HF01 - Almost Forever Read online

  “Oh . . . I was just talking to Boss,” she hollered back.

  “The water’s ready if he’s done eating.” He appeared in the doorway. “Right this way.”

  Lugging Boss, Bryn followed him down the hallway into a bathroom that looked like it was used only by guests. Plush decorative towels hung from the racks, the sink and mirrors were spotless, and the throw rug in front of the tub bore only the fresh indentions of Garrett’s bare feet. If Molly would have been upset about a dog in the living room, she would have had a conniption seeing him in here. “Um . . . do you have some old towels we can use?”

  “Oh.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I didn’t think about that.”

  “I’m talking ragged-and-ready-to-be-thrown-away old. This dog is filthy.” She held Boss away from her body, revealing a dog-shaped smudge on her pale blue shirt. She wrinkled her nose. “Uggh! He stinks, too.”

  He laughed, seeming himself again. “Let me see what I can find.”

  While Garrett went for towels, she sweet-talked Boss, kneeling beside the tub to gauge how receptive he was to the idea of a bath. He sniffed the air and leaned toward the water, his tongue lapping. Poor dog was probably thirsty, too.

  Holding him in her lap, she tested the water with one hand. It felt about right, so she lowered him into the tub. The minute his paws hit the porcelain, he started slipping and sliding like a skater on ice—only not quite as gracefully.

  “It’s okay, Boss . . . Settle down, boy,” she cooed, trying to calm the frantic pup.

  “How’s it going there?” Garrett’s voice behind her startled her—and Boss.

  The pup dived into the side of the tub, attempting escape, except his stubby legs were too short to gain him purchase on the slippery porcelain. He toppled over backward into the water, flailing like an overturned turtle.

  Bryn looked over her shoulder to see that Garrett was laughing so hard he could barely stand. He dropped to his knees beside her, and together they tried to right the dog, but Boss shot out of their grasp like a slippery bar of soap. That made Garrett laugh all the harder. It proved contagious, and soon Bryn was doubled over beside the tub.

  No thanks to the two of them, Boss finally got his footing, but instead of standing still, he shook himself violently. A spray of lukewarm water hit Bryn full in the face. She gasped, rubbing her eyes with one hand and trying to fend off the spray with the other. That sent Garrett into spasms again.

  “You’re not a lot of help, you know,” she shot over his head, still trying to get a grip on Boss.

  Red-faced and hair damp, Garrett made a feeble effort to hold the pup still in the water. “I’ve got him,” he said. “You get the shampoo.”

  Bryn reached across the tub for the bottle of salon shampoo. “You sure you want to use this on a dog? This stuff isn’t cheap.”

  “Go for it.” Garrett adjusted his grip on the wet dog. “Just hurry.”

  Bryn wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. You really stink.”

  “Hey, I took a shower.”

  She laughed. “Not you, dummy. Him.” Breathing through her mouth, she rubbed her hands into a lather. “Is there anything worse than wet dog fur?”

  “Oh, I’m sure we could come up with—”

  Bryn ribbed him with an elbow. “That was a rhetorical question.”

  “Sorry.”

  The ornery smile he gave her was so like Adam, it nearly knocked her backward with memory. Sobered, she worked in silence, massaging the suds through the dog’s wiry coat.

  They had to drain the filthy water and refill the tub twice, but working together, they scrubbed the little bulldog until he practically squeaked.

  With one hand on the dog, Garrett rummaged in the cupboard under the sink until he came up with a plastic St. Louis Cardinals drink cup. “Here, you can use this to rinse the last of the soap out.”

  He held Boss while Bryn filled the cup with warm water from the tap and poured it slowly over the dog’s fur. Once he settled down, Boss seemed to rather enjoy the bath.

  Boss set Garrett to laughing again when he shook himself dry just as the last sudsy water rolled down the drain. Lifting Boss from the tub, he nodded toward a stack of old towels he’d brought in. “Can you reach one of those?”

  “Sure.” Bryn fashioned the towel into a sort of sling, and Garrett deposited him into it.

  “You got him?”

  “If he’ll hold still,” she said, wrestling to wrap the corners of the towel around the wet dog.

