Free Double Dog Dare by Linda O. Johnston Page B

nuts?
    Maybe, but I had Tracy’s promise of assistance. Plus, the more stuff I had to keep my mind on, the less I’d think about things I didn’t want my brain wrapped around.
    It was Friday—still a weekday, and therefore a workday. I had to get to my law office later. Sometime.
    I saw Tracy at the edge of the park almost immediately. She had the adorable puggle Phoebe on a leash. She must have noticed me at the same time, since she started toward us.
    “Kendra!” She sounded extremely happy, but why shouldn’t she be, with only one well-behaved baby in her charge? She looked almost chic, wearing slim khaki slacks and a short matching jacket over a white knit top.
    Me? Well, I had to head to work later, so I’d worn nice slacks, too, but they were charcoal and not extremely new, and my pink print blouse had seen some significant wear.
    I’d noticed often, since meeting her, that Tracy stayed slender yet managed to appear somewhat chubby thanks to full cheeks. But their fullness seemed to be a result of her frequent smiles.
    And why not, when she was no longer a murder suspect? All the other problems in her life seemed behind her, too.
    She threw her arms around me in a big bear hug, no mean feat considering I was attempting not to let four separate leashes get tangled despite the fancy footwork of the dogs to which they were attached.
    “I’m so glad to see you.” She stepped back, examined me with intense brown eyes, then reached for a leash. I complied, giving her Meph’s. Despite the sudden pressure on her arm she remained still except for shaking her head. “You don’t look so good. Still no word about Jeff?”
    This time I was the one to shake my head. “Only his car.” I filled her in on the wet Escalade escapade in the aqueduct canal as we walked toward the busy, grassy area.
    Though this was usually used as an off-leash park, we kept our exuberant pups under the best kind of control. We left their leashes clipped on, despite many a glum doggy stare when they noticed they were in the distinct minority here, where canines mostly ran wild. We watched our steps as we proceeded, past picnic benches and children’s play equipment, to traverse the large lawn area.
    Which reminded me of Rachel’s new poop-scooping group. Not wanting to keep our conversation maudlin, I asked Tracy, “Have you ever heard of a company called What’s the Scoop? I guess it’s the latest poop pickup service provider in the Valley and Hollywood Hills.”
    “No, but if you get me information on it, maybe I could use it. Although my favorite Valley customer won’t be hiring me for a while. He lost his dog recently—an older Lab. Very sweet. When he’s ready, I’ll try to find him a rescue to help ease the pain.” She stared at me sideways, sadly. “Speaking of people’s pain, what about yours? Do you think Jeff . . . I mean, after finding his car that way—”
    My attention wavered from Odin, Lexie, and Stromboli for only an instant as I considered how to tell this good friend, who undoubtedly meant well, to stay off that preferably taboo subject. Which was exactly when a huge off-leash Rottweiler decided to assert his dominance.
    That led to a brief altercation with Odin, who despite being a neutered male sometimes had dominance issues of his own.
    By the time Tracy, the Rottweiler’s angry male owner, and I separated and disciplined the dogs, Odin had a bloody wound on one shoulder.
    “Damn,” I said, feeling suddenly despondent. Not only couldn’t I find Jeff, but I wasn’t taking perfect care of his abandoned baby. I got the owner’s ID info and assurances his dog was up-to-date on rabies shots.
    Tracy had Phoebe under one arm, and Meph obediently sat on the ground beside her. She knelt and took a close look at Odin’s injury. “It doesn’t look too bad, but you should have it examined by a vet. Do you want me to—”
    “Thanks, but I’ll take Stromboli and Meph home, then go get Odin his medical care.