Mean Woman Blues

Anybody could have come in and just… nailed him.”
    “He was shot?”
    “Oh, I wish. He would have been if you’d been here. I’d have gotten your gun and done it myself. He was poisoned. He died in horrible agony.”
    “Oh, Steve! You saw it.”
    “Yeah… Yeah… I heard him out here, kind of making little whimpering noises. So I came out, and he just didn’t look right, you know what I mean? I can’t explain it, you could just tell he felt bad. And he was salivating a lot, so I knew he’d eaten something. Then I noticed his rear end was quivering and then his shoulders. Skip, he was shaking all over, like a Chihuahua. I touched him, and he yipped, like it hurt, and he was hot, like he had a fever. And then he fell down. Can you imagine how sad that was?” He was tearing up again, and his voice was getting loud and outraged.
    Skip put herself in his shoes. “And you didn’t want to leave him to call the vet because you were afraid he might die without you.” She wondered which decision she’d have made.
    “It wasn’t even like that; I knew it was too late. I just had to watch him die. I couldn’t even hold him or stroke him, because it hurt him. I just hope my being there was… I don’t know—
something
for him.”
    Skip wondered if she could hug Steve, or if, right now, he couldn’t be touched either. She opened her arms, and Steve folded himself around her. “I’m so sorry.”
    He spoke against her shoulder, so that she could feel his breath. “Who would do something like that to an innocent animal?”
    For once, Napoleon did look innocent. “Jacomine,” she said and wished she hadn’t almost immediately.
    Instantly Steve turned his outrage on her. “What did you say? Did you say ‘Jacomine’? Skip, this isn’t about you. This is about that poor dog lying over there.”
    “Napoleon… uh… had enemies?” She was trying to strike a semi-light note without seeming completely heartless; she was also fishing for information.
    “You ought to know,” he said resentfully.
    She knew what he was doing: that anger and sadness were closely related, that he was using one to cover the other. It was the sort of thing she might do herself. But it felt terrible when you were the object of the anger.
    As if to restore the peace, Steve said, “The neighbors hate him. I get all kinds of complaints because he barks too much.”
    “It takes a really crazy person to kill a dog.” Skip spoke neutrally, hoping he’d think about it.
    “Naaah, it just takes a heartless redneck drunk.”
    “Anybody around here like that?”
    “Everybody.”
    “I’m serious. This would take planning. You’d have to figure out…”
    “You wouldn’t have to figure out shit! You’d just go out to your garage, find something that said CAUTION! in great big letters, put it in a hot dog, and lob it over the fence.” He shrugged to make his point. “Simple as that.”
    Could be
, she thought. But her heart was about to pound out of her chest. She pulled out her cell phone. “Excuse me for a moment.”
    “Who’re you calling?”
    She twitched her lip a bit as if mouthing a name, and turned her back slightly, hoping he’d think it was so she could hear better. She was calling Shellmire of the FBI.
    Consulting his caller I.D., he answered, “How’s it going, big girl?”
    “Watch that ‘big’ stuff, Turner.”
    “Whatcha got, kid?”
    “Someone poisoned Steve’s dog.”
    “Jacomine?” he fired back, making it a question, but Skip was gratified that his mind had leapt to the same place hers had.
    “Steve says not. He says the dog had enemies.”
    “You know how crazy someone has to be to kill a dog?”
    She almost laughed, hearing her own words come back to her. “I wish we were on a speaker phone. He thinks I’m paranoid.”
    “Let me talk to him.”
    “Turner, he’s not really in any condition to talk.”
    “Skip, I know he’s your boyfriend. But this is a big-deal federal case, in case you’ve forgotten. Also, somebody just shot at you, and with that dog out of the way, you’ll be a much easier target.”
    “Yeah, I thought of that.” Sighing, she held out the phone. “Shellmire wants to talk to you.”
    “Shellmire? You called Shellmire?”
    “Just listen to what he has to say.”
    Actually, judging from what she could overhear, Shellmire had more questions to ask than admonitions to deliver. But he must have gotten a few of those in too. Steve was even sulkier when he got off the