Play Dead by Leslie O'Kane Page B

graying fur
around her mouth, I guessed her age at seven or eight—just past
middle-age for a dog this size.
    “I take it Mugsy was your husband’s dog
before you two met?”
    Though I phrased the question to his
mother, Benjamin immediately answered, “Our real dad lives in Oregon. Mugsy is
my stepdad’s dog.”
    “Oh, I see.”
    “Benjamin,” Sarah said through an
embarrassed smile. “You needn’t bore Ms. Babcock with our family business.”
    “Actually, that’s very much part of Mugsy’s
personal history, which I need to learn in order to get at the cause of her
behavioral problems.” I had to say this to Sarah’s back while she left the
room, but she soon returned with a diminutive little girl clinging to her leg.
    “This is Emmy,” Sarah said in baby tones. “We’re
a little shy, as you can probably see.”
    “Hi, Emmy.”
    The girl’s eyes widened, then she buried
her face in Sarah’s dress.
    “To tell you the truth, I h-a-t-e d-o-g-s,”
Sarah spelled out.
    No surprise there. I looked at Benjamin,
who was mouthing the letters to himself, probably deciphering the words as fast
as I was.
    “If it were up to me, we’d put M-u-g-s-y
to s-l-e-e-p.”
    This remark caused the hairs on the back
of my neck to rise. Put a dog to sleep just for nipping at heels a couple of
times? I knelt and stroked Mugsy, thinking there was more than one bitch in the
room.
    Just then, the door opened, and a large,
muscular man entered. He had a broad, appealing smile, and a receding hairline.
“Hey, there. You must be Miss Babcock. I see you’ve already met my monsters,”
he said, ruffling Benjamin’s hair. Mugsy leapt a good two inches or so, and he scooped
her into his arms, let her lick his face, then gently set her down. He pumped
my hand. “So, how bad are we doing here, Allida? Any fur flying?” He released
my hand, then rubbed his stepdaughter’s back with a beefy hand and gave Sarah a
kiss on the cheek.
    “Mister John?” Benjamin asked. “What does ‘put
Mugsy to sleep’ mean?”
    John immediately shot a furious glare at
his wife and then at me. Before I could respond, Sarah cringed and said, “Nobody’s
saying a thing about that, Benjamin.”
    “But you spelled that and—”
    “That’s why you should never listen when
Mommy spells!” Sarah retorted. “It means she’s having an adult conversation
that you won’t be able to understand!”
    Benjamin stomped his foot. Personally, I
was on his side in this particular argument and wanted to stomp my own foot. He
said, “But Mommy, you spelled ‘put Mugsy—’”
    “Hush!” She grinned sheepishly at her
husband and wrapped her hands around his arm. Over her son’s protestations, she
said to her husband, “I was merely trying to voice a concern to Allida about
Mugsy without upsetting the children.”
    Emmy was now saying, “Mom?” and tugging on
her mother’s dress so hard only one tippy-toe was left on the ground, and
Benjamin’s objections were continuing in a grating, high-pitched whine.
    “Doesn’t look like you succeeded,” John
said sternly.
    “Could we all sit down for a few minutes?”
I asked, wishing I could join in with Mugsy and bite these people’s ankles till
order was restored. “I need to ask some questions about Mugsy’s background and
your daily routine with her.”
    “What routine?” Sarah quipped. “It’s
always a zoo around here.” As she spoke, she took a seat on the sectional and
hoisted Emmy onto her lap. John sat down beside her and Mugsy took an uneasy
seat between the big man’s feet, but Benjamin immediately climbed over the
sectional, firing his rubber band at the wall in the process. “Benjamin! Sit
down!” Sarah ordered. Mugsy instantly hopped up and punctuated Sarah’s words
with shrill barks.
    “Quiet, Mugsy!” John cried.
    For the first time since I arrived, a
silence fell over the room. My ears were ringing. I sighed, forced a smile, and
said to John, “I’m just going to take a wild