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The bichon was growing testy. Some of that might have been fatigue. “He’s too wily to fall for that. More fox than bird .”He paused. We’d returned to the corner by the Horlick house. I could feel him gathering his resources and felt my heart go out to him. No matter how tough he might style himself, Growler was still a little dog at the mercy of a bitter old human.
    “We all have our leash and collars. ” I nodded in silent agreement. “What you’ve got to ask yourself is how much would be too much. And how far…?” He was panting. “How far could jealousy push you?”

Chapter Five
    It was a good question, and one I made myself ponder as I drove back into what passes for the heart of our town. Growler might have been talking about Tracy Horlick, and I had to confess, I was getting a vicarious thrill from the idea that the old bag both had an admirer of some kind—and that she had lost him. Then again, the little dog could have said the same about me. Not only did he bear no love for women in general, his own liaisons had been, of necessity, brief, temporary, and all-too-often unconsummated, a sacrifice to the so-called domesticity he was trapped in. If sometimes he got a little catty, so to speak, I could understand it.
    However, I couldn’t help but wonder if Growler had been trying to communicate something else, something about the body in the woods. Animals, as I’ve said, aren’t sentimental, and there was no reason for Growler to focus in on the woman that piece of carnage had once been. But he had—at least, I thought he had—given me a distinct impression of panic, of a desperation that probably transcended even his rudest attempts at describing my romantic plight.
    This was good because Spot had been unusually silent, even for him. Service dogs, I’d discovered, tended to be uncommunicative. The dedication and focus that allows a creature to bury his individual identity in the role of helping another, particularly one of a different species, didn’t make for a chatty animal. And the excitement of the day—the walk in the woods, the discovery, and then the opportunity to use his dog-given skills to find the body a second time—had occupied his entire consciousness. At least, that part I could access. If there had been more the bigger dog might have picked up, I wasn’t getting it. I suspected there was, though. Not just about the body itself, but about the circumstances that had left that poor woman there. Had Spot been trying to protect me, letting me share that sense of something wild, something truly dangerous, but no more? Had he been trying to shield me from the fear that Growler had picked up? The utter terror?
    I simply didn’t know. There was so much those more acute animal senses could have told me. Maybe he had been sharing the scent of another animal, a scavenger who might have found her before we did. The lingering aroma of any drug or other intoxicant that might have led a woman off, alone, into the forest. Even—Growler’s words came back to me—the presence of another. Someone who had taken the woman in love or in rage, and left her, broken, in the wilderness.
    No, for that kind of information, I’d need a more communicative beast. Barring that, I’d have to settle for Creighton.
    Jim’s unmarked cruiser was in its usual spot when I arrived, and I took a moment to do some uncustomary preening in my rearview mirror. Unlike Dr. Kroft, my hair is neither smooth nor orderly and instead falls in a cascade of rowdy black curls when I don’t have it tied back for work. I freed it now, running my fingers through it to loosen those curls and let the spring dampness plump them up. That’s about all I could manage, in a car. It had been enough in the past.
    “Hey, Pru.” I hadn’t even made it to the front door when Albert hailed me. As portly as a hibernating bear, and just as shaggy, the Beauville animal-control officer barreled across the parking lot, one hand holding either