I dialed Erik’s number. It went to voice mail. “Give me a call back when you get this. A man came in to the shelter today, and I think he might be involved with Craig and Paul’s murders.”
None of this made any sense, but my puppy must be part of the key.
I queued up my caller list and stared at Mark’s number. Wouldn’t it be prudent to brainstorm with someone else? Mark had been my partner in crime-solving last time.
I tossed my phone into the chair. The farther away it was, the less tempted I’d be. I blew out a puff of air. No more thinking about Mark.
I peeked under the desk again. The puppy’s tail and ears were no longer crushed to her body, but she showed no signs of coming out. “It’s up to you and me. You want to come out and help me?”
Her tail gave two tiny thumps and she laid her head down on her front paws.
“Guess I’m on my own.”
I stayed where she could see me and tugged my briefcase over. The papers in Paul’s large-dog folder would fall apart if I flipped through them much more, but I couldn’t help thinking that they mattered. Paul set them apart rather than cataloguing them like the others.
What if I had it backward? I’d assumed Craig killed Paul because of something despicable on Paul’s part related to the large breed or aggressive dogs. Craig’s death cast doubt onto that, but I’d still been approaching the case as if Paul’s actions were the catalyst.
We didn’t know the cause-and-effect sequence. It might have started with Craig, and Paul ended up in the way.
So assuming Erik was right and Paul had been a good guy, why might Paul be paying particular attention to the same type of dogs Craig pretended to euthanize and instead smuggled out of the shelter? It couldn’t be that he felt those dogs deserved to die rather than being rehabilitated.
I climbed back to my feet and opened an Internet tab on the computer, then typed uses for large dogs into the search bar.
Most of the results that popped up seemed to be products targeted to large dog owners—kennels, durable toys, dosage instructions for medications. The only non-salesy link bore the title 20 Jobs Dogs Have Performed.
Not exactly focused on large-breed dogs, but most small dogs were used only for companionship, so it was worth a look.
And I had to admit, I couldn’t name twenty dog jobs off the top of my head.
I scrolled down the list. Service dogs, therapy dogs, search and rescue, detection of bombs and drugs, guard dogs, racing.
Dogfighting.
A bad taste coated the back of my tongue like I’d bitten into a moldy grape. My parents had accepted almost every client that came to them and was willing to pay, regardless of their guilt or innocence. There’d been only two types of cases they’d turn away—child abuse and animal abuse. My dad used to say kids and animals were the only real innocents in the world.
Craig had been an arrogant jerk, but would he have…?
I sank back to the floor. My puppy’s reaction fit with a dog being groomed for fighting. Newly recruited dogs were baited and abused until they turned aggressive. And dogfighting rings were constantly on the hunt for fresh replacements since each fight was to the death. Dogs who already showed aggressive instincts would be ready for the ring faster.
If Paul had suspected what was happening, he might have been investigating. A file folder full of potentially stolen dogs hardly seemed like enough evidence to kill someone over, though. Of course, whatever hard evidence he’d found could have been taken by the killer. It might also be in one of the filing cabinets and the crime scene techs didn’t know what they were looking for when they went through the papers.
I glanced at my watch. It was already nearly five o’clock, which meant if I didn’t hurry, I’d be cleaning dog runs in the dark. I’d have to check the files after, and if I hadn’t heard back from Erik by then, I’d send him a text. I thought about calling the police station directly, but I didn’t have anything to report. A man coming to find his lost dog wasn’t illegal or even suspicious to most people.
It took close to two hours before I finished, and by then I was hungry and tired, and had no phone call from Erik. I snagged my belongings and phone and quickly thumb texted Please call asap. Man came to shelter who might have murdered Paul and Craig. Since I only had one free finger, I let the auto-complete do most of the work. Even if I got a word wrong, Erik would get the gist of what I meant.
The puppy was still hiding under the desk. I bent over so I could see her. “Alright, I’m going to grab some human chow. When I get back, you’re going to have to come out so we can go home.”
I didn’t want to scare her by hauling her out from under the desk, but she must be hungry by now. If she was still reluctant when I returned, I’d bribe her with a treat. Once this was settled, we’d need to sign up for some obedience classes. I had zero idea how to train a dog, especially one who’d eventually weigh almost as much as I did.
I closed the office door to keep her from wandering around the shelter while I was gone and shut off all the daytime lights.
The temperature outside seemed to have plunged as soon as the sun went down. In the few feet from the door to my car, my nose and lungs ached. I cranked the heat in the car.
With what self-control I had left, I got myself a chicken Caesar salad with light dressing on the side even though my cravings wanted A Salt & Battery’s fried fish and chips.
I took my spare car door clicker from my purse, worked the shelter key off my key ring, and left the car running with everything else inside. Even the five minutes it’d take me to coax the puppy out from under the desk would drop the temperature more than my Southern bones would be happy with. This way we’d be able to return to a toasty car.
I let myself in. The streetlamps outside cast twisted fingers of washed out light along the floor. Shivers crab-walked up my skin. I should have left the lights on.
