Man's Best Friend (The Dogmothers Book 6)

by Roxanne St Claire

  “I’ll find it?” he guessed.

  “You’ll lose…her.”

  Declan stared at him.

  “Is it worth it to you? To turn over stones that were long ago pressed into the ground and meant to stay there? Is it?”

  He wasn’t sure. “The truth is always important,” he managed.

  Max pushed the tray away and fell back on the pillow. “I’m tired now.”

  Declan sat very still for a moment, letting the conversation sink in and not particularly liking any of it.

  After a moment, he stood, took the tray, and headed down the back stairs to the kitchen, stopping when he saw Evie leaning against that same counter where they’d kissed like teenagers the night before, staring at her phone.

  “Hey, you’re supposed to be waiting in there for me.” He angled his head toward the bedroom.

  She looked up from her phone and walked toward him, her expression blank, actually humorless.

  “He’s right, you know.”

  He inched back, frowning.

  “You would lose me.” She turned the phone so he could see the screen, a camera shot of Max sound asleep. “I thought it would be fun to check out what you two were talking about.”

  Damn it. Silent, he put the tray on the island, thinking about the advice he’d just been given. When he turned, she’d already gone back into the bedroom. He followed her, finding her sitting on the floor, petting Judah.

  “He remembers things,” he said. “He might be able to shed some light on what happened that night.”

  She looked up at him. “I didn’t know it was in darkness.”

  “It is for me, Evie. I’d never cracked a file on that fire. Never wanted to get that close to it. But after I was up in the attic, I realized I had to. I have to face it in order to get free of it.”

  “Then face it, but don’t try to re-investigate it. Do you have any idea what that will do to you?”

  Yes, as a matter of fact, he did. He closed his eyes, knowing where a good dive into the cause of that fire would send him.

  “I mean, now you’re looking for lighters that burn a certain way and asking about spilled lighter fluid?” She stood up, her eyes steely as she pinned her gaze on him. “Do you think my grandfather set that fire on purpose?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “My mother? My father? Someone in my family?”

  “I don’t,” he said. “None of them had a motive, and there’s only thin evidence that contradicts much stronger evidence.”

  “Then why are you looking for trouble?” she asked. “To sabotage us? Like your sister said? Maybe that is what you do, Dec.”

  He sure hoped not. “I wanted to talk to him about what he remembers from that night,” he said, coming closer to her.

  “Why?”

  “Because somebody made a mistake. It might have been my dad. It might have been…someone else. And I feel like I should know.”

  “You do know. My mother put rags in a bucket, and they combusted.”

  “That’s what we think, but…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, because the look of fear and sadness in her eyes took his breath away.

  “Why would you ask Max about his lighters?” Her voice was taut and her eyes fiery with emotion. “Why would you have secret conversations with an arson investigator?”

  “It wasn’t secret.”

  “Well, you didn’t tell me.”

  He huffed out a breath. “Evie, I want to know what happened.”

  “I get that, I do.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “But ten minutes ago, you were marveling that I trust you again. Can I? Or will you go back to that dark, cold, shut-off place?”

  “I won’t—”

  “You might. You very well might. And I honestly don’t know if I can take that again.” Hurt hung on every word, slicing him in half.

  “Evie.” He reached for her hand, but she stepped back. “I swear I don’t want to let anything wreck this again.”

  “Then don’t.” She stared hard at him. “The case was investigated and closed. Thoroughly investigated. Can’t that be enough for you? Can’t you move on and live in the present…with me? Isn’t that what you want?”

  “More than anything,” he said. He finally got her hand and held it tight, bringing her knuckles to his lips and holding her gaze. “It’s all I want, Evie.”

  “I need to trust you,” she whispered. “I need to know that you won’t go back there, Dec. That you won’t freeze me out, that you won’t go…”

  Down. Way down to the basement of his soul.

  “I won’t.” He pressed another kiss on her hand. “I’m going to let it go. I promise.”

  She gave him a sad smile, reminding him that he’d made—and broken—promises in the past.

