Kelly 07 by Jan Burke

Author:Jan Burke [Burke, Jan]
Format: epub
Publisher: Unknown
Published: 2010-04-07T21:36:57.588000+00:00

I nodded.

"Thank you," he said to the man, who looked at me as if he suspected I was out on a weekend pass.

"What's this all about?" he asked warily.

"Nothing," I said, my mouth dry. "Forgive me, I thought you were someone else."

I took that first Monday morning off--much to John's annoyance--and went with Frank and Bingle to David's house. As we drew closer to David's neighborhood--one of Las Piernas's older neighborhoods, with small but well-maintained homes on large lots--Bingle began sticking his nose out the windows, sniffing and snorting; by the time we turned onto his street, he was whining and pacing anxiously in the backseat, his tail wagging rapidly.

When we pulled up in front of the house, he began barking--sharp, short barks.

"Tranquilo," I said.

I saw an old woman part the curtains in the front window of the house across the street.

Bingle behaved himself as we walked to the front door, but it obviously required effort. Once we stepped inside, Frank unsnapped the leash, and the dog bounded through the house.

The big living room had little furniture--a sofa and chair, a television and VCR, and a bookcase. This latter held a number of videotapes, books about dogs and anthropology, and titles by Twain, Thurber, and Wodehouse.

Bingle distracted me from taking in much more of the decor. He was hurrying from room to room at an anxious trot, whimpering. Several times he came back, looked up at me, and whined. I began following him.

"What's he up to?" Frank asked.

I felt my throat tighten. "I think he's looking for David."

In one bedroom, Bingle jumped up on the unmade bed, and rubbed his face against the sheets and pillows; in the closet, he put his nose into each of the shoes and then rolled in a pile of laundry; in the bathroom, he sniffed at hairbrushes, a toothbrush, drains, and the toilet seat.

I tried talking to him, but he just hurried out into another bedroom, one with a single dresser and a neatly made bed. He took a quick look around, nuzzled the pillow and whined, then went out into the kitchen, where Frank had started gathering his food, feeding instructions, and dog toys. Bingle ignored him.

Bingle moved to a door off the kitchen and scratched at it. I opened it; it led to the garage. There were stacks of cardboard boxes here; he gave them a cursory sniff and made his way to a back door, frantically pawing at it. He started barking.

I opened it, and followed him out into a large fenced yard, with two dog runs. Bingle looked into one of these and barked again. The one marked "Boolean."

There was no lock on it. I unlatched its gate, which creaked as I opened it. Bingle went inside, sniffed around, and again looked back at me. It was as if he were willing me to answer some question. I knelt down, and answered the one I thought he might be asking.

"They're gone, Bingle," I said, wishing I had never brought him here.

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