Page 34 of The Attercop

Maybe what the attacker said was just a coincidence, but he sensed that somehow the break-in at Michael’s and the attack at Bar-None were linked. If that was true, someone had hurt Angel because of him. And if that was the case, he worried that they might go after someone else.

Chapter Sixteen

Mrs B only had a few posters left, and she’d almost run out of tape. She looked down at the dog who sat obediently by her feet. “Well, little man, if you’re from this neighbourhood, someone’s going to call.”

She taped up the last of the flyers outside the convenience store just a few doors down from the office. As she headed back to work, a woman walked out of the store trailing a young child behind her.

“Look, Ty, it’s Duck,” the woman said, looking at the poster.

“Excuse me,” Mrs B called out, pointing to the mutt at her feet. “Do you know this dog?”

“Duck!” the woman called out.

The dog, who’s name appeared to be Duck, stood, faced the woman, and madly wagged his tail.

She approached the dog, bent down and scrubbed him on the head. “Where have you been, boy? You’ve lost so much weight!” She looked up at Mrs B. “He used to be a bit of a tub, but you’re lookin’ great now, boy, aren’t you?”

Mrs B smiled. The dog seemed genuinely happy to see this woman.

The little boy squealed with laughter, calling out “Duck-Duck-Duck-Duck.”

“Can I assume that this fellow is yours?” Mrs B asked.

“Oh, no. My husband’s deathly allergic to everything. Dogs, cats, ferrets…work. Duck here belongs to our neighbour Mr Willis. Or should I say ‘belonged to’ Mr Willis.”

She looked down at the boy before finishing in a quiet voice, “Mr Willis…passed a few weeks ago.”

“Mr Willis is dead,” the boy piped up.

The woman sighed. “They grow up way too fast. I’m Mary by the way…Mary Young. And this is Tyson, my grandson.”

“Joan,” Mrs B said, shaking Mary’s hand. “This fella,” she continued, looking down at the dog, “just showed up at our office the other day and, well, he just moved in. We had no idea who he belonged to.”

Mary whispered, “From what I’ve heard, Duck apparently snuck out an open door. If you ask me, Mr Willis’ landlord let him out so he wouldn’t have to deal with him.”

“Mr Willis’ landlord is a mean old man,” Tyson chirped.

“Now, Ty, how many times have I asked you not to say nasty things about people?”

“Sorry, Grandma,” he said, then turned his head up to Mrs B. “Otherpeople say he was a mean old man.”

Mrs B tried not to laugh. Tyson’s grandmother just rolled her eyes.

“So, he’s basically homeless? The dog, that is,” Mrs B asked.

“So it seems,” Mary said.

“You could take care of him,” Tyson yelled out to his grandmother.

“No. No I cannot. Your grandad would die.”

“But… It’s Duck! They’ll send him away!”

The boy started to cry.

“I know, Ty, but Duck’s got a new home—with people that will love him and take care of him…doesn’t he?” she said, hopefully.

Mrs B smiled. “I promise you, Tyson, that I’ll take good care of him. And maybe, if it’s okay with your Grandma, you can come by and visit him when you’re in the neighbourhood.”