by Annie Knox
“Still, what else would someone from Madison come all the way out here to investigate?”
Sean looked down, and my own gaze followed. Packer and Daisy were sitting at Sean’s feet, wiggling excitedly on their haunches, their eyes following the path of another tortilla chip to Sean’s mouth. Daisy whimpered and licked her chops while Packer tried to worm his way between her and Sean’s loafers.
I looked up to find Sean staring at me, a quizzical twist to his brows.
“Unless you want those two trying to steal your enchiladas and fighting for your ice cream spoon, I would ignore them.”
“Not even one little chip?”
“See, that’s how they get you. First it’s one little chip. Then, well, what’s another? Pretty soon, they’ve eaten half the bag and consider you their dealer.”
Sean laughed.
“You can laugh, but that chip is a gateway drug. Two hours from now, they’re meth heads and you’re their only supply.”
“Okay. Fair enough.” He looked down at the pitiful dogs. “Sorry, guys. Mom says no.”
He shifted around so he could lean his side against the pass-through and face me head-on. “So, Daniel was working on a story. There’s not necessarily anything sinister about it. Maybe it was just a human interest story?”
“Ugh. Enough with that already. Everyone keeps saying it might have been a puff piece about a cute tourist town. But that wouldn’t take a month in the field to write, and Daniel wasn’t that kind of reporter,” I said.
“How do you know?” Sean asked suspiciously.
“Xander showed me how to go on the Internet and search the Madison Standard’s archives. I read a bunch of Daniel’s columns and they were all about public corruption and corporate greed and sex scandals.”
“Sex scandals?” Rena’s face brightened at the possibility of some delicious tawdry sex story. “Tell me one.”
I glanced at Sean. He shrugged like he didn’t care about the detour in our conversation, but his lips were curled in just the faintest hint of a smile. I think he wanted to hear one, too.
“There was one about a personal chef—whom Daniel mercifully never named—who was sleeping with all his female clients. We’re talking the wives of judges and city councilmen, and über-rich businessmen. Apparently all of the women thought they were the only one, that they were special. ‘You’re the center of my galaxy,’ he’d tell them. But then two of them were chatting over a manicure, found out they were both sleeping with the chef, and pretty soon they’d told all their friends. Once all the women knew, some started telling their husbands about other women’s affairs, and pretty soon the whole world knew that all of these powerful men had been cuckolded.”
“Wow. And he didn’t expose the chef’s name?” Sean asked.
“That’s just it. All these powerful people were exposed, but the women were still loyal to their lover and the men didn’t want to give the chef any publicity. According to Daniel, they all refused to give the man’s name. He’s the ‘Mystery Chef.’”
“What an awesome story,” Rena said. “I mean, it’s terrible that it happened and all, but still an awesome story.”
I knew what she meant. Sometimes hearing about other people’s bad choices made me feel a little better about my own situation. Specifically the whole Casey thing. I knew it was childish and maybe even a little catty. I wasn’t proud of that fact, but since we’re being honest here . . .
“So all of Daniel’s stories are like that?” Sean asked.
“Yep. He wrote about the real underbelly of life in Madison. Not always hard-hitting journalism. I mean the sex scandal was a pretty tabloidesque bit of journalism. But he certainly didn’t write anything about happy people and places and how great life was. In other words, I don’t think he was here to write a story about how great Merryville is and how everyone should come for a visit.”
“So let’s assume he was here to check out the development,” Sean said. “What about the development?”
“That, we don’t know.” Rena pulled the pan of enchiladas from the oven, and the apartment was immediately engulfed in the savory scent of chilies, corn, and just a hint of chocolate—Rena’s secret ingredient.
The rattling of the wire rack in the oven acted like a dinner bell for the dogs. They came scampering in, Daisy’s long legs serving her well but Packer trying his best to muscle his way in front of the canine competition. Rena lifted the pan high above their doggy heads and waded through their enthusiasm until she could set the pan on the pass-through. I couldn’t see Packer, but I heard his snuffle of annoyance.
