Escape Route (Murder Off-Screen Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

the tissue and buffed, but the polish was ladled on, welding the glued hairs together in a shiny, chip-resistant patch of pink.
    “So did your mistress invite you to a tea party?” I pictured a passel of little girls dressing him up in funny hats and boas. Painting his toe nails. “Did you use your best table manners? Or did you escape?”
    He licked my other knee and smiled.
    “So what’s your name? Max? Dexter? Mike?”
    His tail thumped at each suggestion.
    “You’d probably answer to Doofus, would be my bet.”
    Thump. Thump.
    Doofus wore a chain collar with one tag. No one in the vicinity seemed concerned about his whereabouts, so I flipped it and found he would be rabies free for three years. “Good to know. Where’s your family? They must be worried.”
    The dog waited for me to do something interesting and when I didn’t, he trotted off, selected a stick I might like and set it across my knees.
    “Great idea. We’ll play until your people spot you.” I dug out my phone. “Let’s take a picture in case you’re lost and we have to make you a page on Facebook. Smile.”
    Doofus smiled. Not by chance. On cue. On purpose. A wide, toothy smile, like a pro.
    “Nice. Now a profile with the nail polish.”
    Bam. Profile.
    “You’re a heartbreaker, you know that?”
    “Miss! Hello, Miss!” Two men ran toward me across the park, elbows pumping. The two customers from Bub’s—Abbott and Costello without the funny hats. “That’s our dog.” The skinny guy arrived first, tripped over a wonky brick in the sidewalk and landed at my feet, next to the dog. “Hope he isn’t bothering you.”
    His round companion came to an abrupt halt half-way along the winding path and hurled himself into a bush, either looking for berries or a place to die.
    “Are you all right?” I had to speak up because—even at this distance—the gasping and heaving from his friend embedded in the interior of the low chaparral made it hard to hear. “Is he all right?”
    Abbott stood and brushed off his jeans and buffed the balding nap of his corduroy jacket. Tissue residue was matted in the narrow ribs. Aunt B would have taken a roll of shipping tape to it.
    The worn, suede, elbow patches had no nap left to fluff, and one was partially pulled away from the sleeve with a foot-long, frayed, beige thread wafting north and east in the wind. He batted an arm at Costello like he was swatting a gnat.
    “I’m fine. He’s fine. Always wanted to be a landscaper.” This information was blurted out in-between gasping “hees” and “haws” while he braced himself, hands on knees. “Dog jumped,” he held up a finger, “out of the car,” finger number two, “while we were sh-ping.”
    I did not mention that I’d seen them at Bub’s sh-ping.
    I did not mention that I’d just snapped his picture next to Doofus while he fought to catch his breath.
    For no good reason I could think of, I didn’t want Abbott to take my dog. We’d bonded—Doofus and I—over the slobber. Over the un-thrown stick. I didn’t trust Abbott. He was skinny. My ex-husband was skinny.
    “What’s your dog’s name?”
    “K—” The corduroyed man stopped and wiped the corners of his mouth with a finger and a thumb. “Klondike.” He said this while taking hold of the chain collar and folding the tag into the palm of his hand. He remained stooped over, breathing hard. “After that dog in Call of the Wild , Klondike.”
    Doofus’s tail thumped, but I knew that a smiling, yellow Lab would thump even if you offered him coal at Christmas.
    “That would be Buck.” I know my dog movies. “A St. Bernard-Shepherd mix. Not a Lab.”
    “Huh? Oh, right. Buck. This one here is Klondike.”
    “You should probably keep him on a leash,” I said, wanting to prolong the conversation. I wasn’t ready to say good-bye to the dog. And it still was anybody’s guess if Costello would make it out of the bush alive.
    “Good idea. Thanks. We’ll be going,