Making It Right (A Most Likely To Novel Book 3)

by Catherine Bybee

  “This is Jezebel,” Cherie introduced the mother.

  Momma regarded Jo for a moment, then licked Cherie’s hand in acceptance when the woman knelt to pet one of the half dozen pups curled around Jezebel’s legs.

  Jo’s heart twisted. The tiny fur balls moved around on unsteady legs, their heads too big for their bodies, their little barks as precious as any newborn’s should be.

  “Tell me these aren’t the most adorable things on the planet?” Cherie asked, picking one of the pups up and cradling it in her hands.

  “They’re precious,” Jo told her.

  Cherie forced the puppy into Jo’s arms. Damn thing mewed, almost like a kitten, then released a bitty bark that made her smile.

  “Every one of my dogs were once this tiny little thing, Jo. How do I pick which ones to keep and which ones to let go?”

  Jo glanced behind her, saw the bigger versions of fur and bark. She leaned down, put the puppy back in with the rest, and thanked the mom by petting the back of her neck. “I know they’re your babies. I understand that. Even parents of children eventually move their kids along.”

  Cherie opened her mouth to protest, Jo cut her off.

  “I’m not happy about how all this came about. But . . .” She took a deep breath. “There is a limit of how many adult dogs one home can house before it becomes unmanageable.”

  “I’m managing just fine,” she protested. “My dogs are fed, clean. My home isn’t some cast-off episode of Hoarders.”

  “Dogs bark.”

  “That’s their job. Especially when the pound shows up looking for trouble. And don’t even get me started with that deputy of yours. That man hates me.”

  “Karl doesn’t hate you.”

  Scratching at the back door of the porch caught Cherie’s attention.

  She opened the access without breaking the conversation. In came two more dogs. “The man’s missing diplomacy. Marched in here acting like he owned it, telling me this is out of control.”

  Jo glanced at all the eyes that were watching her. “Do they ever fight?”

  Cherie looked at her like she was stupid. “Of course. They’re dogs. Sampson is the alpha, he puts everyone in their place.”

  “Were they fighting when Karl came by?”

  “Not fighting, just not happy. They sense danger, and Deputy Emery is that. And those people from Waterville were worse.”

  Jo blew out a breath, did a quick head count of dogs. “I thought you had eight adults.” Jo counted six.

  “My old-timers are in my room,” Cherie explained. “I can’t pawn them off, Jo. It’s not fair to push out the old when the babies come in.”

  “When do you expect the pound to return?”

  “They said three weeks.”

  “All right. Three weeks. We can find homes for four of your dogs in three weeks.”

  “But—”

  “Cherie. I don’t like this, I don’t. But the law is very clear on kennels, breeding, and residential neighborhoods.”

  “I’m not a kennel.”

  Jo made a point of petting the head of the closest dog. “The law would disagree.”

  Cherie shook her head.

  “Sampson is your chief around here, right?” The dog whose name Jo said jerked his head her way.

  “Right.”

  “And Jezebel needs to stay because of the puppies, and your seniors aren’t going anywhere.”

  Cherie caught on to what Jo was doing.

  “The way I see it,” Jo said. “Those are the four dogs you keep.”

  “But—”

  “Old dogs don’t live forever,” Jo reminded her. “It’s possible that you could end up with one or two of these back before you know it.”

  The woman looked like she was going to cry.

  “And if we find homes in River Bend, you can visit them.”

  When Cherie sniffed, it took effort to not join the woman in her loss. “We can do this.”

  “I hate this.”

  Jo didn’t like it either. “And as soon as the vet says it’s possible, you fix Jezebel. No reason to repeat this heartbreak.”

  Cherie walked her to the front door, two of the dogs followed while the others found their beds and curled into balls for a morning nap.

  “Jo.” Cherie stopped her before walking out.

  “Yeah?”

  “Sampson’s son, Noah, sure would make a good police dog.”

  The dog at Cherie’s left lifted his head to her hand.

