Rachel Alexander 05 - The Wrong Dog

side of the back cottage that faced Sophie’s apartment. Apparently, whoever lived there had just come home, because behind the curtain of the little window, which had been dark all evening, there was now light.
    I felt Blanche slip out from under the blanket and a moment later heard the sound of her nails on the wooden floor. I could see her white form, moving slowly, like a ghost, as she walked toward Sophie’s bedroom. The door had swung shut, but the lock hadn’t clicked. She pushed the door with her great nose and disappeared behind it. I heard the bottom of the iguana cage creak, thinking Leslie must have turned around to see who was there. I heard the bed moan as Blanche went to sleep where she belonged, in her mistress’s bed. I hugged Dashiell tighter, and fell immediately asleep.
    It was the sound of the tumbler turning over that woke me. Or was it the dogs? Dashiell was missing and had pulled the cover half off me when he’d left. Bianca was gone, too.
    I sat up, my eyes adjusting to the dark.
    Dashiell barked, Bianca backing him up.
    I crawled over to the foot of the couch, which gave me a view of the dark hallway, then a slice of light as the door to Sophie’s apartment opened.
    With only the dim light coming from the hall behind him, I couldn’t see his face. But I could see that he was short and wide, nearly as wide as the doorway it seemed.
    “Stop right where you are,” I said.
    “Who’s here?”
    “Who are you?”
    He stayed where he was, neither dog moving away to let him in.
    “It’s Joe, the super.”
    “What the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night?”
    “The lights was out,” he said.
    I squinted at my watch.
    “It’s three in the fucking morning. Of course the lights are out. I’m trying to sleep.”
    “Well, who the hell are you?”
    “A friend. I’m a friend of Sophie’s. I’m staying here to take care of her dogs.”
    “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
    But before I had the chance to answer, he’d slammed the door and locked it. I sat on the couch in the dark, a dog on either side of me, for a long time, the blanket wrapped around me like a cocoon. The window on the second floor of the back cottage was dark again, but the moon was shining into the garden. I hadn’t noticed that earlier. There might have been cloud cover then.
    Suddenly, Dash and Bianca were at the garden door, whining, hackles up, tails as stiff as if they’d been starched. I jumped up to see what it was this time.
    He was standing up on his haunches, nearly as big as a cat, his dark, beady eyes looking straight at us, then he took off in the direction of that back brick wall and disappeared. The last thing I could see was his long, hairless tail.
    I went back to the couch to wait for morning.

Chapter 14
    Are You a Cop? She Asked

    The doorbell woke me. Dashiell barked but the bullies merely wagged their tails, pushing him out of the way so that they could greet the visitor first.
    “Is Sophie here?” she asked, a woman of about sixty with a long gray braid, a long Indian-style dress with a sweater over it, Birkenstocks with socks on her long narrow feet. “I’ve come for . . .” She stopped and stared. Perhaps it was the fact that I’d thrown Sophie’s raincoat over my T-shirt and underpants before answering the door.
    “For Leslie?”
    “Yes. I promised Sophie I’d come early, before she had to leave for school.”
    She looked confused, and who could blame her. She didn’t know who the hell I was or why I was standing there. She didn’t know where Sophie was. Now I was going to have to tell her. I opened my mouth but she beat me to it.
    “Something’s wrong. Is it Leslie?”
    “No,” I said, “it’s Sophie. You better come in.”
    I offered her tea, which she refused, but after I told her what had happened, she changed her mind.
    “Green tea, please.” She was pointing. “The second canister, the blue one.”
    I put on the kettle. She went to get Leslie. I could hear her talking to the iguana the moment the bedroom door was open.
    “Thank you for taking care of her.” She stood in the doorway of the kitchen with Leslie on her shoulder, her nails poking through the stitches of the sweater. “Let it steep,” she said.
    I looked up.
    “The tea. And I take it with a spoon of honey in it.”
    We sat on the couch. Leslie walked onto the back pillows and stretched out. Looking into her eyes for the first time, I understood there was an