Downward Dog, page 4
part #1 of Dog Yoga Mystery Series
“What did he look like?”
She covered her eyes with a paw, snuffling in sudden agitation. “I didn’t see his face. He wore a knitted thing with eyeholes.”
“A Balaclava?”
Penelope tilted her head to the other side in response—she didn’t know.
Hine snapped her fingers. “You watch the telly, don’t you?”
“Amongst other things.” Penelope hauled herself onto her feet, spine stiff and shoulders squared. “The dame and I keep very active, I’ll have you know.”
Hine laughed. “It wasn’t a judgement. But was the thing he wore like the old-time bank robbers in movies?”
“They use pantyhose, don’t they?”
“Some of them. Others have… Just a moment… I’ve got it right here.”
While Penelope stared at her in concern, Hine began to shove the pile of books and clothing here and there, searching for something. When the whole thing seemed set to topple, she gave a cry of triumph, pulling an old magazine free.
“Like this?” Hine spread the pages out on the coffee table in front of them, jabbing her finger at a photo.
Penelope cocked her head and examined it in detail. “Nope. Definitely not. The thing he wore was multicoloured, not pink.”
“But the shape…?”
“Yes. It’s the same shape. I bet it smells completely different.”
Hine rummaged through the mess inside her carryall and pulled out a notepad. “What about the license plate? Did you see that?”
“No. I’d headed back inside by then.”
“Lucky you did, otherwise the men might’ve bundled you into the back of the van as well.”
After a few more questions, some insultingly close to those already asked and answered, Hine called through to the police. Penelope sat back, hoping she wouldn’t catch fleas from the couch, and waited for her to finish.
Judging from the stiff back and hesitant expression on her face, Hine didn’t enjoy the phone call at all. When she hung up, her relief smelled divine.
“How about dinner?”
Penelope couldn’t agree fast enough. She carefully jumped down from the sofa, one paw landing on matted carpet, the other in the middle of what had once been a container of ramen noodles.
“Shouldn’t you clean up the old dishes before you start making new ones?” Penelope trotted into the kitchen when a reply wasn’t immediately forthcoming.
“We’re fine for dishes,” Hine said idly, her face frowning as it read the back of the dog food in her hand.
The first niggle of guilt bit at Penelope’s conscience. The dame had her on a very strict diet and exercise routine, right now. At the last visit to the vet’s office, he’d pointed to the second-to-last picture on an infographic of dogs, slim to fat.
‘Hefty,’ he’d called her, as though she wasn’t sitting right in front of him at the time.
Rude. Almost as bad as the pets at the dog park. If it hadn’t been for the thought of their sneers, Penelope wouldn’t have listened to another word the man had to say.
But there’d been a few times lately when she expected to play in the park and have a lovely time and ended up on the wrong side of a cutting remark instead. The pink onesie today had been a distraction. On any other day, Sparkle’s remark might have focused on something not as easy to get rid of.
Penelope should probably mention the restrictions. Mention that if she didn’t walk away from her bowl hungry, she soon might be waddling away instead.
On the other hand, she’d done a yoga class this morning, then had the terrible experience outside. Her heart had been pumping ever since, and if her diet skipped a few days, so what? The dame would understand when she returned.
When Hine poured far too much into a bowl, Penelope kept her lip buttoned. She waited for the water, and then greedily leapt forward the moment the container hit the floor.
With her mouth full, Penelope frowned. She shook her head, wondering if her taste buds were contaminated from the rush of excitement that morning. But she’d been in a similar state before and it hadn’t screwed up her enjoyment of food afterwards.
She rolled the mouthful around, chewing harder in case that was the secret to releasing the full-on flavour.
No.
Oh, no.
Whatever Hine had put into the bowl, wasn’t food. The woman had made a terrible mistake. This was… Sawdust and vegetables mixed together.
Where was the chicken? Where was the fish?
Penelope spat it out and stared in horror at the large lump of sodden kibble in front of her. The entire dish was inedible.
Above her, Hine frowned and shook her head, saying the worst thing Penelope had heard all day. “There’s nothing else in the house and I can’t afford to buy more. It’s that or nothing.”
Putting her paws over her eyes, Penelope rested her chin on the kitchen floor and howled.
Chapter Seven
Hine felt bad about leaving Penelope on her own, but the bulldog insisted she’d be fine. In fact, if she hadn’t been so intent on making a last-minute appointment with an insurance broker, Hine might have been insulted.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” she asked one last time while standing in the doorway, keys in hand. “I can always shift the meeting until tomorrow morning.”
Actually, she didn’t know if that was a possibility, but it didn’t matter. Penelope chased her out the door on a wave of reassurances.
The idea to contact the broker had come when she sat at the table, trying to calculate how badly the day’s losses would hit her. A throwaway thought about business interruption insurance had turned into a pursuit. If Hine could talk the broker into agreeing to her slightly-below-board plan, then she might be able to mitigate the train wreck of a day.
“Harmon Charmon at your service,” the blond man greeted her with at the entrance to his office. Between his surfer hair and a wide smile, Hine felt a pang of worry she’d somehow wandered into a hairdresser’s by mistake.
