Give the Dog a Bone (2 page)

“Course not. She won’t eat dog food now. It’s pretty hard to spell with a pork chop.”

I laughed in spite of myself, though all I could think was:
This guy needs a therapist for himself, not for his dog
. I glanced at the second photograph, which showed a slightly thinner and decidedly hairier Ken Culberson beside a petite, frumpy-looking, red-haired woman. She would have been attractive, if not for her frown.

“See?” Ken said. “Can’t you see the physical similarities? The hair color? The sad brown eyes?” He gestured at Maggie, who was trotting back and forth between the door and Ken, trying to signal that she was ready to leave. “Plus the two of ’em liked all the same foods.”

“Feeding a dog table food exclusively is not good for her. It wreaks havoc with the dog’s digestive system and can lead to tooth decay and an imbalance in protein intake. That, in turn, can cause the very overexuberance which we’re now witnessing in your dog.”

“But she
thinks
she’s a person. So I got to feed her people food. You wouldn’t feed hay or birdseed to a
woman
who thought she was a
dog,
now would you?”

“No, but I also wouldn’t feed her dog chow.” Though it’s possible I’d put the person’s meal in a bowl on the floor, I added to myself. I held up my palms, suspecting that I was about to have to ask this man to leave. “Mr. Culberson—”

“Ken,” he corrected again as he reclaimed his seat. This time his oversized lapdog seemed content to sit by the door. “You gotta know two things here before I can hire you. One is, money’s no object. If you got the time to work eight-hour days, seven days a week for the next month, even if I got to double your salary to get you to do it, I’m ready and willin’.”

The kah-ching! sound of a cash register resounded in my brain. An instant later, my common sense returned. “We can’t even begin to discuss salary and schedules at this point. First, we need to see if we can agree on what I can and cannot do for you and your dog. What
I
do is work with the owner to resolve a dog’s behavior problems; however, it wouldn’t be at all difficult for you to locate a psychic, or whatever you think you need, if you want to exorcise your ex-wife’s spirit from Maggie.”

“Already tried that. Went to see some lady named Theodora. Di’n’t do no good. She claimed she just needed a few more sessions. Thing is, though, Maggie was always exac’ly the same.” He rolled his eyes. “I hate to be so s’eptical, but I gotta wonder. Theodora might’ve been more a rip-off artist than a psychic.”

“Maybe you can find a better one, then. But, Ken, I simply can’t accept any job in which I’m being less than up front and honest. So I have to tell you
up front
that I don’t believe your dog is possessed, just untrained and spoiled.”

He looked at his dog, currently rolling on the small welcome mat in the doorway, delighting in some scent that she found there. I hoped that Ken was considering how unlikely it was that his late ex-wife would have done such a thing, but he said, “Well, I can ’preciate your opinion, even if it’s wrong. See, the thing about Maggie is she’s drivin’ everyone nuts in the neighborhood. She chases cats up trees every chance she gets. Brings home bones ’n’ stuff that doesn’t belong to her. Barks at everyone who tries to set foot on the property ’n’ chases them off.” He winked at me, adding, “And before you ask, yes, Mary used to do all that, too.”

Understandable that she’d been his
ex
-wife, then. “Maggie needs some serious training. But neither I nor any trainer or dog behaviorist can bring about any substantive improvement in Maggie’s behavior without your assistance. That’s only going to work if you’ll stop . . . thinking of her as your ex-wife and start treating her like a dog.”

I heard Russell’s muffled chuckle through his door. My cheeks warmed a little at the possibility of his overhearing. If so, he must be getting quite a kick out of my exercise in futility here.

Ken put his hands on his hips and shook his head as he looked at his dog. “Mary’s not going to like this.”

“I’m sure she won’t. But
Maggie
will appreciate it. You see, Ken, dogs are pack animals. They don’t mind taking their rightful place behind the leader of their pack—their owners. But if the owner isn’t willing to take on the leadership role, it’s the dog’s nature to assume control. Maggie needs you to be the leader, Ken, or sooner or later she’s going to get hit by a car, or hauled off by animal control.”

He sighed and nodded.

“It’s difficult to let go of someone we once loved,” I hesitated, wondering if this applied to Ken despite his divorce, but went on, “even if she
was
your ex-wife. I don’t mean to be judgmental or to overstep my bounds, but maybe you should talk to a counselor. Boulder has more therapists per capita than any other city on the planet, and it wouldn’t be difficult for you to locate someone competent.”

