Case of the One-Eyed Tiger Read online

  “I’m looking for Harry Watt,” I announced.

  “Of course. You must be the friend of his he told us about. Are you Zack?”

  I nodded, “Guilty as charged.”

  “He told me to send you back to his office. It’s right through that door there and it’ll be at the end of the hall. It’ll be the only door you see.”

  “Perfect. Thanks.”

  I opened the door and froze in my tracks. My mind flashed back to the “Animal Rescue” part of Harry’s sign and groaned. That sneaky, two-timing son of a bitch! The back part of Harry’s clinic was where he kenneled all the dogs waiting to be adopted. The dogs were all lined up, in perfect military precision, as if they were in the middle of an inspection. They were sitting in straight lines on either side of the aisle and were staring straight at me.

  Okay, I don’t know about you, but it’s been my understanding that most people will actively avoid visiting the pound, or any type of place where they adopt animals, because one look at the helpless dogs staring – imploring – at you to look into their eyes will melt even the coldest hearts imaginable. If I looked at any of these dogs then I just knew I’d end up adopting one of them. It’s in my nature. I’ve always liked dogs, only I’ve never owned one. So, I needed to walk forward, keep my head down, and ignore everything around me.

  I could smell the dogs, and I had to admit, Harry ran a clean clinic. I couldn’t smell any traces of dog poo back there, but I could smell the dogs themselves. While not really offensive, I could tell that several of them could use a bath.

  A collar jingled alarmingly close. Another dog yipped excitedly. I almost looked up on that one. My eyes narrowed to slits. I was practically squinting. I was almost to the door! One quick turn of the knob and I’d be home free!

  Movement in my peripheral vision attracted my attention. I could tell that a dog had just appeared and was now watching me. Don’t ask me how I knew, I just did. I could feel those two canine eyeballs boring through the back of my skull.

  Then I heard it. An unmistakable sigh, and it had come from the dog that had just appeared. Once more the rules flashed through my mind:

  Don’t move your eyes from the floor.

  Don’t make eye contact.

  Under no circumstances should you ever, EVER pet the dog.

  Break the rules and presto, you’ll find yourself with a new roommate. Well, I didn’t need a dog and I didn’t want a dog, so it’s eyes on the floor for me. However, that sigh had sounded so human! It spoke volumes. That sigh had said the poor fellow wanted a permanent home and had resigned himself to never having one.

  I couldn’t help it. The move was automatic; reflexive. I looked.

  The owner of that sigh was a breed of dog I had only seen on dog shows, not that I watched many dog shows. It was a short, squat little fellow with an elongated body, short, stumpy legs, and no tail. The ears were small, erect, and tapered to a rounded point. The fur was thick and luxurious, but not long, and consisted of a beautiful mix of black, orange, and white.

  Beautiful? Did I just call a dog beautiful? Damn! No. No. I will not like you, dog. Keep you charms to yourself, do you hear me?

  So what kind of breed was he, I wondered. I know I’ve seen pictures of them before. But from where?

  A picture of the Queen of England flashed through my brain. The Queen! This was her favorite breed of dog. Now I knew what this little fellow was: a corgi.

  The corgi approached the other side of the chain link fence, plopped his rump down onto the concrete floor, looked up at me, and lifted a foreleg in greeting. Before I knew what I was doing, I had squatted down and was holding a hand up to the fence. A warm, wet tongue flicked once across my open palm.

  I groaned. I was in trouble. The corgi had dark brown eyes with gold flecks in them and had locked both those eyes directly onto mine. For several seconds neither of us moved a muscle. Finally, when I ended up blinking, the dog rose to its feet and panted at me, looking for all the world like he was smiling. Then I heard a chuckle. I looked up to see Harry grinning at me from his open doorway.

  My friend had definitely aged, as I’m sure I had in his eyes. He had an unmistakable paunch, which I’m guessing was brought on by one too many beers. He had thinning hair and was sporting a full beard. He was also holding a clipboard with a set of papers on it.

  “No.”

