The Dog Who Knew Too Much Read Online Free Page A

There weren’t even dust elephants under her bed. Maybe Daddy had paid for a maid, too.
    There was lots of makeup, bubble bath, body lotion, perfume, and some pretty necklaces hanging near the oak-framed mirror opposite the sink. She didn’t seem to lack anything. There were even condoms in the nightstand drawer.
    Perhaps there had been a sudden descent, something that made her feel she was falling down a bottomless black hole. Or maybe the change had been chemical. I thought about Elwood waddling down the alley.
    I walked around the bedroom once more, touching Lisa’s things, feeling that there was something missing. Of course. There was no dog bed. I undid the neatly made bed. On the side nearer the stairs, there was black fur on the sheet. The dog had not only slept on the bed, she’d slept under the covers.
    Years ago, when I training dogs for a living, I’d had a client named April Anton, a nurse, who had hired me to train a little dog she had rescued from the shelter. She’d called her Penny because the adoption counselor had told her the pup looked like a scent hound, and April, who had always taken advantage of her access to drugs, heard it as “cent hound.”
    But I never got to finish the course. One evening her brother called to cancel the last lesson. When April hadn’t shown up for her shift and hadn’t answered the phone, he’d been called. He’d gone to her house to find that his sister had reached the end of her ability to tolerate her troubles. He found her in bed, the cigarette she had been smoking burned down to her fingers, Penny pressed close against her side. After calling 911, he’d called the animal shelter and arranged to have his sister’s dog euthanized.
    I’d always wondered how she’d been able to desert Penny. Now I found myself wondering how Lisa had been able to leave her dog so unsafe. Lisa’s parents hadn’t even mentioned her. I wondered where she was and what would become of her. I sat on the bed, picked up the phone, and called Marsha Jacobs.
    â€œMarsha? It’s Rachel.”
    â€œYes, dear,” she said. “Have you learned something?”
    â€œI’m calling about, um, well, you didn’t say and I was wondering, was Lisa seeing anyone recently?”
    â€œThere was a young man she mentioned, a Paulie Wilcox. But we never met him, this Paulie person.”
    That made sense. Barring the use of torture or drugs, who would discuss their love life with their parents or sacrifice an innocent young man by bringing him home for the grand inquisition?
    â€œDo you know if she was still seeing him at the time, um, recently?”
    â€œI don’t know for sure.”
    â€œOh, okay, and one other thing I wanted to ask was about the dog, Lisa’s Akita.”
    â€œYes?”
    I hesitated, afraid of what I might hear. “Where is she now?”
    â€œWith Avram, dear. Why? Do you want her?”
    For a moment I listened to the sound of Dashiell breathing and the hum of the refrigerator from downstairs.
    â€œI’m sure she’s lovely, but I already have a dog.”
    â€œMaybe Avram will keep her. She’s used to him.”
    â€œOne other thing, Marsha, about the note, Lisa’s note—”
    â€œHer apology?” her mother asked.
    â€œUm. Yes.”
    Now the silence was on her end of the line. I could hear some muffled conversation, as if the mouthpiece had been covered.
    â€œWe didn’t mention it—”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œBecause we thought it was personal.”
    â€œI see,” I said. But I didn’t. I thought it was very queer that they hadn’t mentioned the note. Then again, they hadn’t said much else about the circumstances of the suicide, and Marty hadn’t thought that weird at all. Still, I’d ask about the note again, but only when I could see them.
    â€œWell, I’ll be in touch, okay, Marsha, and thank