The Wicked Flea

even know what Sylvia drives.”
    “You haven’t seen her?”
    “No,” I said impatiently, “I haven’t seen her.”
    “Well, hey,” Eric said, “uh, sorry about the dog. I’ll keep her in. Thanks for bringing her back.”
    Taking long, rapid strides back toward the car, I savored the heroic sense of being the park’s bold, capable savior. As Saint Patrick had rid Ireland of snakes, so I had rid Clear Creek Park of Zsa Zsa! The world, it seemed to me, should be run by dog trainers. Instead of passively letting Sylvia and Zsa Zsa get away with spoiling the park, I’d taken decisive, effective action! Sylvia was the English, the park was France, and I was Joan of Arc! When I reached the Bronco, Ceci immediately brought me back to reality, or at least to her version of it. She was standing by my car with Douglas and his dog, Ulysses, the multi-hound mix. “Holly,” she announced as I approached, “Douglas has offered to walk with us. So we won’t have to worry about being bothered by the foolish man.”
    “Hi, Douglas,” I said. “Hello, Ulysses! Good boy!” I reached a hand out.
    “Not advised,” Douglas said. “He’s been rolling in dead things.”
    “Ulysses is a great one for carcasses.” Ceci’s tone suggested that the predilection was greatly to the dog’s credit and, by extension, to Douglas’s. Beaming at Douglas, she said, “I’m sure that Rowdy would go after dead things, too, given the opportunity. Wouldn’t he, Holly?”
    Douglas caught my eye, nodded, and with a conspiratorial smile said, “Something in common!” Having dogs who rolled in dead things wasn’t a romantically wonderful something to have in common, of course. Neither was sharing a therapist. Still, I wished I found Douglas attractive. He wasn’t bad looking. Just... bland. Average height, brown hair, no outstanding features. Not that I was in search of someone eight feet tall with green hair and the nose of Cyrano de Bergerac! And not that Steve Delaney... had anything to do with anything. Douglas, I told myself, was really not bad looking. He had an interesting dog. He was perfectly pleasant. Physically fit. Nice to old ladies. Be still, my heart!
    “Speaking of dogs,” I said, “I caught Zsa Zsa and took her home. Sylvia’s son was there. Eric. He promised to keep Zsa Zsa in the house.”
    As I got Rowdy and Quest out of the car again, Ceci kept asking questions about Sylvia. Had I seen her? Had Eric said anything about her? Had Douglas seen her? Not today? Yesterday? Was there any news ? Had anyone heard anything ? Ceci had heard that Sylvia was going to sue the policewoman. Was it true?”
    Douglas, I might point out, really was nice to Ceci. He didn’t ridicule or ignore her, and as we walked along the path that began at the footbridge, he matched his pace to hers and Quest’s. After passing an area of deciduous trees, we climbed a gentle slope into a grove of pines and then descended into a shallow, dank valley of thick, weedy-looking underbrush. This being a suburban rather than urban park, there were no beer cans, candy wrappers, or other debris, but this little section somehow looked trashy in the absence of trash. Soon after we’d crossed the bridge, Douglas removed Ulysses’ leash. The big hound trailed after us. But by the time we reached the dank valley, Ulysses had disappeared.
    “He does this,” Douglas said. “Ulysses! Ulysses!” He cupped his hands around his mouth and emitted a loud whistle. “Ulysses, here!”
    Our little group came to a halt. Douglas called a few more times.
    “Probably after a squirrel,” Ceci said.
    “A dead squirrel,” Douglas said with regret. “Ulysses!”
    Rowdy, who delights in the misbehavior of other dogs, was dancing around at the end of his long lead. He was, I thought, responding to Douglas’s whistling and calling. Nothing in Rowdy’s behavior suggested that his keen ears and nose had picked up a sign of the big hound.
    Douglas sighed. “I’d better go after him before he eats whatever he’s found.” Thoughtfully glancing at Ceci to see whether she was comfortable about being left without male protection, he said, “I’ll be right back.”
    As Douglas headed back down the trail toward the parking lot, Ceci said, “Such a lovely man.” She paused. “What did you think of that Eric?”
    “I thought that that Eric had just got out of bed.” Feeling guilty about indulging Ceci’s love of gossip, I added, “Maybe he works