Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
So this isn’t quite how we imagined resolving this.
Our plan had been to locate Bobby first—which we did, following up on a reluctant tip from Annie.
Then we figured we’d wait for Dorrit and talk to her about it.
We did not expect her to bolt, and now that she has, we do not quite know how to handle it.
Chasing her is out of the question. We’ve already spooked her, and she must think she’s in trouble. Hot pursuit would make it worse.
She’s not in trouble. Clearly, she figured out who took Bobby, and she liberated him.
Except, liberating him meant taking him for herself.
That would be fine if Bobby wanted to stay.
But once again, he’s on a rope, which means, sadly, that I suspect Bobby isn’t a willing participant in this rehoming.
How did we figure out it was Dorrit? Whoever took Bobby from Roy had realized he had the dog, which the children suspected.
Any of the three could have done it. The boy had an infected splinter, which could have easily come from a wooden and filthy chicken coop.
But the infection meant he didn’t get that splinter last night.
Dorrit wasn’t obviously injured . . . but I had noted the new rip in her dress, where she could have torn it on that nail.
The prints were too big to be the younger girl’s, though they could have been the boy’s.
But what really tipped us off? Dorrit’s description of Roy.
I’d expected her to have the best one. She was bright and observant and concerned about Bobby.
Yet hers differed from the other two’s accounts, and hers had turned out to be the farthest from the truth.
Dorrit knew Gray and I were detectives. The youngest of the trio had already told us about the “cowboy,” so that cat was out of the bag. The best Dorrit could do was give us a misleading description.
We speak to the old woman for a moment. Thankfully, she didn’t see Dorrit pop in. We only say that we will be back, and if Dorrit arrives, please tell her that she is in no trouble and she will be rewarded for her help finding a lost dog.
Then we set out onto the street. As the gate closes, Gray says, “How would you do this in your time, if a child saw the police and ran?”
“I’d take the dog and give my card to the woman back there, telling her to assure Dorrit she’s in no trouble. Honestly, though? A street-savvy kid is never going to contact me for that reward.”
“She would think it a trick.”
I nod as we walk. “I’d probably drop the matter there.
The dog is returned, and I’m certainly not going to press charges.
I wouldn’t even speak to the parents when I don’t know them and don’t know how much trouble the kid could get in for what was ultimately a misguided act of compassion.
” I look back toward the courtyard gate.
“Maybe that’s the answer here, too, but I don’t think it is.
We aren’t taking a stolen dog to its owner.
We’re freeing what is, essentially, a stray dog. ”
“Do we allow her to keep him?”
I chew my lower lip. “I’d love that. I want the ending where Bobby adores Dorrit and has a doting little girl to keep him for his final years. But I don’t get the impression that’s what Bobby wants.” I look at him. “Do you?”
He shakes his head, and my shoulders slump.
“I am sorry,” he says. “It would be a lovely ending.”
“Yes, but even if we told ourselves he seems fine with Dorrit, I’d been obligated to give him the choice.”
“Remove the rope. Open the gate. See what he does.”
“And I hate to do that without Dorrit being there to see it. So we can talk to her and show her what Bobby wants.”
I stand on the corner, looking up and down the street . “Do we stay here, lurking, until she returns? Block her into the courtyard? I hate that.”
“As do I.” He clears his throat. “Would you like my advice?”
I exhale in dramatic relief. “Please.”
“I suggest we look for her, without giving chase, and attempt to speak to her, without cornering her.”
I nod. “Try very hard not to scare her.”
“Which means, if we spot her, I need to hang back.”
I squeeze his arm. “Please.”
Finding Dorrit isn’t nearly as difficult as I feared. Mostly because she’s a smart girl. As a smart girl, she’s not running in a panic. She fled, and then apparently hung around to make sure we left. Gray spots her as soon as we start walking away. So we keep walking away and then circle back.
We expected her to scoot into the courtyard and grab Bobby, but she hovers on the next corner, watching down the lane. Watching for us to return? Or waiting long enough for the old woman to retreat to her apartment?
Gray and I have split up. Neither of us blends well. My plain dress helps, as do the shadows I’ve wrapped myself in, staying out of the late-afternoon sun.
I watch as Dorrit rocks back and forth, peeking and pulling back.
My heart goes out to the little girl. She did rescue Bobby.
