A Darkness Absolute (Casey Duncan #2)(27)

“I’m not sure I—”

“You will. Neither you nor Isabel is the warm, come-cry-on-my-shoulder type. Your empathy is that you are outraged by her situation, and you will do whatever you can to help her. She needs that more. A Valkyrie to avenge her pain, not tissues to soak up her tears. She also does not need a vulture of a scientist preying on her responses because he finds her an intellectual diversion. If you find the man who did this to her? I will speak to him.”





SIXTEEN

It’s night, well past quitting time. Dalton and I spend dinner and most of the evening hashing through suspects and coming up with a plan of action. Then he’s called off to deal with yet another unrelated issue. That’s law enforcement here.

I work alone at the station, while Anders is out with the militia. Later I fetch the puppy and stay for tea with Petra.

I don’t know Petra’s reason for being in Rockton. We are friends. Good ones. Yet I do not ask. I’ve had enough hints to know there’s serious trauma in her past. When she’s willing to share, she will. I don’t ask Dalton for her story either. If I ever need it for work, I’ll ask her first. All relationships are extra complicated in a town like this.

I leave Petra’s with the puppy on a leash, which feels silly. She’s eight weeks old, barely past infancy. I pick her up, but she whines and wriggles, and it’s clear she’s happy with tumbling and stumbling if it means new territory to explore.

I still feel bad having her on a lead rather than letting her toddle free. It’s not as if I couldn’t grab her if she bolted. But when Petra handed me the leash, she said, “Eric insists. I wasn’t allowed to even open my door without having her locked in a room, or apparently she’d head for the hills and never be seen again.”

Which I understand. If Dalton had his way, we’d all be on leashes. That impulse thwarted, he’ll exercise it on the one creature he can reasonably expect to wear one.

Walking the puppy means it takes a good hour to cross the few hundred feet to Dalton’s place. That’s not just because she wanders. Most people here haven’t seen a pet in years, and this isn’t just a dog, but a squirming, shaggy black puppy who instantly adores every last person she meets.

By the time we make it to Dalton’s place, I can’t feel my face anymore, but she’s in no rush to go inside, so I wander to the edge of town. I’m standing near the path, rolling snowballs for the puppy to chase, when I hear, “Casey!” and turn to see Dalton running, hatless, toward me, his jacket undone.

“What’s wrong?” I scoop up the puppy. “Is it Nicole?”

“No, I…” Deep breath. “I saw you from the station, heading toward the forest with the puppy, and I thought you were taking her in there for a walk.”

“After dark? And after what’s happened?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. Sorry. I just…”

“Worried?”

“Yeah.”

“Here, have a puppy. It helps.”

He takes her, and she snuggles in, going from boundless energy to total exhaustion in two seconds flat.

“I was trying to figure out where to take her,” I say. “Are we sleeping at your place or mine?”

“I wanted to talk about that. The dog-rearing books say she’ll be more comfortable with a permanent home. Like a den, right?”

“Ah, I hadn’t thought of that. So bopping between our houses isn’t puppy-friendly. We need to pick a place and stick with it.”

“Yeah. Is that a problem?”

“Not at all. Petra said you collected the puppy’s things earlier. Are they at my place?”

“Uh, no.” He shifts the puppy. “I was walking past mine, so I put them in there. Just for now. Unless you’re okay with staying there until she’s bigger or … whatever.”

“Sure. Your place is closer to the station, and you’re more settled in than I am.”

“So that’s all right? Moving into my place?”

He’s studying my expression carefully, and I’m not sure why, but I smile and say, “Completely all right. Let’s go make this puppy a den.”

*

An hour later, we’re in bed, snuggled up and talking, too tired for anything else and too aware there’s a puppy whining on the floor.

“Should I move her bed downstairs?” Dalton asks.

I shake my head. “She misses her mother. She’s only been away from her, what, a night or two? You picked her up in Dawson?”

He hesitates. “Yeah, but … she came from down south.”

In other words, he hadn’t just happened to learn that someone in Dawson City was breeding Newfoundlands. I ease back onto the pillow and say, “Did you give her a name?”

“Figured that was your job. She came with one, but it doesn’t seem like a real dog name. They said it was for registering her.”

So she didn’t even come from a hobbyist breeding Newfoundlands in her backyard. He bought me a pedigree dog.

“What’s the name?” I ask.

“Uh…” He rolls over and reaches for his jeans. It’s tucked in his pocket. We don’t carry wallets in Rockton, needing neither cash nor ID. Another of those oddities that took a while to get used to.