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adopt a collie.”
    “And the people at the shelter also gave
you the name and number of the person who’d been watching Sage?”
    “No, I...found that on the piece of paper
I gave you. It was in the bag of dog food.”
    This was more than a little bizarre.
Fortunately, we were at a stoplight, because I hit the brakes to face Beth. “You
found a man’s name and number inside the bag of dog food? The food that had
been tainted with a repellent?”
    “Uh, yeah. Right on top. So I, um, called
the number out of curiosity, and a lady answered and told me they’d been taking
care of Sage.” Her cheeks had colored and she picked at a nonexistent piece of
lint on her black T-shirt as if she didn’t know what to do with her hands. She
reached back to stroke Sage’s fur and avoided my gaze. Why was she acting so
uncomfortable on the subject of Hannah’s neighbors?
    “Did they say why their number was in with
the dog food?”
    “She said they cared a lot about Sage and
wanted to keep track of him. But I wouldn’t give them my address. It just...felt
wrong to me. Kind of like telling your kid’s birth parents where you are and
everything, once you’ve already adopted him. I mean, what if they change their
minds about giving Sage up?”
    “Hmm.” I was starting to feel more and
more suspicious about all of this. Traffic eventually allowed me to make a left
at the intersection, and we passed the round, windowless, white stucco
structure that was appropriately named the “Toadstool” playhouse. “I have to
say that it seems a bit strange that this Ms. Jones, who was so devoted to her
dog as to take him to class with her, would commit suicide and not make any
arrangements for Sage.”
    “I know,” Beth said, nodding vigorously. “That’s
why I don’t think she committed suicide in the first place. Especially shooting
herself in the head like that, while Sage was in the house with her.” She
leaned over and whispered to me, “And wait’ll you see how he acts around men in
raincoats. He turns ferocious.”
    Beth’s not wanting Sage to overhear made
her theory about her collie having witnessed a murder all the more difficult to
take seriously. Why, then, was I battling this mental picture of Sage barking
helplessly as a man in a trench coat shot his owner to death and doused his dog
food in Bitter Apple?
    “Once we restore Sage’s diet and health, I’ll
look into his behavior around men. Is it any particular type of raincoat, or
just any man in any type of coat?”
    “Oh.” Beth narrowed her eyes and stared
out the windshield thoughtfully. “I guess I’d have to say it’s any type of long
coat on any man. Just not, like, suit jackets or ski jackets. Good thing the
weather’s so nice today, or we couldn’t even trust Sage not to go ballistic at
some guy while we’re at PetsMart.”
    I turned on the blinker and drove through
the parking lot to the opposite end of the Albertson’s shopping center where
PetsMart was located. PetsMart encourages customers to bring their pets into
the store, but Beth announced that she hadn’t brought Sage’s leash, then headed
with long strides into the store, oblivious as to whether I was following. The
collie looked completely settled in anyway, his body taking up every inch of
the backseat, the same way Pavlov’s did. I cracked the windows but locked the
car, then joined Beth in the store.
    By the time I caught up to her, Beth’s
cart was half filled with dog bones, chew toys, and two big bags of food
despite my suggestion that she start small in case Sage didn’t care for these
brands. While we waited in line at the cash register, Beth pulled out a thick
wad of twenties, and I asked, “What do you do for a living, Beth?”
    “Huh?” Beth did a double take at me, then
said, “I’m a student at CU. I already have a couple of degrees, in fact, but I
haven’t found any careers that speak to me.”
    I couldn’t help but chuckle a little at
that. Beth gave me a