  Jo smiled. “Let’s try and find Noah a proper home first.”

  Cherie released a long-suffering sigh and closed the door behind her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gill really wanted to party with Miss Gina. From the smell of the lemonade she was drinking, it appeared she was already ahead of him.

  Wyatt and Luke fixed him up at breakfast, introduced him to more people than Gill thought a small town could hold, then brought him out to Miss Gina’s, where he’d spent most of the day pulling boxes out of the bed-and-breakfast’s attic.

  It appeared that Miss Gina held no concern for putting a complete stranger to work within seconds of meeting him.

  “Are we looking for anything in particular?” Luke asked, wiping the grime from his forehead.

  “I have a box of old photographs, the kind captured on film and not some camera phone. Felix was asking for old images of this place for Zoe’s show.”

  Apparently Zoe was some sort of famous chef who spent a fair amount of time filming her talents for those television food shows. Not that Gill had ever heard of her, or ever watched the food networks. From all the praise he’d heard since arriving at Miss Gina’s, Gill looked forward to sampling the woman’s cooking.

  “If we’re looking for pictures, why have I taken ten boxes out to the back porch?” Wyatt asked.

  “Since I have three muscle-bound men at my disposal, I’m going to use you.” Miss Gina knelt next to a cardboard box and blew dust off the top before opening the thing. Inside sat a bunch of Christmas decorations. “I forgot all about these. Here, Luke, take this down.”

  “You’re killing me, Miss Gina.”

  “Zoe would approve.” She stood and nudged the box with her foot in Luke’s direction.

  “Is this what you’re looking for?” Wyatt lifted a handful of loose pictures over another box.

  Miss Gina wore a long skirt and a long-sleeved shirt that belonged back in 1965. The only thing missing was the flower in her long, gray-streaked hair. “Let me see those.”

  The woman removed the pictures from Wyatt’s hands and filtered through them.

  She smiled. “Ah, yes.”

  Wyatt leaned down, picked up the box he’d removed the pictures from. “So we’re done here.”

  Miss Gina glanced around, removed a blanket from old children’s toys. Including a creepy-ass doll that belonged in a horror film.

  Gill was happy to see the thing made Wyatt shiver. “What the hell is that?”

  Miss Gina didn’t answer the question. “Maybe we should bring this stuff down, too. Considering there’s a baby on the way.”

  Wyatt took the blanket from Miss Gina’s hand, tossed it over the doll. “No kid of mine is going to have that haunting their dreams.”

  Miss Gina rolled her eyes. “Wimp.”

  “Whatever.” Wyatt lifted the box. “That shit stays here.”

  “Grab that box, Gill. I’m sure it has more of these pictures.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Miss Gina scowled. “Not sure I like that ma’am stuff. I’m not old.”

  “Treading on thin ice, Gill,” Luke warned as he made his way to the pull-down ladder that brought them up to the attic.

  He backed down first, and then stood ready to help Miss Gina.

  The woman made some crack about Luke looking up her skirt that had Gill chuckling.

  “She’s quite the character,” he said to Wyatt.

  “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

 
; They left the attic, folded the stairs back up where they belonged, and then lugged the remaining boxes out to the back deck with the others. Miss Gina instructed Gill and Wyatt to take the boxes with decorations to her garage to go through later while she and Luke opened a box full of photographs and spread them out.

  “So your wife is pregnant?” Gill asked.

  Wyatt grinned. “Yeah, crazy.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. We’re excited. She wanted to keep it quiet for a while, but Jo and Zoe figured it out.”

  “The women seem tight,” Gill said.

  “They’re like sisters. Look out for each other, give each other crap about everything. It’s nice.” Wyatt pushed the boxes onto a top shelf above the garden tools in the garage.

  “How long have you lived in River Bend?”

  “Close to eight years now.”

  “So you didn’t know Jo’s dad?”

  “Nope. Luke knew him, and Miss Gina, of course.”

  A Range Rover pulled into the gravel drive, bringing with it Zoe and Mel.

