Chapter Thirty-Four
I reached Francisville Pizza first.
Clara had called me when I was about a half hour away, saying we’d meet Willow there — before dog training for us and an evening class for her.
My early arrival meant I got our order in and staked out the newer of two picnic tables near the north parking lot. The view wasn’t great, but at least it changed frequently, because the food being significantly better than the décor made it a popular place.
I received the message our order was ready as Clara arrived. Perfect timing. She held the table while I retrieved our meal.
When I returned, Willow was also there.
“—our treat,” Clara was saying.
“I appreciate it, but, honestly, there’s nothing else I can tell you—”
“After we eat.”
That reminded me of Willow scrunching her mouth the first time we talked, and how I’d later floated — to myself — the theory that it was in response to something she’d eaten.
As we wrapped up the eating portion of the agenda, I introduced the topic, aiming to thread between not undoing Clara’s calming and not leaving Willow room to slide away.
“How long were you walking Izolde when the Swindells adopted Lucifer?”
“A week or so.”
“How did you start walking Lucifer?”
Her brows ticked down, remembering. “I was returning Izolde. Pammy and Damon were there and—
Listen, I don’t know anything for sure. Not absolutely. I heard . . . but I couldn’t tell you every word. I don’t remember—”
“Of course not,” Clara cut it. “Nobody could expect that. Especially us. Because we’re not official.”
Without saying it, she’d raised the sheriff’s department as official boogeymen in contrast to our warm-and-fuzziness.
“Oh, it’s nothing official. Nothing . . . they would be interested in. It’s because you know the dogs and you’d understand.”
“We will understand.”
With that encouragement from Clara, Willow said.
“After the Georgers got Izolde, I heard Bryon talking about how wonderful she was. Wasn’t long after that the Swindells got Lucifer.
“Pammy called me and asked about walking him with Izolde. I said I’d have to check with the Georgers. Bryon said okay. Zoley said she didn’t care.
“When I went to get Lucifer the first time, Damon was there and he said a lot about Izolde being a boring breed, one everybody got because they didn’t know dogs the way he — Damon — knew dogs. But he barely looked at Lucifer.”
Clara nodded. “He was the same at training.”
Willow expelled a breath. “It never stopped, at least when I heard. And it wasn’t only about the dogs. It was everything, anything. Damon was always saying he was better, had better, did better.”
She hadn’t liked Damon. Not at all.
I shook my head. “It got old.”
“It sure did,” she said with less caution than she’d shown previously.
“He acted like he was so perfect, but the only place in the house that was ever a mess was his office. And last week, I heard him shouting at Pammy, saying something happened to his . . . something-or-other accounts. She tried to calm him down, but he went off.
“I got Lucifer on a leash and we got the hell out of there. I was relieved to get to the Georgers, but then . . . then . . . Zoley came downstairs as I was getting Izolde and she was . . . She had . . .”
“Bruises on her face,” Clara filled in.
Willow nodded, her face solemn, but also a tiny bit thrilled.
“What did she say?”
“Kind of mumbled about thinking I was someone else. I said I was there to get Izolde. She swore and said I should get to it, then.”
“She swore at you?”
“Not exactly at me. In general. She went upstairs, so I figured she wouldn’t care that instead of walking them right away, I let both dogs into the run. They needed it so bad. Lucifer was wild. Izolde was edgy.”
“You think because Izolde saw how Zoley got the bruises?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about that or—”
Before Willow spiraled, Clara inserted, “Which day was that last week?”
“Wednesday.”
“You’d seen signs before that of Zoley and Damon being involved, right?” I asked.
I could hear experts yelling leading question, but we weren’t in court and this girl needed to be led.
“Like see them together or something? No way.”
“You’re smart, Willow. You wouldn’t have to see them in bed to pick up on what was going on.”
“It was a feeling . . . I was never sure. Never.”
“How about Damon and anyone else?”
Relieved of the burden of not committing herself on the Zoley-Damon relationship, her head popped up. “So, there was somebody else?”
I flicked a look at Clara.
She immediately asked, “What made you think there was?”
“That guy who tackled Damon in the garage said—” She caught herself enough to go vague “—things.”
