them, so maybe it would work for her. If brandy could improve her state of mind
even marginally, she was prepared to drink the whole damn bottle.
But she did not have it in her to be a lush. She spent the next two hours
sipping at a single glass of Remy Martin.
When she tried to turn her mind away from thoughts of Streck, she was
relentlessly tormented by memories of Aunt Violet, and when she tried not to
think of Violet, she was right back to Streck again, and when she forced herself
to put both of them out of her mind, she thought of Travis Cornell, the man in
the park, and dwelling on him gave her no comfort either. He had seemed
nice—gentle, polite, concerned—and he had gotten rid of Streck. But he was
probably just as bad as Streck. If she gave him half a chance, Cornell would
probably take advantage of her the same way Streck was trying to do. Aunt Violet
had been a tyrant, twisted and sick, but increasingly it seemed that she had
been right about the dangers of interacting with other people.
Ah, but the dog. That was a different story. She had not been afraid of the dog,
not even when he had dashed toward the park bench, barking ferociously. Somehow,
she knew that the retriever—Einstein, his master had called him—was not barking
at her, that his anger was focused on Streck. Clinging to Einstein, she’d felt
safe, protected, even with Streck still looming over her.
Maybe she should get a dog of her own. Violet had abhorred the very idea of
house pets. But Violet was dead, forever dead, and there was nothing to prevent
Nora from having a dog of her own.
Except . .
Well, she had the peculiar notion that no other dog would give her the profound
feeling of security she had gotten from Einstein. She and the retriever had
enjoyed instant rapport.
Of course, because the dog rescued her from Streck, she might be attributing
qualities to him that he did not possess. Naturally, she would view him as a
savior, her valiant guardian. But no matter how vigorously she tried to disabuse
herself of the notion that Einstein was only a dog like any other, she still
felt he was special, and she was convinced no other dog would give her the
degree of protection and companionship that Einstein could provide.
A single glass of Remy Martin, consumed over two hours, plus thoughts of
Einstein, did in fact lift her spirits. More important, the brandy and memories
of the dog also gave her the courage to go to the kitchen telephone with the
determination to call Travis Cornell and offer to buy his retriever. After all,
he had told her he’d owned the dog only one day, so he couldn’t be deeply
attached to it. For the right price, he might sell. She paged through the
directory, found Cornell’s number, and dialed it.
He answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
On hearing his voice, she realized that any attempt to buy the dog from him
would give him a lever with which he could attempt to pry his way into her life.
She had forgotten that he might be just as dangerous as Streck.
“Hello?” he repeated.
Nora hesitated.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
She hung up without saying a word.
Before she spoke with Cornell about the dog, she needed to devise an approach
that would somehow discourage him from thinking he could make a move on her if,
in fact, he was like Streck.
5
When the telephone rang at a few minutes before five o’clock, Travis was
emptying a can of Alpo into Einstein’s bowl. The retriever was watching with
interest, licking his chops but waiting until the last scraps had been scraped
from the can, exhibiting restraint.
Travis went for the phone, and Einstein went for the food. When no one answered
Travis’s first greeting, he said hello again, and the dog glanced away from his
bowl. When Travis still got no answer, he asked if anyone was on the line, which
seemed to intrigue Einstein because the dog padded across the kitchen to look up