by Jen Blood
“I understand, sweetie,” I said. “It’s not an easy situation for either of you. So, he didn’t tell you anything about what had been going on that night? Where he’d been?”
“No, but I’ve never heard him more upset. It sounded like he might have been crying—and you know Bear just isn’t that type of guy. He kept saying he’d messed up. That I shouldn’t waste any more time on him.”
It wasn’t lost on me that none of this sounded good for Bear, and certainly didn’t clear him of anything that had happened at Nancy’s. An edge of my earlier headache returned.
“Ren, did he say anything about being at Nancy Davis’s house that night?”
“No,” she said. “But I saw everything that’s been happening, on news sites online. I can’t believe it. Were you able to get any of the animals? There’s a dog…”
“Reaver?” I asked.
She laughed, though it sounded a little bit sad. A little bit broken. “Yes. Reaver. Bear loves that dog—he’s been furious with Nancy over him for months. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him angrier.”
Wonderful. I made a mental note to try and keep Ren from the witness stand, if it ever came to that.
“Well, we have him now. But there have been some developments that I wanted to talk to you about—I’m really glad you called, actually.”
I went on to tell her about Bear’s arrest, and my own suspicion that he might in fact have something to do with Nancy’s death. Or, at the very least, be hiding something about that night. Ren was predictably horrified to hear that Bear had been arrested, but she couldn’t give me much in the way of additional information that might shed light on what he’d been doing before he called her that night.
“I planned to stop calling,” Ren said, when I was finished. “I really meant to, after our conversation that night. But I just had this feeling there was something he hadn’t said, and I couldn’t shake it. I know he wants me to leave him alone. I will after this, I promise. I don’t want him to feel as though I’m some crazed stalker—”
“I promise you, sweetie. Bear doesn’t think of you as a crazed stalker. I think he’s trying to do what’s best for you, but you should know that this is ripping him to pieces, too. You know how moody he can get, but he’s taken it to a whole new level since you left. I agree with him—with both of you… You’re young. The space to grow is important, I think, even if it does hurt like hell. But don’t think for a minute that he’s not hurting too. That he doesn’t miss you every day. I know he does.”
She sniffled again, and took a deep, steadying breath. “Thank you. I’ve known on some level that he hasn’t been coping well—I’ve been very worried about him, especially after our conversation the other night.” She hesitated. “You said you were trying to figure out what he was doing that night, before he talked to me? The night that Nancy died?”
“That’s right. Bear’s treating it like it’s some kind of state secret, but the police aren’t going to take kindly to that much longer.”
“You should talk to Julie Monroe,” Ren said. There was no mistaking the disdain in her voice when she said the name. “If there’s a chance that he was near Nancy’s that night, my guess is that he was there to see Julie. She’s been trying to get him alone from the day she first laid eyes on him. I know how happy she was to find out I’d left, and Bear has always been…” She paused again. “I think he might have had a crush, too. She’s very pretty.”
I fought the urge to say something about that—about how much prettier Ren was than her, and how if Bear really had any interest in a vapid little twit like Julie Monroe, he clearly had some growing up to do. But there were definitely some boundaries I should be maintaining in all this, and I had to keep reminding myself of just how young these two were. Bear was right: they needed time apart. They needed to grow up and see the world. The last thing either of them needed was me poking my nose in, trying to keep them together through all this.
“I’ll look into it,” I said instead. “Thank you.”
We talked for a few minutes more, while I got updates on her father and Minion—her dog—and gave her all the latest news on Windfall Island. By the time I got off the phone, we’d been chatting for half an hour, and Reaver had found a spot in the sun and was resting peacefully on his side, his eyes closed. On the other side of the fence, Phantom had gotten as close as she could to the fencing and had likewise settled in. She didn’t look nearly as peaceful, however. In fact, she looked more than a little bit peeved.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve got a little bit of a crush, Phan,” I said to the dog.
She didn’t dignify that with any response, but she watched with interest as I approached Reaver with the muzzle in hand.
I definitely expected a fight this time around, but Reaver didn’t even seem fazed at sight of the large plastic basket muzzle I was carrying. He sat obediently with his head up, and didn’t so much as flinch as I strapped the bulky equipment over his face. It was an awkward fit because he had such a broad, short nose, but I managed to make it work.
With that added insurance, I went to the gate and let Phantom in. She went to Reaver without hesitation, and the two greeted one another with more polite sniffs. Then, Phantom blew my mind completely by lowering her aging bones into a play bow, her behind in the air and her tail wagging like she was a puppy.
Reaver took a short, quick step back, his own tail wagging. He pranced two steps forward. Lowered himself into a bow. The muzzle was clearly in the way, but I gave it another ten minutes of careful scrutiny before I went over and removed it from the pit bull.
Completely free now, he charged Phantom only to stop short with a quick, playful bark before he took off again. Phantom charged after him. He let her catch him, and the two collided. Growls erupted from both dogs, but it was clear that they were play vocalizations—there was no threat here. Quite the opposite. Phantom was four years old before I got her, so I never got a chance to see her playing as a puppy or adolescent dog, and she’d never been particularly interested in play with any other dogs. Apparently, she’d just been waiting for Reaver.