  “An excellent choice, pal. You and he are going to be the best of friends.”

  “Harry, no. I don’t need a dog.”

  “But he needs a human. He’s picked you.”

  “I don’t know anything about caring for a dog! Are you kidding me? You can’t do this to me, Harry.”

  “It’s easy,” my friend assured me. “Feed him, take him on walks, and make sure he has plenty of fresh, clean water. That’s it.”

  “There’s more to caring for a dog than that, pal,” I mumbled as I started filling out the necessary adoption forms.

  I handed the clipboard back to Harry, who gave them a quick once over. He unclipped a leash from a whole row of them hanging nearby and opened the corgi’s kennel. As soon as the dog was secured Harry turned to me and held out the end of the leash, as though he was presenting me keys to the city.

  “Zack, meet Sherlock. Sherlock, meet your new daddy.”

  TWO

  I took the leash and looked down at my new ward. Sherlock, for his part, had to bend his neck up at almost a 90° angle so he could look all the way up at me. I leaned down to give the dog a quick pat on his head. As if that one act cemented the deal, Sherlock pulled on his leash, clearly anxious to get out of jail.

  “Ready for some lunch?” Harry companionably asked as he followed me back to the clinic’s lobby. Sherlock’s doggy toenails clicked loudly across the concrete floor.

  “You just suckered me into adopting a dog. Where are we supposed to go for lunch? I can’t just leave him in my car.”

  Harry smiled. He took off his white doctor’s coat and draped it over the front counter as he walked by.

  “Good for you. You’re already well on your way to becoming a good dog owner. Never leave your pet unattended in a vehicle.”

  I stared at Harry, wondering what his life experiences must have been like in order to pull him away from a life destined to land him behind bars. He had transformed himself from a dedicated loser to a responsible veterinarian who was now praising me for caring about Sherlock’s well-being.

  “Back in an hour, Laura,” Woody called back to his receptionist. He held the door open for the two of us. “As for lunch, you’d be surprised. This whole town is very pet friendly. I thought we could go to Casa de Joe’s.”

  “Casa de Joe’s? Dude, tell me you made that up.”

  We exited the clinic and stepped out into the bright autumn day. Sherlock came to a stop as the two of us stopped by the side of the street.

  “I shit you not, pal,” Harry laughed, sounding more like the person I knew from school. “They have the best Mexican food in town. Where’d you park?”

  I pointed back towards the other side of town.

  “Down thataway. I’ve been walking everywhere. There’s too many damn people crossing the street wherever they feel like it to risk driving.”

  Harry nodded knowingly.

  “Right. I forgot about the wine festival. It’s the start of Oscar’s night for small wineries around here.”

  “Huh?” I asked, confused.

  “The wine festival is a chance for the local wineries to compete for awards, recognition, that kind of thing,” Harry explained.

  I whistled. “How many could there be in one small town? There can’t be that many, can there?”

  Harry grinned, “Guess.”

  “5.”

  “Higher.”

  “10?”

  “Higher.”

  “15? Come on, man. There’s no way.”

  “Try 24.”

  “I never imagined such a small town could have that many.”

  “Y
ou’d be surprised,” Harry said. “You don’t have to own a vineyard to be considered a winery. Many wineries buy their grapes from local farmers. I know quite a few people who have converted their basements into micro-wineries.” He pointed at a soft, pastel blue mini-van. “That baby is mine, right there.”

  I snorted with disbelief, “A minivan? Why not get a truck to haul around your dogs? I assume that’s what you have, right?”

  Harry slid open the passenger door and indicated the passenger seats. There was a child’s seat strapped to each chair.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Harry smiled wildly at me.

  “Nope! I got two kids, man. How about you?”

  “Samantha and I didn’t have any kids,” I quietly answered. A dull ache formed in my chest.

  A very uncharacteristic Harry zeroed in on my somber mood and was instantly apologetic.

  “I’m sorry, bro. What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you at lunch. Speaking of which,” I added, desperate to change the subject, “how is it that the restaurants here don’t mind dogs?”