  Well, he wouldn’t break this one. He would not.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  A few hours later, Evie finally put the conversation behind her as she escorted the Mahoney, Kilcannon, and Santorini women into the “turret room” to enjoy the explosion of silk and satin in every color of the rainbow. Dozens of dresses hung from the shutters and the doors of a massive antique armoire, and more were spread out over the bed.

  Chloe and Andi squealed with excitement, while Cassie and her mother, Katie, linked arms and gushed over two gowns Evie thought they might like.

  “I don’t know what’s cooler,” Pru exclaimed, twirling in the circular bedroom. “This room or these clothes!”

  “The room is cool,” Jessie agreed, lifting a deep green empire dress that set off her strawberry-blond hair. “But this dress is a dream. Do you think it’ll fit?”

  Gramma Finnie tucked at the material. “I can make it fit, lass, if Evie doesn’t mind a few stitches in the dresses.”

  “As long as they hold their integrity,” she said. “I wouldn’t want anything to be cut.”

  “You wouldn’t have to cut this to fit me.” Yiayia held a bright blue satin tea dress. “If I squeeze into it, I’ll claim it as mine.”

  “Oh, Yiayia.” Evie put a hand on her shoulder. “That belonged to my Grandmama Penelope. You would look striking in it.”

  “Look at this one!” Ella exclaimed, sliding a black-and-white ball gown from the 1950s from a hanger. “Just call me Doris Day!”

  “Oh, honey, you’ll be a princess in that dress!” Colleen fluttered the material, fussing over her daughter.

  “Did you find anything you like, Colleen?” Evie asked. “I was thinking of you for that elegant rose-colored 1920s number. It would really look beautiful with your hair.”

  Her eyes lit as she studied the dress. “I don’t think I’ve ever worn anything that…exotic.”

  “Then it’s time.”

  Colleen slid her arm around Evie’s waist. “What about you, dear? Have you picked a dress?”

  “I have.” Several of the women in the room stopped their examinations of the dresses to listen to her. “My great-grandmother Evangeline’s engagement dress.”

  “An engagement dress?” Yiayia and Gramma Finnie said the words in such perfect high-pitched unison that everyone burst into laughter.

  “Well, that’s…promising,” Yiayia said.

  “No promises.” Evie tapped the woman’s shoulder playfully.

  “Oh, the Dogmothers want promises,” Pru said, sidling up to Evie. “We basically live for them.” At Evie’s look, she shrugged. “Yes, we. They made me a Dogdaughter for my sixteenth birthday.”

  “What we want are happy endings,” Gramma Finnie said, getting a wide-eyed look from Evie and several others in the room. “What? Agnes has convinced me that subtlety is for younger people. We don’t have all the time in the world to ring those wedding bells.”

  Evie bit back a laugh and looked from woman to woman. “No one’s going to give me an assist here?”

  “Of course they won’t,” Ella said, sliding her fingers into her tousled short hair. “Because they’ve all been wooed to the dark side, and I’m the only one of this
lot who hasn’t been helped down the aisle by a well-meaning family member.” She leaned in to wrinkle her cute nose. “But in this case, I’m going with the majority. I’ve never seen my big brother so happy. Well, yes, I have. And so have you.”

  Yiayia clapped. “Then bring on the engagement…dress.”

  Gramma Finnie’s face crinkled into a smile. “You’re a good sport, lass. We usually don’t have to try this hard.”

  “You don’t have to try at all,” she said softly.

  “So everything is right where it should be?” Gramma Finnie asked. “There’s hope?”

  Evie sighed. “There’s always hope.” Once Declan let go of the past for good and kept his walls down.

  “Do you know what my mother says?” Colleen asked, pointing to Gramma Finnie.

  “I think I do,” Evie said. “I think I’ve heard this one…”

  “With hope, anything is possible.” The words were spoken in unison by every woman in the room, except Gramma Finnie, who beamed like a conductor who’d gotten her orchestra to play the perfect note in unison.

