Damn thing was lethal.

That night Keller had a couple of drinks after dinner. He still felt them when he got back to his motel. He walked around the block to sober up, and when he got back to his room he picked up the phone and called Nelson.

He wasn’t drunk enough to expect the dog to answer. But it seemed to him that this was a way to make a minimal sort of contact. The phone would ring. The dog would hear it ring. While he could not be expected to recognize it as his master’s voice, Keller would have reached out and touched him, as they said in the phone company ads.

No, of course it didn’t make sense. Dialing the number, he knew it didn’t make sense. But it wouldn’t cost anything, and there wouldn’t be a record of the call, so what harm could it do?

The line was busy.

His first reaction-and it was extremely brief, just momentary-was one of jealous paranoia. The dog was on the phone with someone else, and they were talking about Keller.

The thought came and went in an instant, leaving Keller to shake his head in wonder at the mysteries of his own mind. A flood of other explanations came to him, each of them far more probable than that first thought.

Nelson could have lurched into the end table on which the phone sat, knocking it off the hook. Andria, using the phone before or after their walk, could have replaced the receiver incorrectly. Or, most probably, the long-distance circuits were overloaded, and any call to New York would be rewarded with a busy signal.

A few minutes later he tried again and got a busy signal again.

He walked back and forth, fighting the impulse to call the operator and have her check the line. Eventually he picked up the phone and tried the number a third time, and this time it rang. He let it ring four times, and as it rang he imagined the dog’s reaction-the ears pricking up, the alert gleam in the eyes.

“Good boy, Nelson,” he said aloud. “I’ll be home soon.”

The next day, Friday, he spent the morning in his motel room. Around eleven he called the restaurant in the Old Market. Dinsmore had arrived at the restaurant at 12:30 on both of his previous visits. Keller booked a table for one at 12:15.

He arrived on time and ordered a cranberry juice spritzer. He looked across at Dinsmore’s table, now set for two. If this went well, he thought, he could be home in time to take Nelson for a walk before bedtime.

At 12:30, Dinsmore’s table remained empty. Ten minutes later a pair of businesswomen were seated at it. Keller ate his food without tasting it, drank a cup of coffee, paid the check, and left.

Saturday he went to a movie. Sunday he went to another movie and walked around the Old Market district. Sunday night he sat in his room and looked at the phone. He had already called home twice, letting the phone ring, trying to tell himself he was establishing some kind of psychic contact with his dog. He hadn’t had anything to drink and he knew what he was doing didn’t make any sense, but he’d gone ahead and done it anyhow.

He reached for the phone, started to dial a different number, then caught himself and left the room. He made the call from a pay phone, dialing Andria ’s beeper number, punching in the pay phone number after the tone sounded. He didn’t know if it would work, didn’t know if her beeper would receive more than a seven-number signal, didn’t know if she’d be inclined to return a long-distance call. And she might be walking a dog, Nelson or some other client’s, and did he really want to stand next to this phone for an hour waiting for her to call back? He couldn’t call from his room, because then her call would have to come through the switchboard, and she wouldn’t know whom to ask for. Even if she guessed it was him, the name Keller would mean nothing to the motel switchboard, and it was a name he didn’t want anyone in Omaha to hear, anyway. So-

The phone rang almost immediately. He grabbed it and said hello, and she said, “Mr. Keller?”

“ Andria,” he said, and then couldn’t think what to say next. He asked about the dog and she assured him that the dog was fine.

“But I think he misses you,” she said. “He’ll be glad when you’re home.”

“So will I,” Keller said. “That’s why I called. I had hoped to be back the day before yesterday, but things are taking longer than I thought. I’ll be a few more days, maybe longer.”

“No problem.”

“Well, just so you know,” he said. “Listen, I appreciate your calling me back. I may call again if this drags on. I’ll reimburse you for the call.”

“You’re already paying for this one,” she said. “I’m calling from your apartment. I hope that’s all right?”

“Of course,” he said. “But-”

“See, I was here when the beeper went off, and I figured who else would be calling me from out of town? So I figured it would be all right to use your phone, since it was probably you I’d be calling.”

“Sure.”

“As a matter of fact,” she said, “I’ve been spending a lot of time here. It’s nice and quiet, and Nelson seems to like the company. His ears pricked up just now when I said his name. I think he knows who I’m talking to. Do you want to say hello to him?”

“Well-”

Feeling like an idiot, he said hello to the dog and told him he was a good boy and that he’d see him soon. “He got all excited,” Andria assured him. “He didn’t bark, he hardly ever barks-”

“It’s the dingo in him.”