  “Because most the restaurants on Main Street have open terraces. The rules are more lax there. As long as you stay outside the restaurant owners will allow you to have your dog on the patio. It’s the new hip thing. They’re calling those terraces ‘pet friendly’. You’re going to have to help him in,” Harry added, looking down at Sherlock, who was looking up at the van and waiting patiently for a ‘paw’ up.

  I leaned down to pick up my dog. Sherlock squirmed in my arms, almost causing me to drop him. As I secured my grip on the wiggling corgi, Sherlock managed to twist completely around. Suddenly his head was even with mine. I saw his jaws open. The tongue came out, and I knew what was coming.

  The corgi planted a single doggie kiss, right across my face. It must have been Sherlock’s way of thanking me for springing him out of jail. I set the appreciative dog in the back of Harry’s van and slid the passenger door shut. I climbed into the passenger seat while wiping doggie drool from my face.

  “He sure has taken to you,” Harry observed. “Sherlock has been kinda standoffish and I was beginning to wonder if he’d ever get adopted. Then you come to town and make a corgi’s dream come true.”

  “I still don’t know about this,” I told my friend as he pulled out into traffic. “I’ve never had to care for a dog before. What’s he eat? How much should I feed him? Where does he sleep? Is he potty trained?”

  “All very good questions,” Harry said. “I’ll write you a list of notes at lunch that’ll cover everything you need to do to properly care for him, okay?”

  I had just pulled the seatbelt across my lap and clicked it into place when Harry pulled off Main Street and into the parking lot at Casa de Joe’s. We had driven all of one block. I left my hand on my seat belt and stared at Harry.

  “Seriously? You drove here when we could have just walked? You know what? I’m pretty sure I’ve already walked by here today. Twice.”

  “You’re not going to want to walk when you leave here,” Harry pointed out. “Besides, I’ll drive you and Sherlock back to your car. Think of your dog. Look how short his legs are. A normal walk for you will be a marathon for him.”

  We exited the van (Sherlock waited patiently to be picked up and set down on the pavement). We walked straight to the open terrace, selected a table, and sat down. Sherlock laid down obediently by my feet, which amazed Harry.

  “Are you sure you’ve never owned a dog before?”

  I nodded my head, “Positive.”

  “He sure seems to like you. Look at that. He’s protecting you. That’s a very encouraging sign, pal.”

  “I still feel like I was set up.”

  Harry shrugged, “That’s because you were. It’s my responsibility to make sure all the dogs that come to my clinic find their forever homes. Sherlock was adopted once before but was given back several days later. I can’t tell you what that does to a dog’s spirit.”

  “Why?” I prompted. “Why was he given back?”

  “Incompatibility. Sherlock didn’t take to the lady of the house. She didn’t like dogs to begin with, but to have Sherlock ignore and disobey her was the final straw, I’m afraid.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “It worked out for the best. He has you now.”

  An attractive woman, whom I’m guessing was in her late thirties, approached. Harry’s face broke out into a grin and he quickly stood. He put an arm around the woman’s shoulders and turned to me.

  “Zack, this is my wife, Julie. Julie, this is Zack. Do you remember him?”

  The woman nodded and smiled at me.

  “I sure do. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Zack! Welcome to our neck of the woods.”

  Again? I had met her before? Seeing the look of confusion on my face, Harry intervened.

  “She graduated from the same high school that we did, only a few years later.”

  I still didn’t remember who this person was. Then again, our old high school in Phoenix had over 1,400 students attending classes. There’s no way I could have known them all.

  “It’s okay if you can’t remember,” Julie warmly told me. “It was a long time ago.”

  We all took our seats as the waitress arrived to take our drink order. She left two bowls of tortilla chips and several types of salsa after we placed our orders.

  “So did you two get married right out of school?” I asked, curious to see if Harry had followed in my steps.

  “No,” Harry said. “I should have paid more attention to this pretty girl when we were all students, that’s for sure. Turns out Julie’s father was the local sheriff. On those rare occasions where we had run-ins with the police Julie here made certain my name stayed out of it.”

