was?”
He hesitated. “Technically, our records are private.”
I said, “I understand. I was just wondering about the kinds of things the dog learned to do for her. Was she completely dependent on her chair?”
He answered, “She used a chair most of the time, but so far the paralysis had affected only one side. As a trained service dog, though, Nero was able to perform just about any task she might need—from helping to take off her shoes to turning on light switches, picking up dropped items, carrying purchases, even bringing medicine bottles and bottled water. He was thoroughly reliable.”
“Wow,” I said. “That explains a lot.” Then, “What is your policy about the dogs? I mean, what will happen to him now? Does he go to the next of kin, or what?”
“He will return to us,” Wes assured me, “as per our contract with Ms. White. He’ll be retrained, and hopefully placed with someone else. Where did you say you were?”
I told him.
“I can probably have a volunteer drive out to pick him up this coming weekend,” Wes said. “If it’s a problem for you to keep him until then—”
“No, it’s not a problem. What’s one more?”
“Generally we’d ask you to just put him on a plane but—”
“No planes fly between here and there,” I assured him. “Really, it’s okay.”
“I’ll call you back with the details as soon as I have them. Meanwhile, if you’ll give me your fax number, I can send you some information about him—his diet, his command words, that sort of thing.”
“That would be great.” I read off the number.
“I really appreciate your help with this, Miss Stockton, not only for taking care of Nero but for going to all the trouble of tracking us down. He’s a very special dog, and we’d hate to lose him.”
I said, “It was my pleasure. I’ve been calling him Hero.” I added, “I thought it was odd that he seemed to respond. I guess that’s because it sounds like his real name.”
“I doubt he can distinguish such a subtle difference.”
“Just as long as I don’t do any permanent damage by calling him by the wrong name.”
“I think the fact that he responds at all is a testament to his excellent training.”
“I agree.”
I was about to bring the conversation to an end when something occurred to me. “Mr Richards, you said Mickey White was paralyzed on one side. Do you happen to know which side it was?”
He answered, “Yes, I do, actually. It was her right side.”
I hung up the phone slowly, unable to rid my mind of the picture of those swollen fingers and the gun lying on the floor just beneath them. If Mickey White was paralyzed on her right side, how had she shot herself with her right hand?
I picked up the phone again and dialed the sheriff’s office.
Maude came in just as I hung up the phone. Cisco, who had been entertaining himself in the front kennel run, came bouncing in with her and launched his paws onto the front of the desk in search of treats. I said, “You won’t believe this. He’s a service dog!”
Maude glanced at Cisco as she removed her plaid barn coat and hung it on a hook. “That one? Not bloody likely.”
I gave Cisco a stern look and he dropped all four paws to the floor, grinning.
“No, Hero. The Lab. I found a tattoo in his ear last night. I finally linked him up with Coastal Assistance Dogs just a few minutes ago.”
“Good work,” said Maude, impressed. “And of course they were able to identify his owner.”
I nodded. “Her name was Mickey White. The police will have to go through the identification procedures, but it’s starting to look like this might not have been a suicide.”
Cisco went over to the toy basket, grabbed a stuffed elephant and brought it to me, tail swishing. Maude raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“She was in a wheelchair,” I explained, “and paralyzed on one side. Anyway, the state medical examiner has the body, and Uncle Roe says they should know something by the
He hesitated. “Technically, our records are private.”
I said, “I understand. I was just wondering about the kinds of things the dog learned to do for her. Was she completely dependent on her chair?”
He answered, “She used a chair most of the time, but so far the paralysis had affected only one side. As a trained service dog, though, Nero was able to perform just about any task she might need—from helping to take off her shoes to turning on light switches, picking up dropped items, carrying purchases, even bringing medicine bottles and bottled water. He was thoroughly reliable.”
“Wow,” I said. “That explains a lot.” Then, “What is your policy about the dogs? I mean, what will happen to him now? Does he go to the next of kin, or what?”
“He will return to us,” Wes assured me, “as per our contract with Ms. White. He’ll be retrained, and hopefully placed with someone else. Where did you say you were?”
I told him.
“I can probably have a volunteer drive out to pick him up this coming weekend,” Wes said. “If it’s a problem for you to keep him until then—”
“No, it’s not a problem. What’s one more?”
“Generally we’d ask you to just put him on a plane but—”
“No planes fly between here and there,” I assured him. “Really, it’s okay.”
“I’ll call you back with the details as soon as I have them. Meanwhile, if you’ll give me your fax number, I can send you some information about him—his diet, his command words, that sort of thing.”
“That would be great.” I read off the number.
“I really appreciate your help with this, Miss Stockton, not only for taking care of Nero but for going to all the trouble of tracking us down. He’s a very special dog, and we’d hate to lose him.”
I said, “It was my pleasure. I’ve been calling him Hero.” I added, “I thought it was odd that he seemed to respond. I guess that’s because it sounds like his real name.”
“I doubt he can distinguish such a subtle difference.”
“Just as long as I don’t do any permanent damage by calling him by the wrong name.”
“I think the fact that he responds at all is a testament to his excellent training.”
“I agree.”
I was about to bring the conversation to an end when something occurred to me. “Mr Richards, you said Mickey White was paralyzed on one side. Do you happen to know which side it was?”
He answered, “Yes, I do, actually. It was her right side.”
I hung up the phone slowly, unable to rid my mind of the picture of those swollen fingers and the gun lying on the floor just beneath them. If Mickey White was paralyzed on her right side, how had she shot herself with her right hand?
I picked up the phone again and dialed the sheriff’s office.
Maude came in just as I hung up the phone. Cisco, who had been entertaining himself in the front kennel run, came bouncing in with her and launched his paws onto the front of the desk in search of treats. I said, “You won’t believe this. He’s a service dog!”
Maude glanced at Cisco as she removed her plaid barn coat and hung it on a hook. “That one? Not bloody likely.”
I gave Cisco a stern look and he dropped all four paws to the floor, grinning.
“No, Hero. The Lab. I found a tattoo in his ear last night. I finally linked him up with Coastal Assistance Dogs just a few minutes ago.”
“Good work,” said Maude, impressed. “And of course they were able to identify his owner.”
I nodded. “Her name was Mickey White. The police will have to go through the identification procedures, but it’s starting to look like this might not have been a suicide.”
Cisco went over to the toy basket, grabbed a stuffed elephant and brought it to me, tail swishing. Maude raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“She was in a wheelchair,” I explained, “and paralyzed on one side. Anyway, the state medical examiner has the body, and Uncle Roe says they should know something by the
Similar Books