“Come in, sit down, can I grab you a cup of coffee?”
“I’m good. Well, no. I’m in a bad state but nothing that a caffeinated beverage can fix.”
“Tell me all about it,” Harmon said, taking the chair next to hers instead of sitting opposite. “If I can ease your worries, you know I will. That’s why I got into insurance in the first place.”
“I own a Yoga Studio,” Hine began, then frowned. “Or rent one. After today’s fiasco with the road closed for the afternoon, I’ve realised there are many areas I’m unprotected.”
“We can’t have that.” Harmon reached for a pad and pen. “Tell me what your main concerns are, and I’ll find a product to fit your needs.”
“Sounds great.” She shifted on the chair, sucking on her lower lip as she tried to think how to work her request. “I guess, I’m seeking coverage for today’s events. You know, to claim back the fees I’ve lost because the police stopped me from going about my daily work.”
“Sure. It’s a concern, all right, but the chances of this happening again—”
“No.” Hine held up a hand to stop him. “Not if it happens again. I’m more interested in what we can do to compensate me for today.”
It was a pity to watch the carefree smile turn into a frown, but she kept her mind on the prize at the end of this dark tunnel. Her business was in enough trouble without losing a day’s income on top of everything else. If Harmon had really been in the business of insurance as long as the sign above his door indicated, then he’d know his way around the system.
She swallowed hard and clenched her hands together. “You sometimes have a delay between when a customer fills out the forms and hands you a cheque, and when the policy application makes it through to the underwriters, yeah?”
After a short stint in a travel agency office years ago, where filing the insurance returns had been part of her job, Hine knew the system tended towards monthly submissions.
Had relied on, anyway. She should keep in mind a lot could change in a decade. Just because her first temping job had shown her one way of doing business didn’t mean the whole world hadn’t moved on.
She was therefore relieved when Harmon’s frown grew deeper, and he said, “That’s right.” It gave her courage she was on the right path.
“So, if I’d come in a week ago and applied for insurance to cover this eventuality, you might well still have the paperwork piled on a spare desk somewhere, waiting for the chance to process it?”
Harmon replaced the pen and pad on his desk, folding his hands lightly together. “I’m going to stop you there. If this is going where I think it is, I’m not going to be able to help you.”
A piece of her mother’s advice popped up in Hine’s mind, sounding as clear as if the woman had been sitting right beside her. “The trick is to get the mark emotionally involved. Once they’re on your side, selling them the con goes easy.”
Emotionally involved.
The government had forced Hine to leave her parents behind in Australia, but that didn’t mean she didn’t carry them with you.
Like a virus. You promised yourself you’d never stoop to their level.
With a shake of her head, she dismissed the errant thought. Sometimes fate worked against you, no matter what promises you’d made to yourself.
She thought of having to give up the business she’d steadily grown over the past eleven months. Thought of how she’d take a loss on all the money invested, leaving her scrambling to find new employment.
A tear slid down the side of her cheek, lingering on the curve of her chin before dropping to her knee.
“Hey, no need to cry. Let me get you—”
“If I can’t make up for today’s loss, I’ll lose my business.”
You go, girl. Tell them the truth with a dash of lies, and you won’t need to remember what you said.
“You know, insurance is a great way to cover that loss but I’m afraid in this case, you’ve left it a little late.” Harmon stuck a box of tissues in Hine’s face. “Not to worry. I can easily get an application in to get you sorted out for the future. We have a whole range of insurance products to protect your studio.”
He moved away, discomfort showing in every cell of his body. Hine studied him beneath lowered lashes. Back off a little, hun. “What other kind of insurance do you offer?” She opened her smile as wide as it could go. “Anything weird?”
Harmon laughed and nodded. “There are a few strange options, even amongst the commercial insurance. It might seem tame but look at this one.” He shoved a pamphlet towards her. “I’ve had a few enquiries this morning.”
“Kidnap and ransom insurance.” Hine raised her eyebrows, scanning the summary. “What type of businesses take this out?”
“It’s an overseas underwriter, and it’s mainly for CEOs and similar who travel a lot. There are some countries where kidnapping is a local pastime.”
“Like in Iraq?” Hine remembered attending a movie years ago with that as its storyline.
“And Italy, so I’ve heard. Did you see the stuff on television about the Getty kid?”
“I don’t have a television.” Hine blushed as Harmon stared at her in astonishment. She shrugged. “Most of the stuff I’d like to watch is on streaming channels and I can’t afford the subs right now. It’s less temptation for me to do without.”
“Right.” He now appeared more concerned than when she’d been suggesting underhand tactics. “I don’t think I’ve met anyone without a telly before.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t belong to some weird cult where I get a free toaster if I can get you to foreswear your TV.” She waved the pamphlet. “I can catch up on my computer if I really need to. Does anyone in Pinetar have this cover?”
“Hm.” Harmon’s eyes shifted from the door to the window, then he leaned in towards her. “I shouldn’t really say anything, but I’ve had to lodge a claim today.”
Hine’s eyes opened wide. “Dame Cholmondeley?”
