To Catch a Treat Read Free

him—in a gesture I read as an attempt to erase what I’d asked, and perhaps to make sure I knew to drop the subject.
    If so, it was already too late. “Yes.” Janelle’s voice was soft and moist and unutterably sad. Her expression, as she stared down at Biscuit, also looked lost. I understood why immediately, though, when she added, “No. Not now. But I did. I should.”
    As she looked up at me, almost defiantly, Neal joined her. He put his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get ready to go, okay?”
    But my curiosity wasn’t going to dissipate unless I had answers. “What do you mean?” I asked Janelle. “You had a dog? Where is it?”
    â€œYes, I had—have—a dog. He’s the most beautiful, smartest Labrador retriever you ever saw. But—”
    She stopped and took a deep breath, looked again at Biscuit and then Hugo, and then back at me.
    â€œBut … ?” I prompted. Poor lady. Had her dog died? But the last thing she’d said indicated she still had the dog—didn’t it?
    â€œGo has been dognapped,” she finally replied, in a soft voice that wailed with despair.

two
    It was seven o’clock. Neal had to get his hike started. I could sense his discomfort as he looked down discreetly at the watch on his wrist. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s a really hard story.” He gave Janelle a warm hug. “We need to get going now, though.” After another sympathetic glance at Janelle, he started herding us all toward the rear door beside the enclosed spa.
    Reed and I remained with Janelle. “I want to hear what happened,” I told her. I really did. A dognapping? How terrible.
    â€œI guess we can talk as we walk,” she said. I had a sense, though, that she felt relieved at the reprieve. I gathered that it might be hard for her to describe what had occurred, even if her dog’s disappearance was always on her mind.
    But I did want to hear about it.
    Janelle hurried to join the others as Neal, at the top of the steps, waved the baton he always used to show his group where he was. He called it his staff, which was intended as a kind of pun, since he viewed the baton not only as a way to stay visible to his followers, but also as his assistant. He used it to lead his gang on trails, especially up and down hills, and it was his walking stick when the path was level. It was a bright, glossy red, about four feet long with a crook at the top.
    I’d lied somewhat to Janelle when I’d said this was my first hike with Neal. I’d accompanied him on a couple when he first followed me to Knobcone Heights, California, and became a part-time tour guide here. I’d wanted, then, to help increase the size of his crowd. That had been three years ago or so. His crowds these days tended to be substantial, and had picked up again over the last couple of months after a lull, so I hadn’t been a member of one lately. Until now.
    I waited till the entire group had gone down the concrete steps to the lakeside beach, both people and dogs—except for Reed and Hugo, who stayed back with Biscuit and me. “What was that about?” Reed asked.
    â€œI guess we’ll find out together,” I replied as Biscuit and I headed down the steps. “Soon, I hope.”
    At the bottom, I waited on the back portion of the sand for Reed and Hugo to catch up, then held back a little as Neal again called out to his tour group, waving his staff. “Neal’s smitten with Janelle,” I confided quietly to Reed. “I don’t know anything about her except what I just learned: she’s pretty, and she’s sad, which I certainly can understand if her dog has been stolen.” Shuddering at the very idea, I bent to hug Biscuit. Then, because Hugo was right beside her, I hugged him, too.
    I knew I’d never be able to bear it if I lost a dog in any manner, dognapping or otherwise. It was