  “Here . . .” He tucked a terry cloth corner under Bryn’s elbow. “You want me to take him?”

  She transferred the dog into Garrett’s arms. “I’ll go get the brush.” She jogged down the hall and retrieved the pet brush from the grocery sack. Back in the bathroom, she spread out another towel on the floor between them, and Garrett slowly lowered Boss onto it, then patted his fur with the first towel. Boss stood there looking bedraggled. He swung his blocky head from her to Garrett and back, as if he was trying to figure out what they intended to do with him. But he didn’t try to escape while they worked on him, Garrett rubbing him dry, and Bryn coming behind with the grooming brush.

  Garrett leaned in and took a whiff of the dog’s fur. “Well, you still stink, Boss, but not quite as bad as before.”

  Bryn eyed the bottle of expensive shampoo. The doggie odor wasn’t completely gone, but the scented shampoo did improve it some.

  “Hang on . . .” Garrett disappeared but was back a minute later holding up a small red air freshener candle and a book of matches. He set the candle on the counter by the sink, tore a match from the book, and struck it. “This should help.” He touched it to the wick. It caught and flared once before settling into a warm glow. The faintest whiff of cinnamon wafted through the room.

  Memories bombarded her and heightened her fear of how Garrett might react once he learned who Boss had belonged to. She felt on the edge of panic.

  But Garrett rescued her. He caught her eye over the wet dog between them, a gleam lighting his own blue-gray eyes. “Okay now, let me see if I understand. You were on your way home tonight and you just happened to run into a stray bulldog? What’d you do, go home by way of the city pound?”

  “No . . .” Dismissing the strange sense of panic, she dipped her head and tried to look appropriately sheepish. Might as well get it out in the open. “I drove by the shelter—Grove Street—on my way home.”

  “The homeless shelter? The burn site?” He looked askance at her. “That’s not on your way home.”

  She shrugged, not sure if he would understand what had drawn her to the site of Adam’s death. “I haven’t been there since—that night. I thought . . . maybe it would be easier in the dark. I just wanted to get it over with.”

  She breathed out a sigh of relief when she saw the understanding in his eyes. She told him how she’d parked at the curb and seen something moving in the shadows. “I thought it looked like Boss, and then when he let me get close enough, I knew it had to be him. He surely hasn’t been there all this time, but he must have come back looking for Zeke. Poor little guy,” she said again, reaching down to scratch the pup’s head.

  “Zeke? Wait a minute . . . what do you mean?” Garrett’s voice turned hard. “This was Zeke Downing’s dog?”

  He didn’t know

  what to say.

  What could she have

  possibly been thinking?

  12

  Is this some kind of sick joke?” Garrett stared at Bryn. Why would she have brought that man’s dog here? To his home? “Why would you think I would be willing to—” He didn’t know what to say. What could she have possibly been thinking?

  “Garrett.” She closed her eyes. “I am so sorry. But I couldn’t just leave him out there. He was already in the car before I realized I couldn’t keep him myself—because of Sparky,” she explained. “I swear to you, I didn’t even think about the . . . connection—to Zeke . . . to Molly—until I was halfway over here. All I was thinking about wa
s finding a safe place for him. I almost took him to my dad’s, but he hasn’t been well, and you . . . you were the next person I thought of. I guess, since we’d just been talking . . . I knew you liked dogs. At least you seemed to get along with Sparky the other day, and I figured you’d still be awake—” She stopped short, as if she’d suddenly realized how she was rambling. “I’m sorry, Garrett. There’s no excuse for me being so thoughtless.”

  It was clear her mistake and her apology were sincere. He chewed the corner of his lip, feeling bad for going off on her that way. It was only a dog. “I’m sorry. It was . . . an honest mistake.”

  “I— shouldn’t have . . .” She bowed her head, picked up the bag of dog food, and stuffed it in the sack with the other things she’d bought. “He can sleep in my car for tonight. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Just let me take this stuff out to the car, and I’ll be back to get him.”