  “’Tis true, lassies” she said on a sigh, her gaze dropping to Evie’s stomach. “Anything is possible.”

  Evie bit her lip and smiled at her and Colleen, feeling her eyes fill with the emotion of the moment and the aftermath of her argument with Declan this morning. Was anything possible? Could she trust Declan not to spiral into that darkness, where she’d lose him again? Would he ever be able to let go of that pain once and for all?

  “What is it?” Colleen asked, taking her hand.

  The gesture was so genuine and motherly that Evie nearly blinked out a tear. “Oh, it’s…nothing like…”

  Every woman in the room stilled and looked at her.

  “Nothing like being the center of attention,” she tried to joke.

  “Come on, Evie.” Molly slid an arm around her. “Do you need some advice? A shoulder? Some insights from the family who knows him best?”

  Colleen squeezed her hand. “I’m pretty sure you’ll never have this many advice-givers in one room.”

  She let out a sigh and leaned into Molly, looking from one loving, beautiful face to another. “I never had sisters,” she admitted, her throat thick.

  “Well, here we are.” Molly beamed at her. “Ready to advise and…sister.”

  “I’ve never even had cousins or in-laws or steps,” she added, smiling at Andi and Chloe, who were clearly dear friends, and Cassie and Katie, who had an enviable mother-daughter relationship, and Darcy and Ella, always next to each other. The grannies, of course, and Beck, who rubbed her barely showing baby bump, next to Pru, who had her arms around Grace and Sadie.

  “Whatever you need to know or understand about Declan,” Colleen said, “this is the group to ask.”

  She held Colleen’s gaze, as warm as any of them in the room. “You’ve all noticed that he’s changed.”

  There was a chorus of agreement.

  “Do you think it’s a lasting change?” she whispered. “It was a long twenty years. And this has been a short week or so. I’m scared. I’m an…attacher.”

  “So true,” Molly agreed. “She almost wouldn’t give Danny back.”

  “I don’t want to get hurt.”

  For a moment, no one said a word. Then Gramma Finnie stepped closer and joined the small group in the center of the room.

  “Lass, what you are is a nurturer. Pure and simple. You have a magical touch with animals and…” Gramma smiled. “Declan Mahoney. The person you need to trust is yourself and your glorious healing power.”

  “Oh.” Evie put her hand to her chest. “Thank you, Gramma.”

  Yiayia took a step closer, the blue dress in her arms. “Everyone in this room will tell you Declan’s heart is gold. You know that.”

  She nodded. “Pure gold.”

  “And real gold is tested, refined, and purified by fire,” Yiayia said. “Believe me when I say people can and do change after they’ve been through the worst of times. But sometimes it takes some intervention. And I don’t mean us. It’s you.”

  “That’s so sweet, Yiayia.”

  The older woman looked skyward. “I’ve made Finnie blunt, and she’s made me sweet. Kind of.”

  As they all laughed, Colleen took Evie’s hands. “I can tell you this, honey. Joe always thought our son would marry you. And he—and I—very much liked that idea.”

  Evie bit her lip as if that could stop the tears from welling. It didn’t, so she reached out and hugged Colleen, breaking contact only at the sound of the doorbell chime.

  “That’s Nellie and company,” she said, reluctantly letting go.

  “So I guess we can all back off this poor woman.” Ella threw an arm around Evie. “Hold off the Historical Society long enough for us to pick our dresses.”

  “I’ll mow down anyone who tries to take my periwinkle silk,” Yiayia announced, clutching her dress.

  Feeling light and loved, Evie started out, but Sadie snagged her arm. “Um, I meant to warn you about something.”

  Was one woman in this room going to try to talk her out of a relationship with Declan? “Yes?”

  “I’m speaking in my official capacity as the co-chief of staff and de facto mayor,” Sadie said. “The Historical Society petitioned the town council to reinstate the Founder’s Day parade.” She inched closer. “With you and Max in the lead convertible. So, please say yes when they ask you.”

