Chapter 34

Meg drops her stick, curls back her lips to display teeth, bristling and growling.

Klempner frowns…

“Shhh… It’s alright.” I scratch her ears, calm her down. “As I said, she's a shelter dog,” I explain. “A
rescue. And they know, more than almost anyone else, that there are monsters in the world...”

His eyes dart between me and Meg…

Dare I say it?

“… And some of those monsters walk around looking just like real people.”

I stoop, pick up Meg’s stick and throw it overarm as far as I can. She races after it, scattering snow
behind her, the rest of the dogs in her wake.

Klempner relaxes, drooping his eyelids, head shaking so slightly.

Apology?

“Self-knowledge can be unsettling, can it not?” he comments. But his voice is mild. “So… given that
you claim to have the answer to the perfect relationship, returning to the start of our conversation, why
are you out here? Agonising over the right thing to do with your Ryan?”

I don’t have an answer. I settle for prevarication. “Why are you out here?”

“If you insist, I’m trying to decide how to go forward with Mitch.”

That was settled…

… Wasn’t it?



“You don't know? I thought you and she were…”

“No, I don’t know. You’re right. Mitch was a hooker. But what I wanted from her was never for sale. Not
until the day Jenny was in danger. Then she offered herself to me.”

“And...?”

“And... I didn't accept. I didn't want her on that basis.”

Enthralled by the revelations coming from this dangerous, fascinating man, “What did you want?”

“I wanted her to want me. That's all I ever wanted.”

Meg returns, carrying her stick, to drop it at Klempner’s feet. He ignores her and she yaps, lashing her
tail.

“So, what’s your problem now?” I ask. “The pair of you looked pretty chummy to me when we were
inside.”

He grimaces. “I… never expected to get this far. I’m not sure what comes next.” He grins, quite
disarmingly, then, “Why are you talking to me like this, Kirstie?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s not as though we know each other. Yet you seem prepared to trust me with… personal stuff… And
to think about mine.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”



I nod down to Meg, her toothy grin as she pushes her stick at him again. “Because they do.” He casts
startled eyes down at my barrel-bodied little girl, then around at the other dogs, cavorting in the snow.
“Anyway, I could ask you the same question. Why are you talking to me like this?

He considers, then, “James thinks well of you. That suggested to me that you're worth getting to know.
And considering what Haswell is trying hard to put your way, James isn’t the only one to hold you in
high regard.”

*****

Back indoors, energies apparently exhausted, the dogs collapse in a heap and peace reigns.

Mac, having claimed prize place in front of the fire, lies eyes closed, upside down, all four legs in the
air; doing his best ‘Dead Bluebottle’ impression. Archie nudges up beside him trying, unsuccessfully, to
ease him to one side.

Richard regards the pair, expression neutral. “Is that a natural position for a dog?”

“It’s his favourite,” I say. “When he’s chilled out.” Mac’s tail twitches and his lips pull back in an up-side-
down canine grin.

“Will he stay in that position long?”

“Just until someone offers him food or another…” I mouth the word silently… “… Walk…”

I sit beside Ryan, kiss him on the cheek. Subdued, he returns the kiss, but his voice is slow. “Is
everything alright, Kirstie? You were outside a long time talking with…” He jerks his head towards
Klempner, returned to his seat at the back of the room.

“It’s fine. We were just talking…”



“Damn!” Michael, on top of a stepladder, places a final branch of holly on the bookshelf.

Beth looks up from her paper-folding. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve run out. I was sure we’d picked enough.”

I reach for my gloves, Archie pricking up his ears as I do so. “I’ll go get some more. The dogs would
enjoy another walk.” As I utter the W-Word, Mac revolves through one-eighty into an upright position
and is back on his feet, tail swishing.

Michael blinks, then sucks in a smile. “Thanks, Kirstie. I’ve still not defrosted after the last trip out.”

Klempner stirs. “Mind if I join you?”

“Um… sure. If you’d like to. You can reach higher branches than me.”

As I wind the scarf around my neck, Archie starts yapping and Scruffy, Meg and Emma appear from
nowhere. “Ryan?”

He stares into the fire. “No, I think I’ll stay here.”

The canine tornado barges past me to the door, blocking my way to the hall. “Let me past, you silly lot.”

*****

“How about that branch there?” I point up at a bough, glossy green with leaves, cheerful and
Christmassy with berries.