“Already seein’ someone,” Ken said sadly. “A psychologist. He’s got an office just a little ways from here.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Ken put his hands on his knees and leaned forward for emphasis. “See, Allie, the thing is, your Web site said that you could not only handle most behavior problems in canines, but also teach owners how to communicate with their dogs.”

“That’s true. I can teach you how to communicate according to a dog’s perception of the world.”

He leaned back in his chair and dragged a now trembling hand over his bald pate. “I need to do that. I need to tell Mary how sorry I am that I killed her.”

Chapter 2

Any hope of this being a fruitful venture completely deserted me. Though I tried to sound relaxed, my voice came out in something of a squeak as I asked, “You killed your ex-wife?”

The sparkle had left his eyes, his round face now crestfallen. His lip trembled slightly as he nodded and took in a deep breath. “I sure di’n’t mean to. Still can’t figure out how it happened.”

“You mean it was an accident?” I asked hopefully.

Ken sank back against his chair, and Maggie hopped onto his lap again. “I dunno. I can’t remember a thing about it.”

So he’d blocked the woman’s death from his consciousness. Nonplussed, I eventually murmured, “I see,” though I didn’t
see
at all.

Ken began to cry. He held Maggie upright in his lap, using her large head to shield my view of his face. For the sake of Ken’s pride, I grabbed a pen and notepad to make myself appear too busy to have noticed his tears. I drew a large, sharp hook and told myself that my doodle could serve as a reminder for future business dealings: whenever someone offered to double my usual fee, there was bound to be a catch the size of a meat hook.

After a few moments, Ken dried his tears with the back of his hand, then allowed Maggie to settle across his lap. He cleared his throat and, with eyes averted, said, “See, Allie, I dreamt I was driving the car that hit her. Only, it was too vivid for a dream. And they never did find the car from the hit-and-run . . . so I must’ve been drivin’ some stranger’s car. ’Cuz at night, Maggie keeps telling me that that’s exactly what happened. Even though I thought I was someplace else at the time.”

“Maggie talks to you at night?”

“Mm-hmm.”

I rubbed my forehead. Ken was just not stable enough for me either to accept money from him or to work with him one-on-one. “This isn’t going to work, Ken. I’m very sorry. I can’t give you the kind of assistance with your dog that you’re seeking. When I say that I help people learn how to communicate with their dogs, what I—”

Ken had immediately begun shaking his head and now got to his feet, ignoring Maggie as she was unceremoniously dumped on the floor. “You can’t just turn me away like this, Allie.”

He stepped forward. Although he towered over me, his demeanor was sorrowful and not at all intimidating. I merely looked up at him in silence.

“You’re my last chance. If you don’t help me, I’m gonna lose my dog. They’ll take her away from me. You gots to help me. I already told my neighbors I hired you. That’s the only reason they said they’d hold off on callin’ a dogcatcher.”

He dropped to his knees and embraced his dog, who started licking his face. Regardless of how distorted this man’s sense of reality might be, there was not a doubt in my mind that the loss of his dog would devastate him.

Ken turned his pleading eyes toward me, as did his dog an instant later. “Just come over to my house once. That’s all I ask, Allie. Work with me ’n’ Maggie just one time. Then, if’n you still think it’s hopeless, you can quit. But it might be enough to at least show my neighbors I’m trying.”

For me to consent went against my brain, but to decline went against my heart. It was obvious to me which organ would win this battle, but it was imperative to at least ensure that I would be reasonably safe alone with him and Maggie in his home.

“Ken, I can’t talk to you while you’re on your knees like this. Have a seat and fill me in a little on this psychologist you’re seeing.”

“What do you want to know?” He adjusted his position so that he sat cross-legged on the floor. Maggie promptly spread out beside him, resting her head in his lap.

Despite his large frame, I now had such a firm perception of his childlike emotional maturity that I did what I do when I’m working with kids and their dogs—lower myself to their eye level. I sat down on the floor. “Do you mind telling me his name? And would you object to my asking him specific questions about you and your background?”

“No, I don’t mind at all. It’s a good idea. Might let you discover I ain’t half as crazy as you think I am. It’s Dr. Thames. Terry Thames. Like I said, his office is nearby, on Walnut.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to him. You’ll have to tell him yourself that you’re giving him permission to answer my questions.”

