outside in the alley.
“Josephine was lying on the roof of my dad’s truck, sleeping, when these three dogs came along the street, no leashes, no nothing.”
Something awful was coming next. I could feel it slither between us.
“Riley was always on a leash,” I whispered.
Duane nodded. “Sure, sure. He was on a leash when he attacked that poor old lady’s horse.”
“She’s not a poor old lady,” Grace said. “Don’t be so insulting when you don’t even know her.”
“Oh, so sorry,” Duane whimpered.
“My cat was old, all right,” Ellis said. “She was sound asleep when those dogs went after her. They pulled her down off the truck. They played with her like she was some kind of stuffed toy. When they left, she was dead.”
I was frozen there on the floor. The faucet stilldripped, big fat drops. I wished Mr. Bingham would go make it stop. Of course, if it was the gutter running, he couldn’t make it stop.
I managed to stand. My shoes squelched water. I hadn’t noticed how wet they were, and the bottom of my jeans, too.
“That was awful about your cat,” I said. “But you can’t judge all dogs by—”
“I can judge yours,” Ellis said. “He would have likely torn that horse apart except it was too big for him.”
“That horse probably kicked him good,” Duane added.
“Please leave.” Mr. Bingham looked puny next to Ellis.
“For all I know, that killer of yours could have been one of the three that got Josephine,” Ellis said.
I glared at him. “He wasn’t.”
“Riley has a sweet disposition and temperament,” Grace said, and Duane gave that awful guffaw again.
“Temperament and disposition? You swallow a dictionary or something?”
I hated that guffaw. It sounded like a sick donkey braying.
Mr. Bingham had gone around the counter andpicked up his phone. “Leave right now or I’m calling the police.”
“We’re going, we’re going,” Duane said. “Hold on to your hair.”
Ellis was watching me closely. “How long have you had that dog?” He touched the white scar above his lip, the one Grace says gives him that “evil Ellis look.”
“I’ve had him long enough,” I said.
“Yeah? Was he a stray?”
“No, but …” I stopped.
He was thinking ahead of me. “You got him in the pound, I bet. Over in Portland. Why do you think somebody took him there in the first place? Not because he was an angel, that’s for sure.”
“They were moving,” I began.
“Sure, sure.”
Mr. Bingham gestured with the phone. “I’m going to count to ten,” he said. “One. Two …”
The bell above the door rang, and Mrs. Upton, who goes to our church, came in. Mrs. Upton’s really nice. She brings candy every year on the Sunday before Halloween and hands it out to the kids. Good stuff, too. Mars Bars. Milky Ways.
“Hello, William,” she said, chirpy as a bird. “Enjoying your vacation?” She put her big umbrellabehind the door and took a scarf off her hair. “A great day for ducks.”
“C’mon.” Ellis humped his big shoulders, and he and Duane moved toward the door. “I’m glad the old lady’s getting your dog killed,” he said back at me. “The sooner the better.”
Mrs. Upton was making little horrified clucking noises.
“You’re a jerk and you know it,” I said too loudly. I wasn’t feeling sorry for him anymore. I stuck out my lower lip, which I do when I’m really mad, and which Grace says makes me look fierce. “It’s not going to happen.”
“Oh, yeah?” That was Duane. “Who’s going to stop the execution? The pope?”
“We’re going to stop it.” I put the pictures I’d picked up behind my back as if I could shield them, as if they were Riley.
“And you know who’s going to stop you stopping it?” Ellis imitated my voice, sticking out his lip the way I’d done. He answered his own question. “We are. And there’ll be plenty of people ready to help us.”
“You boys have really bad attitudes.” Mrs. Upton squinted
“Josephine was lying on the roof of my dad’s truck, sleeping, when these three dogs came along the street, no leashes, no nothing.”
Something awful was coming next. I could feel it slither between us.
“Riley was always on a leash,” I whispered.
Duane nodded. “Sure, sure. He was on a leash when he attacked that poor old lady’s horse.”
“She’s not a poor old lady,” Grace said. “Don’t be so insulting when you don’t even know her.”
“Oh, so sorry,” Duane whimpered.
“My cat was old, all right,” Ellis said. “She was sound asleep when those dogs went after her. They pulled her down off the truck. They played with her like she was some kind of stuffed toy. When they left, she was dead.”
I was frozen there on the floor. The faucet stilldripped, big fat drops. I wished Mr. Bingham would go make it stop. Of course, if it was the gutter running, he couldn’t make it stop.
I managed to stand. My shoes squelched water. I hadn’t noticed how wet they were, and the bottom of my jeans, too.
“That was awful about your cat,” I said. “But you can’t judge all dogs by—”
“I can judge yours,” Ellis said. “He would have likely torn that horse apart except it was too big for him.”
“That horse probably kicked him good,” Duane added.
“Please leave.” Mr. Bingham looked puny next to Ellis.
“For all I know, that killer of yours could have been one of the three that got Josephine,” Ellis said.
I glared at him. “He wasn’t.”
“Riley has a sweet disposition and temperament,” Grace said, and Duane gave that awful guffaw again.
“Temperament and disposition? You swallow a dictionary or something?”
I hated that guffaw. It sounded like a sick donkey braying.
Mr. Bingham had gone around the counter andpicked up his phone. “Leave right now or I’m calling the police.”
“We’re going, we’re going,” Duane said. “Hold on to your hair.”
Ellis was watching me closely. “How long have you had that dog?” He touched the white scar above his lip, the one Grace says gives him that “evil Ellis look.”
“I’ve had him long enough,” I said.
“Yeah? Was he a stray?”
“No, but …” I stopped.
He was thinking ahead of me. “You got him in the pound, I bet. Over in Portland. Why do you think somebody took him there in the first place? Not because he was an angel, that’s for sure.”
“They were moving,” I began.
“Sure, sure.”
Mr. Bingham gestured with the phone. “I’m going to count to ten,” he said. “One. Two …”
The bell above the door rang, and Mrs. Upton, who goes to our church, came in. Mrs. Upton’s really nice. She brings candy every year on the Sunday before Halloween and hands it out to the kids. Good stuff, too. Mars Bars. Milky Ways.
“Hello, William,” she said, chirpy as a bird. “Enjoying your vacation?” She put her big umbrellabehind the door and took a scarf off her hair. “A great day for ducks.”
“C’mon.” Ellis humped his big shoulders, and he and Duane moved toward the door. “I’m glad the old lady’s getting your dog killed,” he said back at me. “The sooner the better.”
Mrs. Upton was making little horrified clucking noises.
“You’re a jerk and you know it,” I said too loudly. I wasn’t feeling sorry for him anymore. I stuck out my lower lip, which I do when I’m really mad, and which Grace says makes me look fierce. “It’s not going to happen.”
“Oh, yeah?” That was Duane. “Who’s going to stop the execution? The pope?”
“We’re going to stop it.” I put the pictures I’d picked up behind my back as if I could shield them, as if they were Riley.
“And you know who’s going to stop you stopping it?” Ellis imitated my voice, sticking out his lip the way I’d done. He answered his own question. “We are. And there’ll be plenty of people ready to help us.”
“You boys have really bad attitudes.” Mrs. Upton squinted
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