doorway, asked. CJ held up the note. “My wife has stolen my dog.”
Chapter 25
For the first time in days, CJ turned on his cell phone. Before he dialed her number he scanned though the thirty-seven calls he’d missed. There were three from his editor, seven from his agent, twenty-one from his lawyer, and three numbers he didn’t recognize. Janet hadn’t once tried to call him.
She picked up on the second ring.
“I want my dog,” he said.
He’d left Kaddy’s after giving his second police report of what was turning out to be one of the longest days of his life. Artie had remembered a dark car parked on the street when he returned from the courthouse, noticing the Tennessee plates. He hadn’t thought much about it at the time, and when CJ arrived for work, the car was already gone. CJ suspected she’d hired a private investigator, and he marveled that she would spend that kind of money to procure a dog she didn’t want.
The same two officers took his report. CJ didn’t fault them for the confused, even suspicious looks they gave him. By the time they left, CJ had the sudden realization that he’d spoken with the police on two occasions and yet hadn’t been arrested on his outstanding warrant. So even though he didn’t feel lucky, today he was forced to admit a portion of that commodity still remained.
He had the Honda pointed south down Main Street, and he didn’t realize he was going to the house on Lyndale until he made the turn onto the street and started up the hill.
“You stole the dog from me, as I recall,” his wife said. He hated the way her voice sounded when she was being smug. Just hearing that tone made him angry.
“You know Thor is my dog,” he said, working to keep things civil. “I gave you the car. I gave you the house. And you won’t let me keep my dog?” His efforts at keeping his anger contained were now being tossed aside.
“I guess we’ll have to let the courts decide whose dog he is,” Janet said. Then she laughed, and of all the things CJ had experienced in his life that might have made him mad, the fact that it would be his wife’s laughter was not lost on him. He ended the call, turned off the phone, and threw it on the passenger seat.
The Honda’s tires squealed when he pulled into the driveway too fast. Instead of following the circle, he went up onto the walkway, the tires encroaching on the grass. He hit the brake hard and brought the car to a stop just inches away from the front steps. He had no idea what he was doing here—only that right now he hated his wife more than he’d ever hated another person, and since he couldn’t do anything to her, this was the next best thing.
The door was locked when he tried it, so he knocked, waited, then rang the bell then knocked again, and somewhere during this process, which he repeated twice more, he realized he had a decision to make. He could either let the anger go or he could nurse it until he found an appropriate outlet. He chose the latter.
Leaving the porch, he headed toward the back of the house. The garage door was down, yet CJ was counting on the recent repairs to the place not reaching something as inconsequential as a garage door. Taking hold of the handle, he gave it a test tug and was rewarded when the door rose a few inches. When he pulled harder, the door responded until there was perhaps a seven-inch gap.
It looked a lot narrower to CJ than it had when he was in high school. Then, he could shimmy underneath the door without so much as his shirt touching it. Now he wasn’t so sure. He let the door back down and set about looking for something to use as a wedge, settling on a landscaping rock that looked somewhere near the right height. With the rock in one hand, he pulled on the door handle with the other until he had it raised as far as he could. Straining to keep the door up, he tried to slide the rock underneath. At first it wouldn’t go in and he thought he might have to find something else, but he gave the rock a slight turn and it slipped into place.
CJ let go of the door and stood back,