Rachel Alexander 05 - The Wrong Dog

but, still. I think Sophie would want me to take care of Blanche. And for now, that’s what I intend to do.”
    “The police will find Joe.”
    I nodded.
    “When they do, I guess they’ll want you to ID him, and eventually testify against him.”
    “I suppose.”
    “You’ll be able to?”
    “No problem.”
    “And until then . . .”
    Blanche’s feet were moving. When she began to yelp in her sleep, we both reached out to stroke her.
    “Do you think she’ll make it?”
    “If she’s got a chance, Rachel, your taking care of her will give it to her. If you’d left her there ...” He shook his head. “I don’t think she would have lasted a day.”
    “I don’t know if she’ll last a day here.”
    “We have to wait and see.”
    After Chip left for work, promising he’d be back as early in the evening as he could, I called in the dogs and we all stayed with Blanche. I thought I’d sleep, lying against her back, the way I do with Dashiell. But as tired as I was, sleep did not come. I kept thinking about cloning, what it meant, where it would lead, if it would turn out to be another disastrous act of human hubris, like the atom bomb.
    I sent Dash for the phone and dialed a familiar number, one I hadn’t called in ages.
    “Ida?” I said when she picked up.
    “Rachel.”
    “I need a minute or two.”
    “Of course.”
    “Have you been following the news about cloning,” I asked, “about Dolly, the sheep?”
    “Cloning?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, yes, of course I’ve read about it. But what... ?“
    “I have a client whose dog was cloned. She, the client, was an epileptic and someone approached her about cloning her seizure-alert dog.”
    “You said she was an epileptic?”
    “She was murdered.”
    “How awful. And you’re trying to find out who killed her?”
    “I’m trying to find out how I feel about cloning right now. I feel really confused.“
    “Tell me about it.”
    “A lot of people think that procreation should be left to God.”
    “The Joyce Kilmer school of thinking?”
    “Yes,” I said.
    “And you think?”
    “Well, the thing is, yes, I’d agree with that. Or I would have. But this cloned dog, she’s wonderful. There’s nothing wrong with her.”
    “That you can see.”
    “That I can see.”
    “But perhaps . . .”
    “What I can’t see might be screwed up. Like this age thing, the shortened telomere. Or something else. Something worse.”
    “So what do you think about it, given that?”
    “If I knew what I thought, I wouldn’t have called.”
    “Ah. I was wondering about that. Why did you call?”
    “I told you.”
    “What’s really going on?” she asked, the way she always had. “I can hear that something’s bothering you and I can’t help wondering if it isn’t something more personal.” I took a big breath and let it out. Blanche, in her sleep, did the same. Dashiell sat up and cocked his head. Bianca was running in her sleep this time. Outside, some birds were squabbling over a branch. And I could hear some crazy person yelling, from way over on Tenth Street. How was I supposed to think in this crowd?
    But I did, suddenly seeing how stress and exhaustion had made me lose track of who I was and what I did. A moment later, the answer to her question came in the form of a picture, the image of Mel bleeding and dying in my arms. I looked down at myself, realizing I was still wearing the bloody shirt and jeans.
    “You’re right, as always,” I said into the phone. “It is more personal. Thank you.” Then I hung up without waiting for a response, my head clear again. I knew exactly what it was I had to do. I even knew why.

Chapter 27
    I Rotated the Knob and Gave a Push

    I put the phone down, lay my head on the carpet, right behind Blanche’s, and with the comforting smell of dog filling my senses, finally fell asleep. At two-thirty, the afternoon sun coming in the open door, the damn birds, their recent conflict a thing of the past, singing so loud they could wake the dead, I woke up, my heart pounding until I could feel that Blanche was still breathing. I didn’t realize until it rang again that it was the phone that had awakened me. Blanche opened her eyes as I eased my arm out from under her head. Her tail thumped against the rug and then she got up, taking her time, and walked slowly over to the open door.
    The phone rang again.
    “Alexander.”
    “Ms. Alexander? This is Preston Wexford, returning your call. You’re calling at a great