“How’d it go?” he asked.
“About the same as it did at the tech repair shop.”
“Waste of time?”
“Nothing is a waste. I’d say it was more of a distraction.”
“No arrests?”
“Not even a report.”
Joe said, “Ouch. Thatisa waste of time.”
I checked the mailbox on my way upstairs to the apartment and realized neither of us had looked in the last several days. There was a pile of junk mail and letters, but the only one that interested me was from our veterinarian, Dr. Barbara Clayton. It was theblood work she’d done on Martha. I read the report and a note Dr. Clayton had written at the bottom of the page, saying she was worried about Martha’s blood sugar and to stop feeding her table scraps.
This was news to me, but I had a pretty good suspect in mind regarding who might be responsible for feeding our elderly border collie under the table.
Once I was inside our apartment, Joe greeted me with a kiss on the cheek. He said, “I think Julie’s still awake.”
“At this hour?”
He shrugged. “You can’t blame her for wanting to say good night to her mom.”
Joe and I snuck into our daughter’s bedroom and immediately heard, “I waited up for you, Mommy.” Her sweet little voice lifted my spirits. I sat on the edge of her mattress as Martha trotted over from the rug she liked to sleep on near Julie’s bed. Joe leaned against the doorjamb.
I listened to Julie tell me all about her exciting visit to Rosie’s house. It sounded like they’d had a fun “girls’ night.” I was happy to hear Hope had been there too, playing with the girls. I knew Claire was worried about her niece.
When Julie’s story wound down, I paused for a moment, then asked, “Hey, Julie-bug, I have an important question for you. You’re not in trouble. I just need to know for the veterinarian. Do you or Mrs. Rose ever give Martha any treats?”
Julie shook her head. “No. Mrs. Rose told me it would be bad for Martha to eat too much.” She looked at me seriously, her blue eyes open wide.
“Mrs. Rose is exactly right.”
Joe was quiet, standing next to the door, looking down at thebed. The way he cleared his throat told me something was up. I tucked Julie into bed good and tight. I gave Martha a nice rub on her head and walked into the hallway. Joe followed me.
Once we were in the kitchen, I said to him, “Soyou’rethe one who’s been feeding Martha treats?”
Joe shrugged. “I didn’t think it was that big a deal. I give her a handful of noodles now and then.”
“Define ‘now and then.’” It came out a little more accusatory than I’d intended.
Joe winced, then admitted, “Maybe twice a day? Once in the morning and once in the evening when I get home. I can’t help it—she loves pasta so much.”
How could I be mad at a man who cared about a dog’s happiness? All I could do was give Joe a hug and a kiss, then look up into his face and say quietly, “Cut that shit out.”
CHAPTER50
LIKE MOST WORKINGpeople, I relished Fridays, eager for the weekend ahead. All Joe and I had planned for this weekend was family time. We might go to the beach. We would of course traverse a park with Martha, though a visit to the beach too would make her deliriously happy. We would let Julie pick where we’d eat dinner on Sunday evening.
Last night I had noticed that every time Joe opened the refrigerator, Martha practically galloped into the kitchen. She didn’t do it when I opened the refrigerator or when Julie did. It was a testament to Pavlov’s theory. Even using the same test species. I pointed it out to Joe and he looked suitably chastened.
Now I sat at my cluttered desk in the Hall of Justice. I ignored the emails and memos in my inbox and jumped right to the department summary of incidents over the previous night.
Rich Conklin shuffled to his desk and plopped into the chair next to mine. “Anything going on?”
I looked up from the activity log and said, “A fatal stabbing in the Tenderloin.”
“Of course.”