  Evie let out a soft laugh of surrender. “How could I say no?” She looked past Sadie to the room full of women. “To any of you?”

  The cheer echoed in the hall and followed her all the way down the stairs.

  * * *

  “Declan! I didn’t think you’d be here today.” Owen Winkler’s booming voice reached into Declan’s office and made him swear silently. He wanted to get in and out, with one goal—to return the complete set of investigation files and put the matter to bed.

  “Yep, I’m here. Do you need anything, Chief?”

  Without being asked, the big man took a chair, cringing as he sat. “New knees.”

  “Spoken like a true former linebacker.” Declan stuffed the last of the files into the brown cardboard box. “Plus, I think you can buy those now.”

  Chief chuckled. “I might have to.” He pointed to the box. “Gloriana House?”

  Nodding, Declan dropped into his desk chair, because conversations with this man were never brief or casual. “Yes, sir.”

  “I saw you signed them out.” His ebony eyes slid over Declan’s face. “What brought that on?”

  “If you don’t know that I’ve been hanging out with Evie Hewitt and spending time at her house, then you would be the last person in Bitter Bark to have heard the news.”

  He laughed and pointed a meaty finger. “Just checkin’ to see if you’d be real with me, Mahoney.”

  “Always, Chief.”

  His smile faded a little as he rubbed a hand over his shiny dome. “What’d you find out?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “Case is closed, as it should be after an investigation that thorough.”

  Owen leaned back, crossing his arms. “I’m sorry I never met your dad, Declan.”

  “So am I. You’d have liked each other.”

  “I certainly like his sons,” he said. “If they tell me anything about the man, my guess is he was wise, kind, and a skilled firefighter.”

  Declan nodded his thanks. “He was all that and more.”

  Chief leaned forward and tapped the box. “I’ve heard he wasn’t one to make mistakes on the job.”

  The comment reached down and twisted Declan’s gut. Forget the lighter fluid. Not knowing what had caused his dad to make a decision that cost him his life was what really unsettled him. He’d get over it—he had to—but it was like a low-grade hum of discomfort now.

  “But as we all know, it only takes one mistake,” Declan replied. “And you can never know what’s going to happen in a fire.”

  Chief nodded, as if he
knew Declan needed to make the statement.

  “You know what might help you?”

  He didn’t know he needed help, but leveled his gaze at his boss. “Six more personnel reports on your desk by tomorrow?”

  Chief gave a hearty laugh. “Well, other than that, of course. You should talk to some of the men who were there.”

  “I have, the ones that are still around. Dad’s partner on that fire is also gone, as you know.”

  “But there are others. Have you reviewed the list to see who’s still in town, or who you could call?”

  No, and he didn’t want to. He’d made a promise. “I haven’t.”

  “I can get a list for you.”

  “That’s all right, Chief, I—”

  “It could help you.”

  Again, he honestly didn’t need help. “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not fine. You’re doubting your father, and that is never fine. I say that as a man with three kids.”

  Actually, he was doubting the investigators—including the eccentric one—but maybe Chief was right. Maybe part of his need to look further into this case was so Joe Mahoney’s halo could be restored.

  “I’ll get you a complete list.” Chief said it the way he said anything that left no room for negotiating.

  Declan fought a sigh. He wasn’t going to go off and interview guys who’d worked here twenty years ago. If they knew anything, it would have been included in the reports. Unless…someone was hiding something, like Kirby Lewis had suggested.

  Damn it. “Okay, thanks.”

  “Now, let’s talk about something else.” Chief locked his hands behind his bald head, his huge biceps bulging. “My knees.”

  “Oh yeah. I know they’ve been killing you.” He eyed the other man, knowing there was more to this part of the conversation than him moaning about his knees. “Are you going to get the surgery? I can cover for you if—”

  “Oh, I know you can. But I don’t want you to cover for me, Dec.”

  “Oh, okay.” He’d give that role to one of the other two captains?

  “I want you to take over my job.”

  Declan stared at him for a moment. “For…good?”