Dog Days Read online

  “But, dear,” Harriet patted my hand, “this wasn’t lunch.”

  Hannah slid the check onto the table. “You can pay up front, when you leave. But, there’s no rush.”

  “Thank you.”

  The two of them inspected the bill, and divided it in half.

  Reluctantly, I let them.

  In the car, Harriet was in the back seat. She leaned forward and tapped my shoulder. “How are you getting to your hair appointment?”

  “Dandy’s coming by.”

  My mother turned on the blinker, glanced in the rearview mirror, then the side mirror before pulling out of the lot. “I’m so glad that man of yours is making sure you’re not alone, Maggie. It gives your dad and I a lot more peace of mind.”

  “Huh. Gives me a lot of peace of mind, too.”

  “My boy is such a gentleman. Sometimes I wonder how I ever managed to raise him so splendidly.”

  The snort came from my left, and before we hit the first stop sign, we were all laughing ourselves silly. It wasn’t that the comment was all that funny, but there are times when subconscious tensions get released and … hilarity—as insane as it seems—reigns.

  “Oh, oh. We have to stop this. I can hardly see the road I’m laughing so hard.”

  “And I’m going to pee my pants soon.”

  “Oh, geez. TMI. Dear Lord, T.M.I.!”

  We were pretty calm by the time we pulled into my driveway.

  Wyatt was waiting on the porch.

  Harriet had to make a pit stop. “Just in case.”

  “You only live a few miles away,” Olivia (MOB) said.

  “You deal with your elder years your way, and I’ll deal with mine my way.”

  My mother just shook her head.

  DANDY PICKED ME up later in the afternoon. “Are you sure you want to get your hair cut, Maggie?”

  My eyes rolled. “I’m only getting a trim. Nothing drastic.”

  “I’ve always envied you your hair.”

  “But yours is such a gorgeous color.”

  “Yes, well, unless I blow it dry, as you very well know, it looks like I’ve stuck my finger in a light socket. The humidity this summer is absolute murder.”

  “I always loved seeing your natural curl. Some of us would kill for a perm that came out that well.”

  “Huh. You really do?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Thanks. Doesn’t make me love it any better, but I suppose maybe I shouldn’t fuss about it so much.”

  With Dandy waiting up front, Miss Jane took me back to her chair. I explained the basics of what I wanted done.

  “Don’t worry about a thing.”

  I took a breath. “I trust you.”

  “Of course you do. All my clients do. By the way, congratulations.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled. “So when is Doc Weston going to offer for you? You’ve been courtin’ and cavortin’ with him for a long time now.”

  “He has.”

  Oh my. “And you turned him down? Exactly how long have you two been seeing each other?”

  “Thirty-five years, more or less.” A shrug. “Didn’t feel it was necessary to make it legit. Lately, though, I’ve been re-thinking that decision. I’m looking to retire soon. Can’t be standing all day on my feet like this, anymore.”

  “I can’t imagine this place not being here.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve had a few offers to buy it. I’m weighing my options. Can’t let just anybody take it over.”

  “Absolutely not. Still, it won’t be you.”

  “Shucks, Maggie. I appreciate that.”

  “So, have you made a final decision about … forever after?”

  “Sort of. I need to talk to Floyd about it.” She stopped clipping for a moment. “See, he used to ask me every so often. I always said no, that I was content with the way things were. Then he just quit asking, and I’ve actually missed it. I might just say yes if he ever brings it up again.”

  I smiled. “Maybe you should ask him.”

  The scissors went quiet, again. In the mirror I saw her tears.

  “Maybe I should.” The words were whispered. Then a grin. “Thank you, Maggie. I think I will. Might shock him into a heart attack, but I’m willing to take that risk.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Are you wearing your hair up or down?”

  “Um, well. I had planned to wear it up. But Pam and Dandy are trying to convince me to wear it down with a wreath of flowers.” I was glad that the topic was changed. Had no intention of bringing a tear to Jane’s face.