  Garrett looked down at the dog. It had cleaned out the bowl earlier and was pushing around the few bits of kibble that had fallen on the floor with its tongue. “Are you sure this is his dog? How do you know?”

  “I’m pretty sure. He’s got the same markings. And—” She shrugged. “I don’t know. His collar is gone, but he looks like the same dog. And he seemed to remember me.”

  He made a snap decision. “He can stay.”

  Bryn shook her head. “No. I’ll take him. I understand why you’re upset.”

  “It’s not the dog’s fault.” That was true. She’d been kind not to have pointed that out. But if he thought it out too far, it still gave him pause to think about having the dog in his house. That man—Zeke Downing—was responsible for Molly’s death.

  A new thought struck him. “You don’t think the guy is hanging around town, do you?” Why else would the dog have been at the site?

  She shook her head. “Look at him, Garrett. He’s skin and bones. Nobody is looking after him.”

  “Yes, but without the shelter, Downing doesn’t have any place to mooch his meals. Or feed a dog . . . He could still be in town. This might be something for the police to go on.”

  “But surely Boss wouldn’t have come to me so easily if Zeke was there, would he? He probably was scared to death by the fire and all the sirens that night, and then came back looking for Zeke.” She shivered and rubbed her arms. “It gives me the creeps to think of the guy being out there.”

  “He could be, though. We need to tell the cops.”

  Bryn fidgeted with the grocery bag. “Tonight? You think I should call them right now?” She looked at the floor.

  “I suppose it could wait till morning, but I think they should at least know that you found the dog. You said he’s missing his collar? You’re sure he had one?”

  She nodded. “The only way Susan would let the guys keep a pet is if they had their shots up-to-date and wore their tags. She had enough people on her case without getting on the bad side of animal control.”

  “I wonder how he lost the collar.”

  “He probably just slipped out of it. Look how skinny he is.”

  “Was Zeke’s name on it—on the tags, I mean?”

  “Probably. Sparky’s tags have Charlie’s name on them. And the address of the Grove Street Shelter. Susan let them use that since the city requires a permanent address.”

  “But maybe he took the dog’s collar off so it couldn’t be traced to him. The paper quoted Susan saying Downing was reluctant to produce his ID—when he checked in to the shelter.”

  “Oh, he was. I remember.” Bryn looked thoughtful. “Susan wasn’t going to let him stay. It’s policy that clients have to have at least one form of ID. And have a photo taken for our files and for the office bulletin board. Just Polaroids, but you’d have thought we were putting Zeke in front of a firing squad when Susan got that camera out. She had to take three shots before she got one with him facing the camera.”

  Garrett shook his head. The man was guilty as sin. And if they didn’t catch Molly’s murderer soon, he would be tempted to hunt the man down himself. “I think we need to call the police. I’ll make the call if you want me to.”

  Bryn nodded, but her eyes held a distant sheen and her mind seemed to have wandered to some far-off place.

  He went to the phone and dialed 9-1-1. The dispatcher answered immediately, and Garrett gave him the details about Bryn finding the dog.

  “Can you hold the dog overnight?” the dispatcher asked.

  “Yes. He’ll be here.” He gave his address. “I teach at the middle school, but if they need to see the dog, I can come home from school during my prep period tomorrow.”

  When the dispatcher had all his information, Garrett set the phone back in the charger and relayed what they’d said to Bryn.

  She nodded but looked like she was near tears. He put a hand lightly on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll be nice to him.” He reached to give Boss what he hoped was a convincing pat and tried to muster a smile, but judging by the look she gave him, he’d failed.

  Thursday, November 29

  Mr. Edmonds, can I go to the library?”

  “I don’t know, Jillian . . .” Garrett tilted his head and feigned a stern look at the fifth grader. “Can you?”

  Jillian Payne flashed a sheepish grin. “I mean, may I go to the library?”

  “Yes, you may. Just be sure to sign out.”

  She dashed to the bulletin board by the door and slipped the card bearing her name into the library slot.

  His classroom was uncharacteristically quiet this morning, and it was a good thing. He could scarcely keep his mind on his students, for thinking about that stupid dog Bryn Hennesey had picked up Monday night. It was Thursday and he still hadn’t heard from anybody since his call to the dispatcher. The authorities apparently didn’t think the dog was significant. But if he didn’t hear from somebody by the end of the day, he was going to call the police himself.

