LITMIR.BIZ

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place, then reached for a muzzle. Belle tried to move it away. “For God’s sake, she wouldn’t hurt—”

      Shana grabbed her arm firmly. “No, Belle. It’s just a precaution. You can see that she’s conscious, so I can’t inject pain killers until I rule out swelling of the brain. Freya might lash out in confusion, hurt herself or us.”

      She slipped on the muzzle, and Freya’s eyes followed her, raising Belle’s hopes. “Now to debride the wound.” Shana flushed the injury with warm water, cut away the nearby hair, then dabbed on some peroxide. After taking the dog’s blood pressure, she flashed a light into Freya’s eyes and smiled broadly. All Belle could hear was the pounding of her own pulse as she waited for the vet’s opinion. “So far so good. You two wait in my suite and relax. Put the kettle on. I shouldn’t be long.”

      An hour later, the x-ray indicated no broken bones, perhaps a slight concussion. “Lucky old hardhead. Just some bad bruises, maybe kicks. Of course we’ll keep her for a few days to make sure there’s no internal bleeding or other surprises. This mild sedative,” she explained as she gave the dog a shot, “should let her sleep for awhile.”

      In Shana’s living area, mugs of strong tea, well-laced with honey, were passed around. “Drink it, Belle. You’ve had a shock, too. It’s herbal. Ginseng. I had a terrific sinus headache with the storm and went to bed early. Didn’t figure anyone would be in,” the vet said. Six cats of six colours and sizes prowled around, and a Jack Russell terrier showed interest in Franz’s crotch. Shana called the little fellow into her lap. “They’re not all mine. Just some patients who benefit more from being free in the house rather than in a cage. Frisco’s getting picked up tomorrow,” she added as she petted a miniature Doberman twining around her knees. “Love that short hair.”

      “I’ll vacuum ten times a day to get Freya back,” Belle said, limp after the trauma. “I’m just glad you were here. When can she come home?”

      “Give you a call,” Shana promised. “She’ll be running around depositing pounds of hair by tomorrow night. Oh, and Franz, how is Blondi? Is the Neocortif doing its job?”

      “Seems to be. We keep her out of bright sun as much as possible, but the snow reflection is cruel. You know, I’m inventing a pair of dog sunglasses!”

      “Now that’s an idea,” Shana responded with obvious interest. “Those Shepherds in avalanche rescue training need eye drops every two hours against the glare. Maybe you could patent your discovery.”

      Franz dropped Belle off at Bruno’s Towing, where she was beginning to feel at home. Perhaps they were listed on the Toronto Stock Exchange; she might as well buy shares. “Sure you can make it alone? It’s stopped snowing, and they’ll get you out, but the road will still be bad. I could follow you back.” She gave him a thumbs-up sign, making a mental note to thank him with something more substantial. The driver, a friendly, red-faced man with a shredded cigar dangling from his lips and “Irv” painted on his door said, “Fasten your seat belt. We’re in for a bumpy night.” He didn’t look anything like Bette Davis. As they made their way out the road, plowed at last, Belle knew that the spot where she had bogged would join other sites of fabled blunders, pointed out to children as warnings against speed and carelessness.

      How ignominious, she thought drowsily, to be cocooned in a perfectly gigantic truck that could haul anything out of anywhere. She was headed for a warm bath with a warm Scotch and warm food and Freya was fine and . . . She barely heard Irv attach a tow rope to the van at the swamp.

      ELEVEN

      Belle should have had enough sleep since she’d had fallen into bed directly after three whopping drinks and a can of tasty, never-fail Chef Boy-ar-Dee ravioli, her comfort food since the age of six. But when the phone rang, she answered with a tempered testiness.

      “It’s Steve. I got your message. Against my better judgment, I trumped up some reasons to question Brooks. Seems he has an alibi, a poor one, but his wife and one of his sleazy friends will testify that he was home preparing his tax returns the night of Jim’s death. Feeble, but you can’t fight it.”

      “Taxes, right. What a concept. Why don’t you take him in and grill him?” Belle rubbed at her eyes, gritty from sleep.

      “You’ve been watching too many old movies. Anyway, we’ve had our eyes on him in our ongoing drug investigations, so leave him to us. Go sell some houses; I could use another lunch.”

      “So he could have had a henchman.”

      He snorted. “At least bring your crime slang up to speed. And in less than polite terms, Madame, butt out. Monroe’s autopsy showed nothing surprising. Jim got off the trail in the storm, went through the ice, and that’s all she wrote.”

      “Now you’re talking country songs.” Belle snapped down her ace in the hole card. “What about my dog, then?”

      “Freya? What about her?”

      “Oh, no big deal. I just got home last night to find her whacked over the head. She’s at Shana’s. Should be all right.”

      “You should have called me! Did you see anyone? What about the tracks? Was there a break-in?”

      Belle nearly dropped the receiver. “I had to get to the vet! Sorry that I didn’t have time to check my entire acre with a magnifying glass after dark when I finally got home. And that was after I bottomed out in the swamp. No, Steve, nothing in the house was touched. I doubt that they even got in. As soon as they opened the door, out ran the dog and they clobbered her with a shovel. Looks like they heard the car and took off just before I turned down the driveway. I didn’t see them, so they probably came by snow machine. As for tracks, forget it with the new snow.”

      His voice relaxed. “Hmmm. Sounds like a simple break and enter. It wouldn’t be the first time on your road. Dubois had two chain saws taken in February, and Landry lost his snowmobile last week. That’s the thirtieth one this month in the region. The insurance companies are crying.”

      Keeping her probes about Brooks to herself, Belle hung up after agreeing to meet soon at a new Indian restaurant, the Bengali. It sounded a bit vegetarian, but anything magma hot was welcome.

      Belle sliced a blueberry bagel and popped it into her beloved coolwall oversize toaster. With all the charitable largesse from Hélène’s breadmaker, English muffins and other large pastries, she needed an appliance that could toast anything. Bypassing Meg’s jam with a flash of guilt, she lathered on cream cheese and added a dot of marmalade, remembering her mother’s corny joke about a baby chicken talking about the orange that “marma laid.” The juicy blueberries reminded her of that four-week phenomenon, summer. How long before she and Freya would again revel in the hot sun, picking and eating those cobalt jewels? The dog loved to strip the branches, nose out the berries, cool and tart in the shade of pines and birch, honey sweet and hot in the sun.

      The sun through the windows was so bright, and the sky so achingly blue, the firs and cedars frozen in a picture of benign beauty, that she forgot how fierce the storm had been the night before. Time to clear all paths again, especially to the woodpile. Knowing that she would be working up a sweat, she threw on a medium weight jacket and went out to assemble an arsenal of shovels. If they knew anything about winter, Canadians knew its implements. First there was the broom for light attacks, especially on cars, then the snow scraper, good for the deck, several sizes of shovels for lifting deep snow, and the famous snow scoop, which floated massive chunks downhill. A growl, a scraping in the driveway and a few backfires sent her over to greet Ed. He leaned out of the cab of the plow truck, a 1957 Ford model with the bed rusted off and no windows. His dog sat beside him as supervisor, nosing a dab on the windshield. “Hi, pal. You must have come and fetched the truck last night,” she said, wondering if the presence of even a handicapped vehicle might have dissuaded the thieves.

      “Yup, she needed an oil change and more anti-freeze, so I took her back to my garage when I heard the storm was on the way. Figgered we’d need the old gal in tip-top shape today.” He listened with interest as she told about

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