Watchers

was dead, forever dead, and there was nothing to prevent Nora from having a dog of her own.
    Except . .
    Well, she had the peculiar notion that no other dog would give her the profound feeling of security she had gotten from Einstein. She and the retriever had enjoyed instant rapport.
    Of course, because the dog rescued her from Streck, she might be attributing qualities to him that he did not possess. Naturally, she would view him as a savior, her valiant guardian. But no matter how vigorously she tried to disabuse herself of the notion that Einstein was only a dog like any other, she still felt he was special, and she was convinced no other dog would give her the degree of protection and companionship that Einstein could provide.
    A single glass of Remy Martin, consumed over two hours, plus thoughts of Einstein, did in fact lift her spirits. More important, the brandy and memories of the dog also gave her the courage to go to the kitchen telephone with the determination to call Travis Cornell and offer to buy his retriever. After all, he had told her he’d owned the dog only one day, so he couldn’t be deeply attached to it. For the right price, he might sell. She paged through the directory, found Cornell’s number, and dialed it.
    He answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
    On hearing his voice, she realized that any attempt to buy the dog from him would give him a lever with which he could attempt to pry his way into her life. She had forgotten that he might be just as dangerous as Streck.
    “Hello?” he repeated.
    Nora hesitated.
    “Hello? Is anyone there?”
    She hung up without saying a word.
    Before she spoke with Cornell about the dog, she needed to devise an approach that would somehow discourage him from thinking he could make a move on her if, in fact, he was like Streck.
     
     
5
    When the telephone rang at a few minutes before five o’clock, Travis was emptying a can of Alpo into Einstein’s bowl. The retriever was watching with interest, licking his chops but waiting until the last scraps had been scraped from the can, exhibiting restraint.
    Travis went for the phone, and Einstein went for the food. When no one answered Travis’s first greeting, he said hello again, and the dog glanced away from his bowl. When Travis still got no answer, he asked if anyone was on the line, which seemed to intrigue Einstein because the dog padded across the kitchen to look up at the receiver in Travis’s hand.
    Travis hung up and turned away, but Einstein stood there, gazing at the wall phone.
    “Probably a wrong number.”
    Einstein glanced at him, then at the phone again.
    “Or kids thinking they’re being clever.”
    Einstein whined unhappily.
    “What’s eating you?”
    Einstein just stood there, riveted by the phone.
    With a sigh, Travis said, “Well, I’ve had all the bewilderment I can handle for one day. If you’re going to wax mysterious, you’ll have to do it without me.”
    He wanted to watch the early news before preparing dinner for himself, so he got a Diet Pepsi from the fridge and went into the living room, leaving the dog in peculiar communion with the telephone. He switched on the TV, sat in the big armchair, popped the tab on his Pepsi—and heard Einstein getting into some kind of trouble in the kitchen.
    “What’re you doing out there?”
    A clank. A clatter. The sound of claws scrabbling against a hard surface. A thump, and another.

“Whatever damage you do,” Travis warned, “you’re going to have to pay for. And how’re you going to earn the bucks? Might have to go up to Alaska and work as a sled dog.”
    The kitchen got quiet. But only for a moment. Then there were a couple of clunks, a rattle, a rustle, more scrabbling of claws.
    Travis was intrigued in spite of himself. He used the remote-control unit to mute the TV.
    Something hit the kitchen floor with a bang.
    Travis was about to go see what had happened, but before he rose from the chair, Einstein appeared. The industrious dog was carrying the telephone directory in his jaws. He must have leaped repeatedly at the kitchen counter where the book lay, pawing it, until he pulled it onto the floor. He crossed the living room and deposited the book in front of the armchair.
    “What do you want?” Travis asked.
    The dog nudged the directory with his nose, then gazed at Travis expectantly.
    “You want me to call someone?”
    “Woof.”
    “Who?”
    Einstein nosed the phone book again.
    Travis said, “Now who