Page 109 of Evil Bones
“I was attacked by rottweilers when I was a kid.”
Meloy rolled up his left sleeve, revealing a scar running from his wrist to the soft, veined triangle of his inner elbow. Sinuous and shiny, the pale swath looked like a worm crawling his flesh.
“Oh, wow,” Ruthie said.
“How did you escape?” Katy asked.
“A neighbor heard the commotion and turned a hose on the pack.”
“Your hero. You must have loved that guy,” Ruthie said.
“He was the owner who never properly contained the beasts.”
“That’s messed up,” Ruthie said.
“Damn straight.” Color rose to Meloy’s cheeks. “Excuse the language.”
“You call that language?” Ruthie guffawed.
“Don’t get me wrong.” Meloy scanned the faces around him. “I don’t hate dogs. I have two myself. A collie and a retriever. Poppy and Red. Well, Ihadtwo.”
“One died?” Ruthie’s question was honeyed with sympathy.
“Last week.”
“Ohmygod. I’m so sorry. Losing a pet really sucks.”
“I had to shoot Poppy.”
“She’d grown too old to enjoy a good quality of life?” Ruthie asked.
“She was around fourteen months.”
“Jesus,” Ruthie gasped. “That’s still a puppy.”
Meloy shrugged.
“Why?” Ruthie said in a tone that sounded like a challenge.
“The dog was untrainable.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Reading the escalating indignation in my niece’s tone, I jumped in.
“Has anyone seen the latest exhibition at the Mint Museum?”
“It means I wasted six months trying to teach the dog a few very basic skills. With zero success.”
“So youkilledher!?”
“It features costumes from TV series going back to the fifties,” I said brightly, doing my best imitation of a smile.
“Everyone did love Lucy,” Katy said.
Ruthie fired to her feet, every cell of her being radiating contempt.
“I can’t stand it. You’re all fucking heartless.”