  “That would be lovely, and a bit—”

  “A bit what?”

  “Like a flower child from the sixties.”

  “My thought exactly.” I laughed. “Not the image I was going for at all.”

  “Don’t let anybody influence you to wear it any way but how you want to.” She swung the chair around so I was facing her, and handed me a mirror. “Lady, your hair has grown a lot since the last time you were here. From what I could tell it’s about to your waist, right? There’s a lot of it, and it’s thick. Wished for that all my life.

  “Anyway, my point is, if you ever decide to go shorter, you could donate a foot, and it’d still be to the middle of your back. They have a program that makes wigs for ladies going through cancer treatments. Yours would make a great wig, maybe even two.”

  I bit my lip, staring. Thinking. “Maybe after the wedding. But no guarantee.”

  “None expected.” She nodded and whipped the cape off my shoulders. “I’ll pencil you in for a Saturday in December.”

  “Okay. Still….”

  “Still, options open. I can always erase it. But, then, too, your hair will always grow back.”

  Easing out of the chair, I stood.

  She handed me my purse.

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Miss Jane.”

  “Anytime, Miss Maggie.”

  I was so thoughtful on the way home, Dandy kept glancing at me.

  Guess curiosity won out. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. How noticeable is it?” “Is what?”

  “The trim.”

  “The trim? It isn’t, not really. It’s … better. Your hair has more shape, but doesn’t look any shorter.”

  “Okay, good. That’s what I was going for.”

  She put the car in park, and I saw the front door open.

  “Mission accomplished.”

  I leaned over to give her a hug. “Thank you for coming with me.”

  “Like you had to twist my arm.”

  “I know, but it means a lot. Especially now, with everything else that’s going on. Thanks for being there for me.”

  “You’re welcome. And I know you’d do the same for me.”

  “I would. Yes.” I crooked my pinkie. “Friends forever.”

  She grinned, and hooked hers with mine. “Friends forever.”

  Yeah, it was hokey, but I meant it. And I knew she did, too.

  Chapter 34

  … SUNDAY…

  * * *

  … September 13th…

  * * *

  I WAS MAKING lunch when Wyatt came into the kitchen.

  “Hey, babe.”

  “Hey, yourself, handsome.” I smacked his hand away from the bowl of chicken salad. “It’ll be ready in six minutes.”

  “Okay. Good. Paul called.”

  A chill clawed down my spine. “Crud. Now what?”

  “No. Nothing like that. He just has some questions about the case. Okay, that he’ll be here in about an hour?”

  “That’s fine. You’re sure nothing happened?”

  “Positive.”

  “What a relief.”

  “Anything I can do to help with lunch?”

  I pointed at bread box. “Toast for the sandwiches.”

  “I can do that. I make great toast.”

  I grinned and got the potato salad out of the refrigerator. “Yes, you do.”

  PAUL SHOWED
UP with his black lab. He waited on the threshold, Puck sitting obediently at his side.

  Wyatt gave Harley a command, and he, too, sat.

  They had met before, at Gage’s birthday party, but this time Puck was invading Harley’s house, his domain. Didn’t seem as though Harley had any problem with that. It was comical to watch them, with both dogs straining to be released, butts bouncing, tails madly wagging. As soon as they got the signal there was a merry dance, and they raced around the house a few times before coming back to the living room to snooze while the people had a talk.

  Not sure how I missed it in my initial introduction of the new crew, but Paul also served. An Army veteran, he went through paratrooper and Ranger school, passed the Q-course, and then joined 3rd Special Forces Group (Airborne).

  Got his nickname right, for sure.

  I set a tray of sweet tea and cookies on the coffee table.

  Paul started right in with questions about the stalker. “Could this guy be military? If so, his fingerprints would be on file with the FBI. He’s good at stealth, so far, anyway. Good with a rifle at a distance. Bold, takes risks.”

  “A lot of hunters in the area are good at that. They need the stealth, and they practice with their weapons. Most of them I know personally, use the meat from their kills to feed their families.”

