“Help you?” asked a young, ponytailed girl in a pink and white striped blouse and dangling white, plastic earrings.

“A large butterscotch cone.”

The girl nodded and rung the price into the cash register. “Two seventy-five.”

Crystal handed her a twenty and glanced back at the dog.

He was still standing at the end of the yellow rope, twitching at something he saw down the street, his expression hopeful.

“Your change,” said the girl, and Crystal turned back.

“What’s with the dog?” she asked.

“Animal Control’s coming for him.”

This surprised Crystal. For some reason, he hadn’t struck her as a stray. He seemed intelligent and, well, dignified-if the word could be applied to an old dog with such a battered ear.

“Is he lost?” she asked.

The girl shook her head, jiggling her plastic earrings and swaying her ponytail. “There was a car accident this morning.” She pointed. “Old man hit the tree.”

Crystal stared back, seeing the white gash in a stately, old oak.

“Old guy was killed. Dog was fine.”

Crystal’s heart instantly went out to the poor dog, and her chest tightened painfully. His owner wouldn’t be coming back. And the city pound would…

She swallowed, not allowing herself to think about what might happen at the pound.

“Did he have relatives?” asked Crystal. Maybe there were children or grandchildren who’d take the dog.

“The dog?”

“The man.”

Another shrug. “Didn’t know his name. Came in here alone a lot.” She took a sugar cone from the stack and opened the ice cream bin.

Crystal watched the girl form a scoop of the swirled butterscotch, feeling like a heel for indulging in something as silly as ice cream when the poor dog was probably about to be put down.