Chapter Forty-Four
“That was brilliant, asking Oscar for his explanation, as if you knew about the incident before Willow said it,” Clara said in the hallway to the training room we had to ourselves for a moment. “Unless you knew—?”
“Nope. I had no idea. Pretended I was Kit.”
She chuckled, then went serious. “Even if Willow did feel a moral injury from what happened to Oscar and Jean, her copying the papers was the way she channeled that.”
“Not necessarily. Copying the papers might have given her the promise of satisfaction, but after returning them, she could have felt a major letdown — fear that there wouldn’t be justice and the renewed recognition that no matter what, it wouldn’t bring Jean back.”
She didn’t like that. Her fairness made her say, “We have to talk about that more after class.”
She opened the door to the training room and walked LuLu directly to where Donna sat with Bernie and Layla.
I followed docilely. Gracie, less docilely.
“Did Bryon Georger find you this afternoon?” Clara asked Donna.
“Yes.”
That sounded grim for an affirmative answer.
“He thought you still had Izolde. Did he find—?”
“We found her. Her and Lucifer. At the animal shelter.”
“What? She put them in the pound?” Clara’s outrage turned every head toward us.
It also stirred the dogs to uneasiness.
Donna’s grimness lifted. “We got them out. They’re both at my place with Layla’s mother right now.”
“Right, because Bryon’s in a hotel,” Clara said. “But later—”
“Later will be decided later,” Donna said.
Leo came in then. “Okay, let’s settle now.”
We took the seats we’d had the first class, though settling would have been too strong, with Clara plainly seething.
Oscar and Quasar, joined by Willow, came into the training room.
With that believe-or-not-believe question up in the air, they remained suspects.
On the other hand, what danger could they pose here?
I decided not to dwell on that question, but to focus on the positives.
William and Blanche did not show up to observe.
This time, Zoley and Pammy didn’t come, either.
Nor Bryon Georger.
Even with only two suspects here, I didn’t get much out of this training session.
Could I blame being sleep-deprived after that long nap?
* * * *
“. . . and work on stay at home. We’ll try it again next week.”
That smacked more of a threat than promise from Leo, considering none of the dogs had stayed for more than a few seconds when tempted by distractions of dogs, people, balls, treats, toys that squeaked, utterly silent toys, or movement of any kind.
I was as distractible as the dogs. The weird dreams from last night mixed in my brain like a kaleidoscope . . . a kaleidoscope of bruises.
Kit’s information on covering up bruises turned the kaleidoscope into a concealer wheel spinning at high speed, making me dizzy.
Zoley’s bruises weren’t hidden by concealer.
Not by clothes, either. Not like my bruise from Clara’s enthusiasm at spotting Blanche and William, which had been hidden by my sleeve.
Kit said something else . . . Defensive injuries.
Zoley’s outfit a week ago, notable for being out of keeping with the event and the season, displayed that she had no injuries on her hands or arms. No defensive wounds.
Yet thick makeup on her cheek.
Purposefully thick to call attention to what the makeup covered or — back to that formal definition of begging the question — there was nothing to cover?
A bruise could have come from Damon or Bryon . . . or, conceivably someone or something else. Before my mind wandered to falling branches or books — right, like Zoley Georger would be taking a book from a shelf — I tried to pull it back.
Bryon, William, Zoley, Pammy, Willow, Oscar.
Had they been on that dream trolley? Were they headed somewhere?
It felt more like they were layered on top of each other, so tightly I couldn’t see any of them well.
Why there, at that spot on Gallows Path?
Why now?
“Sheila? Sheila, are you coming?”
I looked up to the training room, empty except for Clara and LuLu standing by the door and Gracie, who had her nose stuck into the treat bag beside my chair’s leg, happily chowing down.
Layers . . .
Why there? Why now?
Because different parts of the elephant could feel like one thing, but be another.
* * * *
“You were completely out of it,” Clara said. “And now I see that look on your face.”
We’d reached the shop.
I must have been out of it for quite a while, because the shop was empty. I didn’t even see Leo. He had to be around somewhere. He wouldn’t have locked us in.
The dogs stopped for their usual perusal of the treat offerings.
“Gracie raided so many treats from the bag, she shouldn’t get any more, yet I am tempted to get her and LuLu and Murph sprats to celebrate.”
I bent and picked up the biggest pack of the smelly little fish. Smelly enough that, again, the odor reached me and I recoiled.
“Celebrate? I knew it. You’ve figured it out.”
“I think so. We’ll have to tell Teague, Clara. It will take investigative resources they have that we don’t.” Financial and legal information for starters.
“But you have figured it out, haven’t you?”
“Have you?” A not-Clara voice asked.
Around the corner of the display shelving came Pammy and Zoley.
Pammy captured my attention, not because she’d asked the question, but because she held a gun, pointed toward Clara and me.
So, maybe no investigating required.
The relationship between the two women was clear now. Pammy was in charge.
“You told Zoley to talk about Bryon being possessive and volatile,” I said aloud.
“That’s what you think you’ve figured out?” She was superior, slightly amused.
“Part of it. Mostly it was the answers to two questions we had about Damon’s murder — why that spot on Gallows Path and why now?”
“Who cares about that?” Zoley sneered.
One of the downsides of having Gracie with me was I’d put my phone in my purse to leave my hands free for the paraphernalia — leash, treats, water spritzer, just in case. At the moment I was more laden than usual, holding that big bag of sprats.
I’d have to drop stuff to get to my phone. A tad noticeable.
A glance at Clara told me she was in the same situation.
Keeping Pammy talking might give us a chance to change that — somehow. Or Leo might return.
It sure was better than the alternative.