  “Okay, but how many of them do you know who can hit a target at 500 yards?”

  “Four, right off the top of my head, and I’m one of them.”

  “Any of the other three giving you any problems?”

  “No. Rick’s one of them, also.”

  “Okay. So, two are cops. You’ve been in the military, he’s been through the academy. The other two?”

  “High school buddy, Mac. Maclean Richards. The other one’s Dodge Peters, the town mechanic. Went to school with him, too.

  “This town may be small, especially compared to where you just came from, but there are a lot of hunters here. Besides that, there are five other towns within spitting distance of where we’re sitting. Could be a lot more shooters that are accurate at that distance, or further.”

  Paul shrugged. “It was a theory.”

  “And a good one. We just don’t have enough particulars to narrow the field, yet.”

  “What about age?”

  “What about it?”

  I was speculating, but my gut’s telling me it’s important. “I’m thinking this guy is in our age bracket, Wyatt.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “For one thing, he knows my maiden name. I haven’t gone by that name for over thirty years. But, of course, anyone from town would know that. Without question this is something personal.”

  Both men looked at me with serious cop-face, and that beady-eyed stare of coming to a conclusion. I suddenly didn’t feel like this was going to be a fun session.

  Paul picked up a glass of tea and a cookie from the tray. I was mildly impressed when he used a coaster for the glass. “You’ve been his target from the beginning.”

  “As far as I know.”

  “Who have you pissed of recently?”

  “No one that I’m aware of, unless it’s a vendor we still need to talk to about the wedding.”

  Frowning. “Why would they be angry?”

  “Most businesses require a long lead time to make sure they have all the supplies, etcetera, they need. I’ve been cutting everything fairly close.”

  Paul laughed.

  “I’m serious. The wedding is this Saturday, and we only just talked to Annetta and Wally about catering the reception last week. It’s been crazy with the job stuff, and the wedding stuff, and this nut job stuff.”

  “And you’re changing the subject.”

  “Not really. And not on purpose.” I tapped the table with a finger. “Everything going on right now is high priority. I’m even having nightmares combining everything.”

  “I know. And don’t freak out—”

  “Freaked out or not, I’m mad.”

  “Okay, okay, but that may be why he’s escalating. He knows you aren’t totally focused. None of us are. With investigating Grayson’s murder, dealing with the antics of your stalker—sorry, the stalker—Wyatt still healing up, and all the details that have to be taken care of for your wedding, you’re distracted—like you were last Sunday, and if not—probably not—then at least you’re overwhelmed. That’s better for him. He wants to catch you off guard … us off guard, because if we’re not paying attention, you’re exposed, an easy target. If he can keep us that way, you’re more accessible to him.”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  My protector.

  Paul shook his head. “Could be more of a detriment there, McGruff. Sorry, but it’s true. You can’t move very fast, yet. Besides the fact that you just had another surgery, and though you can move better than before (and again, no offense) you might not be much help if she gets in trouble.”

  There was mad and resignation on Wyatt’s face, but he was nodding.

  I studied both men.

  “Maggie, you’ve got that look on your face.”

  Me? I have a look? “Which one?”

  “I may be way off base here.”

  “What look?”

  “Her Miss Marple look.”

  “Miss Mar—?” Paul looked confused for a moment. “Oh, Agatha Christie.”

  Wyatt nodded. “Give it up, lady. What’s your theory?”

  I sighed. Theories needed to be stretched and mulched before they were put out in the open. Apparently Wyatt didn’t want to wait for the fermentation process to complete. “It’s pretty abstract right now.”

  “Go for it.”

  Crud. “You’re sure?”

  Paul looked amused. “Does she do this often?”

  “Yeah. Saves us a lot of time, usually.”

  “Excellent. Spill forth, madam.”

  My eyes rolled. “All right. What if—” I stopped. Calculated. Weighed the consequences. “Just know that things are falling and meshing, but I don’t have it all. Not yet.”

