Watcher in the Woods (Rockton #4)(57)

“I hope you’re joking,” I say.

“Yes, ‘play’ may be an exaggeration. But I do hope to begin the process of convincing Raoul to accept Storm as a pack mate. Canine socialization is extremely important.”

“I meant that I hope you’re joking about being here for that. We’re kinda in the middle of a murder investigation.”

“I realize that, and so I am multi-tasking. Our canines shall become acquainted while we discuss your case. I may have something of interest.”

Dalton passes me Storm. “As much fun as this sounds, I’m going to go interview our neighbors.”

He heads inside before I can stop him. The door opens again, but only enough for him to toss Storm’s leash outside for me.

“Thanks!” I call, and then grumble under my breath. I turn to Mathias. “You’d better have an actual lead, and not be using the excuse to socialize your damn mutt.”

His brows shoot up. “Damn mutt? I take it the investigation is not going well.”

I clip the leash onto Storm and head outside.





TWENTY-THREE

I walk into the middle of the back yard and plunk myself down. Mathias scoops up Raoul and approaches. When the cub sees Storm, he convulses in a fit of panic.

“Watch out,” I say. “He’s going to—”

Raoul chomps Mathias’s arm. Mathias stops walking, calmly dislodges the cub’s fangs, holds his jaws shut with one hand and taps him on the snout with the other, as he says a firm, “Non.”

Mathias sits where he is, about ten feet from us. Storm whines and belly crawls forward, but when I put my hand on her back, she lays her muzzle on the ground and sighs, her jowls wobbling.

Mathias turns the cub around to face Storm. When Raoul tries to twist away, Mathias holds him there.

“You are safe,” he says in French. “I will protect you from the giant bouncing puppy.”

“So, Raoul, huh?” I say. “Your wolf-dog’s name means wolf. Got creative, huh?”

“Wolf?” His brows arch. “I named him after a boyhood friend who had freckles, just like this.” He rubs the spots over Raoul’s nose, the one sign of his Australian shepherd heritage.

I shake my head. “Okay, so the pups are a safe distance apart, becoming accustomed to one another. What’s your lead?”

“I would not necessarily call it a lead.”

“Mathias . . .”

“Tell me about Petra.”

“What about her?”

“She is your friend. A good friend. You did not toss her into the cell because she beat you at poker. She has done something. A criminal act.”

“I don’t divulge—”

“I know it is criminal, because you would not incarcerate her for anything personal. Nor, given the chaos of the current situation, would you confine her to the cell for a misdemeanor. She has committed a felony. A serious one. Yet you released her two days later. So whatever she has done, you are in no fear of her reoffending.”

“I needed the cell.”

He waves off my excuse. “She committed a serious breach of town law, yet you do not deem her a dangerous offender. It is connected to Brady, yes?”

“Do you have a lead, Mathias? I don’t have time to satisfy your idle curiosity.”

“My curiosity is never idle.”

I look at him.

He shrugs. “Rarely idle.”

I keep looking.

“All right,” he says. “I have a curious mind, and to keep that mind from being idle—which is dangerous—I must pursue intriguing information.”

“Yeah . . .” I start to rise. “When this case is over, I’ll be happy to socialize our canines.”

“Yes,” he says. “I ask about Petra because I am curious. Very curious. I have, until now, dismissed her. She does not annoy me. She does not interest me. Therefore I have paid her little mind. But her arrest tells me there is more to Petra than meets the eye. She is not what she seems.”

“No one here is, Mathias.”

“Mmm, no one here is who they say they are. But most are who they seem. There is a difference. I prefer those, like you or William or Eric or Isabel, who do not claim to be anything at all. Isabel says, ‘I was a therapist’ and no more. Her entire past is summed up—like yours—in an occupation. You both allow yourselves to be judged instead on what you do here. Others make up an elaborate backstory and then attempt to fulfill it. Petra does neither. She was an artist, yes?”

“Comic book artist.”

“Do you think she really was?”

“Back to idle curiosity . . .”

“No, I’m posing questions that you’re already asking yourself. I am proposing, Casey, that you indulge my curiosity by using me to solve the problem that is Petra. I will investigate her for you.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

“You are welcome.”

I glower at him. “Don’t pretend you’re doing this for me. You’re bored. I’m letting you take on a project. As for socializing Raoul . . .”

I tell Storm to stay. Then I march over and take the cub from him. I cuddle Raoul for a moment. He knows me—I was his nurse and keeper when he first arrived. He whines and wriggles and licks at my hands. As I pet him, I ease closer to Storm. Raoul notices and tenses, but he’s too busy accepting my attention to pay much mind. When I’m a few feet away, I kneel, saying, “Stay, Storm.”