Chapter Fifteen
I trailed Clara, making a beeline for Donna.
A happy, chirpy bee. Totally unlike me.
So, of course, Donna addressed me.
“Gracie must be relieved.”
“Relieved?” I sounded less interested than I should have. Guilt pushed me to add, “Why?”
Donna sent me a sly sideways look. “She doesn’t have Anxious Annie on the other end of her leash like she did last night.”
“Donna, that’s not fair,” Clara defended me. “Sheila’s a great owner.”
“She’s determined to be a great owner, with a great dog. That’s the problem. Putting too much pressure on Gracie. Herself, too,” she added grudgingly.
“Lassie Syndrome.” I’d muttered that before I caught myself.
I didn’t think they heard me.
Clara continued her defense. “Sheila is hard on herself and that’s why we’re going to the café later. She needs a treat. The one who should be hard on himself is Damon Swindell. What?”
Donna had snorted.
“Nothing.” She didn’t bother to make it believable.
“Did you see the—” I pulled back from a reference to the Gang of Four. “—him and the others after training last night?”
“Saw them, yes. Couldn’t help it. They blocked the bottom of the steps.”
So that had been before they went to their vehicles.
Clara asked, “Did you hear what they were talking about?”
“No. Layla and Bernie and I moved on immediately. They weren’t controlling their dogs. Didn’t want Bernie in the middle of that.”
“Were they unhappy with each other?” I asked.
“No idea,” she said repressively. “Hattie, c’mon, time to go.”
They took a step away before she looked over her shoulder at me. “Lassie Syndrome, huh? It’s all in your head about needing to be perfect. Don’t put it in Gracie’s.”
* * * *
The dogs had a great time for the next hour-plus.
Clara enjoyed herself watching their antics.
I sat on top of the picnic table, staring into the middle distance.
Yes, I thought about Donna’s stricture on perfection. Mostly I considered Clara’s earlier words.
Not that you can’t figure it out. You haven’t. Yet.
I wanted to grouse that can’t and haven’t ended up in the same darned place — frustration.
But I was afraid she’d have an answer.
Eventually, Clara declared our need for café treats had reached critical mass.
After leaving all three dogs at her house, I was driving us toward the café.
Automatically, I stopped behind a compact car at a red light as we neared Haines Tavern’s center.
“Did you see that?” Clara asked.
A vehicle had crossed through the intersection in front of us. It had the light and hadn’t done anything weird. “See what?”
“Donna.”
“Oh?” Unspoken was my follow-up question: What’s notable about that?
“With dogs in back.”
Still not weird.
“Not Hattie or Bernie,” she added.
Now, that got my attention.
“Who?” Yes, a dog is a who, not a what.
“I think it was Lucifer and Izolde.”
I peered in the direction the vehicle had headed. It was long gone.
“Why would she have them?” I said.
“I have no idea.”
Silence fell again.
One block later, Clara said, “We should stop by the post office.”
“Before the café?” I might have whined a bit because what I was thinking was, Before pastries?
“Yes.”
* * * *
“Oh, my goodness,” Ruby said as we walked in. “You must have heard. I’m sure you’ve heard.”
“Heard what?” I asked.
Ruby Zweydorf runs the tiny Haines Tavern Post Office. The one in Stringer is newer, bigger, and always requires a long wait before the clerk says you have to wait in another line.
Ruby never makes you get in another line, because she does everything.
Also, there wouldn’t be room in this lobby for a second line.
Ruby sent a worried look toward her husband, Ike.
He sat in a corner of the lobby, not far from the door, with a newspaper folded open. His vacant gaze was pinned on the floor below it.
I wish we’d brought the dogs.
A bad car accident left Ike with a brain injury. The dogs’ joy at seeing him and his pleasure in petting them exerted an amazing calming effect on him, which had a way of loosening Ruby’s tongue.
She answered my question promptly. “Heard about the murder.”