Eleven
I parked the pickup out of the way, under a couple of young Douglas firs, and then I got out and walked up toward the gravel pit and the picnic area, to the place where the dog still lay dead on the pink blanket. The place looked like some kind of tableau as I walked toward it, or like a set on a theater stage, waiting for the actors. Now it was almost completely in shade and was so quiet, I could have heard a pin drop. I listened so hard my ears throbbed.
“Beauty,” I finally said. My voice cracked. I cleared my throat and called her name again, not too loudly. “Beauty, my name is Kate Kelly. Katie. We know what your mother did. We can protect you. I’m here to help.”
I listened. In the distance I heard some kind of bird call out. But it was too far away: I couldn’t tell what it w
