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Once in the small room, the doctor had Gerard lay the dog on the stainless-steel table and immediately pressed his stethoscope to Howey’s chest. “He has a heartbeat. It’s slow but steady. Did he eat something he shouldn’t have?”
“Not that I know of,” Bernie said. “I think someone might have poisoned him. I found him in the barn with the door closed after I’d left him on the porch last night. And my trailer full of watermelons was destroyed. Howey always warns me when intruders are near the house or barn at night. Whoever smashed my melons had to have given him something to keep him quiet, or I would have heard him.”
“Leave Howey with me,” the doctor said. “I’ll give him something to counteract poison and keep him under observation overnight. I’ll keep you informed of his condition.”
Bernie didn’t want to leave Howey. What if he woke up and was confused about his surroundings? He’d think she’d abandoned him.
“As out of it as he is, it will be a while before he’s coherent enough to care about his surroundings. We’ll take good care of him,” Dr. Saulnier said. “Now, go. The sheriff needs to know what happened.”
“He’s right,” Gerard cupped her elbow in his palm. “We need to let the sheriff know what happened.”
She knew he was right, but she hated leaving Howey in a strange place with no one he knew to wake up to.
Bernie let Gerard guide her out of the office and into the parking lot. A sheriff’s vehicle had pulled up behind the old produce truck, and Deputy Taylor was getting out.
“Bernie, what’s going on?” she asked. “You blew through town like the devil was on your tail.”
“It’s Howey,” Bernie said, choking on the lump rising in her throat. “He might d-die.”
Taylor reached out and touched Bernie’s arm. “Holy shit. What happened?”
“I—we—” Bernie started shaking and couldn’t stop. She’d held it together for so long, staying strong for Ray throughout his battle with ALS, his death, the struggle to get the farm back up and running and now this.
Gerard folded her into his arms. “We need to get some food in you,” he said.
“Take her to Tante Mimi’s Diner,” Deputy Taylor said. “I’ll contact the sheriff, and we’ll meet you there.”
Gerard helped Bernie into the passenger seat of the old truck.
“I can drive,” she said as he leaned across her to snap the belt into the buckle.
As he backed out, he brushed a kiss across her forehead. “I know you can, but let me help.”
She didn’t argue, glad for once that someone else was taking charge. As she sat back against the seat and stared ahead, a thousand thoughts came rushing at her like a firehose out of control. She couldn’t process any of them, knowing Howey, her trusted hound dog, lay unconscious on a cold stainless-steel table because someone had likely poisoned him.
Gerard climbed into the driver’s seat and secured his seatbelt. He turned to her. “Howey’s in good hands. Dr. Saulnier will do everything he can to save him.”
She knew he would, but what if he couldn’t save him? Her heart lurched in her chest, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “Ray brought Howey home the day after the doctor told him the ALS had progressed, and there wasn’t anything they could do.” She swiped at the second tear. “He was just a puppy with big feet and big ears. All I could think when he carried him through the door was how much work he’d be while I was taking care of Ray through the end of his life.”
Gerard reached out and wrapped his fingers around hers. He didn’t speak, just listened.
“Ray said Howey would be the last puppy he would ever get to love. He said that Howey would be there for me when he was gone. Ray knew I needed to be needed. Before I’d met him, I’d lost everyone I’d ever loved. Losing him would leave me alone again. He couldn’t stand the thought of me being alone.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. She couldn’t stop them. “If I lose Howey...”
Gerard’s fingers tightened around hers. “It would be like losing Ray all over again.”
She nodded.
“You loved him.”
Again, she nodded.
“He was a lucky man,” Gerard said softly.
She laughed. “Lucky? He died of ALS before he turned forty. How is that lucky?”
“He didn’t die alone,” Gerard said. “He had you. Your husband died knowing he was greatly loved. Not everyone is that fortunate.”
“Howey can’t die.” Bernie blinked back tears, her jaw hardening. “He deserves to live a long, healthy life. Whoever did this to him...whoever killed Gertrude...” She couldn’t think of any punishment painful enough to equal the pain she felt for her beloved pets. “This has to stop,” she said, bunching her free hand into a fist. “Maybe I need to sell the farm and move my animals somewhere they won’t be targeted by greedy investors.”