“-but he did a lot of panting and pawing the floor. He misses you. We’re doing fine here, me and Nelson, but he’ll be glad to see you.”

Keller got to the restaurant at 12:15 Monday. The hostess recognized him and led him directly to the same table he’d had Friday. He looked over at Dinsmore’s table and saw that it was set for four, and that there was aRESERVED card on it.

At 12:30, two men in suits were seated at Dinsmore’s table. Keller didn’t recognize either of them, and began to despair of his entire plan. Then Dinsmore arrived, accompanied by the wrestler.

Keller watched them while he ate his meal. Three men, drinking their drinks and wolfing their steaks, talking heartily, gesturing volubly. While the fourth man, the bodyguard, sat like a coiled spring.

Too many people, Keller thought. Give it another day.

The next day he arrived at the same time and the hostess led him to the table he’d reserved. Dinsmore’s table had two places set, and aRESERVED sign in place. Keller got to his feet and went to the men’s room, where he locked himself in a stall.

A few minutes later he left the men’s room and threaded his way through the maze of tables, passing close to the Dinsmore table on his way, bumping into it, reaching out to steady himself.

As far as he could tell, nobody paid him any attention.

He returned to his own table, sat down, waited. At 12:30 Dinsmore’s table was still unoccupied. What would he do if they gave it to somebody else? He couldn’t try to undo what he’d just done, could he? He didn’t see how, not with people sitting at the table.

Risky plan, he thought. Too many ways it could go wrong. If he’d been able to talk it through with Nelson first-

Get a grip on yourself, he told himself.

He was doing just that when Dinsmore and the wrestler turned up, the executive in a testy mood, the bodyguard looking sullen and bored. There was a bad moment when the hostess seemed uncertain where to seat them, but then she worked it out and led them to their usual table.

Keller longed to get out of there. He’d been picking at his veal ever since it had been placed in front of him. It tasted flat, but he figured anything would just then. Could he just put some money on the table and get the hell out? Or did he have to sit there and wait?

Fifteen minutes after his arrival, Dinsmore cried out, clutched his throat, and pitched forward onto the table. Half an hour after that, Keller turned in his rental car at the airport and booked his flight home.

In the cab from the airport, Keller had to fight the impulse to have the driver stop so he could pick up something for Nelson. He’d changed planes in St. Louis, and he’d spent most of his time between flights in the gift shop, trying to find something for the dog. But what would Nelson do with a snow shaker or a souvenir coffee mug? What did he want with a Cardinals cap, or a sweatshirt with a representation of the Gateway Arch?

“You hardly touched that,” the waitress in Omaha had said of his veal. “Do you want a doggie bag?”

He’d been stuck for an answer. “Sorry,” he said at length. “I’m a little rattled. That poor man…” he’d added, with a gesture toward the table where Dinsmore had been sitting.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be all right,” she said. “He’s probably sitting up in his hospital bed right now, joking with his nurses.”

Keller didn’t think so.

“Hey, Mist’ Keller,” the elevator operator said. “Ain’t seen you in a while, sir.”

“It’s good to be back.”

“That dog be glad to see you,” the man said. “That Nelson, he’s a real good dog.”

He was also out, a fact the attendant had neglected to mention. Keller unlocked the door and entered the apartment, calling the dog’s name and getting no response. He unpacked, and decided to delay his shower until the dog was back and the girl had gone for the day.

He could have had several showers. It was fully forty minutes from the time he sat down in front of the television set until he heard Andria ’s key in the lock. As soon as the door was open Nelson came flying across the room, leaping up to greet Keller, tail wagging furiously.

Keller felt wonderful. A wave of contentment passed through him, and he got down on his knees to play with his dog.

“I’m sorry you had to come home to an empty house,” Andria said. “If we’d known you were coming-”

“That’s all right.”

“Well, I’d better be going. You must be exhausted, you’ll want to get to bed.”

“Not for a few hours,” he said, “but I’ll want a shower. There’s something about spending a whole day in airports and on planes-”

“I know what you mean,” she said. “Well, Nelson, what’s today? Tuesday? I guess I won’t be seeing you until Friday.” She petted the dog, then looked across at Keller. “You still want me to give him his regular walk on Friday, don’t you?”

“Definitely.”

“Good, because I’ll be looking forward to it. He’s my favorite client.” She gave the dog another pat. “And thanks for paying me, and for the bonus. It’s great of you. I mean, if I wind up having to get a hotel room, I can afford it.”

“A hotel room?”

She lowered her eyes. “I wasn’t going to mention this,” she said, “but it’d give me a bad conscience not to. I don’t know how you’re going to feel about this, but I’ll just go ahead and blurt it out, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ve sort of been staying here,” she said.