The quicker I got out of here, the better. We’d go home and I’d turn all the lights on so nothing could hide in the shadows.
I reached for the office doorknob. A beam of light from the kennel area crossed the end of the hall.
My heart slammed into the front of my chest. Someone was back there with a flashlight.
When I’d entered, the front door chime sounded loudly. Whoever it was must have heard me come in.
I edged the office door open, backed in, and inched the door closed again. I ran my hand over the knob, over the side of the door. It didn’t lock.
Maybe it was Erik. I’d texted him, after all. Maybe he’d decided to simply come over. The station was only a couple minutes away.
But Erik would have turned on the lights. He wouldn’t be poking around in the kennel area with a flashlight.
I shoved my hands into my pockets. No cell phone. I’d thrown it into my purse, and my purse lay on the passenger seat of my car. Why hadn’t the town council spent the little extra money to install another phone jack in this closet of an office?
My mind was doing its crazy panic circles thing. Being peeved at the town council wasn’t going to save us. I had to focus and figure a way out.
No phone meant I couldn’t call 9-1-1. Cement walls and no windows meant the only way out was through the office door.
A warm body pressed against my legs and a tongue touched my palm. I brushed my fingers against the top of the puppy’s head. Her whole body trembled, but at least she was out from under the desk.
We’d have to make a run for the front door. I clipped her leash onto her collar.
The whap of footfalls moved slowly down the hall toward us. My breathing echoed in the room like someone played it over a speaker. They’d come looking for me.
Running was no longer an option.
17
We had to hide. It was our only chance. Then maybe I could take the intruder by surprise. If I could find a weapon.
The heaviest object in the room was a stapler. Not exactly lethal, but I could probably break a nose with it. The pain might giv
e us a chance to escape.
I dragged the puppy to the left of the door hinges. When the intruder opened the door, we’d be hidden behind it. If we were lucky, he or she would only look inside, think the room was empty, and move on to search the waiting area. Then we could run for the back door. If we weren’t lucky, the intruder would come in, and I’d bean him with the stapler.
This seemed like the kind of time when I should pray, but all I could come up with was a pathetic help!
The front door chime sounded.
Sweat beaded on my upper lip. Bad. Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad. I had zero chance against two of them. I was going to end up euthanized by pentobarbital like Paul or shot and stuffed in a freezer like Craig. And I hated the cold.
Please, Uncle Stan’s God, let them inject me. As much as I hated needles, too, it had to hurt less than if they shot me and missed something vital.
“Police,” a voice that sounded like Mark’s yelled. “Stop where you are and put your hands up.”
A boom from the other side of the door. I stumbled back. Glass shattered somewhere in the front of the shelter, and my ears rang.
It had to be a gunshot. The intruder had a gun, and he’d shot at Mark. Or he’d shot at the person who sounded like Mark.
I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs. It felt like someone used my chest as a trampoline.
I had to do something to help. At least I could distract the shooter. I cracked the door and whipped the stapler as hard as I could in the general direction of the shooter.
The shooter swore. A man’s voice. His footsteps clunked, fast, back toward the kennel area.
I couldn’t hear if the back door gave off its thunk-clank around the cotton stuffed in my ears. It was like trying to listen underwater.
“Nicole!”
It was definitely Mark’s voice, but Mark shouldn’t be here. He called my name again.
“Here.” My legs wobbled underneath me, and I grabbed the edge of the desk. “I’m in here.”
The door flew open. I don’t know whether he grabbed me first or if I flew to him, but the next thing I knew, he held me tight. I threaded my arms around his waist. His heart pounded under my ear.
“I almost didn’t come.” Lips pressed into my hair. “If I hadn’t come…”
Smart Nicole would have moved away, but I wasn’t Smart Nicole right now. Right now I was We-Almost-Died Nicole. And all she wanted was to be held by Mark and to hold him and thank Uncle Stan’s God that he was still breathing.
“You have to stop pretending to be the police.” My voice sounded frenetic even to me.
“It worked this time, didn’t it?” He didn’t sound much steadier than I felt.
I nodded my head against his chest. “But he shot at you.”
“He missed.”
“Semantics.” I kept my head tucked down. There was a very good chance that if I looked up, I might kiss him. “What are you doing here?”
“I got your text.”
His lips brushed my temple as he spoke, like his head was still bent low over mine, his body a shield between me and whatever danger might still be lurking. A good shiver trailed down my spine.
“You should have called the police,” he said.
The cotton was slowly coming out of my ears, but a different fog had invaded my brain, brought on by his closeness. “I couldn’t. There’s no phone in here, and I left my cell in my car.”
Mark broke the embrace. Cold rushed in where his warmth had been.
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “Then how did you send me this?”
He swiped his finger across the screen a couple of times, then handed me the phone. The screen cast a sickly yellow-green glow over us.
The screen showed a text from me, sent less than a half hour ago.
Please come asap. Man came to shelter who might have murdered Paul and Craig.
It was my text to Erik, but the phone had filled in come for call in the first sentence. That I could understand, but how had it gone to Mark?
Oh no.
