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He phoned the clinic and asked for Dr. Clay. “How’s Snow?” he asked without preamble, when he’d given his name.
“I’m part owner, you might say,” he added when she hesitated. “She stays at my house as much as at Meadow’s. I’m concerned.”
“She’s still alive,” was all the vet would concede. “We’re treating her now.”
“Whatever it costs,” he said gruffly. “I’ll take care of it. I know Miss Dawson’s financial situation. It’s going to be tough on her if she tries to afford the care. If you’ll grab a pen, I’ll give you my credit card information.”
There was a visible lessening of tension. “Okay,” she replied. “That’s kind of you.”
“I’ve been blatantly unkind,” he said bluntly. “Maybe this will help make amends. Ready?”
“Yes.”
He gave her the information and asked her to call him if Snow worsened. “Meadow doesn’t have family anymore,” he added. “I’ll take care of her if she loses the dog.”
“Don’t give up on her yet,” Dr. Clay said softly. “She’s a fighter.”
“Like her owner,” Dal said. “Thanks.”
He hung up and glanced at the clock. It was almost nine. He imagined Meadow hadn’t even had time to grab a bite to eat. Nothing had been touched in the kitchen. He knew from her father that she loved cheese and mushroom pizzas. He dialed the number of the local pizza parlor delivery and gave them an order for Meadow, charged to the account he kept there.
* * *
Someone knocking at the door was the last thing Meadow expected at that hour. Had Snow died and the vet came to tell her in person? It was an illogical thought, but she was traumatized enough that it made sense.
She ran to open the door and found a teenager with acne and a big grin standing on her porch. “Pizza delivery,” he said, handing her a box.
“But I didn’t order . . .” she began, all at sea.
“It’s a gift from a person who wants to remain anonymous,” he said. “Already paid for. Enjoy!”
He ran back toward his car with the pizza parlor’s lighted bar on top.
“Thanks!” she called after him belatedly.
“You’re welcome!”
He moved out of the driveway, swerving to avoid a deputy sheriff’s car that swung into it as he was leaving.
Gil pulled up at her door and got out.
“Pizza?” he mused, grinning.
“Somebody sent it,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Not I,” he told her with a chuckle. “But it smells awesome!”
“Come in and share it with me,” she said. “I’ll make coffee, too.”
“I don’t know . . .” He hesitated. “Eating on the job, and all that.”
His cell phone rang. He answered it. “Standing on Meadow’s porch. She just got a gift of pizza . . . sure, here.”
He handed her the phone, and she laughed. “Jeff, thanks so much for the pizza! How did you know I like cheese and mushroom?” she enthused.
He hesitated. “Well, it was a lucky guess. Glad you like that kind,” he added, happily taking credit for the gift. “You doing okay? How’s Snow?”
“We don’t know yet,” she said sadly. “It was a vicious blow. I want to hang him up by his thumbs when we catch him,” she added darkly.
