In Your Dreams (Blue Heron #4)(87)

Princess Anastasia had been Hadley’s beloved pet, no matter how satanic the cat’s personality. Her seventh birthday present. And she truly was devastated. He knew that.

He left her apartment as soon as decently possible. Walked over to Emmaline’s and stood there in front of her little house. There was a light on upstairs—her bedroom, maybe. The walls were painted green, and the ceiling slanted down. He could see some brick from the exposed chimney.

Bet her bed was messy and comfortable. Flannel sheets and soft old mattress, a couple of books on the night table. She seemed like the type to let the dog sleep with her.

He took out his phone and called her. It went right to voice mail. “Hey,” he said. “I’m standing outside your house. I’m really sorry about tonight.” He paused. “Give me a call, okay?”

She hadn’t. Nope. He had the feeling she wasn’t going to.

Which was too bad, because he liked being with her. She was an odd combination of tough chick and gooey caramel center. She scowled fiercely but wore a thong. Slapped on handcuffs but nuzzled a tulip. A hip check that could castrate a bull, but surprisingly soft and silky skin.

Well. His coffee was finished, and it was time to go to work. But first, he clicked on his computer, brought up the local newspaper’s website and checked for news of Josh Deiner’s death.

Not today. Not yet, anyway.

Lazarus gave his “feed me” screech, and Jack obeyed. Mrs. Johnson had chastised him for never coming over for breakfast anymore, and she had bribed him with an offer of a chocolate cake made just for him. It paid to be her favorite.

He grabbed his keys, mentally reviewing what had to be done today. Cask cleaning, which was good—mindless, hard work. Check the new Riesling vines with Pru, who was concerned that the heavier-than-average snowfall had hurt them. Talk to Dad about trying a new varietal of oak for their chard barrels.

Stop by the hospital and maybe run into the Deiners coming or going. Maybe they’d tell him how Josh was. Let him see the kid, just for a minute.

The one who needed you most, and you left him for last.

Jack left the house, his movements deliberately exact. Locked the door and stopped for a minute.

The one who needed you most.

He stood there a minute, pushing away the memories of that night. Took a slow, deep breath of the cool, damp air. Fog hung heavy over Crooked Lake today, but up here, the pale March sunshine streamed in slices of gold. A crow called from the oak tree, then flew down and landed on a cedar post at the end of a row of vines.

Another breath, slower this time. There was the stone wall one of his ancestors had built and which Jack kept up, rambling alongside the field.

He opened the truck door, started to get in and froze.

There was a dead possum on the dashboard.

Possums under any circumstances are not attractive animals. But dead...and in Jack’s truck...it was even uglier, its bald tail dangling, its mouth open in a too-wide rictus. Its neck was broken, judging from the sick angle.

There was no way a possum could’ve gotten into his truck. It didn’t wander in through an open window, because there was no open window; it was early March, for the love of God, and it had been seventeen degrees last night.

Someone had put it there.

* * *

LATER THAT DAY, Jack drove over to the police station and went inside. “Hi, Jack!” Carol said, hopping up for a hug. He obliged. “Are you here to see Emmaline? I heard your date didn’t go so well.”

“Is she here?”

“No,” Carol answered. “She’s taking a class for hostage negotiation. Not that we have many hostages around here.”

The disappointment he felt was surprising. “Is Levi available?” he asked.

“Yes, he’s in his office on the phone. Levi!” she yelled. “Jack’s here and wants to talk to you when you’re off the phone!”

“You’re a great secretary,” Jack observed.

“I’m an administrative assistant, smart-ass,” she said. “And don’t talk fresh to me. I changed your diapers when you were a baby.”

“You say that to all the guys,” he said.

“Come on in, Jack,” Levi said from his office. “And, Carol, please try to master the intercom instead of yelling, okay?”

Carol rolled her eyes and sat back down, and Jack winked. He’d always loved Mrs. Robinson.

“What can I do for you?” Levi asked.

“This is...well, it’s police business. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Levi sat behind his desk, and Jack sat down, too. “Go ahead,” he said, picking up a pen.

“I don’t know if I want to file a report or anything official,” Jack said. “I found a dead possum in my truck this morning. Its neck was broken.”

“Shit. What time?”

“About seven.”

“And why didn’t you call me right away?”

Jack shrugged. “It was dead. Its biting days were over.”

“People don’t usually find dead animals in their vehicles, Jack.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I know.”

“What did you do with it?”

“I put on rubber gloves and put it in a garbage bag. It’s in the back of my truck.”

“And I bet you scrubbed that truck down, didn’t you? And erased lots of fingerprints we might’ve been able to lift.”