He nodded. “The adjuster is in town already. They move quickly, I’ll give them that. She’s checking out the crime scene, probably waiting for the kidnappers to make contact.”
“How much does this sort of policy run to?” Hine flapped the pamphlet. “Millions?”
“Just the one,” Harmon sat down again, this time behind his desk. “Enough to negotiate, not enough to put a serious dent in an insurer’s finances.”
“They’re all loaded anyway, aren’t they?” Hine pushed the brochure back across the desktop. “I’m sure they make enough in profits to cover a few irregularities, here and there.”
Harmon sighed, tapping a pen on the table, his eyes glued to the movement. “I’m not going to help you with your plan.”
“I haven’t laid out all the details, yet.”
“You’ve given me enough to know what track you’re headed down and I’m not coming along for the ride. You’re wrong, in any case. With a business like yours, there’s no cover offered until a risk assessor comes out to give the place a good going over.”
“For just a small sum?” Hine turned her head slightly, peering from her good side. “I’m sure it isn’t true.”
“Doesn’t matter. Between the cost of the fire insurance and the interruption, you’d be spending more than you’re ever going to recoup. Add the excess on top…” He shrugged. “Your whole plan is a non-starter. The only thing you’d wind up with is a fraud conviction when I turn you into the police.”
Hine stared at Harmon, her lips parted in horror. What would Mumma do?
Walk away. That’s what Hine’s parents had always done when heat was applied. They got out, hunkered down, and rode out the bad times.
You were going to turn over a new leaf!
She walked out of the office, cotton-mouthed, taking a few application forms with her to salve her conscience. As she got into her car, the shame overrode that feeble ploy.
How could you? This is your chance to form a normal life and earn a living like everyone else does. Why would you risk that at the first sign of trouble?
At the first intersection, Hine was pleased the lights were red so she could sit without needing to concentrate for a few seconds. No matter how much she persuaded herself she could blend straight back into normal society, the truth was no one had ever taught her the skills to survive.
There’d been no instruction on how to live from paycheque to paycheque or how to budget for unexpected eventualities. The gap hadn’t been so obvious when things were going well, but now she was under pressure it glowed like headlights at full-beam.
Hine didn’t have a script to follow except the ones her parents had bestowed upon her from childhood. The one she’d sworn never to return to.
It was the script which landed her in jail and ended in her deportation from a country she’d grown to think of as home.
“Stupid girl.” Hine hit the steering wheel, then gave a start as she saw the light had changed. She crossed the intersection and made it home in record time, berating herself all the way.
How was she meant to stay on the good and narrow track when she didn’t even register straying off it until someone threatened to call the cops? What had happened to her moral fibre since it had obviously been removed at birth?
Hine ran up the path along the side of her house, attempting to outpace her own chastisements. She opened the door, fumbling the key all around the lock before it slotted home.
When she pushed the door open, Penelope didn’t run up to greet her. Well, the dog clearly thought of her as a slob so she shouldn’t be too surprised.
It took a few minutes to check every room in the house, but Hine couldn’t locate the bulldog anywhere.
During the time she’d spent at the insurance broker’s office, Penelope had gone.
Chapter Eight
Penelope slumped in the shade of a camellia bush, exhausted. Her nose told her it was only another ten minutes to home, but she needed to rest. The yoga that morning had twisted and stretched out muscles she didn’t remember having. Adding a long walk on top was too much for her stout frame to bear.
As she sniffed at a late-season valerian flower, enjoying the brief buzz of drowsiness it sent into the air, Penelope felt sad over how she’d left Hine’s house. If she snuck out on the dame, her mistress would give her a lecture fit to strip paint when she returned.
Sure, she barely knew the yoga instructor, but the same standards still applied. The dame was all about standards. None of them made sense to Penelope, but she went along with them in order to please.
On the other hand, the dame had never filled her bowl with stuff that wasn’t even close to food. She knew Penelope’s taste buds and what they preferred. How long had it been since she’d eaten? A day? Two? A week? Certainly not that morning, or she’d remember.
Left in Hine’s care, if her mistress didn’t return today, or tomorrow, she’d starve!
Thinking of her stomach, Penelope smelled a nice meal of fish and chips walking up the path towards her. Mm-mm. Now that was food. If Hine hadn’t known the right brand of dog food to buy, there was people-food aplenty to eat.
Chicken, fish, beef, lamb, venison, duck, mutton, veal, or turkey just to name a few. Penelope wasn’t fussy. Any variety of meat was okay with her.
The scent coming along the path was masculine. This close to the house, it was odd but not unheard of. Their home was the only residence for miles, but the dame sometimes had workers come out to perform repairs or trim the hedges.
Whatever his business, Penelope only cared about him to the point that he might have over-purchased his lunch and be in desperate need of a good dog to help him out. Sometimes, the dame would flat out say that. “You’re helping me by finishing this off.” Then she’d throw a piece of fish, or a serving of pork chow mein, into her bowl.
Keeping in mind her mistress had been stolen in broad daylight, Penelope shifted her body just enough to fade into the patch of ferns hanging over the edge of the path. If she smelled danger—blood or the sweat of aggression—she could just stay hidden.
