“Oh.” A little gasp of delight escaped Maggie’s heretofore tightly pursed lips.
Her feeling of betrayal at being left alone all day, and her disapproval at the banging on the locked door, eased instantly at the sight of the puppy. She was sure it was a puppy by the way it studied everything so intensely, its head cocked first to one side and then the other. She could see its tiny teeth. Its mouth was slightly open as if in a smile. Maggie moved over to the window to get a closer look. The poodle followed her movements, almost as if it had heard her speak. The bright black eyes winked as the knocking on the door became more insistent.
The woman at the door pointed at something in the window and then at her watch. Just a minute after closing, a tiny minute, she pantomimed.
Maggie clicked her tongue. It had been a long day. She wasn’t in the mood for the kind of person who didn’t care about the rules. Maggie knew she had to follow all the rules to be safe. All too painfully and well did she know what happened when she slipped and didn’t follow the rules. Still, it occurred to her that if she opened the door, she could find out the vital statistics of the dog. It looked so much like a lively monkey.
One thing she had learned in her short time in New York was that dog owners were the only people who truly enjoyed being approached and talked to on the street. They loved having their babies admired. If she let the customer in, she could probably play with the puppy.
Without considering the matter any further, Maggie smiled and unlocked the door. “We’re closed,” she said. “What an adorable dog.”
“Well, the sign’s up, but you’re still here. Can’t you make an exception for a few seconds? I wanted to buy that shirt for a friend’s birthday.” The woman was tall, imperious. She pointed at an array of blouses in the display window. “I’ve been meaning to drop by all week, but just haven’t had a minute to come in for it. I’m going away,” she said peevishly, “and if I don’t get it now, I won’t ever be able to.”
Through the half-open door, Maggie reached out to pat the dog’s head.
The woman smiled and pushed in. She backed Maggie into the store, moving her shoulder at the same time so the dog in the canvas bag was out of reach. The door clicked behind her.
Maggie’s attention was on the puppy. It was definitely a tiny poodle. The fur was still as fluffy as unspun silk, and she wanted to touch its baby softness. As she reached out to pet it, the puppy’s velvety tongue darted out to lick her. “Oh,” she cried.
“Don’t touch the dog,” the woman said sharply. “You going to sell me the blouse or not?”
“Which one is it?” Maggie asked, putting her mind on the sale. There were several blouses in the window. Then, unable to resist, she added, “What’s its name?” about the dog. “How old is it?”
“Right there. The white one. Hurry up, I don’t have all night.”
“It’s the cutest dog I’ve ever seen,” Maggie cried, unable to take her eyes off it. The pale puppy fluff stood on end, as if it had just been brushed, or electrified. She reached out one finger to touch it.
“Can’t you hear? I said don’t touch the dog.” The woman backed away angrily. “Are you going to get me that shirt, or am I going to have to complain to your boss?”
Maggie flinched at her tone, suddenly uneasy. The woman’s face had frozen into a mask of fury. Maggie hesitated. What would Elsbeth want her to do?
“What’s your problem? I asked for that shirt. Get it for me.”
“The one in the window is a petite. I don’t think we have any white ones in your size left,” Maggie said slowly, glancing toward the back room by the dressing room, where only the blouses and cotton sweaters were stored. The door was open, but from where she stood she couldn’t see the shelves stacked with colorful items in plastic bags. She couldn’t remember if there was a white one left or not. In any case, she didn’t want to leave the woman alone in the shop while she looked. There was something odd about her.
“Well, go and look. Hurry up, I don’t have all night,” she repeated.
Well, Maggie didn’t have all night either. She was hungry and tired and getting anxious about the way the large, pushy woman was talking to her. A muscle jumped in her cheek and now she was looking around as if she planned to take something the minute Maggie turned her back. If the woman stole something, Maggie would have to pay for it with her salary. What did the woman want? All kinds of things happened in New York. Maybe she was a criminal. Maggie hesitated, unsure what the right thing to do was. She didn’t want to make the wrong move. But what was the right move with someone like this?
The puppy winked at her, its head cocked to one side.
Angrily, the woman moved closer. “Just get me the damn shirt and I’ll get out of here.”
Okay. That was it. New Yorkers were something. They had to have what they wanted when they wanted it and didn’t care how they got it. Maggie decided to get the damn shirt. As she turned toward the closet, her elbow accidentally brushed the canvas bag. The puppy, poised like a panther, its front paws together and head drawn back, suddenly leapt out of the bag. Maggie caught it in her arms like a short pass in the end zone.
It was unbelievably soft and sweet. Like a baby, it clung to Maggie’s neck and covered her eyes, lips, and nose with warm, velvety kisses. They were the last kisses she would ever receive.
The woman grabbed the dog, wrenching Maggie’s arm in a fury.
“Ow.” Maggie’s eyes filled with tears. “Let go.”
“Damn bitch. I told you not to touch my dog.”
“Hey, what’re you doing? Don’t. You’re hurting me.”
The woman seemed to have forgotten the dog. The dog was on the floor, sniffing around. “You get it for me. You hear me? You get that shirt for me.” Ranting, she shoved Maggie toward the storeroom.
One of Maggie’s arms was twisted so badly she was sure her shoulder was dislocated. “Stop.” Suddenly frantic, she tried to pull away, get to the front door, and push the alarm. The woman was much stronger than she was. She pushed Maggie the other way, toward the back room.
Maggie resisted and felt something give in her shoulder.
“Help!” she screamed, but the door to the street was closed and locked. On the other side of it, the sidewalk was empty. No one was window-shopping. There was an alarm button by the money drawer. Maggie was dragged away from that, too. She couldn’t reach anything. For an instant she saw the dog sitting on the floor in the shop, watching her struggle with great interest. Then it squatted and peed. Maggie’s last thought before she was shoved into the back room and the door slammed on them was that the dog was a girl.
“Bitch,” the woman cried. “I’ll teach you to touch other people’s things.”
“Ow.” Maggie clawed at the door with her uninjured hand.
“Stop that.” The woman started shaking her so violently that her head snapped back and forth. “Stop that! Stop taking my things. You can’t have my things.”
“I didn’t—I don’t—No!”
The woman let go of Maggie’s shoulders and gripped her throat. With both hands she started shaking her by the neck.
“Always taking my things. Can’t have my things. Think you can fool me. No. You can’t fool me.”
“Agggh.” Maggie was choking. Her eyes bulged. “Agggh.” She kicked out, trying to scream, to get away. She blacked out for a second, then revived when the pressure eased.