Rachel Alexander 05 - The Wrong Dog

navy cardigan, a scowl on the oval face, a half-smoked cigarette sticking out of the side of her mouth, the eye on that side closed to keep smoke out of it. Her hair was blond now, hunched hack with a barrette, pieces sticking up like rabbit ears. But all that took was a trip to the drugstore and a pair of rubber gloves. I couldn’t see if her nails were bitten. Still, I had no doubt about it, I had found Loma West.
    My man handed her the posies. She began to close the door.
    “I need you to sign the receipt,” he said.
    “Yeah, sure.”The cigarette bobbing with each word.
    He fished in his jacket pockets. Then his pants pockets.
    “I’m going to be in a heap of trouble.”
    She sighed. “Left it at the shop?”
    “Looks that way, miss.”
    He looked at her, his face so screwed up I believed him myself. This time I had a mirror because it would have been dangerous to appear to be paying attention to what shouldn’t seem to be any of my business. I tilted it, so that I could see her face.
    “How about if I write something on the envelope?”
    “That would be fine, miss. I thank you from the bottom of my—”
    “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all emotional about it. It’s just a receipt.” She took the cigarette out of her mouth and Sipped it past him, into the street. I saw the coal break up, bits and pieces flying in all directions, then going out. She stood there waiting.
    “A pen? No, don’t bother. You forgot that, too, right?”
    She handed him the flowers and went back inside, letting the door close in his face. But he put his foot out, clever man, and when the door hit his toes, it remained ajar. I listened to the sounds of her house, a television on somewhere in the back, nothing else, no dog barking from the yard or tick-ticking along the wooden floor after her mistress as she went to fetch the pen.
    A moment later she appeared with a ballpoint pen, clicking it open and snapping the envelope with the card inside it off the bouquet.
    “More trouble than it’s worth.”
    “Write the date, miss, and the time, then received from deliveryman, one nice bouquet.”
    She looked at him, the scowl deepening. I palmed the mirror, afraid a reflection from the lighted doorway would catch her eye and make her look my way.
    “You sure you don’t want War and Peace?”
    “Miss?”
    I heard her strike a match and smelled the sulfur.
    I heard nothing for a moment but kept my head down on my folded arms.
    “Here.”
    “Don’t forget the note.”
    I turned over the hand holding the mirror.
    He pulled the note I’d had the florist write out of the little envelope and handed it to her.
    I saw her take it in her fingers and turn it over. She inhaled hard, then slammed the door. I heard the lock turn over. I heard the chain go on. I listened, wondering if she’d move a bureau in front of the door next.
    The little man stood there, the flowers in the crook of his arm, not exactly Miss America, but grinning as if he were.
    He walked down the steps and, before he got to where I was, I got up and started down the block. I heard his feet shuffling along behind me. He caught up near the corner.
    “Did I do it right?”
    “You were perfect.”
    I handed him another ten. Hell, she’d screwed him out of a tip, it was the least I could do.
    He handed me the flowers.
    I shook my head. “You done for the day?”
    He nodded.
    “Take them home,” I said. “I bet you never buy flowers for yourself.”
    When he smiled, I saw that he never went to the dentist either.
    He left, carrying the posies. Halfway past the St. Luke’s gardens, he started to whistle.
    I leaned against a lamppost, fussing with the junk I’d piled into my shopping cart. After a few minutes, I saw a rectangle of light down the block as Elizabeth Madison opened her front door and stepped out. I waited for her to lock it and pass where I was standing, never looking in my direction though she was close enough at one point for me to smell the stale smell of smoke on her sweater. I waited father to cross Hudson Street before ditching the shopping cart next to the nearest trash can, keeping only one of the empty soda cans, and heading east, walking quickly in the direction Lizzie had gone. But no matter if I lost her. I knew exactly where she was headed.

Chapter 30
    He Hadn't Shaved

    When Elizabeth Madison turned right onto West Fourth Street, I kept going, following her from behind a row of parked cars on the other side of the street. I stopped when