Dog Days

by Jill S. Behe

  I blinked. “What?”

  “I can’t go talk to her. This would be considered part of the ongoing police investigation, and I’m on desk duty.”

  Smack me in the head. “Oh, crap.”

  See what misplaced concentration will do to you.

  “Yeah. She asked for me specifically?”

  “She always does.”

  He perched on the edge of my desk, thinking. “Declan around?”

  It was plainly apparent that Declan wasn’t at his desk, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t somewhere else in the building.

  I could see where Wyatt was going with this. Declan was the charmer. Lavender might be pacified with Declan, more so than any of the others. Maybe even more than Wyatt (but we’ll let that be our little secret. Okay?)

  “He’s out at the moment. I’ll send him back as soon as he comes in.”

  Declan didn’t return for quite some time, but called Lavender as soon as he did. They’re to meet at her house tomorrow morning.

  THE FRONT DOOR opened and closed, and I heard the faint squish of sneakered feet. The young woman (imagine an Indian maiden in modern dress) moved quickly to my desk. Her dark eyes flashed with intelligence and humor, and something I couldn’t identify. Twin long blue-black braids hung over her shoulders.

  “Blessing. This is a surprise. What can I do for you?”

  I motioned her to a seat in front of my desk. She sat, posture perfect. “You could fry eggs on the parking lot today. Nice and cool in here, though. Nice room, too. Big and airy.”

  “Yes, to everything you said.”

  “I’m a little nervous.”

  “Can’t prove it by me.”

  “Gage doesn’t know I’m here.”

  “Uh oh.” My mom alert antenna went up. “What’s happened?”

  She chuckled. “Oh no. Nothing like that. I just have something to say, and I’m not sure…. I hope I didn’t wait too long. It may be too late in the game, but can I just put it out there?”

  I relaxed, some. “Spill it.”

  “Ha. Yes. Easier said than done. Well, okay, here goes. As you know, I’m a photo-journalist.”

  “Yes.”

  “Um. To be honest, I was going to try making a kind of documentary on you and Wyatt, but I’ve reconsidered. However—”

  “A documentary? On us?”

  “Sure. You wouldn’t believe how many people would be interested in that kind of thing.”

  “You don’t have to convince me. People live for gossip around here.”

  “But, as I said, I’ve reconsidered.”

  “Bee-cause?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I talked it over with Gage. He didn’t think you’d want to be subjected to all the publicity it would generate, considering what happened earlier this year, and the summer before last. And, after I thought about it from his standpoint, I could understand his the concern. You’ve got a very conscientious son. A loving, protective big bad Rottweiler of a son.”

  I laughed. “Thanks. And he was right. So why are you here?”

  She handed over a lovely pale green envelope, with an equally lovely card inside.:

  * * *

  To Wyatt and Maggie:

  It would give me great

  pleasure to be allowed to

  photograph your wedding day

  as my gift to the two of you.

  Love, Blessing

  * * *

  I looked up to find her biting her lip, and watching me. Crushing the card to my chest, throat tight, “I would be honored. Thank you, Blessing. You truly live up to your name.”

  A bright happy smile lit her face. “Oh, thank you. I was so hoping you’d say yes. Do you need to talk it over with the police chief, first?”

  I shook my head, and wiped away a tear. “No. He’ll be just as thrilled as I am.”

  A deep sigh. “Good, good, good.” A giggle. “Excellent.”

  “Hey, Blessing.” Speak of the devil. “Everything all right?”

  The girl’s blush spread into the roots of her hair. “Everything’s just fine, sir.”

  Huh. Blessing Morningstar had a crush on my man.

  Jealous?

  Absolutely not.

  “Great. Good to see you again.”

  She took a breath. “Thanks.” Grabbing her bag, she stood. “Gotta go. Have a bunch of prep stuff to do. Thanks again, Maggie. Chief.” With a quick wave, she sped across the room.

  “What was that all about?”

