The Mountaintop School for Dogs and Other Second Chances by Ellen Cooney Page A

skin, each of them removed in one piece, were looped on a side of the pan, like miniature, brown-yellow rags hung to dry. A great deal of the chicken, Mrs. Auberchon saw, had been consumed.
    The girl looked up at Mrs. Auberchon. She hadn’t touched the wings or drumsticks. Bits of white chicken were in her teeth and in a corner of her mouth.
    â€œHi!” said the girl. “You didn’t fix lunch. I was
starving.
”
    Then she got up from the table as normally as anything and went to the counter where Mrs. Auberchon kept the rack of paper napkins. She took one and wiped her mouth, took a second napkin for her hands, and balled the the two together when she was finished. She turned to face the trash pail in the corner. It was a plastic one with a center push-slot in the lid. She gave a throw to the napkin ball, holding up her arm, flicking her wrist just so. The thing landed perfectly. It dropped the lid on its hinges and disappeared.
    The girl’s face lit up with a grin.
    â€œOh,” she said, “I didn’t think you’d want me going through your drawers and cabinets for silverware and things.”
    Mrs. Auberchon had left the snow brush on the porch, but the kindling hatchet was in her hand. She was dripping melting snow. She couldn’t blink right; snow had crusted her eyes. Her skin was tingling with cold, but she was sweaty and hot, head to foot. She loosened her grip on the hatchet because the way she squeezed the handle was suddenly alarming to her. She set it down, propping it against the wall. Then she changed her mind about having it close at hand. She put it into the broom closet.
    â€œBy the way, it’s weird we never introduced ourselves. I’m Evie,” said the girl. “I know you’re Mrs. Auberchon, but I don’t know your first name.”
    Mrs. Auberchon unzipped her parka and reached down to undo her boots. She stepped out of them. She placed them on the little rug by the electric wall heater.
    â€œI’ll be in my room, off-limits to guests,” she said. “I wish to be undisturbed.”
    â€œNo problem. I totally respect your privacy.”
    Evie. Mrs. Auberchon willed the name to delete itself from her mind, like letters typed on a screen, then backspaced into a vanishing. As soon as she was in her room, she bolted the door. She peeled off her outer clothes and turned up the heat on her stove, a smaller, gas version of the lobby one. She went to the work table, to her computer.   
    There was a knocking at her door.
    â€œMrs. Auberchon? I found a plate for the chicken. I put it away in the fridge. I hated to think what could happen to it if a dog showed up.”
    â€œThank you,” Mrs. Auberchon managed to say.
    â€œBut I couldn’t find aluminum foil to cover it with.”
    â€œThat’s all right. This is my private time.”
    Mrs. Auberchon turned on the computer. She had Internet.
    But the girl wasn’t going away. Mrs. Auberchon could almost hear her breathing on the other side of the door.
    â€œWill a dog show up again, Mrs. Auberchon?”
    â€œNot today.”
    â€œCan I ask you one more question? Then I’ll go upstairs.”
    â€œAll right.”
    â€œDo you work for the Sanctuary?”
    â€œI do,” answered Mrs. Auberchon.
    Silence. Good. Mrs. Auberchon put on her fuzzy slippers, towel-dried her face and hair, filled her electric kettle from her bathroom sink, plugged it in, dropped a tea bag into the mug by her computer, and sat down. Her room closed around her like a shell. It was a large one, with doors for a closet, the bathroom, and access to the porch. It held a single bed, an armchair by the biggest window, a couple of bureaus, and this table and chair. She waited until her tea was ready before putting on her headset and crossing the mental line that separated “Mrs. Auberchon the innkeeper” from “Mrs. Auberchon the Sanctuary Warden.”
    A moment