Mischievous Malamute Mystery Series: Books 1-3

Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Getting back to normal—uh yeah, good luck with that. After finding the body, I tried my best, but something was off. Several days later, as Nicoh and I walked to the park, I reflected on what bothered me. True, the incident had been a shocker. It wasn’t as though I’d seen many dead bodies before, certainly not ones mutilated so barbarically. I shuddered, the image forever tattooed in my memory.

As unpleasant as it had been, that wasn’t it. It was almost as though I’d missed something, something I’d seen and not registered. I kicked myself, my eyes had been trained better than that. As a freelance photographer, I was familiar with visualizing subject matter from multiple angles and perspectives. Yet this time, it eluded me. Maybe it was something I hadn’t seen? A feeling, perhaps?

I continued to rehash the events of that morning and was so engrossed I nearly ran Nicoh head-on into the Greyhound trio—Molly, Maxine and Maybelline. Fortunately, I adjusted my step just in time and nodded to their owner—a man whose name I’ll admit I don’t remember. He nodded in return while the dogs did their usual sniff-and-wag bit.

Nicoh straightened his stance more than usual—head and ears held high, chest thrust forward—perhaps to compensate for my clumsiness, but certainly not for the affections of the elegant trio. Nope, he had his eye on a she-devil named Pandora, a silver and white Keeshond that lived around the corner with a retired lawyer. Sadly, I didn’t remember his name either, but Pandora managed to find her way into our yard to visit on occasion, so her lawyer and I knew each other by dog and yard. Our little neighborhood was funny that way.

Situated in east Phoenix on the borders of Scottsdale and Paradise Valley, we were nestled into an area that was older than most, but where the homes and yards were well-maintained, despite their age. Citrus trees and date palms lined the streets, providing a canopy from the blistering Arizona sun without blocking the view of the surrounding mountains. A once highly-coveted neighborhood among the up-and-coming and affluent, the attraction of newer, cookie-cutter neighborhoods farther north had lured residents away over the past ten to fifteen years. While lacking personality, these newer neighborhoods provided many conveniences—high-end outdoor malls, restaurants, theaters, etc.—within a stone’s throw in every direction, converting the congested neighborhoods into mini cities, which appealed to the masses.

A few diehards, like my parents, stayed on in the old neighborhood, meticulously caring for and upgrading their lovely Ranch-style home with its sprawling yard and manicured gardens until they died unexpectedly two years ago. The house had been left to me—their only child. I could not afford such a house on my freelance earnings alone, but my parents had paid cash for it and then set aside a monthly stipend for maintenance and updates, which was also willed to me. I couldn’t bear to part with it yet. It was the house they loved so much, where I’d grown-up and created many incredible memories. The memories and the house were all I had left of my parents. A lump grew in my throat as I thought of them. Missed them.

I was jerked to the present by my companion’s annoyed whoo-whoos. We had reached the park. No distractions while on his time, Nicoh reminded me. Doggie translation: Time to get down to business.