Chapter Twenty
Clara tapped her fingers on her dining table.
I’m not sure I would have risked that.
We’d had wings for dinner, as we’d recapped what we’d seen. I tried to get an angle to see if she was leaving smudges. Yes, we’d freely used napkins, but still . . .
Clara didn’t stop tapping as she said, “We need to talk to Pammy Swindell.”
“Do you think she’ll stay at the Georgers’ house?”
We’d figured Eckles’ presence there likely confirmed Pammy had not left the Georgers’ house after Donna picked up the dogs.
“Probably.” Clara’s absent tone said that presented no problem.
It did to me. “We can’t go and knock on the front door and demand to talk to her.”
Clara looked up with a combination of surprise and pity. “Of course not. We have to take them a casserole.”
“Casserole,” I repeated.
“Baked spaghetti,” she said firmly. “My mother-in-law was famous for it. It was her mother’s recipe. I’ll make it tonight. Want to help?”
I passed up that invitation in favor of going home so I could video chat with Teague in private . . . and Clara could do the same with Ned, who was also out of town.
Also, as it turned out, to field a call from Kit before Teague’s call.
I could swear she had a bat signal that picked up when Clara and I encountered a crime to dig into.
I was sitting on the floor with my back against the edge of the couch’s seat, using the time waiting for Teague’s call to brush Gracie.
Some collie owners find grooming meditative. Others of us do not.
In response to my hello, Kit asked, “How are you?”
That was weird. She rarely asked that.
“Fine,” I said cautiously.
I snipped a knot of fur from Gracie’s nether regions with round-tipped scissors made for kids or squirmy dogs. She’s good with brushing that resembles petting. Detangling, however, is not in her contract.
“Even with Teague out of town?”
Had I told her that or had her network of spies — in other words, Clara — told her? Surely, she hadn’t picked that fact up by bat signal.
“I miss him, of course, but it’s a coup for him to be invited to this conference.”
I released Gracie with a gesture. She bounced away, shaking herself, then settling by the door with a huff, indicating she was done with me for good.
Through all this, Murphy laid with his backbone against my right leg.
“Yes, it is. He’s made quite the impression on important people.”
“How do you—?”
Ding!
Teague would have known about Damon Swindell’s murder earlier today, called by the department for consultation . . . or to return early.
He would understandably mention there’d been a murder in his jurisdiction. From there it was the law enforcement version of a game of telephone, reaching my relative through her network of contacts.
Does that mean Kit previously shared with her network that she had an interest in North Bend County, Kentucky, and/or Teague O’Donnell?
Oh, hell, yes.
“Never mind,” I added aloud.
She snorted at my slowness in reaching that never mind, then ordered, “Talk.”
I told her what I knew of the murder of Damon Swindell.
You might say it was because of what the Borg say about resistance — that it’s futile. Though, have you noticed how often they’re wrong about that? Another instance when someone tries to con you by saying the same thing over and over, expecting you to fold.
On the other hand, the collective doesn’t have Aunt Kit.
Plus, I wanted her to be up to speed for when we wanted to dip into her reservoir of connections and knowledge.
I also exacted a measure of retribution for what she called her discretion and I called her failure to share, by going into lots and lots of detail about dog-training.
* * * *
Teague messaged that he’d tried to call and would call again in half an hour.
I wrapped up with Kit to be available.
Gracie eased back into my orbit. She rolled onto her side, keeping her rear end angled well away from my left hip, but with her chin propped on my ankle. How she could get comfortable on that bony pillow I had no idea, but she appeared to find it relaxing.
“So, what do you guys think about this murder stuff, huh?” I asked my furry audience.
Four ears flicked, two on each side of me.
“Sure, keep it to yourselves, I know you pick up a lot more about these people than Clara and I do, with all our searching. And you’re not off the hook, Murph, because I know Gracie tells you everything about what happens at training. Have you already decided who did it? Have suspicions? Or—”
My phone interrupted.
Teague.
“Hi.” I answered by saying the word unlike I say it to anyone else.
“Hi, yourself. What are you doing?”
I realized I’d bent over to lightly apply the brush to my dog’s shoulder, going out of frame for the video call. “Brushing Gracie — trying to. And asking your dog and mine what they know about a recent . . . death. You were called, right? The sheriff’s department—”
“Uh-huh. Figured you and Clara would know by now.”
“Heard it this morning from Ruby at the post office.”
He breathed out. “Of course you did.”
“Did you know Clara and LuLu and Gracie and I are in the same training class at Zepke’s with the Swindells and their best friends, the Georgers — that’s Bryon and Zoley? Zoley is like Zoey with an L in the middle.”
He grunted. Its tone told me he knew and wasn’t entranced with the coincidence. He also had already heard that explanation of Zoley’s name, and he wasn’t entranced with that, either.
He packed a lot into a grunt.
It also hinted to me that Deputy Hensen had shared the news with him.
Hensen, because I couldn’t imagine Eckles or others I knew at the sheriff’s department including the Zoey with an L in the middle tidbit.
“When you called before, I was talking with Kit.”
“She already knew about the murder?” he asked. “Or you told her?”
“She knew.”
I did not need to mention the conference connection. He’d have figured it out. Also that I’d filled her in on details.
For a beat, I thought he might ask me to share those with him. Instead, he said, “Getting good info from Gracie or Murph?”
“Very closed-mouthed these two.”
“That happens with witnesses.”
“You know they know more than they’re saying, but you can’t get it out of them? What do you do?”
“The first step in getting good information is asking the right witnesses.”
“Are you dissing Murphy and Gracie as witnesses? How dare you. Did you know dogs can sense people’s emotions?”
“Smell fear? Is that what you’re talking about?”
“I hear dismissal in your tone, O’Donnell, but scientific experiments show dogs sense — scent, actually — physical differences our bodies undergo from various emotions.
Another experiment showed a dog would take a treat from someone who helped their owner, but not from someone who refused the owner’s request for help. They could tell us a lot.”
“I’ve known dogs to love owners who were the most despicable dregs of humanity.”
“We all make mistakes about people in our lives.”
“Yeah, we do.”
A shudder ran through me. Both dogs looked up at me.
I couldn’t tell them — or myself — how I knew, but I did. My words had hit the core of what dragged at him.
We all make mistakes about people in our lives.
Yeah, we do.
“Teague—”
“So, you and Clara have got yourselves into another situation.”
A natural follow-up? Or a deliberate turn away?
Either way, I followed his lead. For now.
“We got ourselves into?” I slathered on innocent indignation. “All we did was take the dogs to training. If you’d signed up for training with Murphy instead of galivanting off to a law enforcement junket—”
“You do know I’m in a mid-sized town in Texas talking about death and homicide.”
“—you’d be way ahead on this investigation, having seen the victim in action, which you rarely get to do.”
“I’ll have to make up for lost time when I get back. Which might be somewhat earlier than scheduled. The sheriff’s springing for a more direct flight, under the circumstances.”
His itinerary had hop-scotched more than an old-fashioned schoolgirl. More direct would be far less of a hassle for him.
Clara and I, on the other hand, would have one more member of the North Bend County Sheriff’s Department to avoid.
This one sharp-eyed and suspicious.
Not to mention he mostly lived with me.