Chapter Ten
“This means that Mocha was somehow involved in that man’s death.” The words left Serena’s lips in rapid fire.
“It at least means that the dead man had something to do with Mocha,” Webster said. “But I guess you already knew that, right? I mean, why else would the dog have had Paul Witherspoon’s shoe in his mouth?”
Serena frowned and rubbed the dog’s head. “I hoped it was just a fluke or something.”
“But in order for the dog to have the shoe, that means Sprinkles—I mean, Mocha—must have been in the enclosed fenced-in area. Was the gate closed when you found the dead man?”
Serena replayed the day. “It was. But Mocha’s legs are pretty springy. He can easily jump over things so I just assumed he jumped in and out.”
“So let’s lay out what we know so far.” Webster shifted toward her. “I want to go over these things with you before I run the article tomorrow morning. We know that drugs were most likely involved in Paul Witherspoon’s death. He was stabbed and either pushed or fell into the pool. Nobody on the island has come forward to say that they were here with him or know him. We don’t know where he was staying yet either. But now we have this footage that confirms that somebody—most likely the killer—was chasing him before he died.”
A chill washed over her. “It looks like we have footage of the killer himself, doesn’t it?” Serena thought that would make her feel better but it didn’t. Instead, somehow she felt more uneasy.
“The question is, what do you get when you put all of that together? You’ve ruled out the dogcatcher. Good job.” He fired at her with a finger gun. “But who else could this be? What could be going on?”
“Well, if drugs were involved and Mocha is involved . . .” Her thoughts drifted. “What if they were using Mocha as a drug mule?”
“That seems highly unlikely,” Webster said.
As soon as the words left her lips, she had realized how ridiculous they sounded. But did her theory have any validity? She was at least thankful that Webster hadn’t laughed at her.
But when she didn’t say anything for a few minutes, he did say, “Has Mocha shown any signs of discomfort?”
Serena rubbed Mocha’s head. “No.”
“Then I really think we need to think on a slightly smaller scale than that.”
He was probably right. “Why would someone be chasing sweet little Mocha then?”
“It could be as simple as the fact that Mocha belonged to our victim. Maybe Mocha got out of the house, our victim chased him, and the killer just happened to see it happen and used that opportunity to strike.”
“But that still doesn’t tell us why this guy could have died. We need motive.”
Webster frowned. “That’s why we need to keep investigating.”
Serena let out a long breath. “What are you thinking now? Do you have any other theories?”
“Not yet. But I’m still working on it. I’m not ready to give up yet.”
Just as he said those words, Serena felt a shadow fall over her. She turned in time to see Cassidy walking toward her with a man Serena had never seen before. Serena quickly observed the stranger. He was probably in his forties, about thirty pounds overweight, and his thick brows shadowed his eyes.
“I was hoping I might find you.” Cassidy stopped in front of them.
“How did you find me?” Serena asked. Maybe it wasn’t the best first question, but it had slipped out.
“Your ice cream truck’s a little hard to miss,” she said. “Serena, Webster. This is Jason. He came into the police station because his dog was lost. It turns out his dog is Sprinkles.”
“You mean, Mocha,” Serena corrected.
Cassidy squinted. “What? Never mind. Either way, you’ll be happy to know that the dog can now safely return home.”
Panic rushed through Serena. She looked down at Mocha and noticed that her little dog had gone tense. Just as Jason reached for the canine, Mocha let out a growl. The man withdrew his hand.
“Are you sure this is his dog?” Serena asked, her gaze on Cassidy.
“He showed me some of the vet bills,” Cassidy said. “This is definitely his dog.”
Serena held on to the leash.
“Serena,” Cassidy said, a warning in her voice. “You have to give the dog back.”
“But Mocha doesn’t want to go,” Serena said, literally digging in her heels.
Cassidy turned toward Jason. “Is there a reason your dog doesn’t seem to like you?”
“This dog’s always been temperamental.” He shrugged. “Come on, Bob. We need to get you home. Mom is going to be happy to see you. She’s missed you a lot.”
Mocha continued to growl low and steady.
And who would name a dog like Mocha something boring like Bob?
“Serena, give him the leash,” Cassidy said, warning in her voice.
If there was one thing Serena knew, it was that she was not giving this dog back to this man. Not if she could help it.
“Fine,” she muttered. But as she let go of the leash, she leaned toward Mocha. “Run, boy! Run!”
As if Mocha understood, the dog raced in the opposite direction, away from his so-called owner.
Cassidy and Jason took off after Mocha, but the dog was too fast. By the time the canine disappeared into the woods near the end of the beach, they were both too far behind to catch him.
Satisfaction stretched through Serena, but she tried not to smile.
Cassidy and Jason stomped through the sand back toward Serena and Webster. Cassidy was on the phone, probably calling Carl at animal control to let him know to be on the lookout. And she looked none too happy as her gaze went to Serena.
“That was a bold move,” Webster whispered.
“I don’t know what the connection is between that man and Mocha, but that dog doesn’t want anything to do with his supposed owner. There was no way I could let Mocha go, considering the situation.”
