Chapter 3 - THE WARNING MY MOTHER LEFT BEHIND
“What did your father do?”
The question came out sharper than I intended.
Dante didn't answer.
He stared at my mother's handwriting, his jaw tightening.
“Olivia, I didn't know your mother.”
“Then why did she write your name?”
“I don't know.”
“That's not good enough.”
Orion moved between us.
Not growling.
Not threatening.
Simply standing there, his large body touching my legs.
Dante looked down at him.
“My father died four years ago,” he said. “He left behind properties, businesses, and files I haven't completely understood.”
“Was Harbor House one of those properties?”
“It received money from a family charitable fund.”
“Received money?” I repeated. “My mother used to bring home donated dog food because the rescue couldn't afford groceries for the animals.”
Dante looked genuinely disturbed.
“That shouldn't have happened.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Apparently, quite a few things shouldn't have happened.”
He folded the photograph carefully.
“There's someone I need to question.”
“Frank Bellini?”
“Yes.”
“Then I want to hear what he says.”
Dante studied me.
“Frank isn't a man who enjoys being challenged.”
“Neither was my landlord last month. I challenged him anyway.”
For the first time that morning, Dante almost smiled.
Then his expression changed.
Across the sidewalk, a silver sedan had pulled up behind the SUV.
A broad man in his late fifties stepped out.
He wore a dark overcoat, polished shoes, and an expensive watch.
His silver hair was neatly combed.
Dante's shoulders stiffened.
“Frank.”
The man's friendly expression disappeared when he saw me standing beside Orion.
“Well,” he said slowly. “This is unexpected.”
Orion stopped wagging his tail.
I noticed immediately.
The dog didn't growl.
He simply moved closer to me.
Frank glanced at him.
“Orion. Heel.”
The dog remained still.
Frank's face reddened.
“Orion.”
Nothing.
Dante watched the exchange.
“Something wrong?”
Frank gave a humorless smile.
“He's confused by a familiar scent. Nora Marshall used the same lavender soap at the old kennel. Her daughter probably does too.”
I felt a strange chill.
“My mother never used lavender soap.”
Frank looked at me.
“People forget small things.”
“I remember my mother.”
His expression hardened.
Dante stepped forward.
“Frank, tell me how Orion came into our possession.”
“I've already explained that. Your father purchased him from a rehabilitation kennel.”
“Which kennel?”
“North Pier K9.”
“Did Nora Marshall own him?”
“No.”
“Did Olivia?”
Frank glanced at me.
“She signed the surrender paperwork.”
I stared at him.
“I never signed anything.”
“Miss Marshall, you were eighteen. Perhaps your mother handled the arrangement.”
“My mother would have told me.”
Frank sighed.
“Your mother was under tremendous financial pressure. The rescue was struggling. She made a difficult decision.”
Something about the way he spoke made my stomach twist.
He didn't sound like a man remembering a frightened puppy.
He sounded like a man explaining away a problem.
Then he reached toward Orion's collar.
The dog backed away.
Frank froze.
Dante noticed.
“So much for the familiar scent,” he murmured.
Frank turned toward him.
“You're making too much of this. Dogs are unpredictable.”
I crouched beside Orion.
“Easy, Bear.”
His body relaxed immediately.
“Quiet paws.”
He sat.
Frank's eyes widened.
That was the command my mother had taught me when Bear was a puppy.
It wasn't part of any professional training program.
It was something we'd invented because his enormous paws made so much noise on our apartment floor.
Dante looked between us.
“You knew that command before today?”
“Yes.”
Frank abruptly checked his watch.
“I have a meeting. Dante, we can discuss this privately.”
“No,” Dante replied. “We'll discuss it when Olivia is ready.”
For one brief second, Frank's expression turned cold.
Then he smiled.
“Of course.”
He walked away.
But before he entered his car, he looked back at me.
Not at Orion.
At me.
An hour later, I stood inside my small Queens apartment.
Dante had offered to send someone to accompany me.
I'd refused.
But I had agreed to meet him again after finding something I'd kept from my childhood.
At the back of my closet sat an old shoebox.
Inside were birthday cards, photographs, a hospital bracelet from my mother's final stay, and one tiny silver bell.
Bear's bell.
I had removed it from his first collar when my mother said he was leaving.
The ribbon was faded blue.
My mother had stitched the bell onto it herself.
I held it in my palm.
For years, it had been nothing more than a painful reminder.
Now I noticed something strange.
The ribbon had two layers.
One seam was sewn with darker thread.
My mother had always been meticulous about sewing.
She never used mismatched thread unless she had a reason.
I found a pair of small scissors.
Carefully, I opened the seam.
A narrow strip of folded paper slipped into my hand.
It contained three things.
A handwritten address.
A storage number.
And a name.
NORTH PIER K9 — BAY 4, BIN 19
Beneath it, in my mother's familiar handwriting, were six words.
Ask Mrs. Alvarez about the missing dogs.
I sat on the edge of my bed.
Mrs. Alvarez.
I knew that name.
She had worked beside my mother at Harbor House.
She was the woman who brought homemade soup when Mom was receiving chemotherapy.
And she had once told me something I'd never forgotten.
“Your mother didn't lose her job, sweetheart. She lost an argument with the wrong people.”
Back then, I thought she meant the rescue's management.
Now I wasn't so sure.
I picked up the old photograph beside my bed.
My mother was smiling at the camera, with her arm around me and Bear curled between us.
Behind us stood a faded green kennel door.
Someone had written a date on the frame.
June 2018.
I turned the photograph over.
There was a second message.
One I'd never noticed because it was written along the very bottom edge.
The dogs weren't the only ones they planned to get rid of.
May you like
And beneath that sentence was a signature.
Frank Bellini.