He nodded emphatically. “I’ll do that right away.”

“Also, it might be helpful for me to learn more about what happened to your late ex-wife. What was Mary’s full name?”

At my mention of the name “Mary,” Maggie promptly sat up and looked at me. That was odd, but Ken probably called her that so often that she thought of it as a second name, similar to how some dogs are told “no” so frequently that they think the word is an extension of their names.

“Mary Martin,” Ken answered simply.

“Wasn’t . . . that the name of the original actress from
Peter Pan
?”

“Different Mary Martin.” He studied my features, then chuckled. “You really
do
think I’m nuts, huh? You were scared I thought I used to be married to Peter Pan!” He let out a loud guffaw.

His thinking of himself as having been married to the actress who played Peter Pan didn’t seem nearly as outlandish as believing that his possessed dog had told him that he’d killed her. But maybe that was just me.

Ken went on, “She took my last name, and she never stopped using it. Even after our divorce. So her full name was Mary Martin Culberson.”

“All right, Ken. I’ll talk to Terry Thames and, depending on what he says, I’ll get back to you about a trial session.” He nodded and I continued, “You’ve told Dr. Thames about hearing Maggie talk, haven’t you?”

Ken grimaced and adjusted his position so that he was slightly farther away from me on the floor. “Uh, Allie, Maggie doesn’t talk. She’s a dog.”

“Yes, I realize that, but you said a couple of minutes ago that Maggie told you that you killed her. Killed your ex-wife, rather.”

He furrowed his brow, letting this sink in for a moment. Then he got to his feet. “I meant in my dreams. Maggie talks to me in my dreams. Like I said, I ain’t all that crazy.” He bent down and held out a beefy hand to me, which I accepted. He pulled me to my feet with such ease that I felt like the warm-up weight in a clean-and-jerk competition.

“I’m glad to hear that,” I replied honestly. “It was nice meeting you, Ken. And you, too, Maggie. Let me just get your address and phone number before you go. I’ll let you know later today what I decide.”

He reached into his back pocket and handed me a piece of paper on which his name, address, and number had already been scribbled. “Good luck callin’. Only got one line and it’s hooked to my modem, so it’s hard to get through. You’d be better off just coming straight over there. Like it says on the paper, I’m in unit thirteen.”

“Unit thirteen?” I repeated. “Are you in a trailer park?”

“Yep. But don’t let appearances deceive you. I got loads of money. Jus’ don’t like to spend it on furnishings and junk like that. Can you come this evening? Say around six, maybe?”

“I really can’t commit until I’ve had a chance to speak to Dr. Thames.”

As if he hadn’t heard me, he grinned and said, “Good. I’ll see you then.” He bent down slightly. “Come on, Maggie. We better get going.”

To my surprise, he whipped out a green service-dog vest that had been tucked into the back of his pants. He fastened the vest around Maggie’s neck and shoulders.

“Maggie has a service-dog designation?”

“Yep, from my doctor. It’s all official and everything.” He met my eyes. “See, Allie, I don’t function so good when we’re apart.”

In certain settings, without Maggie nearby, he probably had panic attacks, which is a medical condition that warrants the service-dog designation. Nevertheless, this dog was surely the worst-trained “service dog” in existence.

Ken returned his attention to Maggie, who must have known what was coming next, for she was trying to keep away from her owner. “Come on, Maggie. I’m gonna have to put a collar and leash on you. You know they won’t let us on the bus otherwise.”

“You didn’t drive here?” I asked, thinking that if he didn’t drive at all, he couldn’t have been the driver of a hit-and-run accident.

“Stopped driving after . . . you know. After I runned Mary down.”

“Oh. Sure,” I mumbled, embarrassed that I hadn’t figured this out myself.

In a Houdini-like move, he pulled out a collar and leash that he had fastened through his belt loops. At the sight of the collar and leash, Maggie crouched slightly. From this position she could spring in any given direction. She backed as far away from Ken as my small office allowed. Ken clicked his tongue and glanced at me. “She hates this, lemme tell you.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” I said, merely observing as Ken cornered his wriggling dog and fastened the collar around her neck. “This is one of the first things we’re going to have to change, though. Maggie needs to get used to wearing a collar and tags. Even when she’s inside your house.”

“Really?”

I nodded.

