Chapter Thirteen
“They’re not normal,” Clara said once we were inside the van.
“The people?”
She darted me a look, saying clearly I must still be lost in writing mode to ask that.
She had a point.
No way would she dismiss dogs that way after two encounters. She’d give them lots more chances.
Not bothering to answer my unworthy question, she said, “That Damon Swindell, especially. You know, my first impression of him was he’s attractive-ish. Regular features, nothing overtly ugly about him physically.”
That last word was key.
Because his approach to his dog, with not a trace of affection or compassion, was ugly.
He wasn’t great with people, either.
“Uh-huh.” I tore open the treat packet to give the dogs a round for the road. They’d get another round at home when Murphy could share.
“Looking angry most of the time doesn’t help,” Clara said. “I bet somebody told him that’s how he could look strong, so he thinks that’s the way to show he has a square jaw.”
I stifled a chuckle as she continued.
“Because even when he’s not angry — at least I don’t think he is — he has that thin-lipped, chin-stuck-out expression. There must be a term for it . . .”
“In love with himself?”
She snorted. “Yeah, that, too. But I meant the expression. Pouty. Like a toddler.”
“That works.”
“But the way he was with Lucifer . . . That was the worst.”
“Worse than the tension between him and Bryon?”
“Oh, yeah, because the dog can’t talk back.”
“No, but it can refuse to sit.”
She chuckled. “That was rather enjoyable. What do you think about that makeup Zoley had on? I mean she wears a lot, but that was wild.”
“Uh-huh.” As we arrived at my house, I felt my interest shifting from the Gang of Four back to my characters.
Clara followed me inside and, as promised, made me an omelette while I fed Gracie. LuLu and Murphy tugged on a toy in the living room.
Clara waved off my thanks when she served the omelette, then whisked LuLu and herself out the door.
I took the plate upstairs and ate as I wrote.