Bloodlines

have to wait. I hated him on sound.
    “Is Mr. Coakley there?” I asked.
    The voice was ripe with fake heartiness. “Don’t see nobody else around, so that’s got to be me, don’t it?” A chorus of high-pitched yapping almost drowned the reply. It came from his end of the line, of course. Rowdy and Kimi were dozing on the kitchen floor, and, in any case, malamutes don’t yap. They let out an occasional yip when the situation warrants it. They can bark, but seldom do. Sometimes they howl. They also speak their native language: Rrrrlll? Rrrwwww. Woo- woo-woo-woo. Talking, it’s called. It is, too. Once you’re used to it, it’s as plain as English. Anyway, whatever Coakley’s dogs spoke wasn’t English and wasn’t Malamute, either.
    I tried to project my voice. “My name is Holly Winter. I’m calling about the malamute you’re boarding.”
    “Gotcha,” he said.
    “I’m the person who’s supposed to pick her up. I’m from Malamute Rescue. I wanted to make sure you’d be there.”
    “Well, we’re always here. We ain’t got nowhere else to go.”
    “Then I’ll be right out. I’m in Cambridge. I’m leaving now.
    “Slow down,” he said, as if I sounded hysterical. “Just slow down.”
    “Is there some problem?”
    “No problem at all. Your friend come this morning and took the dog.”
    “Betty Burley?”
    “If you say so.”
    “I don’t say so. I’m asking you. Who picked up the malamute?”
    “Your friend, what’s-her-name. She come and got the dog already. She come and got her this morning.”
    Of course, it seemed just like that damned Enid Sievers, with her silly conviction that Betty Burley was adopting Missy. Enid Sievers hadn’t bothered to let me know that Missy was no longer with her and that I shouldn’t go there to pick her up. She also hadn’t bothered to tell me that Betty was going to Coakley’s. I thanked Coakley, hung up, and called Betty.
    “Picked her up?” Betty said. “I didn’t pick her up.”
    “Well, who did?” I asked. “Has Enid Sievers called you?”
    “I haven’t talked to her since whenever it was. Friday. Who is the guy? Coakley? Give me his number. I’ll straighten this out.”
    Beta dogs, those of subordinate rank, must feel that same sense of comfort when an alpha takes charge. Betty had been dealing with this kind of mess for years. She could handle it. Not fifteen minutes after we’d hung up, she called back.
    “He says the owner came and got her,” Betty reported.
    “No, she didn’t,” I said. “Enid Sievers left Missy there for us to pick up. She decided it was easier. Also, she wouldn’t give me the papers. And she tried to sell me a crate.”
    “Yeah, well, she probably left the board bill for us to pick up, too,” said the voice of experience. “But if she did, you’d think this Coakley...”
    “Yeah, you would,” I agreed.
    “I don’t like the sound of this. I’d feel a lot better if the bitch was spayed.”
    “She definitely isn’t,” I said. “I’ll bet anything that Edgar wanted her to be able to fulfill herself. As a woman, right? He sounds like the type. Anyway, Enid Sievers has this crazy idea that you’re dying to adopt Missy, and I don’t know what she thinks I’m doing, but she doesn’t like me. Maybe if you call her...?” Betty agreed. While I waited for her to call back, I had a sudden inspiration about tattoos. Here’s what it was, and it’s a good idea. It didn’t solve my own problem, of course, but it’s the world’s first surefire plan to cure anyone of buying a dog on impulse ever again. Here’s how it works: Pick out the puppy you want. Hand over your cash, check, or credit card. And stop right there. Don’t put that hand back in your pocket. Let it rest on the nearest comfortable surface. Any place will do. Any place at all. And relax. This won’t hurt a bit. Sally Brand knows what she’s doing. Oh, you don’t want the puppy’s portrait permanently embellishing your wrist? Your back? Chest? You don’t want the tattoo at all? Well, then, I guess you don’t really want the dog after all, do you? Great scheme. No permanent commitment, no dog. Absolutely simple.
    Betty called back.
    “She says that Coakley just called her,” Betty said. “He’s telling her he found the dog a good home.”
    “I don’t believe that,” I said. “I mean, I believe you. I just don’t believe he—”
    “Yeah. This woman is... She’s on some other planet, if you ask me, but it does, uh,