Rachel Alexander 05 - The Wrong Dog

else who knew that too many testicles in a small, enclosed area was not a good idea. I noticed that the Shepherd’s hackles were up as he was taken past Dash. Boys will be boys.
    Mel slipped off his faded denim jacket and laid it on the bench for Blanche so that she would be between us, but instead of lying down there, she came into my lap, curled herself into a knot, and, with her back tight against my stomach, fell into a fitful sleep.
    I pulled the jacket up over her, watching her eyes twitch and blink as she wrestled in her dreams with the loss of her mistress.
    “They said I could take care of the dogs, as long as I do it out of Sophie’s apartment.” He looked over at Bianca, then down at Blanche, and shrugged. “I can’t take them back to Sophie’s until they call me, in a day or two. They said they’d try to hurry it up, because of the dogs, but I don’t think they will. I mean, dogs, why would they even care about them, or about us?” He glanced over at Bianca again, to make sure she was okay.
    “What happens to the dogs until the cops release the apartment? Short-term, can you take them home?”
    “No. Well, I can take Bianca. I’ve had her before, when Sophie and Blanche went to a conference, about six months ago. Margaret took to Bianca like a duck to Twinkles, but she’d be much too much for Blanche. It would be like having two Biancas to put up with.” He smiled at the thought. “Blanche’d be miserable. You see how she is, don’t you?”
    I didn’t have to look. I had fifty or so pounds of Blanche on my lap, her legs moving as if she thought she could run away from what must be the worst thing that had ever happened to her in her life.
    That’s when I remembered. Blanche had been a rescue dog. This wasn’t the first time she’d been abandoned.
    “I’ll take her,” I said. “Dashiell will be fine with her and I have a yard. It’ll be like home.”
    Mel looked stunned and I felt my stomach knot up.
    “I mean, she’ll be able to go out as much as she wants to. I didn’t mean that...”
    “I know. It’s just that..
    “Yeah.”
    I reached out to touch his arm, but Blanche started slipping off my legs so I put my hand back where it was, to brace her.
    “Even when the cops release the apartment, then what?” he asked. “We can’t leave the dogs there alone.“
    “No—not even if we walk them four times a day. They can’t be left alone.”
    “Suppose I stay there with them. Well, with Margaret and Bianca.”
    “Thanks, Mel, but I need to get in there, to spend some time there. When the detectives call you, tell them you’re going to stay there for a few days, to take care of the animals, until we figure out what to do about them long-term. But I’ll be the one who’ll actually be there.”
    “You’re sure? I don’t mind doing it. Or maybe we could both . . .”
    I gave him a look, but he missed it. He’d apparently found something very important on the ground and was looking at that.
    “Thanks,” I said, “but I think I can handle it myself.” He didn’t say anything. His neck was still a nice shade of red.
    “But you can help by answering some questions.“
    “Sure. Anything.”
    I took a breath, wondering what planet this guy had landed here from. “Did Sophie ever say anything about any arrangements she’d made for the dogs, just in case?”
    He shook his head. “She once told me you can have a fatal seizure, meaning she could have one. But she didn’t say what would happen to the dogs. ‘Who would I call?’ I asked her. ‘Who would take Blanche and Bianca?’ I figured, as long as she’d brought it up, I ought to ask. My clients tell me things like that, the ones who live alone. There’s a letter in the top drawer of the desk, one guy told me. It says who Pinky goes to, like you said, in case. But Sophie never said. She’d had a really bad seizure and she looked really depressed. Not that I blame her.”
    “She never mentioned any relatives to you? Not even that time? Or in passing—you know—I won’t be here next week, I’m going to Terre Haute to visit my sister? Nothing like that?”
    He shook his head. “Look, I was her dog walker. I hardly ever saw her. Even the money—she just left my check on that table near the door. Sometimes she’d call me to say Bianca had diarrhea and could I come as early as possible, or that she didn’t eat, her food was in the refrigerator, could I give it to her after I took her to the run. Except