  Bryn seemed convinced this was the dog Zeke Downing had kept at the homeless shelter. Without a collar or tags, he doubted there was any way to prove it, and he didn’t know how the dog itself might serve as evidence, but he’d at least had to report it. The fact it had shown up at the site of the shelter could mean that Downing had been there, though Bryn thought it was more likely the dog had come back in search of his master.

  He didn’t want to admit that her idea made more sense. But this was the first ray of hope he’d had that they might be closer to finding the man responsible for Molly’s death. There wasn’t a prison dark enough or a sentence long enough for Zeke Downing as far as he was concerned. Even if he hadn’t started the fire on purpose, the man was a coward not to have stayed and helped fight the blaze. He hadn’t even owned up to the lives he’d been responsible for.

  “Mr. Edmonds?”

  He forced his thoughts back to his classroom. His students had not received his full attention recently. Physically, he’d come back to work two weeks after Molly’s death, but since then, his mind was too often anywhere but this classroom. “What do you need, Gage?”

  “Are we gonna have homework tonight?”

  “Do you want homework?”

  The room erupted in a chorus of high-pitched no’s.

  Garrett laughed and scratched his chin for effect. “I’ll take that as a no. Okay. No homework. But then you can’t complain if I pile it on for the weekend, right?”

  “Mrs. Blakely never gave us homework.”

  His substitute had done a good job keeping the kids caught up, but she’d spoiled them a little, too.

  “Well, I could probably arrange to have her come back,” he teased.

  The same chorus of no’s did his heart good.

  “We want you, Mr. Edmonds.” Michaela Morrison’s moony smile made him regret his fishing expedition.

  “Then you get homework, I guess.”

  They groaned, but they were smiling.

  The students worked quietly while Garrett graded some papers, but after a few minutes, he heard loud throat-clearing. He look
ed up to see Michaela with her hand raised, supporting her arm with her opposite hand, as if she’d had her hand up for a long time.

  He curbed a grin. “Yes, Michaela?”

  She tilted her head and eyed him. “Are you still sad about Mrs. Edmonds?”

  Garrett felt like he’d been punched in the gut. The rest of the class came to full attention, all eyes forward and glued on him, waiting. He gulped and grappled for an answer. As he so often did with these kids, he tried to remember his own middle school years—how he would have wanted his teachers to handle situations.

  He scraped his chair back and came around to lean on the front of his desk. Michaela looked like she thought she might be in trouble, and he sought to put her at ease. “That’s a fair question, Michaela.” He sighed and nodded slowly. “Yes. Sometimes I still feel sad.”

  “Do you cry?” Gage’s question was a challenge.

  Giggles fluttered through the room, and Garrett waited until he had their attention again. “You know, guys, it doesn’t matter how old you are, or whether you’re a man or a woman or a kid, when you feel sad about something, sometimes you can’t help but cry. That’s normal.”

  Gage ribbed Mark Lohan. “I bet you’d blubber like a baby, Lohan.”

  Mark shoved back. “Would not.”

  “Bet you would.”

  “Cut it out, guys.” Garrett waited for the two boys to settle down. “Believe it or not, sometimes it helps to cry. Even for us guys.” He winked at Mark, but what he really wanted to do was go somewhere and have a good cry.

  Michaela raised her hand and waved it in the air, but she didn’t wait to be called on. “Are you gonna get married again?”

  He wasn’t crazy about the direction this conversation was taking. “I don’t know, Michaela.”

  “Mama says you will. She says you’re smokin’.”

  “Mr. Edmonds does not smoke. Do you, Mr. Edmonds?” Mark defended him.

  Gage howled. “That’s not what she means, you idiot. She means—”

  “Guys, guys . . . whoa!” Garrett pushed off the desk. “We’re getting way off track.” He went to the whiteboard and erased the math problems that were still there from this morning. It was only an excuse to turn his back to the kids until his face cooled off a little. “Back to work. Take out your science books.”