Free Elizabeth C. Main - Jane Serrano 01 - Murder of the Month by Elizabeth C. Main

were waiting for me, weren’t you, boy?” Wendell thumped his tail.
    “He must have had an owner at some point.”
    “Not that I could find. That trailer had been sitting empty for a long time. I checked at the office with Richard, who was supposed to be the park manager.” Her tone left no doubt that Richard, like most people Bianca met, needed some shaping up. “When I showed up to ask about Wendell, Richard was eating his lunch, which consisted entirely of a store-bought frozen peach pie. Can you imagine?” She drank some carrot juice and shook her head. “After I demanded to know the name of the criminal who had left that poor dog to fend for himself, I warned Richard about the preservatives that go into frozen pies. Have you read those labels?”
    “No, and I’m guessing that Richard hadn’t either.” I resisted the urge to call him “Poor Richard.” Bianca on a tear was something to behold.
    “You’re absolutely right. He didn’t have much to say for himself, but he swore that he didn’t know anything about Wendell. By the time I left, he did say he’d try to improve his eating habits.”
    “I’ll bet.”
    “Turned out to be a pretty nice guy. I went back later and dropped off some fresh broccoli and a pamphlet on preservatives. When I moved the trailer from the park, he was real friendly.”
    “Broccoli works wonders.” Bianca was so focused on her story that she let that one pass. Usually she picked up my sarcasm better than this.
    “I wrote a letter to the Juniper Journal about responsible pet ownership, but of course they didn’t print it.”
    Bianca had already written to the Juniper Journal twice since her arrival in town this spring: the first time about the officious police cadet who told her she couldn’t cool her feet in the swan fountain in nearby Bend’s Drake Park, and the second time about the lack of organic foods available locally. Her letter about pet ownership had been returned bearing a scrawled note informing her that only one letter to the editor per person per month was allowed.
    “I know they just made up that rule because they don’t like my ideas, but I’m sending letters anyway whenever I have something to say. Even if they don’t publish all of them, at least the editor gets to read them.”
    I said nothing and concentrated on the kindness my daughter had shown to a stray dog. “It took you a few days to coax him out from under the trailer, didn’t it?”
    “And another week before he’d trust me enough to get close. Now he follows me everywhere.”
    I noted his sleek sides and glossy coat. “He’s filled out a lot.”
    “But he doesn’t know it. He still goes at every meal as though it’s his last. You’re looking good now though, aren’t you, Wendell? Oops!” She turned to me and whispered, “That was insensitive of me. His eye, you know.”
    Wendell certainly hadn’t reacted, and I couldn’t believe Bianca actually thought her choice of words might hurt her one-eyed dog’s feelings, but maybe she did. She had told me before that she had originally thought of naming him “Winker,” for obvious reasons, but feared he might take it wrong. Then she’d thought of “Patsy,” since for some unknown reason that seemed to her the perfect name for a dog, but his gender ended that plan. Finally she settled on “Wendell” because she thought the name gave him a certain dignity.
    Now she gently stroked the underside of his smooth muzzle, studying the concave socket where his right eye used to be. “So, how did you end up under a trailer in Juniper, Wendell?” she asked. He looked at her steadily with his one good eye, but said nothing. It had taken most of Bianca’s small cache of money to have Wendell checked out at the Sagebrush Veterinary Clinic, but she had done it without asking me for help. She was radiant at Dr. O’Hara’s pronouncement that Wendell would be fine once he got a few good meals in him.
    Bianca had a good heart, and Raymond