Rachel Alexander 03 - A Hell of a Dog

drinking last night, perhaps he got the time or place wrong.“
    „He probably finished it before you got out of bed, Boris. Did anyone check the breakfast room? He’s probably sitting there right now, drinking coffee, eating his pancakes,” Bucky said.
    There was more mumbling, no one wanting to go back and look, and then Chip was approaching again, with Betty.
    “I had the desk call up. There was no answer. I guess we’ll have to reschedule this. What’s on for tomorrow morning?“
    „Not be so off the wall. Boris lay track,” he said.
    Everyone turned to look at Boris, who was grinning because he’d fooled us. Or was he grinning over his mastery of American idiom? I couldn’t be sure.
    “When he no show, not answer door, I leave Sasha in room, come back, and lay track for you.”
    “Oh, I get it,” Bucky said. “It was Boris and Chip doing the goof. Fine, we’re ready. Surprise us.” He gestured with his hand when he spoke, his fingers as plump as Ballpark Franks.
    “We’ve already wasted half an hour,” I said. “Let’s get started. Boris?”
    Boris led us a few feet into the park and pointed to an area between two trees.
    “She’ll move pretty fast once she gets the scent,” Chip said. “Boris, you better go have another breakfast since you laid the track. You’ll confuse her if you stay.”
    “No difficulty,” he said, smacking himself hard on the stomach. “In case you get lost, Boris do opening speech. You still not back, Boris eat your lunch and do afternoon, psychic readings by Boris. Boris hope you find way back by dinner. Radio predict more rain.”
    “We’re onto your scheme,” Rick said. “Time to confess, Pressman. The charade is over. So the three of you cooked up this little goof, right?”
    “Whatever you say, Rick. I’m ready. Anyone for coming along?”
    We each took one step forward. Even if it was a scam, hell, more’s the fun if it was, we surely wouldn’t want to miss seeing how it would play out. Maybe Betty would lead us on a long chase through the densest part of the park, and at the end of die trail Alan would be lying on the ground, mouth open, arms and legs askew, the found victim. Or he’d be sitting on a blanket in the middle of the Sheep Meadow with Sam, and a great, huge picnic breakfast for us all, both of them laughing.
    Chip addressed Betty. “Good girl,” he told her, whispering urgently, “go find.” She began to sniff and circle, then suddenly she was moving, nose to the ground, Chip hanging tight to the long line attached to her padded harness. Going at a moderate pace at first, she headed farther and farther into the park. Every once in a while she’d stop and search the ground, circling or moving left or right. Or she’d sneeze, clearing the way for new scents, just as the family dog riding with his head out the car window does, then she’d be off again, pulling Chip behind her.
    We all followed, running to keep up, finding ourselves being led through thick low bushes, our shoes sinking into the wet earth, winding our way around trees, being careful not to trip over roots and fallen branches as we snaked around the park. Betty was going at a steady clip, across the path and onto the grass, all of us following after her.
    “Couldn’t just do it straight,” Bucky mumbled, starting to get out of breath as we all hurried to keep up with Chip and Betty. “They had to make a big production out of it.”
    “Be quiet,” Tracy said. “Let’s just do this.” Her face was damp, as if she were a plant someone had just misted, but unlike Bucky, she kept up.
    Betty veered toward the copse of trees where just yesterday I had taken Dash and then seen Alan working his dog in the meadow. So it was Alan after all, going exactly the same way he had gone yesterday. No imagination.
    But Betty was already off in another direction. She didn’t go into the meadow, nor did she continue along the way Dashiell and I had yesterday, toward the lake. She was heading north now, and she was covering ground fast.
    We crossed over the bridle path, half our band having to wait for some early-morning riders to pass and hopping around the fresh manure as they rushed to catch up. Betty was whining, moving at a full clip toward a deserted pathway thick with trees on both sides. Suddenly her cries revved up. Whatever Alan,
    Boris, and Chip had cooked up, we were there. But for those of us expecting the big gag, there was only disappointment Sure, Betty had