  The women climbed out of the car. “We have groceries,” Mel announced.

  Wyatt moved to her side, kissed her briefly before filling his arms with paper bags. “You’ve met Gill,” Wyatt said.

  “Yes we have. Is Jo here?” Zoe asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Good.”

  Gill knew what was good for Zoe was bad for him. “I know a thing or two about interrogation,” he told her, removing the bag from her hands and grabbing the last one from the back of the SUV.

  “I’m counting on it.”

  They followed the women inside. “Should I be concerned?” Gill asked, half joking.

  “I’m not sure. Jo hasn’t dated since I moved here. I wasn’t even sure she had a sex drive until Mel moved to town and I overheard them talking.”

  She has the drive, Gill thought but didn’t say.

  They walked through the Victorian and set the groceries on the counter in the kitchen before moving to the back door.

  Miss Gina sat cross-legged on the ground next to one of the boxes of old photographs, reliving memory lane.

  “There were concerts in the park in the center of town,” Miss Gina was telling Luke.

  “I remember a band in the old gazebo before it fell down.”

  Miss Gina handed the picture to Wyatt. Gill saw an image of a band wearing flared jeans and tight shirts. “You should build this,” Miss Gina said.

  Wyatt peered longer at the image. “Is this where the play equipment is in the park?”

  “Yep. Some asshole thought a playground was better than a place for live entertainment.” The woman obviously didn’t agree. “Every backyard in this town has a swing set or a tree large enough for a rope and a tire. Not sure why this didn’t get rebuilt.”

  Mel pushed through the back door, a glass of water in her hand. “Wow, where did you find all these?”

  A chorus of male voices said, “The attic.”

  “Do you remember the gazebo?” Luke asked Mel.

  “Vaguely.” She looked at the picture.

  “Looks like there was quite the crowd,” Gill said when the picture made it to his hands.

  “Of course. Not a lot happens in this town without a crowd. These outdoor concerts were the best.”

  He handed her back the photo.

  She leaned over, pointed to a couple. “That’s Joseph and Debora.”

  The names didn’t register.

  Mel moved to Gill’s side. “Wow, they were so young.”

  “This was before you kids were born . . . or right after, I don’t remember.”

  “Who are Joseph and Debora?” Gill asked.

  “Jo’s parents,” Luke informed him.

  Gill looked again with renewed interest. The couple weren’t large on the image, their faces lacked details. But Jo’s mom had her frame and the same color hair. Even in the faded photograph. The second look said that Joseph was wearing tan pants and a belt with a holster. He wasn’t wearing a hat, and his shirt wasn’t more than a button-up variety that didn’t scream cop.

  “You knew them both?” Gill asked Miss Gina.

  “I’ve known everyone in this town.”

  He put that information away for another time.

  The screen door creaked as it opened. The familiar sound of work boots and leather sliding alongside flashlights and handcuffs made him smile.

  “Look who I found,” Zoe said beside Jo.

  The woman was beautiful. Even tied up in her uniform and the stress it put on her, he wanted to stare at her all day.

  “I see you found Miss Gina’s.”

  “Of course he did,” the older woman said. “Had to keep him busy while you play cop.”

  Gill wasn’t sure if the comment bothered Jo or not.

  Unlike when they were at the diner, Jo moved close and placed a hand on his arm. “Surviving?” she asked.

  “This woman is a slave driver.”

  “This woman is sitting right here!” Miss Gina protested.

  “She had us cleaning out her attic,” Luke told them, still talking in third person.

  For a few minutes they discussed the boxes of crap they’d removed and the disturbing doll that hid under the blanket.

  Jo leaned close while the others were talking. “You doing okay?”

  He kissed her cheek. “You can make it up to me.”

  She squeezed his arm.

  Apparently public displays of affection were acceptable in this particular group.

  Gill rested his arm over her shoulders and took full advantage of the new information.

  “So, Luke,” Jo addressed her friend. “I think the shop needs a guard dog.”

