Somebody to Love (Gideon's Cove #3)(25)

“Oh, it’s pretty. It’s very pretty,” Parker said.

“And what’s the house like?”

“Well, um, it’s right on the water. It’s pretty small, very cute. It needs some work. But it’ll be great.” No need to worry her two best pals on their vacation. She’d save the stories for later, when the horror wasn’t so fresh.

“How’s the real-estate market up there?” Lucy asked.

“I haven’t checked yet. It’s on my list.” Right after I kill Snuggles the Mouse, of course.

“And how about that summer romance?” Lucy asked. “You up for that?”

Parker paused. “Well, I happened to meet a very attractive lobsterman yesterday.”

“No, sir! That’s great! Do I smell a fling?”

They chatted a few minutes more; Lucy said Ethan was in the shower, so he’d call her later. And even though Parker knew she’d be talking to her son again that day, she couldn’t help feeling a little lonely as she hung up. The three of them in San Francisco, her alone in Maine. Such were the perils of joint custody.

Well. She wasn’t completely alone. She had Thing One, heaven help her. That was going to be…difficult. It wasn’t so much that he worked for her father, or even that he hadn’t warned her about the trust-fund issues, because yes, Parker could see that legally, he was stuck.

It was that—Go ahead, this is good, advised Spike—even after all these years of her father’s neglect and vague disapproval, she would’ve given a lot to have one-tenth of the affection Harry Welles offered so freely to James. Maybe James was the son he’d always wanted. Maybe James reminded Harry of his younger self. But just once, it would’ve been nice if her father had called her up and asked her to come for dinner or play a game of squash or go to one of his single-malt nights.

Stupid, that even after all these years, she still wanted her dad. Not the man Harry had become, but the man he’d once been, who’d pushed her on a swing and let her sit in his chair at Welles Financial and answer his phone.

Well. That guy had taken a bullet to the heart when she was ten years old.

“Old news, my friends,” Parker said. She started the car and glanced across the street. Gideon’s Cove Animal Shelter, the sign said. And quite unexpectedly, she found herself turning into the driveway. There was a gray-shingled house and a small outbuilding from which the sound of barking could be heard.

“Hello there!” called a young woman as Parker got out of the car. She came over, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Can I help you?” She glanced at Parker’s Rhode Island plates. “You must be Julia Harrington’s niece. Hi, I’m Beth Seymour. Sorry. Small towns. We know everyone’s business.”

“Parker Welles. Nice to meet you.”

“You looking for a pet?” Beth asked.

“No, I just stopped. I’ve never had a pet before.” Except Apollo, if you could count that thing. She wondered briefly what had happened to it. Harry probably gave it to a minion. Or ate it.

“Come on in, since you’re here,” Beth said. Crafty woman. Parker followed. She was not going to get a dog. Or a cat—Lucy had a cat, and it was always leaping onto Parker’s lap and sniffing her lips, which Parker found quite repulsive. Why she was even standing here was a mystery.

“Pets take a lot of work. I won’t lie,” Beth said, opening the door of the outbuilding. “But the love they give you…it’s worth any price.”

Nice sale line. “So what have you got here? Not that I’m really looking.” You could be! sang the Holy Rollers. Pets can fill those giant voids in people’s lives!

“Well, we try to be a no-kill shelter,” Beth said, “but times are kind of hard, and donations have been down. We have a lot of animals, sad to say, and we’re running out of room. The vet’s coming to put a couple to sleep today, actually.”

Shee-it. Parker could picture a chunk of resolve crumbling like sand. “That’s really sad.”

At the sight of their caregiver, several dogs leaped to their feet, barking joyfully. Or savagely. Parker couldn’t tell. “This girl’s going on to her great reward today.” Beth stopped in front of the first enclosure and pointed to an orange tabby cat. To Parker’s eyes, it already looked dead, its filmy eyes half-open, fur dull and uneven. “She’s twenty-one, can you believe it? Her owner died two weeks ago. At least they’ll be in heaven together.”

It’s true, the Holy Rollers confirmed.

“This girl is the other one we have to let go.” Beth knelt down in front of the next kennel. “I’m so sorry, honey,” she crooned. “Don’t be scared.”

Parker looked in. A brown-and-white dog sat in the corner, as far away from the door of her cage as she could get, trembling. Parker couldn’t see her face, but her fur was long and feathery.

“You think she knows?” Parker asked, shoving her hands in her pockets. “She looks scared.”

“No. She’s always like this. Bob Castellano—have you met him yet? No? Well, he was behind someone out on Route 119, and they pushed the dog right out the window. Didn’t even stop! Can you believe that? She had a broken leg and two broken ribs, not to mention a bunch of cuts and bruises. She’s all mended now, but no one wants her. She’s too shy.”