“Wow,” Sean breathed, a dreamy smile on his face. His voice dropped an octave to a bedroom growl. “That smells delicious.”
Rena laughed and I tried to muster a smile to hide the reaction that sultry voice had on me. I had to remind myself that Sean wasn’t interested anymore. No point developing a crush fourteen years too late.
“Anyway,” I said, “Rena and I were thinking about walking the dogs down to the lake tomorrow. It’s Sunday, so the shop doesn’t open until noon.”
Sean groaned. “Are we really doing this again? Getting involved in another murder investigation.”
“We’re just going to walk by the lake. If we happen to see something interesting, well, then so be it.”
“Right,” he deadpanned. “Just an innocent stroll.” He stood up straight and waggled his finger between Rena and me. “You two need to stay out of this. Jack Collins may not be my favorite person, but he’s a perfectly reliable cop. Let him do his job.”
I shrugged. “It’s just a hunch at this point. If I told Jack about it, he would look at me just exactly like you’re looking at me now. Like I’m a nut job. If we find something more concrete, I promise to take it straight to Jack.”
He shook his head. “I still don’t trust you two to stay out of trouble.”
I took a plate of enchiladas from Rena and handed it off to Sean. “We’re going. If you want to come along as a chaperone, you’re welcome to join us. But with or without you, we’re going. It’s the very least I can do for Aunt Dolly.”
With a deep sigh, Sean conceded. “Fine. I’ll come with you. I’d never forgive myself if you two got yourselves killed.”
As soon as we were seated, Daisy and Packer took up positions with clear views to all three of us. Smart dogs. You never knew which human would drop something or cave in and offer a little treat below the table.
“This is delicious,” Sean said, lifting a forkful of melty cheese and sauce to his lips.
“I’ll give you the recipe,” Rena replied. “It’s bachelor-proof.”
Sean had been in a long-term relationship with a fellow attorney, but that had ended on a particularly sour note. I occasionally got a hint of a flirt from him, but I hadn’t heard of him going on any other dates. He apparently needed some time to lick his wounds after the whole Carla Harper debacle.
“I’ll have you know,” Sean said, waggling his fork in Rena’s direction, “I’m a pretty competent cook. It was a good way to unwind without feeling guilty during law school. After all, I had to eat, didn’t I?”
“Prove it,” Rena said.
“Fine. Next time we have a casual dinner party, we’ll do it at my house. I’ll make my famous eggplant parmigiana.”
“Sounds like a deal.”
We ate on in silence for a bit until Rena, whose chair faced the kitchen, heaved a sigh.
I followed her line of sight and watched as Jinx lifted her head out of the enchilada pan. A long string of melted cheese connected the cat to the pan, and the three of us watched her toss her head this way and that, trying to get that cheese into her mouth.
“Oh dear. I was so worried about the beggars here”—I indicated Packer and Daisy—“that I never even thought about Jinx’s cheese obsession.”
Sean snorted, trying
to stave off a laugh.
Rena grinned. “I hope no one wanted seconds.”
“You two can laugh. You don’t live with her. That cat is lactose intolerant. She might drive Ingrid, Harvey, and me to a hotel for the night.”
Rena and Sean broke up then, howling with laughter. After a few miserable seconds, I joined in. I watched in resignation and Jinx went in for another bit of cheese, this time sticking her paw into the pan and trying to shovel the cheese to her mouth.
I got up and took the pan away from the cat, earning me a pouty hiss, and then we went back to eating in relative silence.
After the dishes had been cleared and the tainted enchiladas dumped into a trash bag, I scooped up Jinx—who rumbled softly in her postbinge stupor—and we retired the few feet to my living area and piled on the couch, where I found myself wedged between Rena and Sean. My couch is not that big. In fact, I’d never realized just how small it was. From just a few inches away, I could feel the heat emanating from Sean’s body, smell a faint whiff of juniper from his shaving soap.
