“Sure. Otherwise he never barks, so he can’t confuse the system. Poor thing, he’s here alone for hours at a time in the evening. He should be able to have it dark if he wants to nap—and light if he’s feeling lonely or spooked.”
Tommy had expected the dog to be waiting at the door, but it was not in sight. “Where is he?”
“Hiding,” she said, putting her purse on a foyer table with a black granite top. “He wants me to find him.”
“A dog that plays hide and seek?”
“Without hands, it’s too frustrating to play Scrabble.”
Tommy’s wet shoes squished and squeaked on the honed travertine floor. “We’re making a mess.”
“It’s not Chernobyl.”
“Huh?”
“It’ll clean up.”
At one end of the generous foyer, a door stood ajar. Del went to it, leaving wet shoeprints on the marble.
“Is my naughty little fur ball in the powder room?” she asked in an annoyingly cute, coddling tone of voice. “Hmmmm? Is my bad boy hiding from his mommie? Is my bad boy hiding in the powder room?”
She opened the door, manually switched on the lights, but the dog wasn’t there.
“I didn’t think so,” she said, leading Tommy into the living room. “That was too easy. Though sometimes, he knows easy works because it’s not what I’m expecting. Lights on.”
The large travertine-floored living room was furnished with J. Robert Scott sofas and chairs upholstered in platinum and gold fabrics, blond-finished tables in exotic woods, and bronze Art Deco lamps in the form of nymphs holding luminous crystal balls. The enormous Persian carpet boasted such an intricate design and was so softly coloured, as if exquisitely faded by time, that it must be an antique.
Del’s vocal command had switched on mood lighting that was low enough to minimize reflection on the glass wall and allow Tommy to see outside to the patio and the boat dock. He also had a glimpse of rain-dimmed harbour lights.
Scootie was not in the living room. He wasn’t in the study or the dining room, either.
Following Del through a swinging door, Tommy stepped into a large, stylish kitchen with clear-finished maple cabinets and black-granite counter tops.
“Oh, him not here, either,” Del said, cooing again as if talking to a baby. “Where could my Scootie-wootums be? Did him turn off the lights and quick-like-a-bunny run upstairs?”
Tommy was riveted by a wall clock with a green neon rim. It was 1:44 in the morning. Time was running out, so the demon was sure to be seeking them with increasing fury.
“Let’s find the damn dog and get out of here quick,” he said nervously.
Pointing to a tall narrow section of cabinetry next to which Tommy was standing, Del said, “Get me the broom out of there, would you, please?”
“Broom?”
“It’s the broom closet.”
Tommy opened the door.
Squeezed into the broom closet was a huge midnight-black creature with teeth bared and fat pink tongue lolling, and Tommy bolted backward, slipped in his own wet shoeprints, and fell on his butt before he realized that it wasn’t the demon leering out at him. It was a dog, an enormous black Labrador.
Del laughed delightedly and clapped her hands. “I knew you were in there, you naughty little fur ball!”
Scootie grinned out at them.
“I knew you’d give Tommy a good scare,” she told the dog.
“Yeah, just what I needed,” Tommy said, getting to his feet.
Panting, Scootie came out of the closet. The space was so narrow and the dog so large that it was like a cork coming out of a wine bottle, and Tommy half expected to hear a pop.
“How’d he get in there?” Tommy wondered.
Tail wagging furiously, Scootie went directly to Del, and she dropped to her knees so she could pet him and scratch behind his ears. “Him miss mommie, did him? Hmmmmm? Was him lonely, my fuzzy-wuzzy baby, my cutie Scootie?”
“He couldn’t step in there and turn around,” Tommy said. “Not enough room.”
“He probably backed into it,” Del said, hugging Scootie. “Dogs don’t back into things any more than motorcycles do. Besides, how did he get the door shut after he was in there?”