Page 634 of One More Kiss

I brush my tears away as guilt fills me. What if he was in some kind of trouble? He was awfully vague when I asked him what he needed the money for and when I told him I didn’t feel comfortable taking the loan, he got angry with me.

After all I’ve done for you through the years, you can’t do this for me?

I shake the memory from my head and divert my gaze back to Detective Reynolds.

“I know this is very difficult for you,” he begins, pausing for a moment. “If you’re sure there isn’t anybody you’d like me to call, I’m going to give you a minute to get your bearings and then you can tell me what you’d like us to do with the dog.”

Sure I missed a crucial part of that statement, I blink.

“What dog?”

“Your brother’s dog. He’s with Mrs. Jacobs right now.”

My brother never mentioned a dog. Not once.

“I…I…didn’t know there was a dog,” I stammer.

“It’s a service dog. According to Mrs. Jacobs, your brother didn’t go anywhere without him. In fact, that’s how she knew something wasn’t right. The dog was outside the apartment, sitting in front of the door howling when she got home from the market. She knocked, called his cell and when she got no reply, she used her key to see if everything was okay…that’s when she found him. The dog must’ve followed her inside the apartment because we had to pry him away from Andrew’s body.”

I remain silent for a moment as I try to process the fact I didn’t know my brother had a pet, much less a service dog. The more I let that sink in, the sadder I become. You see, Andrew wasn’t the same fun-loving brother I bid farewell to when he got deployed. He wasn’t the same man I sent care packages to or joked with through letters. War broke him. It changed him and even though he was home for two years, I didn’t get a chance to know the man he was post-war.

I don’t know if that’s his fault or mine—perhaps it’s a combination of both. He was closed off, battling the demons in his head and I just kept telling myself he needed time, that he’d come around once he got familiar with civilian life again. I should’ve paid more attention to his needs. I should’ve done my research on the repercussions of war, then maybe my brother wouldn’t have needed a service dog.

Maybe he wouldn’t be laying on slab at the county morgue.

“Mrs. Jacobs can’t keep the dog. She says it would be too much work for her. If you’re not in the predicament to take it, I can arrange for the local shelter to come and pick it up,” Reynolds continues.

Weighing his words, I stare at him.

“What kind of dog is it?”

“A Labrador Retriever.”

I’m not much of a dog person myself, but I know the breed and a Lab isn’t exactly a lap dog. I live in a one-bedroom apartment and my lease specifically states I’m not allowed any pets. I couldn’t smuggle in a dog that size. Still, it doesn’t feel right to have Detective Reynolds call the shelter. A service dog is just as much of a hero as the person who requires one.

I look back at the detective.

“Actually, there is someone I’d like to call, but I don’t have his number.” I pause, drawing my lower lip between my teeth. “Do you have my brother’s phone?”

“We tagged some of his belongings as evidence for the investigation, but I will see if we can release his phone. If not, I can look up the name and get the number for you.”

“The name is Mann, Johnny Mann.”

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