  “But—?”

  “What if, what? Come on, Maggie.”

  “Well.” Still I hesitated. “I don’t want y’all to think I’m— Never mind, you probably already do. Here goes. What if the stalker and Tom’s killer are the same … person?”

  Their total mutual silence had me rethinking my speculation.

  Paul glanced at Wyatt, then they both focused on me.

  Paul’s eyes were narrowed. He didn’t look mad so I figured he was thinking. Pretty deep, too, if I was any judge.

  Wyatt rubbed his chin, but kept quiet.

  I didn’t say anymore, not yet. There would be questions. No doubt about that, but which ones, and in what order?

  “How—?” Paul leaned back in the chair. “Damn. What—? Uh. Okay.”

  “Go for it.” Wyatt’s mouth twitched. “Whatever pops in first.”

  “How did you, um…,” the former city cop threw up his hands, “come up with that? What gave you, the nudge? What was the pivot point that—? Geez, lady. You said abstract, but that’s—” He shook his head.

  “Huh. Pivot point.” Wyatt chuckled. “I’ll have to remember that one.”

  “Now you’ve interrupted my mental process, and it’s already pretty scrambled.”

  I made a face. “I don’t have an answer, yet.”

  “I haven’t even asked the question yet.”

  Wyatt was well on his way to busting a gut, and if he did I’d have to whack him.

  Okay. Smack, then.

  Yes, I can smack the chief of police when he’s being a jerk and not get put in jail.

  Because he loves me, that’s why.

  “Ask your question.” Then I pointed at said police chief. “And no comments, or rude noises from the peanut gallery.”

  “But it’s so much fun that way.”

  I stared.

  He pulled an imaginary zipper across his mouth.

  My eyes rolled—of their own voliti
on—and went to Paul.

  His hands were over his face, and he was shaking his head. “Is it always like this between you two?”

  “Um, yeah. Mostly.”

  “How do you get anything done? Wait. Don’t answer that.” He took a breath. “How did you come to that conclusion? What parts of what’s been happening morphed, for you, into it being the same person?”

  Wyatt opened his mouth. I squinted at him. He raised his index finger. “Ruminating.”

  Paul blinked. “Excuse me?”

  Wyatt nodded. “Yeah. I kinda-sorta asked her the same thing a while back. She said she ruminates.”

  “That’s part of it, but this is different.” He’d remembered. I had to give my man some credit. “I’m not sure it even does go together yet, but I just have this weird … feeling, that these two cases are connected. And the connection is the same person, and unfortunately—and with no vanity involved—has to do with me, for a probably insanely stupid reason.”

  “But how did you—?” He wiggled his hand in the air. “What made you even go down that track?”

  “I’m not sure. All I can tell you is that this person knows me. That’s why I think we can use an age bracket of between forty-two and fifty.”

  “Most people would agree with you about the first part of that, but he not only uses your maiden name, he calls you Beth.”

  Paul blinked at Wyatt. “He does, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes.” I gave a shudder. “Yes, he does.”

  “Did we know that?”

  I looked at Wyatt. “I’m not sure. Did we tell them that part?”

  “That Beth part? I thought so, but maybe not.”

  “Oh, right. That’s the name he called you on the phone call—that day the photos came in. He called to … gloat. I couldn’t really hear the name clearly, but now that you said it, it clicks. I knew about the maiden name thing. Must have missed the Beth-thing. That does make it more personal.”

  “Really? Ya think?”

  “No need for sarcasm.” He looked offended. “So who calls you Beth?”

  “If I knew that, we wouldn’t be sitting here twiddling our thumbs.”

  “Ah. Okay then.”

  “According to the things he’s said on several occasions, the man is upset about something I’m doing. He is under the impression that we share … something. Some event, apparently. We’ve figured out that he’s a relatively good marksman, and that he can, obviously, and with ease, get into and out of places that are locked. Case in point, my house, at least twice in the last week, that we know of.”