Square in the Face (Claire Montrose Series) by April Henry Read Free Book Online Page B

less definite. She stamped her foot again. Her mind was mesmerized by the sight of the dog’s wet open mouth, all sides lined with long pointed teeth. Its narrow black and tan muzzle revealed a Doberman as a recent ancestor. She made a shooing gesture with her closed fists and yelled “No!” again, but the dog didn’t budge, watching her with yellow eyes.
    Where was the dog’s owner? Claire cast a quick look back at the house from which it had came. The dog took that moment to leap at her. Her world narrowed to sharp ivory fangs set in wet pink gums. She scrambled backward, raising her forearm to shelter her jugular, already imagining the snick of teeth as they caught on bone.
    Her left foot landed on something soft, a pothole at the side of the road filled with pine needles. The spongy footing sank beneath her. With an audible pop, Claire’s ankle gave way.
    The sprained ankle saved her. The dog had angled it leap to meet her chest. Instead it soared over her as she fell. It landed in its yard, paws already scrabbling to turn around, but by this time its owner was upon it. He was a scruffy-looking guy, small and wiry, his hair still rooster-tailed from a nap. The stub of a hand-rolled cigarette was clenched between his lips. He almost fell out of his rubber flip-flops as he grabbed the snarling dog’s collar and began to pull it away.
    “You okay, lady?” He threw the question over his shoulder as he dragged the dog through the dirt and back to the house.
    Claire said yes as she got to her feet and limped away as fast as possible. She did not want to be anywhere near those teeth.
    BAD DOG
    ###
    “Wake up! Wake up! It’s time to wake up and have a happy day!” The persistently cheerful voice was accompanied by the hollow sound of someone knocking on glass. Claire groaned, then rolled over to hit the button of her Tom Peterson alarm clock.
    She swung her feet out of bed, ready to stumble to the bathroom and from there to her first cup of coffee. When she stood up, her left ankle buckled. As a lightning bolt of pain ran up her leg, she collapsed in a heap on the floor.
    Gingerly, she examined her injured ankle. Before she had gone to bed, Claire had used her bathrobe sash to wrap an ice pack around her ankle, but some time in the night it must have come loose. Her ankle was now streaked with purple, and swollen to twice its normal size. Sucking in her breath, Claire probed the worst of the swelling. There wasn’t even the slightest dimple to show where her ankle was. Maybe she had broken it. She tentatively tried wiggling her toes, then rotating her foot. Everything seemed to be working, albeit reluctantly.   Somewhere, though, she remembered reading that the ability to wiggle something didn’t necessarily mean you hadn’t broken it.
    Claire scooted over to the bottom bedpost and pulled herself upright, standing on just her right foot. Slowly, she tried to transfer some of her weight to her left foot, but it hurt too much. It was clear that she wasn’t going to be walking out of her room any time soon. She sat down on the floor again.
    “Charlie?” Claire waited a minute, then called out again, louder this time. “Charlie?” Then she remembered. Twice a week, Charlie took private lessons at Valley Ice. Claire occasionally accompanied her for the simple pleasure of watching her roommate practice. Dressed in a black unitard worn under a sheer black skirt, Charlie would stroke calmly down the ice, her hands clasped behind her back. One foot spoke and the other answered, the sound like a knife on a whetstone. If Charlie stopped for breakfast at Marcos Cafe afterward, as she liked to do, it might be several hours before she came home. Claire looked down at her ankle again. Was it her imagination, or was it even puffier than it had been a few minutes before?
    It was clear she needed a doctor. Doctor. That gave her an idea. Maybe she could kill two birds with one stone. After all, who would be more likely to know