratty T-shirt and sweatpants that look like he's been rolling around in the dirt.
I want to give him credit and say that he's been in the back playing with the dogs, but he really doesn't look like a guy that has played at anything in his life.
"Who the fuck are you?"
Right. "Hi! I'm from the shelter. I think Travis came by earlier?
One of the dogs needs special diet food.
I'm just bringing it for him." I smile, trying to make myself seem as harmless as possible.
I'm half hoping he's just going to tell me to fuck off so I can tuck my tail between my legs and make a beeline out of here.
He furrows his brows in suspicion. "Travis sent you?"
I nod. "Yeah, he was tied up in something else."
"Uh, yeah, alright. Come on in. You can put it in the back." Oh God. That's about the opposite of what I want. I didn't expect him to actually invite me in, but on the other hand, this is my chance to get a look, right? Get in. Give food. Get out.
"Sure, no problem." I carry the bag past him and down a hallway that cuts through the middle of the house, towards what looks like the kitchen. There are stairs up on one side, and closed doors on the other. It’s not a real murder house.
Right? A knocking noise behind one of them startles me. Maybe I don't want to know.
As I reach the kitchen, I realize there's someone in there. He gets up as I come close, and we stop dead at the same time.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" asks the jerk who came in looking for Junkyard.
Oh no.
"I'm—I'm just dropping this off. How are you doing? Did you ever find your dog?" This is me not being suspicious. Look how innocent and stupid I am. Nothing to see here.
"Come here, bitch," he orders and I know I'm screwed.
I throw the bag at the man, more to get it out of my hands than any hope of achieving something. It's heavy. Then I turn and run.
"Stop her!"
I use the little head start I have for all it's worth. The door is right there. If I can only get into the van and lock the doors, then—
The man who let me in comes out of one of the side rooms to see what's going on, leaving me only the stairs. Not a good option, but better than running into his arms. I take the steps two at a time, trying to ignore the thumps of heavy boots behind me.
At least there isn't a third guy waiting for me on top. Maybe I can get out a window? If there's a bedroom…
No time to think. I just pick a door and hope it's a good choice.
It's not.
It’s a half-bath. Toilet, sink and a teeny tiny window.
I slam the door, and at least there's a key.
I turn it just before the handle rattles like he's going to rip it right off.
I could yell for help, but there's no way I'll be able to squeeze out the window.
I pull out the key and cling to the door handle, trying to prevent it from turning, but he's too strong. The lock holds, at least for now.
"Bust it down?" It's the guy from the front door, so now I know they're both out there.
Something hits the door so hard it rattles on its hinges. I let out a terrified shriek and start looking around the room for something to defend myself with. Best I've got is a plunger and some air freshener.
I grip the plunger in one hand and get ready to use the mountain fresh scent like bear spray.
"Go get a screwdriver. We can just take the hinges off." The thump and grunt of the sound of someone throwing themselves against the door makes it rattle again. The voice yells to me, "Might as well come out and make this easier on yourself. We’re not gonna kill you. We just want to make sure you understand how important it is to keep your fucking mouth shut. But if you make us work for this, I can’t guarantee we’ll ask nicely.
You love dogs, right? How’d you like to give them some attack training? "
Jesus, these guys are crazy. What the hell are they doing here that's worth killing someone over?
"I—I won't tell anyone if you just let me go. I swear." My voice cracks. I'm trying so hard not to break down here. I'm supposed to be tough, someone who makes things happen. I guess that’s exactly what I did, but not how I hoped.
There’s a coarse laugh from the other side of the door.
"Aw, I’m sure you mean that, but I fucking know you’re with the Eagles.
Did you know their days are numbered? There’s big shit happening, baby, and they aren’t invited.
Maybe I’ll send them a piece of you. Do you think they’ll like that?
” He thumps the door with his fist a couple of times.
"Might as well come out and get it over with. "
I’m an idiot.
Not because I got myself into this mess. Well, not just that. But because I forgot I have a freakin’ phone.
Me: MURDER HOUSE SOS
Thank God I wore pants with useful pockets today. I yank out my phone and send a quick message to the group chat before tapping Zero’s contact.
It rings, and rings.
Come on, pick up!
"What the fuck is going on, Sandra?"