The consoling crowd has thinned out. Two of the men who were on the deck with Paul turn out to be my nephews. They call me “Aunt Justine,” as if we have blood in common. They call my father “Grandpa.”

“Do you guys have a computer I can use? I need to check my e-mail.”

Ryan, the elder one, shows me to his bedroom, where he has a laptop. He opens it up for me and kindly leaves me to it. The room looks tidied for company, but the odor is pure man-boy, and I inhale it with a certain nostalgia. A sock pokes out from under the bed, a grayish white tongue licking the floor. I picture Melanie racing around, trying to get the place in order, never having planned on entertaining on a weeknight. Even an expected death comes unexpectedly.

I open the e-mail from firstchairharleyplayer. “I hope this is your dog.”

I click on the link, hoping, too, that it is my dog.

I watch the short clip, my hand over my mouth, trying not to cry out. The sound quality is poor, the image a little jiggly, but “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” distinct as Mack does his routine. I can tell he’s improvising; the woman with him isn’t giving him any good hand signals, but he has figured out enough of them to know what she wants. He is that smart. Then I hear a name, Alice. “Keep going, Alice.” Is that enough to be able to find my dog? A woman named Alice is dancing with him? Then I hear a second name, Buddy. That’s what she’s calling him. It is Mack. Even though there are plenty of blue merle Shelties in the world, only this one is mine. Unmistakable.

The relief acts like a drug, and I start shaking, my hands trembling so much that I have a hard time texting Mitch to let him know he’s right. I can’t talk now; I have to process this flicker of hope.

“You okay, Aunt Justine?” Ryan is standing in the doorway.

“I am.” Or very nearly.

Chapter 43

43

Officer Rossman sits in their kitchen like some malevolent spirit, a tight frown on his face, as if he’s practiced giving bad news and knows the right facial expression. There is something wrong with her hearing; Alice can only hear phrases coming out of his mouth, not full sentences, not complete thoughts. “There will be an investigation.” “The medical examiner.…”