He nodded, with the air of someone who is humoring an ancient elder. After stretching, he was off.
Robin was trying to catch up on his work, which had been sadly neglected this week. His word count was low, he had explained, and if he didn’t catch up, he’d be behind the rest of the way. Like many (though not all) writers, Robin was very particular about turning in his manuscript on time and in good shape.
When the clouds cleared away, the sun shone in a promising way. I carried Sophie outside wrapped in a blanket, wearing her mouse hat. Before I could take her and her carrier out the door, Robin took a few pictures to send to Mother (and several other people).
After all, there had never been a baby so cute.
Deborah was in her backyard covering a bush, since it might get down to freezing tonight. I had to resist an impulse to stick my tongue out at her. I took the high road, and gave her a neighborly smile, which she returned a bit stiffly. At least Lulu was not outside barking.
Chaka was making the circuit of his yard, running close to the fence. When Peggy popped out of her back door to say hello, Chaka came to her side immediately. “Good boy,” she said. She looked over at me. “I hear you had an exciting day yesterday,” she called, strolling over to the fence.
“Turned out to be pretty interesting,” I said. I told Peggy about the visit to Mrs. Mitchell’s house.
“So the girl was okay and safe,” Peggy said.
“Yes. Best possible ending.”
“And I heard Susan Crawford’s out of the hospital. How’s this little lady?” She smiled at the baby.
I told her more than she (probably) wanted to know about Sophie, and Peggy admired the mouse hat extravagantly. I’d been leaning against the fence, my elbows propped in a comfortable way, while Sophie sat in her carrier on the ground looking through the fence at Chaka.
I told Peggy I had to get in, and turned to pick up Sophie’s carrier. I remembered how Chaka had cleared the fence the week before. She hadn’t witnessed it.
And an idea flashed through my head. I froze with my right hand extended to the patio door. I thought of Deborah and Jonathan and Lulu, and Peggy and Lena and Chaka. And my brain connected several dots, finally.
Finally, the weight of Sophie and the carrier on my left arm broke my reverie, and I opened the door. Robin was putting ice in a glass of ginger ale. “Hey, Roe, do you think Sophie could taste chocolate milk?” he said. “Maybe we can make hot chocolate tonight, and just dip a little into a spoon or something when it cools.…” He turned to face me. “Honey?” he said.
“Wait,” I said, putting the carrier on the coffee table and collapsing onto the couch. “I’ve almost got it.”
I have to give my husband credit for his patience. He stayed quiet while I kept turning over my ideas one after another, testing them for credulity. While I thought, he took Sophie from me. “Who’s my little mouse? Is Sophie my little mouse?” He didn’t mind talking to her in a weird high voice if I was the only one around.
Normally, my heart melted to hear Robin talk to Sophie like the narrator of a children’s show, but today it was business as usual.
“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Here’s what I think.”
He waited.
I went over it with him, point by point, to see if my theory held true.
Robin poked and prodded at my explanation for Tracy’s death. But he never said it was silly, or dumb, or anything but clever.
“How are we going to test this?” he said.
“I was hoping you would help me on that.”
“Of course,” my husband said.
Chapter Twenty-five
I had asked Levon to come by after Tracy’s funeral, and he had agreed to bring a recording of the service. I got the feeling Levon was trying to build a bridge to our former friendship. That would be great, but it wasn’t my primary goal at the moment.
Phillip was home, having gone to the store with Josh (and some of my money). He’d returned laden with bags, as though the six teenagers were going to be an army. I hadn’t wanted to tell him what I had planned, but I realized he’d never forgive me if I didn’t.
“Cool,” Phillip said. “What can I do?”
That was a touchy point. Phillip had no intention of being left out, and he was too mature to treat like a child. On the other hand, it wasn’t responsible to involve a teenager in proceedings of life and death without a life-or-death reason.
Robin came to my aid. “You have to get Levon over to the window,” Robin said. “He can’t look away.”
Robin insisted on playing the role most likely to get him hurt. “You’ve already had enough illness, and you’re the one who’s been in danger,” he said. “It’s my turn.”
Finally, I nodded.
Levon arrived at three o’clock.
Somehow, we sat through the video of the funeral, which managed to be both sad and boring. We noticed nothing of any value. None of the attendees were familiar. But we watched it dutifully, and Levon thanked us.
Phillip, over by the picture window, said, “Yo.”
“Levon,” I said. “Come watch something.”
“What?” he said. He was suspicious.
“Oh, come on,” I said, losing my patience. “Do you have a fire to go to?”
Luckily for me, he thought that was funny, and he gave a surprised little bark of laughter. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s see what you got.”
The extension that was Robin’s office cut off our view of the Cohens’ yard. But we could see the Hermans’. At around three thirty every day, Peggy let Chaka out for his afternoon run and poop. Today proved to be no exception. Chaka was doing his silent circuit around the perimeter, trotting briskly, having completed his mission. As she nearly always did, Peggy came out to toss a ball for him. Chaka abandoned his fence patrol and ran to greet her, his tail wagging. Robin was outside already, pretending to do something to the lawn chair on the patio.
“What are you up to?” Levon said. He sounded serious, all of a sudden.
I was as tense as a violin string. “Just watch,” I said.
As I spoke, Robin dropped the chair with an attention-grabbing clang.
He began to run toward the Herman fence.
Peggy shrieked, “No, no!”
But it was too late. Chaka was over the fence in one beautiful leap, and he went straight for Robin, who was brave enough to keep his charge going. (At least he wore a long-sleeved shirt and a heavy jacket.) With a leap reminiscent of my attack on Ford Harrison, Chaka launched himself in the air, grabbed Robin by the arm, and brought him down.
This next moment was the scary one. But Chaka, true to his training, simply stood, his formidable teeth fixed in Robin’s sleeve. Robin did not struggle, but lay on the ground holding very still—right under the mimosa tree.
The dog did not worry at Robin’s sleeve, or snarl, or bark, or growl. He held.
Peggy vaulted over the fence herself, as I’d seen her do once before. She wasn’t as effortless or graceful as her dog, but it was something I could not have done. Ever.
Robin had raised his free hand to show he was okay. Chaka ignored the gesture. Then Peggy was there, her chest heaving.