“Okay,” I said, my voice sounding unnaturally loud. “I need a good laugh.”
I flipped on the television and started scrolling through menus looking for our movie. As soon as the opening credits began to roll, and the television started making noise, Daisy May came tearing out of my bedroom, big paws scrabbling on the hardwood floor. She slid to a stop in front of the couch and immediately leapt up between Sean and me. Or, more precisely, on Sean and me. One hindquarter rested on Sean’s leg and one on mine, the dog wobbling until she managed to find her balance. In the process, she completely dislodged Jinx, drawing a full-throated hiss from my queenly cat.
“What the . . . ?” Sean leaned back to look around Daisy’s back and meet my eyes.
I shrugged.
“She’s watching TV,” Rena said. “Look at her.”
Sure enough, Daisy had settled and become very still. Her gaze was pinned to the television, her head cocked and ears perked up as though she were trying to follow the plot.
I managed to pull my leg out from under her weight, forcing her to waggle her butt to find her balance again, but her focus on the television never wavered.
“At least she’s got good taste in movies,” Sean quipped. We shared a smile over the back of the couch.
It might have been my imagination, but I thought I detected a spark in his eyes, a glint of heat that lingered just a smidge too long.
“I’ve never seen a dog watch TV,” Rena whispered.
We were all staring at Daisy as if she’d suddenly started reciting passages on quantum mechanics.
“Seriously,” I added. “Occasionally, Packer will pay attention to something moving fast on the screen, but he gets bored after about five seconds. What about Blackstone?” I asked Sean. Blackstone, Sean’s elderly basset hound, didn’t move much. I figured maybe he was enough of a couch potato to invest himself in some police procedurals or soap operas.
“Nah. If he hears an animal sound, his ears will perk up, but he never seems to put two and two together to realize that the sound is coming from the TV.”
At that point, we were past the credits and Cher had been making vacuous chitchat with her vacuous friends for nearly fifteen minutes. Still, Daisy had not moved a muscle.
“You know,” Rena said, “I’ve heard that some dog owners who are gone for long periods of time leave the television on for their pets, so they don’t get lonely. Maybe that’s why she’s doing this.”
I huffed a little sigh. “I guess that must be it. Still weird, though.”
“Amen,” Rena answered, raising her hand so we could high-five.
“Weird or not, I’ve got to get her off me,” Sean said. “If she cuts off the supply of blood to my leg any longer, they’re going to have to amputate.”
Rena and I laughed, even as we hauled ourselves off the couch and physically shifted Daisy until she was resting with her narrow butt on the couch cushion.
“I guess Daisy has hijacked our movie night,” Sean said, as he stood and gingerly tested his weight on the leg Daisy had been sitting on.
“Yeah,” Rena said. “I’ll walk you out. But we’re still on for tomorrow morning, right?”
“Absolutely. Let’s meet on the porch at, say, nine thirty? You two can fight over who gets to handle Daisy’s leash.”
“I feel like Daisy and I shared a moment there. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do to walk her, right?”
“That’s the spirit,” Rena said, throwing her arms around Sean’s middle.
He hugged her back. “Don’t get your hopes up. I still think this is a terrible idea. But if it moves from terrible idea to terrible situation, I want to be there.”
CHAPTER
Six
I gave Jinx some extra snuggle time that night, trying to make up for her rude eviction from my lap during the evening. As soon as I bedded down on the couch—having given my room to Ingrid and Harvey—she sprawled her massive, twenty-pound cat self across my torso and generously allowed me to scratch her chin and ears. Occasionally, she would scoot forward a bit until we were practically nose to nose. Eventually, she began to drift off to the sound of the quiet snores emanating from Packer’s fleece bed.
Draped in that heavy cat blanket, I tried to unscramble some of the puzzle pieces we had at that point . . . which weren’t much.