  Luke blinked a few times. “Oh, no . . . no it doesn’t.”

  “I think it does.”

  “I take it you’ve been to my aunt’s house.”

  Jo sat beside Gill on a porch swing and explained the dog dilemma that had plagued her in Virginia. While it sounded trivial then, it sounded spiteful now. Still, it boiled down to bad politics for a deputy and unneighborly for the town. More than that, it sounded as if Jo was taking on the position of matchmaker for four dogs that needed homes.

  “Don’t look at me,” Miss Gina cut Jo off. “I don’t need beefy dogs scaring off my guests.”

  “We already have a dog,” Mel said next.

  Zoe held up a hand. “Don’t even ask. We leave town too much.”

  “You leave town, Luke doesn’t.”

  It was Luke’s turn to protest again. “I’m considering a shop dog, which I doubt my dad will go for . . . don’t press two on me. We’ve been dodging Aunt Cherie’s dogs for years.”

  Jo conceded. “The puppies are really cute.”

  “Puppies are always cute . . . then they grow up.”

  Jo groaned. Then her attention moved to her cell phone, ringing in her pocket.

  “This is Jo,” she said when she answered.

  She stood and moved outside of Gill’s reach.

  The others kept the dog conversation going while Jo engaged in something completely different. “He what?”

  Gill kept his ear tuned into Jo’s words.

  “Hold off. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t make any decisions yet. I know. Yes.” She hung up the phone and turned back to the group.

  “What’s up?” Mel asked.

  Jo looked directly at Wyatt. “Looks like our distance runner might be taking himself off the team.”

  “What? How?”

  “Some practical joke at school.”

  “We need him,” Wyatt said.

  Gill had learned at breakfast that Wyatt was the head coach for the high school track team, with Jo helping in cross-country and distance runners.

  “I gotta go,” she told them.

  Gill stood. “I’m going with you.”

  “You don’t—”

  “Strictly professional,” he told her. “Remember that case I’m working
on?”

  “Fine,” she said, walking down the back steps instead of walking through the house. “We’ll be back for dinner.”

  “Who says I’m making dinner?” Zoe called out.

  “Ha!” Jo’s comment was met with laughter.

  Jo walked through the halls of River Bend High as if she was a parent intercepting her own kid who’d got caught up to no good.

  In a way, she was. The kids she mentored on the track team were like her own. Except she wasn’t old enough to actually have seventeen-year-old kids. In this case, Drew Emery was not only a forced recruit from his sophomore year who turned into a kid that ran because he liked it, he also happened to be her deputy’s son. Which made things tricky.

  And she liked the kid. He reminded her a lot of herself at that age. He rode the fence on good and bad, tipping the scales on occasion . . . like today.

  Jo left her hat in her car and would have liked to remove her belt, too. But that wasn’t going to happen in a high school parking lot. She greeted the staff of the high school by name as she made her way down the hall. Gill kept pace beside her, his face neutral. Here he didn’t try to touch her, hold her hand, or God forbid, kiss her. She walked right up to Principal Mason’s door and knocked twice. Once summoned, she opened the door to find a younger version of herself sitting on the wrong side of the desk.

  Drew took one look at her and sighed.

  Richard stood when they entered the office, his eyes drawn to Gill.

  Jo made quick work of explaining his presence. “Richard, Agent Clausen works with the FBI. He’s shadowing me today.”

  “Shadowing you?”

  She waved him off without a real explanation. “I’ll explain later.” Drew squirmed under her humorless stare. “Tell me again why I’m standing here?”

  Richard encouraged them both to sit. “Looks like Mr. Emery here thought it would be entertaining to make Mrs. Walters think there was a ghost in her classroom.”

  Mrs. Walters had to be close to retirement by now. The woman taught there when Jo was ditching English instead of showing up for class.

  “And how did you manage that?” Jo asked Drew directly.

  He exchanged glances with the principal. “I downloaded an app.”

  Jo considered his words, thought he was talking about some kind of ghost sounds or something that might come from a Halloween store.