  I handed him the card.

  “Well, how about that. Nice kid.”

  See, I’m not the only one who uses kid.

  Shh.

  “Yeah. Gage thinks she’s a keeper.”

  “What about you?”

  “From what I’ve seen, so far, I’d say he’s right.”

  “I think you’re both right. Her uncle and I were on the same Naval base for a while. He was always showing me her articles. Impressive stuff.”

  “She was going to do a documentary on us, but Gage talked her out of it.”

  He was quiet a moment, then grunted. “Probably a good thing.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  He grinned. “Great minds think alike.”

  “Ha ha ha. So they do.”

  He handed back the card. “How about some lunch?”

  “Wouldn’t say no.”

  His elbow poked out. I grabbed my purse and stood, hooking my other arm through.

  He yelled over his shoulder, “Becca, hold down the fort.”

  “Will do, Chief.”

  Chapter 19

  … SATURDAY…

  * * *

  … August 29th…

  AFTER AN EXHAUSTIVE but satisfactory day shopping, we pulled in to the drive at my house at about sunset. Harriet, Lancy, and Dandy, after last minute thank-yous and good-byes, laid their precious cargo on the rear seat of their vehicles, and took off.

  Mom and I were having words about me going inside alone while she waited in the car. All I wanted to do was take my bags in the house so I wouldn’t have to drag them back from Wyatt’s.

  “Don’t argue with me, Magdalena Elizabeth. You may only be going in there to drop your things off, but Wyatt would have my head on a platter if I let you go in that house all by yourself.”

  A sigh. An eye roll. “Very well, Mother.”

  “Besides. You’d never be able to carry all that stuff by yourself.”

  “What stuff?”

  She gave me that classic look every mother gives their daughters at some point … okay … several times in their lives. “Just say, ‘Thank you, Mom.’”

  Grrr. “Thank you, Mom.”

  We each grabbed a bag (see, that’s not much). I unlocked the front door, and once we were inside, locked it again.

  Because I’m paranoid, and so Wyatt wouldn’t yell when we told him.

  Mom hit the wall switch and started down the hall to my room.

  I was sniffing the air, and not liking what I smelled. “Mom. Wait.”

  She stopped. “What now?”

  I waved her back towards me.

  “Maggie, what—?”

  “Something’swrong, let’sgobacktothecar.”

  Without another word, but with lots of questions on her face, she followed me back outside, waited for me to relock the door, and we got into the car.

  “Are you going to explain yourself, young lady?”

  “In a minute. First we need some AC, please.”

  “Good idea.”

  I pulled out my cell. “Hey, honey—”

  “Where have you been? Why didn’t you call? You were supposed to be back hours ago.”

  “Wyatt—”

  “Are you on your way here?”

  “No. Not yet. I’m—”

  “Why not? What the hell’s taking so long? Did you have an accident? Are you—?”

  “Wyatt!”

  A pause. “What’s wrong?”

  “First, you have a phone, too. You could
have called if you were really worried. But if you’d stop interrupting, I could tell you why I’m calling you.”

  “Sorry, you’re absolutely right. Please, go ahead.”

  The cop was talking to me, now.

  “I need you to come over here.”

  “Where’s here?”

  “Ah. Mom and I are in the driveway at my place.”

  “Why?”

  “Can I explain that to you when you get here? Please?”

  “Be there in five, babe.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mom was staring at me with a tell-me-now-or-else look.

  “Sorry, Mom. I’ve been having some trouble with a stalker.” I raised my hand to stave off the shouting that was going to come out of her mouth. “Wait until the end.”

  She cleared her throat. “Okay. But—”

  “Shh.” Hmm. I must get my eye roll talent from her. “I don’t know who he is, or why I’m the lucky target he seems stuck on, but things have been escalating. Either that or he’s just plain getting bolder. Anyway, the reason we’re out here in the car is because the house didn’t smell right. Not normal. I know it doesn’t sound like any big deal, but I want Wyatt, as police chief, to do a walk-through. Just to be on the safe side. It might be nothing more than my mounting paranoia, but I … need to make sure.”

