“You’re not jealous of Mrs. Davies, are you, ma’am?”
“Jealous? Why on earth would I be jealous? Just because she’s rich, cool, and beautiful-and I’m a Bad Example?” My laughter sounded manic even to my ears. “If she wants to spend time with my boyfriend, she’s welcome to him! I divorced him once already, and I can bounce him out of my life again. Like that!”
I snapped my fingers. Then I belched. And then I started crying. Full-out messy bawling. Which I never do, even when situations are truly sad. And this situation was simply ridiculous. Between my chronic indigestion and my spiky emotions, I hardly recognized myself. I certainly didn’t like what I saw.
Ever the Damage Control Specialist, Deely produced a handful of tissues. I wanted to cover my face with them. Fortunately, MacArthur and Dr. David did what men do best at a moment like that: they pretended to be busy with something else.
“Abra’s gone, too,” I sobbed. “She ran off with a herd of goats and ended up with Silverado… in a big black Cadillac! What if I never see her again?”
Now everyone was staring, and I knew why. They had all been around me long enough to know that I complained nonstop about Abra. Even though I dutifully looked for her whenever she ran away, I also made it perfectly clear that it would be fine if she didn’t come home. Now faced with the prospect that she might be gone for good, I was a basket case. Deely handed me another giant stack of tissues.
“Don’t worry. We’ll put out a Fleggers All-Points Bulletin for her, ma’am.”
“I thought Fleggers believed that dogs should be free,” I sniffled.
“We believe that dogs are entitled to a full life,” Deely said. “That doesn’t necessarily mean they should leave their human families. Not if the humans are enlightened.”
“You think I’m enlightened?” I asked hopefully.
Deely deferred to Dr. David on that one.
He said, “We think you’re moving very nicely along the learning curve.”
I couldn’t stop weeping. To think I’d imagined that life without Abra would be carefree. Yet here I stood, in a parking lot outside a crummy motel in Indiana Amish Country, crying about my missing dog. Okay, my missing boyfriend was also a factor. But I knew where he was. And I knew he was having fun. Abra and Silverado, on the other hand, could be in serious trouble. Even if they were riding in a Cadillac.
MacArthur platonically patted me on the back. “Abra has a knack for landing on all four furry feet. Let’s not give up on the old girl yet.”
Dr. David concurred. “Now that our fellow protesters have gone home, Deely and I are free to be friends first and Fleggers second. On our way back to Magnet Springs, we’ll watch for signs of Abra.”
“And we’ll ask about black Cadillacs everywhere we go,” Deely promised.
I pulled myself together enough to thank them. After they drove off, waving, in the Animal Ambulance, MacArthur coughed and said-rather timidly, I thought-“Ready to go fetch Chester?”
Living with Avery had no doubt taught him respect for, if not fear of, female histrionics. He produced a neatly folded linen handkerchief from his hip pocket. I accepted it, dabbed at my eyes, and stifled another burp.
“MacArthur,” I said firmly. “We will never speak of this again.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The volunteer bodyguard drove my car, which suited me just fine. Although my tears had washed the remains of bug irritation from my eye, I was rattled by recent events. Having survived two murders, two canine disappearances, and desertion by Jeb, I faced a daunting new challenge: recognizing at ground level the turnoff from Route 20 to the Amish goat farm that Brad had found from the sky.
“I remember that!” I shouted, pointing to a tire store coming up on our left.
“Turn there?” MacArthur asked, flipping on the blinker.
“No. I just remember it, that’s all.”
He turned off the blinker.
We rode in silence for at least five more minutes as I desperately scanned the landscape.
“Everything sure looks different from down here,” I remarked for the sake of making conversation. “Yessirree. This is like being on a road trip instead of, you know, a helicopter ride. Wow, what a difference.”
“Close your eyes-“ MacArthur said.
“How is that going to help?”
“Close your eyes and visualize what you saw from the air. Colors, shapes, sizes. What was the last thing you remember before Brad found the goat farm?”
I did as I was told and recaptured the physical sensation of leaning forward in my seat as Brad angled the chopper in widening arcs south of Route 20. I’d focused on green-gold fields and white buildings while the gray ribbon of highway receded.… I opened my eyes. MacArthur was adjusting the steering wheel and our speed to accommodate a rare bend in the road.
“This curve!” I shouted as if I were still in the chopper. “I remember this curve in the highway! I saw it from the air! We were almost directly south of here, I think!”
“I’ll take the next left,” my driver responded.
“Yes! That might be the road! But we landed on a dirt lane next to a cornfield. And hiked in from there.”
“Let’s use the front door this time, shall we?” MacArthur said.
I liked that idea. We bumped along our unnamed road past tidy rolling fields in various shades of green, copper and brown. This late in the season, many acres had already been harvested.
“Amish homestead up ahead,” MacArthur announced as we drove over a low hill. “Does this look familiar?”
“I never saw the house,” I admitted. “Only corn, goats, and the back of a barn.”
“We got corn and a barn,” MacArthur said. “That’s two out of three.”
He pulled into the driveway just far enough to clear the road, adding, “We’ll stay back to show respect for their ways.”
Too little too late. Not only had I inflicted my loopy dog and precocious neighbor on them, but-thanks to me- their teenage nephew had flown off in a chopper and been busted for drinking beer in Elkhart. Oh, yeah, if this was the right house, I could only imagine how pleased they’d be to make my acquaintance.
I was about to close the passenger-side door behind me, when a familiar roo-roo reached my ears.
“Did you hear that?”
MacArthur had frozen, too.
“Definitely an Afghan hound,” he confirmed. “Yours?”
And then I saw her, a flash of gold on gold. The late afternoon sun striking her back made her blonde coat glow as if lit from within. Madly she raced away from me along the edge of the cornfield on the other side of the road.
“Abra!” I shouted. “Abra! Come back here!”
Without thinking, I launched into a sprint. At first my muscles resisted, but before I’d gone twenty paces every fiber had activated. My legs and arms pumped as my feet slapped the gravel road. I kept my eyes trained on Abra.
Ahead a silver pickup truck shot out of a narrow dirt driveway, tires squealing. The truck turned toward us fishtailing wildly.
“Abra!” I screamed, terrified that she would be struck right in front of me.
The truck lurched and then backfired.
I felt sudden intense pain, a sharp sting like fiery metal scalding flesh. With my left hand I clutched my right elbow and tried to keep running.
Another boom, another flash of pain. This time in my right shoulder. I could no longer see my dog. Or call for her.
“Whiskeeeeyyyy!” MacArthur yelled, stretching my name into a dirge.
The third and fourth booms came from behind me. My legs buckled as the truck whooshed past. The last thing I glimpsed was its windshield splintering apart.