Klempner reaches up past me, snipping at the branch and passing it back down. I lay it on the stack in
my basket, then aim upwards again. “Now, that one.”



The dogs snuffle and scratch, getting under my feet and making a nuisance of themselves. Until, with a
sharp yap, Archie announces, Squirrel! And the troop of five bolt off, howling and yelping to the base of
a pine.

From the safety of thirty feet or so, the squirrel chitters down, spitting insults, then leaps to the next tree
and away. The dogs give chase, their howls fading into the distance as they high tail it after their
quarry.

Klempner eyes the performance. “Is it always like this?”

“Pretty much, yes… That branch there would be a good one. It’s covered with berries.”

He stretches out with the secateurs, then freezes.

“Something wrong?”

He doesn’t reply, but his eyes are scanning the area behind me.

“Larry? What is it?” His expression is savage, and something bites in my gut.

Baxter…

He shoves the secateurs into a pocket. “Get back.” Reaching out, he grabs me by the wrist and tugs,
pulling me backwards, placing himself between me and… whatever it is…

At his words, from behind me, there's a Crack! Then a muffled rustling from the undergrowth.

Klempner’s eyes snap towards the sound and he stares, intent in the spot. Leaves quiver, shedding
their load of snow. Reaching into his jacket, he takes out a gun, aiming for the thicket.

“You brought that here?” I hiss.



He tilts his chin up, eyes intent. “That bastard's still on the loose,” he mutters. Then, gun levelled, he
stalks to within a few feet of the bush. “Out! Right now. Hands raised.”

The only response is another shiver of the bush.

It’s too low…

The movement is only a couple of feet from the ground. “It’s not a man,” I say.

He jerks a look at me, not dropping his aim

Something rumbles from the thicket…

A growl?

Klempner tilts his head, frowning as the sound repeats.

Definitely a growl.

“It's a dog,” I say. “Put the gun away and back off.”

He doesn’t move, so this time, I take him by the arm, easing him backwards.

The pitch is low. Whatever’s producing the sound is big.

As we retreat a few steps, the owner of the sound emerges. And he’s a whopper.

Black, with ginger face markings and eyebrows, this dog could be cast as ‘Hellhound of the Year’. A
Rottweiler, he crouches, body hanging low, ears laid flat back. His eyes are white-rimmed and his lips
pulled back to display ranks of pristine teeth.

He’s terrified.



“Keep back,” I say. “Let me handle this. And put the gun down. You think he can’t tell a threat when he
sees one?”

“Kirstie, that dog’s not safe. He’s got to weigh above a hundred pounds.”

“He's scared stupid. That's fear-aggression.”

Klempner keeps his hand on the gun. “That animal could fillet you if he's of a mind.”

I keep my voice soft and low. “He won't. We can't leave him here. He'd freeze, and besides you get kids
around here. The walker’s trail is only a couple of hundred yards up the hill. Now… get back out of his
range.”

I wave him away, trying to make my movements relaxed for the dog but urgent enough that Larry pays
heed. “Go on. And don’t look straight at him. Move slowly and casually. Nothing’s happening here.
There’s nothing important. We’re not threatening him. And put the fucking gun away.”

This time he does as I ask, tucking the weapon into a pocket, but, I notice, keeping his hand poised
close by. “What about you?”

“I'm female.”

He screws up his face. “What's that to do with anything?”

“As often as not, when an animal’s been abused, it's a man that did it. Sounds awful I know, but you'll
often find rescues are more scared of men than women.”

Larry’s brows rise. He doesn't comment but retires a little distance, just in time for the Gang and Scruffy
to return from their squirrel hunt.

Bursting into the clearing, they swarm in, waggy and panting, over the stranger… who visibly relaxes.



My Gang rush back and forth, excited and exuberant. Archie is a little unsure, but then he always is if
any other male dog shows interest in Emma. Still, he behaves himself, settling for placing himself
between Emma and the stranger.

The stranger is much more interested in the other dogs than me, whining as they duck back and forth
introducing themselves.

I wander closer, babbling gibberish at the dogs just to keep talking, looking for somewhere I could sit.
There’s an old stump, snow-covered, but I brush it clear with my hand to perch on the edge. Archie and
Meg immediately rush up to claim my attention and the stranger stands, sort-of following, angling
nearer.

I talk…


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