I barely kept myself from face palming. I’d had Mark’s information up on the screen when I’d been tempted to call him earlier. I must have accidentally sent the text to him instead in my rush.
He gave a sharp nod and stepped back, putting more space between us. “It wasn’t meant for me, was it?”
Everything in me wanted to lie to him, but I couldn’t control my expression fast enough. The truth had to be smeared all over my face.
Sirens wailed and tires screeched in the parking lot.
Mark held out his hand, palm up. I handed back his phone, and he clamped his hand around it.
“Nicole?” This time it was Erik’s voice calling for me.
And then all H E double hockey sticks broke loose.
18
Mark stormed out the office door. Multiple male voices yelled for him to stop and show us your hands. Above it all Erik shouted for them to stand down.
I sprinted after him, the puppy bounding at my heels.
Mark stood inches from Erik, fists clenched. He was taller, but Erik had more muscle and enough training to flatten Mark if he actually threw a punch.
I tugged on Mark’s sleeve. He’d clearly gone insane. Maybe the bullet nicked his head after all. “Do you have a death wish? They might have shot at you, too, and they wouldn’t have missed.”
He yanked his arm away. He glared at Erik like he could melt him with Cyclops vision. “What do you think you were doing, putting her in danger like this? Two bodies and you let her work here by herself.”
“I didn’t let her do anything.” Erik’s expression made steel look soft. “She’s a grown woman and she volunteered.”
For a second I considered waving my arms and saying I’m standing right here. But it didn’t feel like this was simple male chauvinism or Mark’s strange jealous streak. It felt like something else was going on. Something with layers and long history and pain.
Quincey Dornbush and the other officer moved down the hall, presumably to clear the building. Their refusal to look at me was a little too studious.
“It’s not about her being a grownup,” Mark said. “Or a woman. We’re supposed to protect the people we love.”
His voice broke and he stretched out his fists. Then I saw it on his face, in his eyes. This was about me. And it wasn’t.
Erik put a hand on Mark’s shoulder. Mark shook it off and strode out the door. His truck tires spit gravel as he peeled out of the parking lot.
My mouth hung open, and I let it. A cold nose shoved my hand. I knelt down and buried my face in the puppy’s fur.
Erik’s big hand rested on my back and rubbed a soothing circle. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. I was in a council meeting.”
I kept my arms wrapped around my puppy, my chin on the top of her head. “Did Mark call for help?”
“The manager of the shop next door was closing up when the bullet shattered the window. She called 9-1-1.”
My mind felt a bit like a chalkboard wiped clean with a dirty brush. I couldn’t quite make the words that should be there come into focus.
I stared at the shattered front window. Glass shards splattered the ground inside and out. Triangles of window still hung off the edges of the frame in random spots like broken teeth.
I should be telling Erik about the man who wanted my puppy and about the break-in, which had to be connected. Yet all I could think about was the look on Mark’s face. Like something had broken and I’d broken it.
“Mark meant more than this, didn’t he?”
Erik’s hand stalled, and he cleared this throat. “If he hasn’t told you, it’s not my place. What I can say is that he blames himself for something that wasn’t his fault. You need to ask him for more than that.”
I wouldn’t be asking him. He seemed to think Erik and I were a couple, and that was for the best. Correcting that misunderstanding had the potential to put me back into the danger zone with Mark. As much as breakin
g off the friendship now hurt both of us, it’d only hurt more if I’d waited.
Erik reached his hand out to me. I took it and let him help me up.
“Do you feel up to telling me what happened today?”
I nodded. Given all the things I couldn’t fix or control, I ought to do something about what I could.
I sat on the floor in Paul’s office while my puppy ate and Erik took my statement. The crime scene techs closed off the shelter once again, a large piece of plywood over the blasted out window. This time they also blocked off the street out front in the hope of finding the bullet.
Erik leaned back in the office chair, making it squeak. “Even though I agree with you that the man who was here this afternoon likely came back tonight, we can’t prove it.”
There lay the problem. Unless the crime scene techs turned up some evidence to tell us who this guy was, we basically had nothing.
“Maybe there’ll be a fingerprint. Or a ballistics match to the gun that killed Craig.” Assuming they found the bullet that shattered the window.
“Maybe,” Erik said. “I still don’t see how all of this connects to Paul’s death.”
If my ideas about what might have happened had been cupcakes, they’d have still been gooey in the middle, but if Erik didn’t have any better leads, they might be worth mentioning.
The sooner this case closed, the sooner the shelter could get back to business as usual and the sooner I could take my puppy home and start to build a normal life here in Fair Haven. I didn’t know what normal looked like yet, but I’d figure it out. I’d make friends. I’d learn how to cook and how to snowshoe without falling on my face. One day, I’d even stop wishing Mark were part of it.
But I couldn’t get to normal until we caught whoever was behind all this chaos.
“I have a theory,” I blurted out before I could talk myself out of it. “It might be only slightly less far-fetched than body snatchers and pod people.”
Erik smiled. An honest-to-goodness, showing-teeth-and-everything smile.