“Hoo, boy. That’s not gonna go over big. Whatever you say, though.” He grinned, gave me a wink, then opened the door. Maggie raced ahead and, despite Ken’s bulk, half pulled him up the stairs.

The moment Ken was out of sight, I tapped on Russell’s door and swung it open. He was poring over some schematics he’d spread across the oval-shaped coffee table in front of his couch.

“Hi, Russ. I just wanted to apologize for your greeting today.”

He gave me a big smile that made me feel wonderful. “That’s okay. Though I’d much rather it had been you jumping up on me instead of one of your clients.”

“I’ll remember that. But it’s generally a good idea for the therapist to be better behaved than the patients. They think of me as their role model, you know.”

“Darn!” Russell said, snapping his fingers in mock disappointment. He then paused and added, “Um, be sure to tell me in advance when that dog’s going to be here. I have a hunch she’s going to be a major project for you.”

“I haven’t actually agreed to take Maggie on yet. Eighty percent of my work is with the owner, not the dog, and I’m not sure Ken is up to the task. He’s convinced his dog is channeling his late ex-wife.”

Russell merely nodded, verifying my suspicion that he’d overheard. I had a lot of work to do and turned my thoughts toward that. Thinking out loud, I murmured, “I’m going to call the newspaper. See if anyone there can tell me anything about his ex’s death.”

“Sounds uplifting.” In an unconscious gesture, he smoothed his dark mustache as he got to his feet. “Allie, I’m going to have to go to Palo Alto for a week or two. Part of this project I’ve taken on.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow. I just found out myself this morning.” He walked up to me and asked gently, “Can we have dinner tonight?”

“Sure. I’d love to. It might have to be late, though. If I do take Maggie on, I’ll have to go over to Ken’s home at six, and it’ll be a lengthy session. I could meet you at a restaurant at eight-thirty.”

“I was thinking maybe dinner at my place.” The way he asked—his voice suggestive and his eyes searching mine—made me suspect he was intending for this to be more than just a meal.

To my disappointment, my fight-or-flight instincts immediately kicked in and I heard myself reply, “As long as it’s just dinner we’re talking about here.”

Russell’s face fell. “Think about it, Allie.” He reached out and caressed my cheek. Though his touch felt wonderful, it was unlikely to change my mind. I’d only been physically intimate with one man in my life, and that had led to the worst possible heartbreak—the week before our wedding, he ran off with my bridesmaid. The prospect of risking that kind of pain again was much more frightening to me than that of being trapped in a room full of rabid dogs.

Russ continued, “I know you’re scared to move our relationship to the next level, but
I’m
scared of losing you.” He let those words sink in for a moment, then forced a smile. “Why don’t you bring one of your dogs over tonight? That way we’ll both be phobic. And afterwards, I’ll be gone for a whole week . . . no awkward moments the next day.”

“It’s not just fear that’s stopping me, Russell.” Unable to meet his eyes, I dropped my vision. “However much we might care for each other, I’m not sure that we’re truly right for each other.”

Russell wasn’t moving a muscle. I finally looked up and saw the pain written there. I felt a pang in my own heart, but knew that I had to be honest.

“I’m sorry, Russell. I know we’ve been dating for almost four months now, and you’ve been so understanding and wonderful. But I can’t give you a ‘yes, for now.’ It has to either be a ‘yes, forever,’ or my answer has got to be ‘no.’ ”

The muscles in Russell’s jaw were working, but his expression bore no malice. “All right. At least this way, if you ever do say yes, I’ll know how much that means to you.” He kept his voice even, but his words were clipped. He sat back down on his couch and returned his attention to his diagrams. “By the way, our decision to sleep together would be every bit as significant to me as it would be to you.”

I felt awful now but was determined not to be distracted from my job. Shutting the door between us, I went back to my desk, called
The Daily Camera
, and asked for their librarian. When she was on the line, I explained that I was a “therapist” in Boulder and that I needed to know about the death of a woman named Mary Martin Culberson, a Boulder resident whose death occurred within the last two years.

She was unable to locate any information in their database, and so I called the coroner’s office in Boulder. They also had no record of Mary’s death, either under
Martin
or
Culberson
. Most likely, this only meant that Mary had not died in Boulder County and that no one had sent an obituary notice to the
Camera.
It also meant that I would probably go to my appointment with Ken and Maggie not knowing as much as I wished I did. Unless Terry Thames knew about Ken’s ex-wife’s death and was willing to share that information with me, that is.