  “A stalker? How long, Magdalena? How long have you known about this man?”

  “Since the middle of January, for sure, though he may have been at it for longer, and we didn’t know about it.”

  “What kind of things are you talking about? This escalation. What kind of things? Is he threatening you?”

  I blinked. Was she serious? Of course he— “Yes, Mom, that’s what stalkers do. They threaten. They do strange, and menacing, and terrifying things to their victims.”

  “Oh dear Lord. Has he hurt you?”

  “Yes. And other people.”

  “But…. What other people?”

  “He shot Gage, by accident, trying to hit me. Remember when Gage’s arm was in a sling?”

  “Yes, but I don’t remember being told— Shot? He shot my—? Good heavens! Magdalena Elizabeth, why weren’t we told before this? Your father needs to know.” She began to rummage in her purse. “I’m so mad at you right now. Lord have mercy.”

  “But you knew Gage was hurt.”

  “Yes, but not how he got hurt. When were you planning to enlighten your parents?”

  “Honestly? I was hoping I wouldn’t ever have to.”

  “What? Why not? We have a right to know when there’s a serious issue going on in your life.”

  “And look how it’s making you react.”

  She finally retrieved her cell phone from the bowels of the bag, but then dropped it right back in. “I can’t tell your father this kind of thing over the phone. When did you say Wyatt was going to get here?”

  “I didn’t.” A glance down the street gave me the answer. “But that looks like him now.”

  Wyatt pulled in beside us and got out, coming around to my side.

  I rolled down the window.

  “Stay in the car. I called Court. He’ll be here shortly. Now. Why am here?”

  “I wanted to drop my stuff off, rather than dragging it to your house, and then hauling it back. (Not that there’s all that much of it, but still….) When we walked in, I smelled … something off. I don’t know exactly what it was, or if it’s just my imagination. But something isn’t right. Somebody was in there, other than you and me and Harley today. Mom and I didn’t even get as far as the bedroom before I made us come back out.”

  My mother leaned across me. “And she had to—finally—tell me she’s being stalked. He shot my grandson. Did you know that? Oh, of course you did. And she never said a word to me, or her father. What kind of daughter does that?”

  I bit my lips together.

  Wyatt looked past me. “Well, Mrs. Donovan, he shot me, too.”

  Her mouth dropped open. Speechless. Aghast. Stunned. Yeah, all those were frozen on her face. “You, too? He shot you, too? For pity’s sake, Maggie. Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?” Her voice stopped, but her hands kept moving, and she was shaking her head.

  “Mrs. Donovan, we’re going to get him. I promise you. We’re close. Everything is going to be all right.”

  She stared mad.

  No, not crazy mad.

  Angry mad.

  “Here comes Court.” Wyatt straightened. “Stay here. Please? Don’t be like those idiots in the movies, okay? Just stay put?”

  “You’re going to tell me if you find anything, right? Just so I know whether or not I was imagining things?”

  “I will.”

  “You’ll tell me what you find?”

  A pause. “Maybe.”

  “Wyatt.”

  Mom yelled out: “Don’t tell her a thing, Wyatt. Let her know how it feels.”

  “Depends on what it is.”

  My mouth scrunched.

  He leaned in and kissed it.

  I’m such a sucker for his kisses. Still wasn’t happy, but….

  Mom and I watched as the two lawmen went into the house.

  She sighed, long and deep.

  I grabbed her hand, and gave it a squeeze.

  A torturously silent thirty minutes later, Wyatt and Court came back out, with two big garbage bags.

  Mom gasped. “Oh, honey. You were right.”

  I groaned. “Oh, dear God.”

  Court took the sacks to the cruiser, and left.

  Wyatt made his way over to the car, and leaned in. Cop face in place.

