Not That Kind of Girl by Susan Donovan Page A

“You did know that the dog had been released, right?”
    “Oh, sure. Of course.”
    “I spoke to the desk supervisor at Animal Control, and it seems there were special circumstances.”
    Raymond’s lip began to twitch. It took every fiber of his being and every shred of his concentration to stop it from becoming a full-out seizure. “Yes. I found that development quite interesting, myself. I seem to have forgotten—what exactly were those circumstances, again?”
    The slow smile that spread over Ricky’s face made Raymond want to choke the living shit out of her. He watched her calmly riffle through the papers on her lap.
    “The special circumstances were not even circumstances,” she said. “They were a person. A man named Eli Gallagher.”
    “Who the fu—” Raymond caught himself. He pulled at the tie knotted loosely at his injured throat. “Of course. Now I recall. He’s an attorney, right?”
    “No,” Ricky said. Or was it Randy. Oh, fuck! What was this chick’s name? “He’s a dog whisperer from Utah.”
    Raymond just gave up. There was no way he’d ever be able to fake his way through the remainder of this inane conversation. So he roared with laughter. He slapped his knee. Roxie was a complete lunatic ! What next? Dog psychics? Eventually, he calmed down.
    “Now, I admit that’s something I didn’t know, Randy.”
    “Dusty.”
    “Did the desk clerk say why in the name of God she let some New Age dufus take the dog from the pound?”
    “Oh, he didn’t remove the dog from the premises, sir. Ms. Bloom did. Mr. Gallagher only visited Animal Control in advance and negotiated the dog’s release, putting in writing that he will be responsible for the dog’s actions while it is enrolled in rehabilitative training.”
    Raymond blinked. “But …” This simply could not be. If Roxanne showed up at the hearing with a well-behaved dog, the whole complaint could get thrown out. That development could diminish the merits of his personal injury case. His defamation case might even be weakened. The dog would live.
    And Roxie would be vindicated.
    “Also, Ms. Bloom’s statement to police indicates she has a legitimate defense for her dog’s actions,” his assistant said.
    Raymond studied the girl carefully. Was it his imagination, or did the little slut have a twinge of glee in her eye?
    “She claims you broke down her door, physically and verbally assaulted her, and threatened to kill her. She claims her dog was merely protecting her property and trying to keep her from additional bodily harm. Oh! I almost forgot!” She reached down to the bottom of the pile.
    “She’s pressed charges against you. Assault and battery, breaking and entering, and destruction of private property.”
    Raymond’s upper lip began to spasm like a herring on dry land. There would be no stopping it.
    *   *   *
    Gloria knew her daughter was overreacting. Whenever Rachel came to the house it was such a production—reviewing her prescriptions, going over her scheduled doctor’s appointments, examining the contents of her refrigerator. You would think Gloria was a helpless toddler, the way her eldest daughter carried on about her.
    “Mother. Why do you have a box of Velveeta in here?” Rachel pulled open the meat and cheese tray and popped up from her crouch in front of the refrigerator.
    “Because that’s where it goes,” Gloria said, raising her hands to the heavens. “It says it right there on the clear plastic drawer— meats and cheeses !”
    Rachel held the cardboard carton aloft and turned it to and fro, studying it. “This is not cheese, Mother. It’s not even food. It’s nothing but a log of Day-Glo chemical goo.”
    Not this again, Gloria thought. Her vegan daughter was a zealot. She came over here and preached and chided until Gloria agreed to remove from the premises whatever food item Rachel found most offensive. It was hard to believe the girl used to love nothing more than her mother’s