Ruff Way to Go by Leslie O'Kane Page A

Russell than for any other man I’d dated. I suspected that
was largely because he was the antithesis of my former fiance in so many ways.
That one factor scored huge bonus points with Mom, as well as with me. “I didn’t
realize you two had a date tonight.”
    “How are
you, Mrs. Babcock?”
    “For heaven’s
sake. You don’t need to be so formal. Please. Call me Marilyn.”
    At least she
hadn’t suggested he call her “Mom.” Come to think of it, this date wasn’t well
timed for Mom’s sake.
    “Oh, Mom. I
just realized you shouldn’t be home alone after what just happened. Maybe I
should—”
    “Don’t be
silly. The police will be all over the neighborhood. This’ll be the safest
block in the country tonight. You two go and have fun.”
    We went back
and forth on the issue for a short time, but I actually agreed with her
assessment of her safety. I fetched my purse, said goodbye to the dogs, then
joined Russell and Mom on the front porch.
    “I’ll have her
back home safe and sound in a couple of hours, Marilyn.”
    She gave him
a frighteningly warm smile, her dark eyes positively sparkling with motherly
joy. “Keep her out as long as you like, Russ.”
    I felt my
cheeks warming and headed down the walkway ahead of Russell in an attempt to
end this conversation as quickly as possible. Ever the gentleman, Russell
outraced me and opened the door for me. I could feel Mom watching me as I
fastened my seat belt.
    This entire
incident served as a timely reminder not to dally too long before looking for a
new place to live. Despite the disaster my first Boulder rental had
been—I’d accidentally rented a room from a lunatic—the bottom line
was that I was too old to be getting a parental send-off for dates. Russell
gave her a cheerful wave, which I was disinclined to second, and we left.
    We’d barely
turned the corner before Russell asked, “Do the police have any prime suspects?”
    “At least
one.” Not wanting to risk slipping into a morass of self pity, I didn’t let on
that I was referring to myself.
    “Do you
think it could have been one of your neighbors? Such as that guy you were just
talking to?”
    “It’s
possible, I guess.” Actually, it was more than a mere “possible”—more on
the order of “likely”—but Russell’s face paled visibly even at that. His
obvious fear for my safety made me reach for other theories. “It could somehow
be tied in with Cassandra’s adopted dog. The owner of the mother dog wants her
back once he’s out of jail. Maybe this was a career criminal who hired a buddy to
go get his dog back, and the guy accidentally hit her too hard.”
    “You think
somebody might have killed a person over a dog?”
    I couldn’t
help it; I tensed and glared at Russell for saying the word “dog” as I might
say “cockroach.”
    He cleared
his throat, then asked quickly, “Was she a friend of yours?”
    “No, I’m not
as... extroverted as I wish I were. Maybe if I’d been more aware of everyone’s
comings and goings...Oh, I don’t know. There’s no way I’m going to figure this
thing out. I’ll just have to trust that it’s an isolated incident, because
otherwise, Mom and I are right across the street, like a pair of proverbial
sitting ducks.”
    We formed an
unspoken agreement to change subjects at that point and made small talk
instead. We reached the northern side of Main Street in Longmont and stopped
for a red light. A small dog caught my eye just as we were crossing the
intersection. He was running alone down the shadowy sidewalk, heading away from
us.
    “Turn right!
Follow that dog!”
    My cry had
come too late for us to make the turn safely. Russell hit the brakes, which set
off a cacophony of honking horns behind us.
    “What dog? I
don’t see a dog!” Russell blurted over the noise of his squealing tires from
his sudden hard right turn. We managed to squeeze into the street that the dog
had run down without causing a fender bender, but I was