Under the Dome

Horace lay on the rug in Andrea Grinnell’s living room with his snout on one paw and his eye on the woman his mistress had left him with. Ordinarily Julia took him everywhere; he was quiet and never caused trouble even if there were cats, which he didn’t care for because of their stinkweed smell. Tonight, however, it had occurred to Julia that seeing Horace alive when her own dog was dead might cause Piper Libby pain. She had also noticed that Andi liked Horace, and thought that the Corgi might take Andi’s mind off her withdrawal symptoms, which had abated but not disappeared.

For a while it worked. Andi found a rubber ball in the toybox she still kept for her one grandchild (who was now well past the toybox stage of life). Horace chased the ball obediently and brought it back as was required, although there wasn’t much challenge in it; he preferred balls that could be caught on the fly. But a job was a job, and he continued until Andi started shivering as if she were cold.

“Oh. Oh fuck, here it comes again.”

She lay down on the couch, shaking all over. She clutched one of the sofa-pillows against her chest and stared at the ceiling. Pretty soon her teeth started to clatter—a very annoying sound, in Horace’s opinion.

He brought her the ball, hoping to distract her, but she pushed him away. “No, honey, not now. Let me get through this.”

Horace took the ball back in front of the blank TV and lay down. The woman’s shaking moderated, and the sick-smell moderated along with it. The arms clutching the pillow loosened as she first began to drift and then to snore.

Which meant it was chowtime.

Horace slipped under the table again, walking over the manila envelope containing the VADER file. Beyond it was popcorn Nirvana. O lucky dog!

Horace was still snarking, his tailless rear end wagging with pleasure that was close to ecstasy (the scattered kernels were incredibly buttery, incredibly salty, and—best of all—aged to perfection), when the deadvoice spoke again.

Take that to her.

But he couldn’t. His mistress was gone.

The other her.

The deadvoice brooked no refusal, and the popcorn was almost gone, anyway. Horace marked the few remaining blossoms for later attention, then backed up until the envelope was in front of him. For a moment he forgot what he was supposed to do. Then he remembered and picked it up in his mouth.

Good dog.

21

Something cold licked Andrea’s cheek. She pushed it away and turned on her side. For a moment or two she almost escaped back into healing sleep, and then there was bark.

“Shurrup, Horace.” She put the sofa pillow over her head.

There was another bark, and then thirty-four pounds of Corgi landed on her legs.

“Ah!” Andi cried, sitting up. She looked into a pair of brilliant hazel eyes and a foxy, grinning face. Only there was something interrupting that grin. A brown manila envelope. Horace dropped it on her stomach and jumped back down. He wasn’t supposed to get on furniture other than his own, but the deadvoice had made this seem like an emergency.

Andrea picked up the envelope, which had been dented by the points of Horace’s teeth and was faintly marked with the tracks of his paws. There was also a kernel of popcorn stuck to it, which she brushed away. Whatever was inside felt fairly bulky. Printed on the front of the envelope in block letters were the words VADER FILE. Below that, also printed: JULIA SHUMWAY.

“Horace? Where did you get this?”

Horace couldn’t answer that, of course, but he didn’t have to. The kernel of popcorn told her where. A memory surfaced then, one so shimmery and unreal that it was more like a dream. Was it a dream, or had Brenda Perkins really come to her door after that first terrible night of withdrawal? While the food riot was going on at the other end of town?

Will you hold this for me, dear? Just for a little while? I have an errand to run and I don’t want to take it with me.

“She was here,” she told Horace, “and she had this envelope. I took it… at least I think I did… but then I had to throw up. Throw up again. I might have tossed it at the table while I was running for the john. Did it fall off? Did you find it on the floor?”

Horace uttered one sharp bark. It could have been agreement; it could have been I’m ready for more ball if you are.

“Well, thanks,” Andrea said. “Good pup. I’ll give it to Julia as soon as she comes back.”

She no longer felt sleepy, and she wasn’t—for the moment—shivery, either. What she was was curious. Because Brenda was dead. Murdered. And it must have happened not long after she delivered this envelope. Which might make it important.

“I’ll just have a tiny peek, shall I?” she said.

Horace barked again. To Andi Grinnell it sounded like Why not?

Andrea opened the envelope, and most of Big Jim Rennie’s secrets fell out into her lap.

22