“I don’t blame you.”
Surprise washed through Serena. She’d fully expected a lecture from him, and, instead, Webster looked impressed. He scored a few points with her for that.
But the good feelings only lasted a moment as Cassidy and Jason joined them. Jason drew in deep, ragged breaths, almost as if he hadn’t gotten that much exercise in years.
“That wasn’t your smartest move, Serena.” Cassidy narrowed her eyes.
“If he really is this dog’s supposed owner, then Mocha would have run to him, right? I can’t control what that dog does. I’ve only known the dog for one day. Why would he listen to me?”
Cassidy’s narrowed gaze still remained on Serena. Regardless of Cassidy’s professional stare, she couldn’t help but to think that Cassidy would’ve done the same thing. But she also knew that Cassidy probably couldn’t say that in front of Jason.
That’s what she wanted to believe, at least.
“You’re going to pay for this,” Jason said, his nostrils flaring.
“Was that a threat?” Cassidy rolled her shoulders back and turned toward “Bob’s” owner.
“No, it wasn’t a threat, but you should be arresting her.” His arm shot out and he pointed at Serena.
“Lawfully speaking, she didn’t do anything wrong,” Cassidy said. “It could be argued that it wasn’t nice, but there’s nothing illegal about not being kind.”
Jason continued to glower at Serena. “You better hope nothing happens to that dog.”
Cassidy took his arm. “We’re going to find your dog, sir. Now you need to calm down.”
As Cassidy led him away, she passed one more glance back at Serena.
Serena shrugged. She wasn’t going to apologize for what she’d done, and nothing was going to change her mind about that.
“That guy really wants Mocha,” Webster said.
“I know. And that makes me very suspicious. I’ve gotta find Mocha before he does.”
Webster stood. “I’ll go with you.”
Serena glan
ced at Webster one more time, unsure if she’d heard him correctly.
She had.
Maybe this guy wasn’t as bad as she thought. Not if he was willing to look for a lost dog.
Chapter Eleven
Webster and Serena drove around for two hours looking for Mocha, but they had no luck finding the dog. With every minute that passed, Serena’s worry grew. What if the dog was lost? Hurt? What if Carl found Mocha before they did? Or, even worse, what if Jason had somehow been able to locate the dog?
She began to question her decision to let the dog go. Though she initially felt like the dog would be safer anywhere but with Jason, now it seemed like a bad idea. Mocha could be lost and alone out there, not to mention scared.
Webster glanced over at her as he pulled over onto the side of the road near the woods where Mocha had disappeared. They’d taken his sedan on the hunt, which was a good thing. Serena’s hands trembled with nerves.
“We’ll find him,” Webster told her.
“I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to that dog and it was my fault.”
“You were just trying to protect the dog.”
“But what if I made the wrong choice?” Her throat burned as she said the words.
“Sometimes you can only make the best choice that you know to make at the time.”
Something about the way Webster said the words made Serena think that he’d had some firsthand experience with that. But she didn’t ask any questions. If Webster wanted to share something with her then he would.
“I guess I should probably get back to my house.” Serena glanced over at him, hating to admit defeat. But she had no idea where else to look for her dog.
Or . . . that dog, she should say. Mocha wasn’t hers. But Mocha felt like he should be hers.
“I’ll drop you off at your ice cream truck then. I should probably get back too so I can work on this article. I want to post an update on the case.”
“I wish you had more of an update to post,” Serena said.
“Me too. But the answers will come. Eventually.”
He pulled up beside Elsa and put his vehicle into Park. Serena’s hand went to the door, and she started to open it but paused. “Thank you again for your help. I appreciate it.”
“It’s no problem.” He flashed a smile that almost made him look handsome. His eyes crinkled at the sides, the rigid set of his shoulders softened, and even his breathing seemed to even. “Stay safe, okay?”
She nodded, her heart lodging in her throat. “I will. You too.”
Back at her house, Serena lay in her hammock, staring up at the stars and wishing they had the answers about sweet little Mocha. But the answers felt just as elusive as what was out there beyond the great unknown.
Worry squeezed her insides. She closed her eyes and prayed that Mocha was okay. She was tempted to go back out and look for the dog more, yet she feared that the dark road would be a foe instead of a friend. Maybe her best bet would just be to look again in the morning.
The one thing that she knew for sure was that that dog was somehow mixed up in this murder. She couldn’t figure out the connection. Not yet. But something was going on.
She kept replaying that footage from the video doorbell. Who could the man chasing their victim be? Jason?
She nibbled on her lip as she thought about it. She supposed the men were approximately the same size. But it was almost impossible to know for sure, especially considering that the man in the video had been wearing a hat and oversized clothing.
They really had to tell Cassidy about that video. In fact, Serena probably should have told Cassidy the information earlier. But Serena was so angry at the prospect of giving up Mocha that she hadn’t been thinking clearly.
Granted, Serena wasn’t the one who officially had a copy of that video. Webster did. How was he going to feel about turning that information over to the police?
