Mrs. Braswell gasped at the horror of a mutt being called by Bitsy’s name. “That is so odd.”
“Well, if you think about it, if she does have an obsession with Bitsy, it’s perfectly normal. Every dog she sees makes her think of the one she’s obsessed with.”
“Oh, Lord! Do you think she’ll come back for her?”
“You know, I really don’t think so. In fact, I think her delusion is so strong that it won’t allow her to accept that Bitsy is even gone. She’ll transfer that obsession to whatever dog is near, and think that’s Bitsy. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she did contact you again, but only to keep the delusion going that she still has your dog.”
Mrs. Braswell put her hand to her head. “This is just too much, all this stress and anxiety.”
Viv stepped close and put a hand on her arm. “I know it is, but I honestly don’t think you have any reason to worry. You have Bitsy, and you might never even hear from Joyce again. But if you do, just give it some time. Within a few weeks she will become obsessed with something else and forget all about you and Bitsy and the ransom.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I really do,” Viv said solemnly.
I nodded. “Absolutely. Give it a few weeks, and it’ll all blow over.”
Mrs. Braswell sagged against the doorframe. “I hope you’re right. This has all just been so crazy.”
“Yes, well, it’s a crazy world out there full of crazy people, unfortunately. We have to get going now and write up our reports. And I’m sure Bitsy needs to get down to the business of re-acclimating.”
Once we were back in the car I said, “You are the most full of shit person I think I’ve ever met. Professional confidentiality? Write up our reports?”
“I got the job done, though, didn’t I?” She swung the Caddy out of the parking lot and we headed for Trailertopia.
“You did.” We had our money, a little white dog had a good home, and if Joyce insisted that she still had Bitsy, Mrs. Braswell would chalk it all up to delusion. With the exception of the possibility that the real Bitsy had lost her posh home and was now living on the other side of the tracks, everything had turned out on the side of the good guys.
“Damn,” Viv said. She slapped the steering wheel. “I didn’t use my night goggles. I forgot to turn them on.”
“Yeah, well, we’re not spying on anyone tonight,” I said. “All that running and panic has worn me out. I’m going home and going to bed.”
“You have to be at work early tomorrow so you can groom precious Bitsy,” she sing-songed.
“Yay.” I yawned. “You have to go home and order hooker boots.”
I closed my eyes and didn’t open them again until we got to my trailer. “My share,” I said, sticking out my hand.
Viv opened the envelope and counted out ten one-hundred dollar bills. Enough to keep the water turned on, with some left over. It would be a startling change of pace to have a savings account with actual money in it.
Stump and Frank were both asleep in the recliner when I got in, so I tiptoed past them and put on my pajamas. Then I tiptoed back and covered Frank with a blanket, tugged Stump out of his lap and carried her, still snoring, back to bed with me.
I snuggled down and scratched her behind the ears, thinking that under no imaginable scenario could she ever be confused with any other dog. I was drifting off to sleep when I realized that I had still not made it to the bathroom.
The Power of Bacon Page 4