“A name?”
Willow shook her head.
“Or a relationship? Like . . . my cousin or something like that?”
Willow shook her head.
“Did you ever see another woman with Damon?”
“Not to recognize her. Really, it could have been Pammy, though the walk seemed different— But it was fast. Just a glimpse, an impression.”
“Go back to the man who tackled Damon. You have no idea who the man is? If you saw him afterward it would be natural to find out his name and . . .”
Not only was Willow shaking her head, but she was eyeing Clara in a way that said the Clara magic wasn’t operating.
I asked in the most neutral tone ever, “Was Bryon at the Georger house when you got there Wednesday?”
Despite my neutrality, she went into skittering mode. “I don’t know. How could I know—?”
“His vehicle?”
“Oh.” She partially relaxed. “No, it wasn’t there. Wasn’t in the driveway and I take Izolde out through the garage and it wasn’t there, either.”
“Did you see or hear anything that might connect to the bruises?” Clara asked.
“No. Nothing.”
I believed her.
Yet . . . that earlier reaction . . .
“Did you hear Damon yelling at Pammy other times?”
“A few. More often at Lucifer. Swearing a lot. And on the phone — when he’d take calls. A lot of times he ignored calls.”
“Do you know what people were calling about or what he was swearing about?”
She picked up a leftover napkin, rubbing her already cleaned fingers on it.
“No.”
That I didn’t believe.
“You knew Jean Hoskins, didn’t you?”
Willow developed a fascination with the leftover paper napkin, folding and refolding it. “All my life.”
“And you’re still helping Oscar with Quasar,” I pursued.
Her only answer was folding and refolding.
“You knew there was a problem about money between them and Damon.”
“Wasn’t a problem. He stole their money.”
“What happened?” Clara asked with empathy.
But Willow stood. “I have to go. Class.”
She took the napkin with her.
Willow was hiding something. Possibly multiple somethings.
* * * *
Clara would not let me apologize for being responsible for Willow cutting things short.
More than that, she seemed on the verge of being irked with me for picking on her friend — me.
After stopping at home to let Gracie and Murph out, I gave Murph his goodies, put Gracie in the car, then picked up Clara and LuLu at their house to head for training.
That’s when I tried to apologize. Clara would have none of it.
“We needed to try. Besides, the way Willow reacted was revealing. I’d say she’s scared Oscar’s involved. Or she is and she’s smart enough to know what Damon did to Oscar and Jean gives her a motive.”
While not ready to let myself completely off the hook, I also didn’t want to argue. Time to change the subject.
“Interesting what Willow said about Zoley coming downstairs, thinking Willow arriving to get Izolde was someone else,” I said. “Would Zoley do that if she thought it was Bryon — the most likely person to show up, since it was his house? Especially if he’s the one who hit her.”
“No. So, who did she think was coming?” She looked over at me as I parked across from Zepke’s. “Damon? Pammy?”
“We might have been able to ask Willow, if I hadn’t—”
“Stop it.”
Since we’d reached Zepke’s, I did.
* * * *
The requirement of having the dogs on individual beds around the perimeter of the room, with the owners seated beside them was the only reason the humans weren’t a clot in the middle, talking as fast as they could.
Despite the dog beds between our chairs as spacers, we all clumped near one narrow end of the rectangular room, minimizing the space our comments had to cover to reach the others.
The strings of conversation crossed and recrossed until they were a tangled wad. I couldn’t pick out any that included new information.
The door from the hallway opened. Leo.
The dogs stirred restively and not even Donna ordered Bernie back to his place, though Layla’s hold on his leash limited his roaming. The same couldn’t be said for a mix, who sprinted away from his owner and stood five feet away, yapping defiantly.
LuLu leaned across Clara, trying to reach Gracie, who paced from me to Clara and back across the three-foot length of the bed.
Leo walked into the open area. The ongoing volley of words could have knocked over a lesser man.
“Okay, everybody.” Nobody heeded his would-be call to attention.
The door opened again. Leo turned in that direction, his mouth still open. The word volley sputtered to silence.
Lucifer and Izolde scrambled in.
On the other end of the dogs’ leashes, Pammy and Zoley followed them in.