All Shots

knew who I was,” I said. “Grant used to show Alaskan malamutes. He bred them. Then he hit hard times. Drugs. His marriage broke up. He abandoned his dogs. She must have heard about me from Grant.”
    “His dogs. The least of it,” Holly said.
    “From your viewpoint maybe. But I think she really loved the dog. If he was a threat to Streak... Strike, then maybe that’s when she’d had enough. And if they were actually making meth, the environment would’ve been toxic. The dog could’ve been poisoned.”
    “You’re very charitable,” she said snidely.
    We fell silent, mainly because we’d have had to shout to make ourselves heard above the roar of an approaching motorcycle. It wove its way through the jam of cruisers and turned into Mellie’s driveway. Even from two houses away, I recognized it immediately: the Harley-Davidson Screamin’ Eagle Ultra Classic Electra Glide, the Alaskan malamute of motorcycles, the vehicular twin of my own Rowdy. I recognized Adam immediately. Every light in Mellie’s house was on, as were the streetlamps, of course, and porch lights up and down the block. The unnatural brightness and the flashing lights of the cruisers made for a theatrical effect that gave Adam a stronger resemblance than ever to Moses. In this setting, however, he favored Charlton Heston’s portrayal more than he did Michelangelo’s statue. Since he’d originally been looking for what I now guessed was either methamphetamine or drug money that he’d expected to get from the third Holly Winter, as I guess I’ll call her, I couldn’t understand why he’d voluntarily entered this macabre street festival, with all its cruisers, its unmarked law-enforcement vehicles, and its uniformed and plainclothes personnel. As I watched, I half expected Adam to hurl a grenade or stage some other kind of violent attack and half expected the police to slap handcuffs on him and confiscate the gorgeous Harley.
    Two halves make a whole. Therefore, I was wholly wrong. After conferring with some authoritative types in plain clothes, Adam came striding down the sidewalk. When he reached Dr. Ho’s porch, he nodded to me, held out his hand, and said, “Al Papadopoulos. Special agent, U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration. Gabrielle sends her regards.”
    “Names are so confusing, aren’t they?” I said. “I mean, Adam. Or is it Al? What’s in a name, anyway? It’s hard to remember which is yours, I guess. Unless your name is Holly Winter. In that case, it’s easy, since there are so many of us. Our only trouble is keeping track of who’s who.”
    “Just doing my job,” said Al. “Sorry. The malamute. The name Holly Winter. Calvin Jones getting a couple of calls from pay phones in Cambridge, Massachusetts. That little misunderstanding about Gabrielle’s wood lot. I had to check you out.”
    “Her name really was Holly Winter.” I was still finding the truth hard to grasp. “She didn’t borrow mine. That actually was her name.”
    Holly Winter and the DEA agent spoke simultaneously: “Yes.”
    “She knew who I was,” I said. “Malamutes. Rescue. Where I live. Back there”—I pointed toward Mellie’s house—“Grant said that he was sick and that she beat him up and put him in the hospital. She fractured his skull and ruptured his spleen. Or so he said.”
    “Basilar skull fracture,” Al said. “That was the least of what she did. He was in the hospital for four days. Got out a week ago yesterday. Then he was back in. The ruptured spleen didn’t show up on the X-rays the first time around, so they missed it.”
    “Tough cookie,” said Holly Winter.
    “Which one?” I asked.
    “Her,” said Holly. “Holly Winter. You, too. QED.” She paused. “Which was to be demonstrated.”
    She had a gift for getting my hackles up. “I didn’t actually require the translation,” I said.
    “I’m trying to thank you.”
    “You’re welcome,” I said.
     

CHAPTER 34
     
    Mellie clung to her determination to sleep in her own bed. The police told her that she couldn’t. Neighbors cajoled. Francie showed up and spoke gently and persistently. We got nowhere until I promised Mellie that if she stayed with me, she could share a room with Rowdy and, if she liked, a second malamute as well. She jumped at the chance. Still, I understood her desire to be at home. I felt the same way, and it seemed to take forever to get there, in part because Kevin Dennehy finally arrived and insisted on hearing everything