Page 11 of Wall

Heavy’s voice booms into the silent night. “Check your messages. I just forwarded you a picture of the dog from Deb.”

I check it out, and I can’t stop the snort of laughter. “Holy shit. Is that a coyote?”

“Yup.”

“We was lookin’ to rescue a coyote?”

“Seems like it.”

I enlarge the picture. “That don’t look nothin’ like a German Shepherd.”

“If you squint, kind of tilt your head…” Heavy’s crackin’ up.

“All right, brother. I’ll be back in thirty.”

“We’ll leave the light on.”

It’s so bright, with the moon on the snow, I make it back in good time. I grab Shirlene’s chair and dump the baggie of dry food I brought next to the dumpster. No sense in it goin’ to waste. If the coyote runs from people, he likely ain’t rabid.

I take Shirlene’s chair to the garage, spray a little Rust-Oleum on it. Then I head down to the basement gym to lift. It’s leg day.

I’ll probably do five miles or so on the treadmill after. If I’m not dead tired, it’s hard to fall asleep when I hit the sheets.

Mona ain’t there anymore.

The bed’s too cold.

CHAPTER 3

MONA

In retrospect, I probably should have waited until later to pay Miss Janice’s grandson a visit. It’s ten o’clock in the morning, but clearly, he’s not the rise-and-shine type.

There’s no longer a ceramic frog or a flowerbed in the front lawn. There are green shards and cigarette butts in a mud puddle with bent, plastic edging. Of course, no one has shoveled the walk, so I pick my way carefully. It’s really slippery in places.

There’s a car in the drive, and someone shuffling around inside, but no one’s answered the door. I heard the doorbell ring, and the Venetian blinds fluttered. That was about three minutes ago. I knocked, too, to be sure. Very friendly.

The blinds part again. I wave. Yup, I’m still here. Freezing my butt off.

“Janice sent me.” I aim to sound confident, casual. “She needs something.”

More shuffling.

Okay. Maybe the grandson has houseguests. “Is Tommy home?”

I’m sure this isn’t going to end with me getting the ring, but the kid can at least tell me “no” to my face. Little rat. Miss Janice would have a conniption if she saw the empty beer bottles lined up on the porch railing.

I knock again. Less friendly. “I just need to talk to you about Janice Merrill!”

The door flies open, and I barely catch myself in time before I tumble inside. Good thing, too. Tommy Merrill is a skinny kid, and I’ve never been intimidated by him before, but he looks downright sinister when no one else is around.

He’s emaciated, probably due to the drugs, and he has gauges in his ears and baggy jeans hanging below his dingy boxers. He’s scratching his bare chest with dirt-crusted fingernails.

“What the fuck you want, lady?”

Welp, there goes my good attitude. I grit my teeth and force a smile. “I’m Mona Wall, a friend of your grandmother. She sent me here to get her engagement ring.”

“Get the fuck outta here. You ain’t stealin’ from me with no bullshit story.”

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