Paradise County by Karen Robards

everyone hereabouts.
    “Thinkin’ about it,” he said amiably, and waved as the speaker got into his car and drove away.
    Leaving the dog where it was for the time being, he stood up and went back to work. But not long after twilight he came outside again, this time bearing a slice of pizza on a paper plate. A blustery wind promisedrain later. The parking lot was full, although since everybody who’d come in the parked cars was inside there was no one else to be seen. Looking around, he thought for a moment that the dog had finally gone. But no, there it was, a pale shadow slinking around the corner to hide under the deep purple overhang of a bush. He walked toward it and set the paper plate on the ground where the dog couldn’t help but both see and smell it.
    “Come here, dog,” he said again, crouching beside the plate and snapping his fingers. “Come here.”
    This time the dog came crawling out. While it devoured the pizza, he petted it. He loved dogs, had loved them from the earliest days of his childhood. They had been among his first, and favorite, toys.
    “Good dog,” he crooned. “Good dog.”
    Then he went back inside.
    Later, much later, when nearly all the cars were gone, he came out again. This time he carried a paper plate with a hamburger patty in one hand, and a makeshift leash in the other. It was raining now, and except for the lights in the building behind him it was so dark that he could barely see halfway across the parking lot. He was wearing a hooded raincoat, but the hamburger presented something of a problem: it would be drenched before he could find the dog and offer it to him. Would the dog come out of whatever hiding place it had chosen for itself for a soggy piece of meat?
    Could he even find the dog in the darkness? He could always wait until tomorrow. And if the dog was gone in the morning, hey, such was fate.
    But he really wanted to find the dog tonight.
    In the end, just as he was getting ready to turn and go back inside without ever having set foot in the rain, he spied the dog. It was huddled in plain sight against the building, lit by the security lights, protected from the cascades of falling water by an overhanging eave.
    The predator smiled, and, taking care not to get the paper plate with the hamburger wet, walked along the building toward the dog.
    “Here, dog,” he said softly as he approached. The dog looked at him, appeared to remember him as its benefactor from earlier in the evening, and wagged its tail.
    Getting down on one knee, he set the paper plate on the ground.
    “Here dog,” he said again.
    The dog looked at the glistening brown circle of meat, at him, and approached, head down, tail low and wagging gently from side to side.
    “Good dog.” He patted the animal when it was close enough, and then, as it devoured the meat in two quick gulps, slid the makeshift leash—which was really a rope that he had tied into a slip-knotted noose at one end, with enough left over to serve as a lead—over its head.
    The dog made no effort to get away.
    “Good dog,” he said again, pleased. He patted the animal and stood up. “Come.”
    He had half expected the dog to resist, but it didn’t, following him willingly as he skirted the building, staying under the protection of the eaves for as long as he could. His SUV was parked in the rear lot. The dog even followed him out into the rain without resistance, and when he opened the rear door of the vehicle jumped inside as docilely as one could wish.
    The predator rewarded it with a pat on the head.
    “Good dog,” he said again, and closed the door.
    Sliding in behind the wheel, he brushed rain from the surface of his coat, decided it was useless to worry about getting water stains on his leather seats, and turned the ignition. He switched on the lights, engaged the transmission, and set out. It would take only about fifteen minutes to reach his destination, and he knew the way as well as he knew the way from his bed