  I stared incredulously at Harry’s wife.

  “You? You’re the reason Harry stayed out of trouble? How did you pull that off?”

  Julie beamed at me.

  “I had the biggest crush on Harry in high school. As for my father, well, it was easy. I had my dad wrapped around my little finger when I was young. What can I say? I was, and still am, a daddy’s girl. I will admit that there were several times when I had to beg and plead with him to leave poor Harry alone, but in the end it worked out fine.”

  I looked at my friend with a look of bewilderment on my face.

  “You told me she didn’t know about any of the things you did in high school. Obviously she does. I can’t believe you told her about that night at the bowling alley, where we all snuck into the stri- “

  “Ose-clay your ucking-fay outh-may!” Harry cried, practically leaping out of his chair and interrupting me mid-sentence. His face had turned beet red and beads of sweat had started forming on his head.

  Julie winked at me and smiled conspiratorially at her husband.

  “I eak-spay ig-pay atin-lay, oo-tay, ear-day.” Julie reached for a chip and dunked it in the bowl of dark red salsa. She smiled again at me. “I think you and I are going to be good friends, Zack. So are you married? Have any kids?”

  My face told Julie everything she needed to know before I could even open my mouth. She instantly laid a hand over mine and dropped her voice.

  “I’m so sorry. What happened? Can you tell us?”

  “This is a subject I don’t like talking about ‘cause it still hurts, but yeah, I can. Give me a minute.” I sighed and took a long swig of my soda. The waitress walked by and, without breaking stride snatched my glass. “You probably knew her, Harry. Samantha Masters. Do you remember her?”

  Harry’s face lit up.

  “Sure, I remember her. Cute short thing that played the flute in the marching band, right? Didn’t you go out with her a few times?”

  Julie groaned. She moved her hand from mine and placed it over Harry’s. And dug in.

  “Ouch! Jules, what’d you do that for?”

  “Haven’t you figured it out yet? He married his high school sweetheart, am I right?”

  I
nodded, “Yeah, that’s right.”

  Julie kept her talons firmly embedded in her husband’s hand and smiled at me.

  “Would you please continue?”

  “Sam and I married right out of school. We were together for so long that I honestly don’t remember what my life was like before her. Anyway, six months ago she was struck head on in a collision with a semi. She died instantly.”

  I heard a whine and looked down at my feet. Sherlock had awoken from his nap and jumped up to put his two front feet on my lap. Wow, that dog had a long body.

  “Why don’t you pick him up,” Harry quietly suggested.

  “What? Why?”

  “Dogs can sense when their humans are in distress. He knows you’re feeling sad. He wants to help.”

  “You’re telling me dogs can sense moods?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Julie agreed. “My family had a yellow lab when I was little that always knew when I was feeling sad. She would never leave my side.”

  I shrugged, hooked my hands under each of Sherlock’s squat muscular front legs, and lifted him to my lap. The dog promptly snugged up against my chest and whimpered. He stretched his neck up to lick the underside of my chin.

  “I cannot believe this is the same dog,” Harry breathed, amazed.

  I must have been a sight. Me, a grown man, pining for my dead wife, and cradling a snuggling corgi to my chest. Sitting across the table was an old friend that I realize I didn’t know that well anymore and that friend’s wife, whom I didn’t know at all.

  I looked down at the corgi. I didn’t know what type of magic Sherlock used on me but, dammit, I did start to feel better. Coincidence?

  “So after the funeral,” I continued, giving Sherlock a couple of scratches behind his ears, “I tried to put my life back together there in Phoenix, but just couldn’t do it. Everything reminded me of her.”

  “You needed a change of scenery,” Julie guessed.

  “I did, yes. Right about that time I was notified that Samantha had a great aunt who had passed away, leaving the two of us her house, estate, and apparently a winery.”

  “Lentari Cellars!” Julie exclaimed. “That’s right! You’re the new owner! They make the best Gewürztraminer.”