“Oh yes.”
The woman bent down. “Are you hurt, boy? How did you get hurt?” she asked softly. She took out a flashlight and probed carefully at my neck. I tentatively licked her face, and she laughed.
“Okay, yes, he’s friendly. I don’t think that’s his blood, though. Ma’am, we’ll need to hold on to the dog for a while; is that okay?”
“I can stay, if you need me to.”
“No, that’s all right,” the woman said.
I was taken over to one of the cars, where a very gentle man took some scissors and snipped off some of my fur, putting it into a plastic bag.
“What do you want to bet it’s the same blood type that’s on the shoe? I’d say our four-legged friend here was on canine patrol tonight and got himself a good bite of arsonist. We get a suspect, the blood is going to help put him away,” the woman told the man who was giving me the haircut.
“Lieutenant,” a man said, approaching. “I can tell you where our perp lives.”
“Oh, do tell,” the woman replied.
“I got the dumb ass bleeding his way in a straight line to a home about four houses down. You can see the blood on the snow from the sidewalk; it goes right up to a side door.”
“I’d say we have enough for a search warrant,” the woman replied. “And I’m going to lay odds that somebody who lives there has a couple of teeth marks in his leg.”
For the next several days I lived at Chelsea’s house. Duchess seemed to think I was there to supply her with a twenty-four-hour-a-day playmate, but I couldn’t dispel the nervous tension that kept me pacing back and forth, waiting for Ethan to come home.
Mom showed up the second day. She told me I was a good dog, and I could smell the boy on her clothes, so I cheered up a little and played Duchess’s favorite game of tug-on-the-sock for an hour or so while Chelsea’s mother served strong-smelling coffee.
“What in the world was that boy doing? Why would he set your house on fire? You could all have been killed.”
“I don’t know. Todd and Ethan used to be friends.”
I turned at Ethan’s name, and Duchess used the moment to yank the sock out of my mouth.
“Is it for sure Todd? I thought the police said the blood work would take longer.”
“He confessed when they took him in for questioning,” Mom said.
“Did he explain why he did it?”
Duchess was shoving the sock at me, daring me to take it. I pointedly looked away.
“He said he didn’t know why he did it.”
“Well, for heaven’s sake. You know, I always did think that boy was strange. Remember when he pushed Chelsea into the bushes for no reason? My husband had a fit. He went down and talked to Todd’s father and I thought the two of them were going to get into a fight.”
“No, I never heard that. He pushed her?”
“And Sudy Hurst says she caught him trying to see in her bedroom window.”
“I thought she wasn’t sure who it was.”
“Well, now she says it was Todd.”
With a sudden lunge, I grabbed the sock. Duchess dug her feet in and growled. I pulled her around the room, but she didn’t let go.
“Bailey’s a hero, now. Todd’s leg took eight stitches.”
At the mention of my name, both Duchess and I froze. Dog biscuits, maybe? The sock went slack between us.
“They want his picture for the paper,” Mom said.
“Good thing I gave Bailey a bath,” Chelsea’s mom replied.
What? Another bath? I’d just had a bath! I spat out the sock, Duchess shaking it joyously, prancing around the room in victory.
“How is Ethan?”
Mom put her coffee cup down. The boy’s name and the flash of worry and grief coming off of her caused me to go over to her and put my head in her lap. She reached down and petted my head.
“They had to put a pin in his leg, and he’ll have . . . scarring.” Mom gestured toward her face and then pressed her hands to her eyes.
“I’m so, so sorry,” Chelsea’s mother said.
Mom was crying. I put a paw on her leg to comfort her.
“Good dog, Bailey,” Mom said.
Duchess stuck her idiot face right in front of me, the sock loosely dangling from her jaws. I gave her a low growl and she backed away, looking bewildered.
“Be nice, please, guys,” Chelsea’s mother said.
