Daughters of the Lake(35)

She recognized a familiar figure on the lakeshore, and the sight of him stopped her short. She thought of turning around and heading back up to the inn before she had to talk to him, but Alaska started barking at a small dog that was now running toward them.

Nick Stone whirled around. “Queenie! No!”

But the dog just kept coming. Kate pulled Alaska in tight. Malamutes were famously wary of, and even aggressive toward, other dogs, and because of their size and strength, they could easily kill with one bite.

Kate positioned herself between the small dog and Alaska as Nick ran toward them. But both of their efforts failed—and to Kate’s astonishment, the two dogs greeted each other like old friends. Sniffing, jumping, playing.

“Wow,” Nick said, eyeing Alaska. “That’s a whole lot of dog. Is she a malamute?”

Kate nodded. “She is indeed. And yours? Corgi?”

“My faithful companion, Queenie.”

“Not named for the most famous corgi-phile in the world . . .”

“Queen Elizabeth,” he said, laughing. “I didn’t name her. She’s a rescue.”

The two of them, their dogs running ahead, began walking down the shoreline together.

“Her original owner was an elderly lady who died a rather suspicious death,” he said, kicking a rock into the water. “Poison, as it turned out.”

“Oh no.”

“Yeah. It was ugly. The son-in-law. Anyway, Queenie ended up homeless. I was investigating the crime and—I don’t know. I took one look at her, sitting vigil so sadly by the body of her dead owner, and I just couldn’t let her go to a shelter. I took her home with me then and there. That was eight years ago. She hasn’t left my side since, through thick and thin.”

Kate smiled at this man, knowing how powerful an animal’s love and loyalty could be. She was glad he felt the same way.

“I’d have thought you were more the police-dog type,” she said.

He laughed. “I tried to convince them to send Queenie through the training, but the powers that be didn’t think that a corgi would instill the same fear in criminals as a German shepherd. I think they’re wrong about that, by the way. She’s small, but she’s a badass.”

Kate chuckled. “Any new developments on the case since we talked yesterday?” she asked.

“Not that I can say,” Nick hedged, not telling her about the DNA results they’d received late yesterday afternoon.

She stopped. “So, there is something.”

“There might be, but I’m not in the habit of blurting out details of a murder case to a random dog walker-slash-suspect in said case.”

Kate caught the note of teasing in his voice, but his words made her stomach flip. “I’m still a suspect?”

“Until we solve this case, everyone is a suspect,” he said, tilting his head toward an elderly woman making her way down the street with a walker. “Her, for example.”

Kate muffled a laugh. “I thought of something, actually, about that ninety-year-old nightgown,” she said.

“Did you, now?”

“I did,” Kate said. “It’s got to be vintage. I was thinking—since Anderson Mills was based here in Wharton, the thrift shop on Front Street might have carried the nightgown. Our woman might have bought it there. Somebody might remember her.”

“Not bad sleuthing, Miss Marple.” He grinned. “But unfortunately, no. They have carried some items from Anderson, but not for a long time. And nobody there recognized the woman in the photo or the nightgown she was wearing.”

Kate felt her spirits drop. “So you’ve been there already. I was going to stop in after breakfast.”

“Beat you to the punch, I’m afraid,” Nick said. “It’s good when the detectives are one or two steps ahead of the suspects, as a rule.”

Kate stopped. “You don’t really believe I had anything to do with this, do you?”

Nick gave her a sidelong glance. “In my gut, no,” he said. “And neither does Queenie, in case you were wondering about that. But, like I said—”

“I know, I know, everyone is a suspect until you solve the case,” Kate said.

“And now, I’ve got to get back to it,” he said. “Nice to see you again, Kate Granger.”

He set off, Queenie at his heels, but he turned back toward Kate. Walking backward a few steps, he said, “Maybe I’ll see you out here walking your dog again sometime soon.”

Kate could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. “Maybe!” she called, holding up a hand to wave. And then she turned back toward the inn, walking with a buoyancy in her step that she hadn’t felt in a long time.



She found Simon sitting at a table by the window in the dining room with a breakfast of goat cheese frittata, sausage, and steaming coffee, along with two mimosas.

“You are a very bad man,” Kate laughed, taking one of the flutes.

“Thought you could use a little hair of the dog,” Simon said. “I know I could. Head. Ache. I should know better. Red-wine hangovers will kill you.”

“Last night was fun.” Kate smiled and sat down. They squeezed each other’s hands. Kate was impossibly glad to be in Wharton with Simon. It had been much too long since they had really spent time together. Five years too long.