Free Night Kill by Ann Littlewood

his fault you have to move to Birds?” Marcie’s hands flew apart in amazement.
    “Oh, yes. I’m supposedly demented by grief, so everyone thinks I left Rajah’s door open. People were quick to assume I screwed up. Nobody took me seriously about hearing someone open the cat door. They think I’m as incompetent as Rick.”
    “Give them a break. They lost one friend and they’re worried about you. Besides, you always told me how competent Rick was.” Her face turned fierce. “You’ve erased everything good about him. You might try to remember he was more than a liar and a loser, a lot more.”
    I bit back a sharp answer and waited for softer words to come. “Yeah, I still believe he was a decent animal keeper.” I stared at the ring, barely registering the chocolate poodle jumping over a little fence, considering the depth of Marcie’s loyalty to Rick. “Look, I know you liked Rick, everybody did, but he wasn’t who we thought he was. You have some accepting to do yourself.”
    Marcie looked away, her face unreadable. “Let’s go look for dog toys.”
    This was not going well.
    We wandered around the commercial displays for another hour. People told us that we could pet the dogs after the show ring, but not before, to preserve extreme fluffiness; that the skin of whippets tears easily; that salukis are much less maintenance than Afghans. The air smelled of dog shampoo. The only mess I saw was a kicked-over can of cola.
    When we’d seen it all, we stepped out of the noisy, warm exhibit hall to hunt for Marcie’s car in the huge lot. On our right, outside the grounds and beyond a cyclone fence, a lake gleamed dully in twilight. The gray sky above it was crowded with dark waterfowl, circling and settling on the water. Their cries sounded like puppies yelping.
    Driving home, Marcie broke our silence. “You loved Rick. I saw it. And he loved you.”
    I sagged back against the seat, weary to my bones. “I was drugged by pheromones and hormones and didn’t see what was really happening until too late. That’s all there was to it.”
    “That’s not just stupid, it’s mean and unfair.” Marcie’s round face, pale in the headlights of oncoming cars, was constricted with anger. “You’re stupid to keep denying who Rick was, what you guys had. I know it went sour, but I saw the whole thing, remember? It was real. You two had big problems, but that wasn’t the whole story. You’ll never get over this if you keep pretending.”
    “Baby and bathwater?”
    “Yes, damn it.”
    “What the hell good does it do me to remember what’s gone forever?”
    “I don’t know. But lying to yourself isn’t working. I feel like I’m talking to a stranger every time Rick comes up.”
    The Columbia River was slow-moving pewter in the gray light. Mt. Hood and Mt. Saint Helens were both invisible. Ahead lay a long, cold winter, an empty bed each night, endless regrets and questions, ugly dreams. Sorrows circled like ducks at the lake. Words to salve a bruised friendship failed to touch down.
    We took the Vancouver exit for my house and rode through the outskirts of town in silence. I sought a scrap of common ground. “Marcie, you said one thing right. Rick was competent. He didn’t make bonehead mistakes, especially on the job.”
    She nodded, unappeased.
    “Even drunk, he didn’t stagger around,” I mused. “He got flushed and loud, that’s all. He said things that were a little dumb, but he never did anything reckless or stupid.” Unless disconnecting from me in favor of drinking could be called stupid.
    She turned into my driveway and the dogs started barking from inside the house.
    I sat in the warm car in the dark, gathering the will to get out. “Falling into the lion moat doesn’t make sense. I need to know why Rick died at the zoo.”
    Marcie looked as exhausted as I felt. “Anything but staying like this. It’s not what I had in mind, but start facing reality any way you can.”
    Chapter Seven
    I