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The spoiled remains of the rotisserie chicken contributed to it, I’m sure, as did the heaps of damp food and the sad little tropical fish, but its principal source must have been the body of the woman and the blood that had pooled, congealed, and dried around her. She wore cropped white jeans now stained red and a bloodied aqua T-shirt that revealed what could only have been gunshot wounds. I froze in place and stared.
    In books and movies, it’s always the dog who alerts the dog walker to the presence of a corpse in a ditch or a shallow grave or under a pile of leaves and branches. Rowdy’s only interest was in persuading me that we’d wasted enough time hanging around and that it was now my obligation to relieve his boredom. In other words, his contribution consisted of awakening me from my trancelike state of shock. When I turned from the scene of horror that lay inside, everything in the neat little yard and on the beautifully furnished deck seemed momentarily unreal, as if the handsome wooden fence, the weeping tree, the shrubs, the planters, and all the rest were nothing more than images cast by a projector. Then my eyes met Rowdy’s, and his big, powerful, loving reality dragged me back to the world of substance. Sensing my disquiet, he moved to my left side, and I put my left hand on his back and leaned on him for support. The familiar texture of his coat, the coarse guard hairs over the soft padding of the undercoat, gave me comfort and strength, and his questioning look reminded me of the need to breathe and the need to take action.
    “Dear God,” I said aloud. “Rowdy, I love you with all my heart. Get me out of here.”

CHAPTER 5

    I stopped when we reached the sidewalk and then led Rowdy to the front of the house, where I found the street number on a decorative tile mounted next to the door. After taking a seat on the steps, I called 911 from my cell. Having promised to stay where I was, I remained there and tried to compose myself. My thoughts were racing. Mellie’s fear of the police meant that the sirens would frighten her. For all I knew, she’d assume that I’d called the police to come and arrest her for dog-sitting without a license. But I couldn’t go to her; I had to stay where I was until the police arrived and until I’d directed them to the deck, the glass door, and what lay beyond. The woman simply had to be dead. The scene had looked anything but fresh. The frames of the shattered aquariums were large. Those big tanks must have held a lot of water, but there had been no pools on the floor; all that remained was the dampness visible in the mess of flour, sugar, cereal, and whatever other food had been thrown to the tiles. Or was there a slight chance that the woman was still alive? Could anyone have lost so much blood and survived for the time it had taken the water to run off or evaporate? The petunias in the planters and the mums and tomatoes in the pots were so thoroughly wilted that the rain we’d had earlier in the day had failed to revive them. How long had it taken the plants to dry out so completely? Days rather than hours, certainly, but I had no idea how many days. Still, days rather than weeks. Wilted though they were, the plants were still green and still recognizable as petunias, mums, and tomatoes; they hadn’t become anonymous brown stalks.
    But Mellie! Should I run to her house and explain? Persuade her to follow me back here so she wouldn’t be alone when the police arrived? There’d be an ambulance, too, and other emergency vehicles.
    “And how do I explain to her?” I asked Rowdy. “We’re two houses from Mellie’s. Mellie probably knows her. And, of course, there’s Strike, too, and Strike’s owner, whoever that is. I have to find out. For all we know, Strike ran off and headed for home.”
    When the emergency vehicles approached, Rowdy’s eyes lit up, and he began to raise his head. Before he had the chance to burst forth with glorious howls, I put a