Paw and Order by Spencer Quinn

“Bernie’s innocent, and if we have to prove it, we—”
    There was a knock at the door. I knew that knock, the best knock in the world, the knock of a guy who could put his fist right through the door if he wanted to, but hardly ever did. Bernie!
    â€œWho is it?” Suzie called.
    Humans! They don’t have an easy time.
    â€œMe,” Bernie called back.
    Suzie threw open the door. And there was Bernie, all by himself and uncuffed, looking just great, except for being so tired and worried and angry. But not angry at us, goes without mentioning. He gave us a quick little smile. Even though he was facing Suzie at the time, the smile was meant for her and me both, actually a bit more for me.
    â€œThey let me go,” he said, stepping inside. Leaping into his arms even harder than I’d leaped into Suzie’s was next on my list, but before I could make a move, Bernie put his hand on my head with the exact pressure I like, and the next thing I knew he was scratching the spot I can’t reach, and right away scratching the spot I can’t reach became my whole list, A to Z, whatever that might mean.
    â€œOn bail?” Suzie said.
    He shook his head, at the same time closing the door with his heel just as Suzie had done. Whoa! Was there something alike about them? What a thought!
    â€œAll charges dropped,” Bernie said. “I’m no longer a suspect.”
    Suzie stepped forward, gave Bernie a hug. Because of how I was standing, I could see Lizette, standing at the entrance to the hall. She seemed to lose control of her wineglass, almost dropped it, some wine slopping over the rim. The movement caught Bernie’s eye, and he looked her way, maybe noticing Lizette for the first time.
    â€œUh,” he said, “didn’t realize . . .”
    â€œI’ve been keeping vigil with Suzie,” Lizette said. “So glad this . . . this misunderstanding is all cleared up.” She turned to Suzie. “You two need some time.”
    Lizette moved toward the door. Bernie stepped aside to let her pass. “Thanks for helping,” he said.
    â€œI really didn’t do anything,” Lizette said.
    Bernie opened the door for her. She walked out, wineglass in hand, the wine making tiny waves, back and forth.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    We hung out in Suzie’s kitchen, Suzie at the table, Bernie leaning against the counter, me lying by his feet. He was wearing his favorite sneakers, the ones with the paint smears. I lost myself in their smells.
    â€œ. . . right through the screen door,” Suzie was saying, or something like that. I searched my mind for anything having to do with screen doors, came up empty.
    â€œHow long was he gone?” Bernie said.
    â€œHours and hours.”
    This sounded like somebody’s fun adventure, but I was having trouble keeping my eyes open. You’d think a big strong dude like me could keep his eyelids—real tiny things, when you came down to it—open as long as he liked, but you’d be wrong. No offense.
    So lovely to sleep in the world of Bernie’s sneaker smells. The first little smell stream that came along was all about the desert back home: mesquite, greasewood, those lovely little flowers with a scent a lot like Suzie’s, and javelina, best of all. I followed that desert smell stream until a nice fat javelina appeared on a butte made of cloud. I rose into the sky, a wonderful feeling that happened only in dreams.
    Meanwhile, I could hear Bernie, somewhere down on earth, so . . . so I had the best of both worlds! Hey! I finally got what that meant! What a life!
    â€œ. . . definitive evidence it couldn’t have been me,” he was saying.
    â€œWhat definitive evidence?” Suzie said.
    â€œNo idea. All Soares told the lawyer Cedric found me was that definitive evidence had turned up, and they were letting me go. He wouldn’t answer any