I offered my hand, palm down, to one of the spaniels, and he licked it. Then a retriever mix’s tongue shot through the fence and slurped my knuckle. The Doberman ambled over, stared, walked away. Other dogs began competing for tongue space and the gate rattled. But the big black creature still held back.
As I wondered whether to enter, the front door of the screen porch opened and an old woman in a pink sweatshirt and stretch jeans came out holding a broom.
The dogs whipped around and raced to her.
She said, “Aw, get a life,” but reached into her pocket and tossed handfuls of something onto the clean dirt.
“Find it!”
The dogs scattered and began sniffing frantically around the yard. The scene looked like an early Warner Brothers cartoon. The old woman turned in my direction and came forward, dragging the broom in the dirt.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi.” It sounded like mimicry. Squinting, she continued to inspect me. Five seven and thin, she had black hair tied back in a waist-long braid; sunken, sallow cheeks that looked as dry as the dirt; claw hands barbecued brown, the nails thick and yellow. The sweatshirt said RENO! White tennies bottomed stick-legs that gave the pants no incentive to stretch.
The big black dog came over, now, in a slow, rolling gait, so hairy its eyes were hidden by pelt. Its head reached her waist and its tongue was the size of a hot-water bottle.
“Forget it, Leopold,” the woman said in a sandy voice. “Go work for treats like everyone else.”
The dog cocked its head just the way Spike does and looked up at her, eyes wet with melodrama.
“Nope, no way. Find it.”
The massive head rubbed against her belt. Reminding me of something—Mrs. Green’s bullmastiff. This was my week for old women and big dogs. A deep moan escaped from beneath the hairy mouth. I could see hard muscle under black fur.
The woman looked around at the other dogs, who were still searching. Reaching into a jeans pocket, she brought out another handful—nutmeg-colored broken bits of dog biscuit.
“Find it,” she said, flinging. The dogs in the yard circled faster but the big black dog stayed put. After another surreptitious glance, the woman pulled a whole biscuit out and stuck it hurriedly into the beast’s mouth.
“Okay, Leopold, now get.”
The black dog chewed contentedly, then walked away slowly.
“What is it, some kind of sheepdog?” I said.
“Bouvier des Flandres. Belgian. Can you believe someone abandoned it?”
“Must be hot under all that coat.”
She gave me a skeptical look. “They’re hardy. Protective, too.”
“I’ve got a French bulldog,” I said. “A lot smaller but the same basic approach to life.”
“Which is what?”
“I’m a star. Feed me.”
Her face stayed impassive. “French bulldog—those are the little ones with the big ears? Never had one. That your only one?”
I nodded.
“Well, I’ve got twenty-nine. Counting three sick ones inside.”
“Rescues?”
“You bet. Some from pounds, the rest I pick up driving around.” She sniffed the air. “Pretty putrid, time to spread the enzyme—got this new chemical that eats up the poop. So who are you and what do you want?”
“I’ve been told you used to teach school here, Ms. Campos.”
“Who told you that?”
“Sheriff Botula and his—”
She snorted. “Those two. What else did they tell you? That I’m the town nut?”
“Just that you might be able to help me find out some information on a woman who grew up here. Unfortunately she’s been murdered and the L.A. police have asked me to—”
“Murdered? Who are we talking about?”
“Hope Devane.”
That sucked the color out of her face. She looked back at the dogs and when she turned to me again her expression was a mixture of innocence shattered and pessimism confirmed.
“What happened to her? When?”
“Someone stabbed her in front of her house three months ago.”
“Where?”
“L.A.”
“Figures. Tell me, did she turn out to be a doctor of some kind?”
“She was a psychologist.”
“That’s almost the same thing.”
“She had plans to be a doctor?” I said.
She stared past me, across the street, at the dry, empty field. Touching her cheeks with both hands, she drew back the skin, stretching it, and for a moment I saw a younger woman. “Murdered. That’s unbelievable. Any idea who did it?”