Free Dog On It by Spencer Quinn Page A

dark shoes with tassels; she had sandals and bare legs. Their feet were pointing away from each other. My eyes felt heavy right away.
    “First of all,” Bernie said, “I want to start with a very important question.” Feet started twitching, first a sandaled foot, then one with tassels. “Has either of you received a ransom demand?”
    “Ransom demand?” They both said the words at the exact same time; something about their voices together sounded unpleasant.
    “If you have, the caller almost certainly warned you against telling anyone.” Bernie said. “I promise you that not telling us would be a bad mistake.”
    “Who is ‘us’?” Keefer said.
    Bernie tapped his foot lightly on my tail. “The agency, of course. But you haven’t answered the question.”
    “There’s been nothing like that,” said Cynthia. “What are you saying?”
    “Are you telling us this is definitely a kidnapping?” said Keefer.
    Cynthia’s hands squeezed tight together. “Oh my God,” she said.
    “There’s nothing definite at this stage,” Bernie said. “Do you have any enemies?”
    “Me?” said Cynthia.
    “Or business rivals?”
    Now she was wringing her hands. “I don’t think of them as rivals, but—”
    “For Christ’s sake,” Keefer said. “You design e-cards. He’s talking about real business.”
    Cynthia’s hands separated, balled into fists. There was a silence. Then Bernie spoke. “And you’re a developer, Mr. Keefer?”
    “I own Pinnacle Peak Homes at Puma Wells,” Keefer said. “Competitors come with the territory. But we don’t kidnap each other’s kids. And if all you’ve got is speculation, you have no right to alarm us like this.”
    “This is just speculation?” said Cynthia.
    “You can call it that,” Bernie said. “But it’s based on information we’ve developed, mostly concerning Madison’s movements last Wednesday—the night she supposedly went to the movies.” He started telling the whole story. The sound of his voice grew fainter. I got all warm and fuzzy, right on the edge of dozing off. I heard Keefer say, as though from a great distance, “Have you run this theory past the police?” Bernie answered from even farther away, “Not yet. She’s already on the wire anyway, and besides . . .” Then I was over the edge, sinking into dreamland.
    When I awoke, Bernie and I were alone. He was sitting at the desk, holding a check. I squeezed out from under, stretched my front legs way forward, bringing my jaw almost down to the floor, butt up high. That felt great.
    Bernie looked down at me. “That didn’t go so well,” he said. He waved the check. “Two grand.” What was wrong with that? A grand was always nice, and two grand was nicer. “The problem is Keefer wrote it. They’re co-clients now. I would have preferred sticking with her. He’s so . . .”
    Whatever Bernie was planning to say about Keefer, I wanted to know, but at that moment the doorbell rang. We went and opened up. There stood Charlie, wearing his backpack.
    “Hi, Daddy. Hey, Chet.”
    The window of a car parked on the street slid down, andLeda looked out. “Have him back by two tomorrow,” she said. “No later.” Looking past her, I could see Malcolm the boyfriend behind the wheel, talking on a cell phone. I barked. Why the hell not? It was good to see the boyfriend glance over. He was scared of me and my kind, I could tell right away.
    Charlie came in. I gave his face a nice lick. He said, “Oooo,” and made a funny twisted smile. “I’m ready for camping,” he said.
    “Camping?” said Bernie.
    “You promised.”
    “Then let’s get packed.”
    We packed the tent, the sleeping bags, the air mattresses, the air pump, the pegs, the wooden mallet, a cooler full of food and drinks.
    “Anything we’re forgetting?” Bernie said.
    “Matches,” said Charlie.
    Bernie laughed. My tail knocked something off the coffee table. I tried to slow it down.
    It was getting dark by the time we left