They played for only a few minutes more before Reaver was panting heavily, his thin sides heaving. Phantom settled herself back down without the need for any commands, and the two of them wandered the field together until they found a patch of sun big enough to share. Ignoring me completely, they lay down with bodies touching and closed their eyes.
I shook my head. How had Nancy gotten it so completely, devastatingly wrong about this dog?
Chapter 23
WHILE JAMIE WAS BUSY doing whatever it was she needed to do to work through this whole nightmare, Jack returned to his apartment. He had a headache—a hell of a headache actually, but that was understandable given everything that had happened last night at Nancy’s.
Thoughts of Nancy’s inevitably led to thoughts of Jamie after Nancy’s… Jamie, in his bed with him. Jamie, in his arms. They’d kissed. If he hadn’t been concussed, he was willing to bet they would have done a lot more than that. Yet when he’d gotten up this morning, he was disappointed to find that the world hadn’t had the decency to even pause to let them sleep in and revel in the moment. Instead, things had gotten exponentially worse while they were out. He knew from experience that life wasn’t fair, but was it really necessary to hammer that lesson home with quite this much venom?
To distract himself—and because it was clearly necessary—he changed the cats’ litter boxes, spent a few minutes playing with the kittens, and made his bed. His thoughts returned once more to Jamie and the time they had spent together, and he once more set that aside.
There were more important things to worry about right now. Chief among them, figuring out how to get Bear cleared of Nancy Davis’s murder. Jack considered what had happened in her house. What he had found there. He’d taken photos of Nancy’s bedroom—specifically, the skull in the secret hideaway behind her bed. Would they even be able to find it among the rubb
le now that the house had burned to the ground? It wasn’t as though he could just hand Sophie the skull to test and see if it did indeed match the headless skeleton in the basement. It seemed like a safe bet, though.
Jamie’s hunch that there could be a connection between Reaver and the Mississippi ex-con made sense. Now, Jack just needed to test that theory. Maybe taking out that single ex-con had been the thing that led to Nancy’s death. If someone had found out…
He frowned, then thought the case through once more. Three bodies in the basement. There had to be more—he was almost positive of that. Were they buried in the basement? It seemed unlikely, considering the way the others had simply been left down there. No. Any other victims would have to be somewhere else on the property.
Was Barbara Monroe’s husband truly among them?
Fred Davis was clearly still fond of Barbara. He may not have a relationship with the daughter, but Jack had seen firsthand how hard the man was trying to create one. Trying to insinuate himself into Barbara’s life in whatever way he could. That hardly meant the man had killed Barbara’s husband, though—if he knew about the deaths on the property, he would also know that evicting his mother meant any bodies would be discovered as soon as the place was vacated.
Unless he planned on going in before the house was sold, and cleaning up whatever messes had been left.
Jack frowned.
“But if he killed his mother, he had to know the police would come in and turn the place upside down,” Jack said aloud.
“Prrrt,” Cash replied, as he came into the office with the little black kitten close behind. The other four tended to do their own thing, but this little guy was never far from Cash. Always with tail puffed out and back up, a kitten with attitude from the get-go. Harvey Danger—that was the name Jack would call him, if he were to keep the kitten. Which he, of course, would not be doing.
“What do you think?” he asked Cash.
Cash wended his way over and hopped up on the desk. Harvey Danger couldn’t make the leap, though, and instead sat at Jack’s feet and mewed indignantly at being left behind.
Jack picked him up, smiling at the hissing little fuzzball.
“You need to chill out, Harvey,” he informed the kitten. “You’re cute, but you can’t just trade on your looks. I don’t know how many people will want to adopt a little black hellcat.”
He stood, and went to the window with the kitten still in his arms. As though he’d understood Jack’s warning, Harvey changed his tune and snuggled closer with a low, awkward purr.
“That’s better,” Jack said softly. He looked out the window at the street below. It was another gorgeous day, not a cloud in the sky. His thoughts shifted back to Bear, stuck in a jail cell right now.
They had to get him out. Some guys might be able to handle a place like that, but Bear wasn’t one. He’d been ready to climb out of his skin just being stuck in Jack’s office for those few minutes the other day.
In the street below, Jack watched idly as Mel emerged from the Loyal Biscuit and added water to a dog bowl on the sidewalk. There was a steady stream of customers going in and out—apparently, a sunny Saturday in July was prime shopping time for the local store. Suddenly, Jack remembered the collar he’d found in Nancy’s kitchen.
He set Harvey Danger down, laced up his sneakers, and rushed out the door.
The Biscuit’s Main Street entrance was open, but Jack had to wait for several people to come and go before he finally made it in. They were having a nail clipping clinic in addition to the usual Saturday foot traffic, which Jack supposed explained the rush. Regardless, he went inside gamely to see if he could find someone to help him out.
“Hey, handsome,” Mel called from across the store, as soon as she caught sight of him. “How are the kittens doing?”
