This Dog for Hire

you?” “Sure. But this is different. It’s not like getting dunned for a bill you paid. It’s bigger. And ongoing. Why didn’t it come up again, I mean, if it was about Gil?”
    “Because of the way Cliff was. He’d get really angry, then he’d plot.”
    “Plot?”
    “He’d let it simmer, and he’d figure out what to do to get even, to hurt the person who hurt him. He used to quote that saying, you know, revenge is a dish best served cold. I don’t know if he ever actually did anything, but sometimes he liked to talk about what he wanted to do to someone he thought was an enemy, something sneaky, so they wouldn't know it was coming or, if they did, they still wouldn't be able to do anything to stop it.”
    “He wouldn’t have been direct?”
    “I don’t think so. Even if he said something, he wouldn’t necessarily have let it go, the hurt. You know what I mean?”
    I nodded.
    “You couldn’t just apologize. You’d have to wait for him to get over it in his own time and his own way. Even if it was something trivial, like you forgot a date with him. Or you were late. He’d be friendly, then when you figured it was okay, he’d get real sarcastic. I feel so disloyal saying this to you, I mean, I ... he was my friend.”
    Dennis was looking even paler than usual.
    “The thing is, he was your friend despite his faults. That’s nothing to feel bad about.”
    He nodded. “I guess.”
    “Here’s something to feel bad about. You look like shit. Let’s get some food, okay?”
    “Sure, sure. You order for us,” he said, and I did—osso buco, which I had been dying for since hearing Louis’s voice on Clifford’s old answering machine tape.
    As soon as the waiter had taken the order, I put Magritte back on the floor. I was pretty sure that once the food arrived, he’d turn into a cat burglar, and I thought I might have a better shot at defending my dinner if the burglar weren’t on my lap.
    “Dennis,” i said, tearing into a roll while we waited for the meal, “those paintings of that older guy in drag, the one with the flowered housedress?”
    “What about them?”
    “Have you ever seen them before?”
    He shook his head.
    “I was wondering about that one, because Cliff always put a title on the last panel, and that one doesn’t have a title. It’s the only one in the show that doesn’t have one.”
    The waiter showed up with the food, which immediately captured the attention of all four animals at the table. But even though I was as hungry as the next omnivore, it’s difficult for me to let go once I have a question on my mind. “And?”
    “Probably just didn’t finish it,” he said, his mouth full of food. For a while, the only sound was the pitiful whining of a hopeful basenji. When I looked down to give Magritte the eye, the most powerful tool a dog trainer has, particularly when her mouth is otherwise occupied, I noticed that Dashiell, Cod bless him, was back asleep. He has this unshakable faith that if I have food with his name on it, I’ll be sure to let him know.
    When Dennis’s plate was almost empty, he looked critically at mine.
    “What?” I growled.
    Getting raised by Beatrice Kaminsky is sort of like passing a car accident every day. You don't want to know, but your curiosity always gets the better of you. So even before he answered, I knew that asking had been a mistake.
    “Eat your veal. Some little baby cow suffered so you wouldn’t have to sate yourself on boring chicken.”
    “Yes, Beatrice.”
    “Beatrice?”
    “My mother. You keep reminding me of her." ] offered him my most insincere smile.
    “Oh,” he said, his hand to his bosom, “I like that. One little touch of guilt and criticism, and id-ready it’s getting testy with me. Eat, don’t eat,” he said, “it’s all the same to me.”
    When the check came, Dennis and I had a brief battle over it, but not wanting to bruise the delicate male ego, I let him win.
    “I’ll walk you home,” he said when we got outside.
    “You don’t have to do that. I’m a detective.”
    “Okay, then I’ll walk you as far as Houston Street.”
    “Deal.”
    “Rachel, I have to go to Boston right after Westminster, to see my editor and meet with the art director. I’ll be gone until midday Saturday. I could never get another good handler this close to the show. And Gil really brings Magritte out. But no matter what you find out this week, I don’t want Magritte with Gil for one more minute after