  “Well?”

  “He trashed your room.”

  My eyes closed.

  Wyatt glanced down. “He went through your dresser. Emptied a couple of drawers. The closet wasn’t bad, just made a mess, especially your shoes.”

  “What else?” I was going to burn the lot.

  “Honey, isn’t that enough?”

  “To me I would hope it was, but he doesn’t sound done.” I opened my eyes. “Are you?”

  He shook his head. “Unfortunately.”

  “How bad?”

  “Your stuffed bear.”

  “What about it?”

  “It isn’t stuffed anymore.”

  “What?”

  Mom was humming. Not a good sign.

  “It was under the blankets, on the side I … anyway, on the bed with a steak knife in its chest. The stuffing all around.”

  “On your side? Under…?”

  He nodded as he sheepishly grinned at an angry looking mom. “We rolled everything up in the sheets and blankets. Not sure we’ll find anything. And besides, I didn’t figure you’d want to keep them.”

  “You’re right about that. I would have burned them, too.”

  “Too?”

  “The stuff from the dresser.”

  “Ah. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

  My hand caressed his cheek. “It’s not your fault. I’m just glad you’re here, and you’re taking care of me.”

  My mother laid a hand on my shoulder. “As am I.”

  “We are going to get to the bottom of this.”

  “Just wait until your father hears about this … and about Wyatt’s side of the bed.”

  An eye roll. “Mom, I’m not twelve.”

  Mom turned her nose up and looked away. “Obviously.”

  The face I gave Wyatt must have been more pitiful than I thought because he cleared his throat and said, “Mrs. Donovan, how about I take Maggie to my place. You can just drive on home. Okay?”

  Her mouth scrunched tight. “Trying to get rid of me, aren’t you? But I suppose that is the best solution.” She shook her finger in my face. “Know this, young lady, if you ever keep anything like this from your father and me again, heads will roll.”

  Wyatt leaned in the window. “I’m so sorry for this whole mess.”

  “Mr. Madison … I know there’s a wedding coming up, but after today’s events, perhaps it’s time for you to
start calling me Mom.”

  Chapter 20

  … SUNDAY…

  * * *

  … August 30th…

  * * *

  SUNDAYS ARE SPECIAL. It’s a catchup day. Saturdays are for decompressing, running errands, having … activities. Sundays are for relaxing, recovering, resting.

  Since the aftershocks of the bombshell Wyatt dropped last Sunday are still reverberating—

  What bombshell?

  The one where Wyatt thinks we should sell both our homes and buy one together.

  As I was saying…

  … since then, I’ve been making forays into the attic. Holy Crap, there is a lot of junk up there. I’m going to have to get my boys over to help go through it. Some of it is theirs, but most of it should have been chucked years ago.

  I’d rather be on the swing on the back porch with a glass of sweet tea, and Wyatt beside me. Instead, I was in the attic (the stinking sweat-pouring-out-of-my-body-after-two-minutes hot attic), lugging boxes towards the pull-down ladder so I could move them to a cooler part of the house and go through them.

  My attitude was testy, to be quite honest, and if Wyatt had happened to make any comment, positive or negative, I would most likely and delightedly take off his head.

  As I pulled, tugged, and slid the last of several boxes down the ladder, said man stood in the hallway with a tall glass of sweet tea.

  Okay, so I wouldn’t take off his head. It’s pretty cute, and he was being kind and considerate. And since it was my idea that he not help with the moving of my personal history from the attic to the spare room, I couldn’t, wouldn’t, find fault.

  After wiping my face with the hem of my already damp T-shirt, I reached for the glass. “Thank you, honey. This is just what I needed.”

  “You do look hot and sweaty.”

  “I am.”

  “That is such a turn-on.”

  “Seriously?”

  He took two steps closer. “Oh, yeah.”

  I backed up one. “I smell.”

  “Like woman, like heat.”

  My mouth opened, but I couldn’t think of anything to say.