“A tattoo?”
“On his stomach. No one saw it at first. Shadow began showing signs of stress at the shelter, not aggression, but you could tell that he had some pretty bad associations with cages. He was fine in the carrier, but he really freaked out at the shelter. Eventually, Dr. Carbone decided to sedate him, because it was the only way he was going to be able to draw blood. He was afraid of being bitten.”
That poor animal, I thought. I’d seen canids in zoos and wildlife parks, and almost without exception they’d worn grooves along the inside borders of their pens from nonstop pacing.
“So that’s when he discovered the tattoo,” I said. “What did it tell you?”
“It’s a registration number. It seems that Shadow’s from Montana.”
“Montana?”
“The number was assigned by the Montana Fish, Wildlife, and Parks Enforcement Division. Shadow is a high-content wolf dog. Almost pure wolf, basically.”
The smell of the fried burger had begun to nauseate me. “How did he end up with a drug dealer in Maine?”
“No one knows, but it seems his original owner died recently. The wardens in Montana contacted the relatives for us, and they didn’t even know their uncle owned a wolf dog. They’re ranchers, and they hate wolves. They said we should just put him down.”
I pushed the tray away with such force, it nearly slid off the table. “Jesus.”
“I know,” she said.
“So what happens now?”
“Normally, we’d try to find someone to take him, someone with a license to possess wildlife. There used to be a wolf dog sanctuary just across the border in New Hampshire, but it went out of business.”
“You said ‘normally.’ What does that mean?”
She took a breath. “Under the law, the vet is supposed to euthanize a wolf dog if there’s a potential danger to the public.”
I was having a hard time hearing above the clamor of the restaurant and felt compelled to raise my own voice. “But you said Shadow wasn’t aggressive.”
“He killed a deer.”
“What’s the name of the vet?”
“Dr. Carbone.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“I’m not at the shelter. And Dr. Carbone is up at Sugarloaf for the weekend. He has a condo there.”
The thought of swinging around and driving back into the mountains occurred to me before I realized how mad I would seem, showing up unannounced on the doorstep of the man’s second home. “Can you get a message to him? Tell him I’ll find someone to take Shadow. There’s no need to put him down.”
“Dr. Carbone is a good vet.”
“I’m sure he is.”
“He doesn’t make decisions like these lightly.”
“Joanie—”
“I hate it, too, but—”
“Joanie, I understand. But you have to promise me that nothing will happen to Shadow before I have a chance to talk to Dr. Carbone. Will you do that? Will you promise me?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. He can call me anytime, day or night.”
“I will let him know that.”
It was only after I’d signed off that I realized that everyone at the surrounding tables was staring at me.
26
Two hours later I arrived home and discovered that the plow had erected a wall of ice and snow as high as my chest between the road and my driveway. Having no other choice, I ended up parking exactly where Amber had parked—in the middle of a dangerous curve—while I chipped away at the frozen barrier with a shovel and an ice chopper.
I had spent two tiring days on the road, and for what? I had been too late to save Adam Langstrom, if he had even been worth saving. By all accounts, my half brother had been an arrogant asshole who had brought his problems on himself. And now he was probably dead. Did it even matter who had killed him or why? As a law-enforcement officer, I was supposed to think it did. But I was having a hard time caring about closure.
Then I thought of Amber. She might have been a shallow and self-centered person, but I still felt heartsick when I envisioned her alone in her dark, smoky apartment, having lost the only thing outside of herself she had ever loved.
Meanwhile, the wolf dog that I had ostensibly rescued was facing lethal injection, all because of me. I hated to imagine the existence Shadow might have had if he’d lived out the rest of his days with Carrie and Spike, but at least he wouldn’t be headed to the death chamber.
How could I be so indifferent to the fate of my own half brother and so distraught about a dog I’d met for a matter of minutes?