It took him a second to realize she was talking to him. “They’re good,” he said. A golden retriever puppy nearly bowled him over from behind, a little boy on the other end of the leash. Jack stepped aside. Several other kids were crowded around a large black cage, where two kittens slept snuggled together in a hammock while two others played with a plastic ball on the floor of the cage.
“Another couple of weeks, and you can bring your guys in here,” Mel said. “I saw the pictures—between that and the press, I bet all five will be adopted out by the end of the day.”
He frowned. A little girl stuck her finger through the cage, and Jack turned away. “Yeah. Maybe,” he agreed reluctantly.
“Uh oh,” Mel said with a sly grin.
“What?”
“You can’t adopt all of them, you know. They have to go sometime. Trust me, I know—I’ve got a house full of fosters I couldn’t stand to see leave.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m not adopting them all. I’m ready to give them up whenever Tracy says it’s time.”
“Mmhm,” she said. Clearly, she didn’t believe him. “How’s the head? I heard about the fire last night. Nancy’s got flattened, huh?”
“I guess so—I haven’t seen it since Jamie pulled me out of there. How’d you know I was there?”
“Joel was at the station last night. He mentioned it.”
“Oh.” Jack had no idea who Joel was, but decided asking would mean getting more information than he really needed at this point. He was just about to change the subject by asking about the collar when several customers came up to the counter at once to check out. He stepped aside.
Across the store and up the stairs to the open second floor, he saw Heidi—the store owner—emerge from her office. Halfway down the stairs, she grinned at sight of him.
“Hey, Jack. How’s the kitten business?”
Others in the store stopped to look at him, and he was suddenly very conscious of the bandage on his forehead and the sling on his right arm. He weaved his way through the crowd to the pretty blond woman, her eyes sharp when she took in his appearance.
“Joel mentioned you had a rough night. Everything okay?”
“It is,” he agreed, then hesitated. “I’m sorry—Mel said the same thing. Who’s Joel?”
Heidi laughed. “My husband. He’s a cop—Rockland PD.”
“Ah. That makes more sense.”
Those keen eyes studied him a moment more, and her brow furrowed. “Is there something I can help you with?”
He hesitated, but only for a moment before he forged gamely on. “I hope so. If someone bought a collar from here, would you have a record of it? A way to trace who actually made the purchase?”
“Depends,” she said. “If they’re regular customers with an account here, we would. If they don’t have an account, I might still be able to track it through a credit card.”
“Would you do that for me? Find out who bought a certain collar, I mean?”
She hesitated. “That’s all the information you’re looking for? Just a name—no credit card info, no phone number, no address?”
“Just a name,” he assured her.
She looked around the bustling store. “It’s a little busy right now. Could I do it and get the list to you later?”
“Absolutely. That would be great.”
“So… Which collar are we talking about?”
He went to the wall of collars and selected the red, white, and blue collar with lobsters that he’d seen on Nancy’s table, making sure he’d gotten the correct size—large. Then, he returned to Heidi and placed it in her waiting hand.
“It’s this one. That was the size, design, everything.”
“It’s a popular one,” she said uncertainly. “Any idea how long ago this person got it?”
He considered. “Not more than three months, I think. Can you go back that far?”
She rolled her eyes, just a little. “Can I go back that far? Please.” She grinned. “Yeah, I can go back that far. I’ll give you a call once I get the list. If you don’t hear back, check in before closing tonight. Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect. Thank you.”
She
waved off his thanks, and turned to answer an onslaught of questions from employees and customers alike. If this was what small-town sleuthing would be, Jack could definitely get used to it.
Jack was feeling far from at his best when he returned to his apartment. His headache was roaring, and he recalled the doctor’s advice to stay quiet and resting for at least twenty-four hours with a grimace. Now hardly seemed like the time to take a break, but he did allow himself a few minutes on the sofa with tea, aspirin, and the kittens to take his mind off his troubles.
They seemed to be getting the hang of apartment living, and he was grateful that they likewise appeared to be shifting to a more people-friendly schedule. Phantom had been good at keeping the rowdy little fuzzballs quiet overnight; maybe it would be good to have her around on a regular basis. He considered that. Jamie had a lot going on out on the island—it wasn’t as though she could just hop to the mainland whenever the kittens needed to be set straight again. Of course, he wouldn’t actually have the kittens for that long…
The smallest of the five, a fuzzy orange female he’d taken to calling Jasper before Jamie gently explained that Jasper was a little girl, climbed up the leg of his jeans with pointy, newly discovered claws. She mewed the entire way, and then gazed at him triumphantly with deep blue eyes when she reached his knee.
“You’re starting to get the hang of that,” Jack congratulated her, and plucked her from his knee to rest on his chest. Two of the others—both tabbys, named Marco and Polo—came barreling up his leg after her, and he winced when the sharp claws made it through the denim and into his skin.
“Ouch. See, this is why I got that climbing thing,” he said. He stood, with Jasper in his arms and Marco and Polo clinging to his leg, while Cash and Harvey Danger watched him. The fifth kitten—a quiet, pudgy orange and white male Jack had taken to calling Zen—sat watching the action, apparently content to play spectator. Jack took the hangers-on to the cat tower he’d purchased from the Loyal Biscuit, and set each of them on a different limb.