We knew that Ama knew more than she was willing to tell, but the substance of her knowledge could have been anything. And we knew that Ken West was being secretive about what he was doing in the alley the night of the murder. Either he was doing something he shouldn’t have been doing, or he wasn’t in the alley at all. . . . He could have been on the second floor killing Daniel Colona. But why?
At the moment our best lead was that Daniel was working on some sort of exposé; that’s what he did. According to Richard Greene, he’d been looking for a hunting and fishing guide, someone who could help him find his way around the less populated parts of the Merryville area. And, currently, the most exciting event happening on undeveloped land was the development of the old camp by the always-slippery Hal Olson.
I drifted to sleep with visions of dark woods and dimly lit rooms, Daniel’s broken and bloody body accompanying me through my dream-walk through Merryville.
* * *
Sunday morning greeted me with the scent of frying bacon and fresh brewed coffee. It had been years since I’d eaten meat, but that particular combination of smells sent endorphins running through my brain straight to my happy place. I crawled out of the nest of quilts on the couch and let my nose lead me to my kitchenette.
To my surprise, I found Harvey manning the skillet. Daisy, Packer, and Jinx lined up like little soldiers at his feet, each hoping some of that bacon might jump out of the pan and into their waiting mouths.
“Ingrid is busy getting gussied up. Wants to go to church this morning.”
He speaks! I thought. In full sentences, even!
“Nice of you to make breakfast.”
“Hope you don’t mind me using your pans for the bacon. I found some of that fake-on stuff in your freezer and I’m making some for you.” He pointed toward a smaller skillet, where three uniformly rectangular pieces of mock bacon were sizzling softly in a little oil.
Every day, I understood a little more why Harvey was Ingrid’s Prince Charming.
“Thank you, Harvey. You and Ingrid have a wild night last night?” The two had gone out before Sean and Rena had come over and hadn’t returned home until long after I’d drifted off on the couch.
Harvey smiled, and I caught a glimpse of the boy Ingrid had fallen in love with. “Just a little supper and an evening at the Moose. Playing pull tabs and drinking beer.”
“So romantic,” I teased.
“That’s what I love about Ingrid,” he said, his voice rough with emotio
n. “For her, that is romantic. Every minute we’re together, it’s romantic.”
I caught back a sigh. What must it be like to be so madly in love? I hoped I would get to find out someday.
“How are you two holding up after the wedding?”
He shrugged. “The attempted wedding, you mean. We’re fine, I guess. We’re both a little disappointed that we didn’t officially get married yet, but that pales next to that poor young man’s death.”
“Oh dear! I hope we can figure out a time to reschedule. I want you two to have the wedding you deserve.”
He looked past my shoulder, making sure Ingrid wasn’t right behind me. “Ingrid says we should just go down to the courthouse. That it would be romantic, like eloping. But I know she wants to get married with her friends and family around her.”
“Harvey.” Ingrid had come out of nowhere to stand at my shoulder. “I told you I want to be married to you more than I want anything else.”
Good heavens, these two were killing me. All this lovey-dovey stuff was so out of character for Ingrid, and a little too saccharine for so early in the day. Still, it was hard to be immune to so much romance.
“We could try again,” I suggested. “Downstairs.”
“When?” Ingrid asked. “Trendy Tails is getting busy these days.”
She was right. As the first wave of tourists hit the streets of our tiny burg, Rena and I had seen traffic in the store pick up tremendously. We got lots of compliments on both the merchandise and the treats, so we were hoping that word of mouth would boost business even further.
I had a sudden thought. “Would you . . . ? No.” I hummed to myself, trying to figure out whether my question would be insulting. In the end, I took the plunge. “We already have next Saturday afternoon blocked off for Pearl and Romeo’s wedding. Would you mind sharing your festivities with a couple of pooches?”
Harvey looked horrified, but Ingrid laughed. “Harvey, can you even imagine? We’ll live on in Merryville lore forever: our first wedding cut short by a dead body, our second shared with a couple of dressed-up dogs?” She hooted. “I love it!”