Joggers by R.E. Donald

Author:R.E. Donald [Donald, R E]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: crime, murder, mystery, dog, short story, canada, truck
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“Let’s get out of here quick before anything else happens,” she said to Pete the next morning as she snapped her suitcase shut and yanked it off the bed, but Pete needed to pee. “Okay,” she told him, “but let’s walk north this time.”

The fog was thicker this morning, rocks and tufts of beach grasses materializing out of the white soup only yards away. Pete tugged against his leash, his paws throwing up clumps of sand, until El relented and unclipped it from his collar. “Stay close,” she told him. “No rolling in crap or rousting out crazies.” But the dog’s black shape blurred and then disappeared. She looked back, but the motel was gone, too, and her only means of orientation was the dirge of the surf. She shuddered, zipped up her jacket and hugged her elbows.

“Pete!” she called. “Come!” She strained her eyes against the fog and her ears against the rhythmic thunder. Nothing. He should have done his business by now. “Pete! COME!”

El heard the barking first, then a man’s voice. El’s sweat turned cold and her heart began to pound, a syncopation of the surf. “Pete!” She started walking in the direction the sound had come from. “PETE!”

Suddenly a dark shape streaked past her, ran a circle around her legs. She lunged for him, grabbed his tail and pulled until he squealed. “Come here, you little shit.” She hauled him up and held him against her chest, headed at a brisk walk towards the motel. She hoped. She could see nothing but sand and fog. Footfalls, already close by the time she heard them above the surf, thudded against the sand behind her. She began to run. Damn this sand! Damn this fog! A clump of beach grass materialized in front of her and she swerved, lost her footing on the sand, and went down. Pete fell clear, scampered back to stick his nose in her face just as the footfalls thudded to a stop behind her head.

“Are you okay?”

El raised herself on one elbow and twisted her head around to face the voice. It was the nerd, his white tee shirt soaked with sweat, navy blue shorts hanging like curtains around his thighs. Size thirteen Nikes. “I’m fine, thanks,” she said. He jogged on the spot as she got to her feet and brushed the sand off her sweatpants, Pete prancing around them both. The man towered over her, maybe six five or six.

“You sure?” He pushed his glasses up on his nose, baring his teeth as if it hurt.

She nodded, grunted. “Tripped over my dog, I guess.” She hauled Pete up again.

“Cute little fella.” The man reached over and tousled Pete’s head. “A Pomeranian?”

“More or less,” she said with a shrug, stepping back. “Thanks for stopping, eh?”

“You Canadian?” he asked, still jogging on the spot.

“Yeah,” she said, clipping the leash back on Pete’s collar. A clumsy female tourist, alone in the fog at six thirty the morning after a murder with a massive, sweaty jogger.

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