Fall Guy

in his eyes, all the enthusiasm in the world balled up and shoved into the very idea of a walk around the neighborhood, one of the many things I loved about dogs. And one other, the joy they got from working. Of course Dashiell didn't know he'd be working on this walk. He didn't know that until we got to Twelfth Street and I told him to find bones. I tapped the closest tree pit, this one planted with pink impatiens, and repeated the command. He checked it out in no time, moving on to the next and then the next. We snaked down one side of the street, back up the other, staying between Greenwich and Washington streets, working our way to Horatio and the tree pit with the buried teeth.
    When we were coming around the north side of Jane Street, Dashiell stopped, his head hanging over the tree pit with the buried feathers. I thought he'd turn to look at me, that I'd tell him, „No, leave it, find bones,“ but that's not what happened. He bent his head over the earth that covered the feathers, shook it once and then headed for the next tree.
    I decided to keep my mouth shut and let him work. I could see the alertness in every muscle in his body. He didn't need to be interrupted with praise or petting. I had no doubt that he knew exactly what he was doing. I had no doubt he'd stop at the tree pit where I'd buried the teeth, sit, turn to look at me and bark once. Which is what he did. „Piece of cake,“ he might as well have been thinking. „Next.“
    I didn't have the spoon with me, so I used a plastic pick-up bag to scoop away the earth. I let him peer down the small hole. I told him he was the greatest dog ever born. And then I picked out the teeth, turned the bag inside out and made a knot in it, dropping it in my pocket.
    I was only a couple of doors away from O'Fallon's building. When I stood, I saw a young couple coming out, the man carrying a baby stroller down the steps and placing it on the sidewalk, the baby screaming at the top of her lungs. It seemed Emma was still having teething problems. He was very tall, a chunky man with an awkward gait. His wife was small with something steely in her posture, a determination in her stride, even when she was accompanying a yowling baby. I was going to introduce myself, but they headed the other way, perhaps in the hope that a walk along the river would put the unhappy baby to sleep.
    The house on the comer of Horatio and Greenwich streets was being renovated. We walked under the sidewalk bridge hung with dusty plastic sheets. The first-floor windows were covered with opaque plastic to keep the dust out. Or maybe it was to keep it in. If that was so, it wasn't doing a very good job. I could feel the grit of construction debris under my shoes and taste the dust in my mouth as we walked between the ghostlike building and the long, low Dumpster at the curb.
    Back at home, I mixed the ground turkey into the vegetable mix and gave Dash an extra large portion. He'd finished eating before I put away the rest of his food. I didn't feel like cooking for myself, so I picked up the phone, called Pepe Verde and ordered chicken Milanese, and while I waited for my food to arrive, I laid out the things I wanted to take with me in the morning. It was going to be a long day, Maggie there early, then the memorial, perhaps dealing with Parker and the things he'd left behind, some of which, as he had apparently figured out, would not be where he'd left them. I thought I'd put him off again, at least until Maggie had gone home. I didn't think Maggie O'Fallon needed to deal with Parker Bowling on the day of her brother's memorial service.
    I planned to go to bed right after eating, get up early and get to O'Fallon's. I needed to make sure the shower curtain was closed. I thought I'd throw some towels over the rod, too, make it less likely the curtain would be opened. I had no idea how curious Maggie would be, how much she'd want to know, or to face. Perhaps in her heart she already knew the truth. Perhaps she knew more than I could guess.
    I decided to sit outside for a few minutes before going to bed. As it turned out, I sat in the garden until all the lights in the neighboring buildings had gone out. And then I sat there even longer. There was a cloud cover and I couldn't see any stars. Even the moon was difficult to make out, a shadowy crescent, pale and undelineated. Instead of lying under the oak tree or poking his big head into the ivy, looking for God knows what, Dashiell sat with me