Serena still couldn’t figure that man out yet. One minute, he seemed bossy and imposing. The next, he seemed thoughtful and kind.
Men . . .
She swung back and forth on the hammock, her thoughts swaying along with her.
Mocha . . . how had that dog wormed his way into her heart so quickly? It made no sense. She never even thought of herself as a dog person. Something about Mocha had seemed different. He had been a great companion for the past day and a half.
Tomorrow was a new day. Maybe Serena could find more answers. But her first priority was going to be finding Mocha.
She let her hand fall to the side of the hammock as she lay there. And as it did, her fingers brushed something soft.
Her heart raced.
She sat up in the hammock and looked down, hardly able to breathe. She sucked in a breath at what she saw.
“Mocha?”
The dog barked, and Serena scooped him into her arms. He rewarded her with doggy kisses.
“You came back,” she murmured. She held the little furball to her chest, his scent—now mixed with the woodsy outdoors—filling her with comfort.
Now she had to figure out how to protect him.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning, Serena put on a Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz outfit. She had side braids, along with a blue and white checked dress. She added some red lipstick and some penny loafers, and she was ready to go.
Except that she didn’t know exactly what to do with Nutty Buddy today. Yes, Nutty Buddy. She’d decided that was a better name for the canine.
For today, at least.
She couldn’t leave the dog home by himself. Yet it also felt dangerous to take him out.
After contemplating her options for a few minutes, Serena finally decided to drive with the dog down to the beach. They could both stretch their legs and get a little serenity for the day. Usually there were very few people out at this hour anyway. Plus, Serena wanted to check and see if there was any new beach art.
As soon as she stepped outside, she saw something on her deck. Was that . . . a piece of steak?
Her shoulder muscles tightened.
Her gaze continued to the sandy grass leading to the lane.
A trail of steak chunks had been left there!
She grabbed Nutty Buddy’s leash and held him back. “You don’t want to do that, boy.”
A bad feeling brewed in her stomach.
Cautiously, she skirted around the steak and walked toward the lane. As she reached it, she peered around a lattice wall there.
As she did, a black car pulled away.
Someone had been trying to lure Nutty Buddy away. They’d laid breadcrumbs—er, steak crumbs—to lead the canine to their vehicle.
Her heart pounded in her chest at the thought. That was despicable. She was so glad Webster had gotten her this leash. Otherwise . . .
She leaned down and hugged Nutty Buddy. The dog licked her in return.
Serena was cautious as she walked Nutty Buddy at the beach. Her gaze continually scanned everything around her. She didn’t see anyone else.
As soon as she saw the beach art, she felt better. Today, the artist had created what looked like waves.
Just as before, everything was arranged perfectly, from the colors and shapes of the shells to the design itself. Whoever had done this was really talented. She pulled out her phone and took a picture.
After Nutty Buddy had done his business and Serena had cleaned up after him, she went back to the ice cream truck. She glanced around, making sure that nobody was watching or trying to lure Nutty Buddy away.
She saw no one.
As soon as she reached her truck, her phone rang. It was Webster.
“Hey, I know this is unconventional, but I was wondering if you could pick me up?” he said.
She shoved her eyebrows together in confusion. “I’m doing my normal ice cream route today . . .”
“I know. I have my laptop. I can work some as you drive. You’ll hardly know I’m there.”
This entire conversation seemed suspicious
. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. There are some things I want to talk to you about, and I figured this would be the best way to do it.”
“But I thought I wouldn’t know you were there,” she said.
“I said hardly. That word was very important to that sentence.”
He had a point. “Okay then. I’ll swing by Ernestine’s house in about ten minutes.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Serena climbed into her truck, feeling a strange sense of curiosity. Why in the world did Webster want to ride with her? Was it really so they could talk?
If that was the truth, then she supposed she could appreciate that he wasn’t interrupting her schedule in order to talk about the newspaper. Speaking of which . . .
She pulled out her phone and pulled up the newspaper’s website. There at the very top was an article about their dead man.
Her eyes widened when she saw the byline.
Webster had included her name.
That was nice, at least. Serena had halfway expected him to take all the credit himself. Maybe she shouldn’t be so hard on the man. But she wasn’t ready to trust him yet either.
A few minutes later, she pulled up in front of Ernestine’s house and Webster hopped into the ice cream truck. As he did, his eyes widened.
“Mocha?” He glanced up at Serena as he rubbed the dog’s head.
“It’s Nutty Buddy.”
“But—” He froze and then shook his head. “Never mind.”
Serena shrugged. “He showed up at my place last night.”
“Did you tell the police chief?”
“No, not yet. I don’t know what I should do. I don’t want to break the law, but I’m not giving this dog back.”
His eyes widened. “So you’re just going to keep him hidden for now?”
“I don’t know what else to do.” She told him about the steak trail she’d found outside her place this morning. “What would you do in this situation?”
She halfway expected Webster to give a noble answer. Like turning the dog in no matter the cost. Instead he said, “I would do the same thing. Someone’s obviously desperate to get this dog. That doesn’t settle well with me.”
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