Give the Dog a Bone by Leslie O'Kane Page B

murmured.
    She nodded, but continued to glare at me.
    Now that I’d ascertained T-Rex was not in immediate danger, I became aware of relentless barking from Maggie and saw the cause as soon as I left Ruby’s. A policeman, a tall man with a long, sharp nose, had finally arrived next door. Beside the officer, Ken stood anxiously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Meanwhile, Maggie was trying once again to break free of her leash, in Ken’s grasp. Either Ken or the officer had used a spade to remove a portion of the dirt covering the bones, and the officer was staring down at them with interest.
    He nodded when I approached. “Evenin’. You must be the person who called this in, right?”
    “Yes, and I—” I broke off when I spotted what appeared to be the skeletal remains of a hand. I’d been on the verge of apologizing for bringing him out here, most likely for nothing, but that was no longer necessary. I quickly looked away, feeling slightly nauseated.
    “I swear, Allie,” Ken said, “I never noticed that hand in there. It’s Mary’s. I just know it.”
    “Mary?” the officer gently prompted.
    “My ex-wife. Mary Martin Culberson. She died four months ago.”
    Now I was beginning to have some real doubts about Ken. “Your next door neighbor, Ruby, told me she was killed a year and a half ago. Was she mistaken?”
    He shook his head. “That’s just when the accident took place. Mary was in a coma for over a year.”
    “And you think these are her remains?” the officer asked. “Is her grave nearby?”
    “No,” Ken said. “Baltimore.”
    The officer glanced at me, then back at Ken and said, “I’m going to have to call in some cri— some investigators. They’ll probably need to take these bones to the lab . . . run some tests on them.” He pointed at Maggie, still barking incessantly. “Put your dog inside, sir, so we can talk more easily.”
    “Can’t I keep her with me, so long as she’s on her leash?”
    Her barking had long since surpassed my tolerance level. I clapped my hands twice to distract Maggie. Before she could resume barking, I said, “Good dog,” and gave her a tidbit. “Officer, this is a service dog, believe it or not, and the man needs her to be with him whenever possible.” Maggie stared at my pocket for more treats.
    “How long will she stay quiet for?” Ken asked.
    “A couple of seconds, or as long as you’ll give her treats in exchange for—”
    Maggie started barking again.
    “—not barking.”
    Ken dragged his hand over his bald pate. “It’s okay. I’ll just lock her in the bedroom and shut the window. Much as she hates that.”
    Once Ken and Maggie were inside the trailer, the officer indicated Ken with a motion of his eyes and asked me quietly, “Do you and this man know each other well?”
    “We just met today, when he hired me to work with his dog. He seems to be delusional about his late wife’s death. Ex-wife’s death, rather. His therapist told me that he didn’t kill the woman, however.”
    “What’s his therapist’s name?”
    “Terry Thames, a psychologist. He has an office downtown.”
    Ken returned, looking very agitated at the sound of Maggie’s muffled yet frantic barks from inside his home. The policeman gestured at the bones. “Anyone touch these?”
    “No, sir,” Ken responded, squaring his shoulders to take on the bearing of an army private to his captain. “Just Maggie.”
    “Can I speak to her?”
    “You just had me put her in the house!”
    “Maggie’s the dog,” I said, suppressing nervous laughter.
    “Did the dog dig them up from your property here?”
    “No, sir. She keeps finding them someplace and hauling ’em home.”
    “It’s important that we find out where that is.”
    “She had a bone with her when she was coming from that direction,” I said, pointing toward the road south of the trailer park.
    “There’s some heavy equipment out that way, near the road. Right in front of the