Yes, it would have been better if she’d told us this morning that she had him in safekeeping, but I get it.
He’s a very sweet dog, and she saw the chance to make him her own.
After all, everyone thought he was already gone.
I consider coming up behind her, but that will only scare her into running for the courtyard, and I really don’t want to trap her there. If I come down the lane between her and the gate, she’ll flee the other way.
Damn it, I just want to talk to her. Explain that—
Dorrit flies backward. One second, she’s peeking around the building, and the next, she’s rocketing back.
As if someone grabbed her.
I leap from my hiding spot and sprint toward her, which requires hiking up my skirts and breaking into the closest thing to a run I can manage.
Running through the Old Town is never a good idea, even at this time of day. I get maybe a dozen strides before a shopkeeper steps into my path, arms crossed over his barrel chest.
“And where do you think you’re going, lass,” he rumbles.
Apparently, that’s supposed to stop me, as if he’s filling the entire street.
I duck past him and keep going, and he only shouts after me.
But it slowed me down enough that when I reach the corner, there’s no sign of Dorrit.
I scan the area and spot a young man leaning against the wall in that time-honored pose of young men, one leg bent, boot braced on the wall.
When I look his way, his gaze goes up and down me, and he grins.
He doesn’t straighten, though. After all, I was the one checking him out.
I stride over. “There was a girl on the corner. What happened to her?”
“Lots of girls on lots of corners,” he says.
“A child. Someone grabbed her.”
He shrugs. “Then you know what happened. Why ask me?” His gaze settles on my chest. “If you want to know who grabbed her, I’ll require a little compensation for my—”
He looks down farther, eyes going wide as he sees the derringer pressed into his stomach.
“I hate to be rude, but I’m in a bit of a hurry,” I say. “Details. Now.”
“Some fellow,” he says. “Her father? Brother? I don’t know.”
“Describe him.”
The young man flails his arms. “A fellow? Maybe thirty? Tall. Dark hair.”
That sounds like Gray, but I do not for a moment think Gray would grab a child.
“Clothing?” I say.
“I didn’t pay attention. A . . . Oh, he had a top hat. And his trousers were too short.”
Roy.
“Which way did he go?” I ask.
“Down the street, first left.”
“That was easy, wasn’t it?” I say. “Next time someone asks you a question and seems to be distressed over the treatment of a child, have the decency to answer. A little kindness goes a long way.”
He hesitates and then tilts his head. “Since I was kind, how about we grab a pint—”
I take off at a jog.
“Maybe later?” he calls after me.
I tear down the lane and then take the first left, as he indicated. It leads to a narrow close—an alley, dark and empty. I slow to listen. Silence.
I squint down the alley. It really is dark, with tall buildings on either side, the gap no more than a few feet across. I can’t see where it ends.
I take out my derringer again and begin slowly walking into the shadowy alley. After each couple of steps, I stop and listen. When I hear a rustle, I whirl, only to see a rat diving into a crate. I lift my skirts to pass the crate and then lift them again to pass a very questionable puddle.
One step. Another step. A rustle. Another rat.
I glance back down the alley. I really don’t like this. I should be able to see the end, and I can’t, which probably means there is no end. Some of these narrow closes are blocked by more recent construction. That would explain why no one else is down here.
But if there’s no exit, why would Roy bring Dorrit here?
Because he didn’t. Because I took the word of a witness I was holding at gunpoint.
I wheel, gun rising, expecting to see the young man creeping up behind. That would be rash, when I clearly had a gun, but testosterone can overrule common sense. A young woman humiliates a young man, and he’s damn well going to teach her a lesson.
There’s no one behind me.
There is, however, a place where he could hide—a set of rickety stairs near the entrance, now shadowed enough that I wouldn’t see anyone lurking on the other side.
I step that way, gun raised, my gaze fixed on those stairs, watching for any sign of movement—
A figure steps into the end of the alley. My gun swings up.
“Please do not shoot me,” Gray says. “And if you must, please do not shoot me there.”
I look at the current trajectory of my derringer, which I’d swung up enough to line up just below his belt.
“Sorry,” I say, lowering it.
He strides to meet me.
“A witness said a man with a top hat and too-short trousers grabbed Dorrit and pulled her in here,” I say. “But I don’t see an exit, which made me realize my witness might have tricked me.”