A wooden sign with Paws and Pines Animal Shelter etched on the surface pointed the way. Michael turned off the engine and hopped out of the truck. He arrived on her side to open the door. "Here you go." He offered his hand, grasping her elbow.
After some hopping and adjusting, Dixie landed with her one foot on the ground and the other bent at the knee, holding onto both of his hands. "I still can't put any weight on it," she admitted.
"After Christmas we can send you down the hill to have a look by an orthopedist." He reached to grab the crutches from the back seat.
Growing more accustomed to the rhythm of walking with crutches, Dixie kept up with Michael as they headed toward the entrance. She caught sight of an old Quonset hut standing in the midst of the trees. I wonder how long that's been here. It's about to fall over from the looks of it. She came closer and saw that the front door stood ajar.
As they made their way to the front of the shelter, Dixie stopped and tilted her head to the side. After a moment she said, "I expected to hear a lot of barking. This is a very quiet shelter."
When they reached the entrance, Michael held the door open. "Now that you mention it, I rarely hear any noise when I come by." Dixie swung her way inside as he followed, the door closing behind him.
A few feet into the hut they stopped in front of a desk that separated the entrance area from a door that was closed. Michael rang the bell on the counter. A familiar young man appeared from behind the door, holding a roll of plastic bags.
"Just picking up poop," he explained. "How can I help you?"
"I know you!" Dixie exclaimed. "You handed out keys at the rental place."
He placed the roll of bags on the counter. "I don't remember you, but then again, there were a lot of people that day."
She sniffed, smelling a stronger scent wafting off of his jacket. I wonder if a lot of the Lily Rock crowd keeps sane by smoking weed and drinking. It may be prejudice on my part, but the boredom must get to them, a small town with very little else to do.
"Do you work here too?" Dixie asked the young man.
“I work wherever I can, but mostly at the garage."
She nodded. "I remember you mentioning the garage. And that you gave my cabin to someone else."
"Right," he said without any visible remorse. "First come, first served."
"Did you hear about the fire?" Michael asked.
The young man ran his fingers through his hair. "Oh yeah. I got there too late to help. Doc called me this morning to help out here."
Dixie wondered, Would he be the kind of kid to toss a cigarette butt into the dirt and walk away, not knowing he could start a fire? Her jaw tightened. "Where were you yesterday afternoon around four o'clock?"
Michael stepped back, giving her the now familiar side-eye. The kid spoke right up. "I was picking up keys from people heading back down the hill. I have witnesses," he retorted.
"What's your name?" Dixie demanded.
"Brad. Brad May."
"Are you related to Doc May?"
"He's my uncle."
Another side-eye from Michael made Dixie inhale deeply. He obviously thinks I'm overstepping my role as Lily Rock tourist with all of these questions. I want to get to the bottom of this fire business and Brad May is a suspect. A pot smoker. He's everywhere. I bet people think he's a May and untouchable. Plus he's up to something. He acts…nervous.
Michael spoke up. "So, Brad, we're looking for the Christmas decorations stored here last year."
"I already checked when Meadow called a couple of days ago. No baby Jesus here." The kid folded his arms across his chest, looking defensive, at least to Dixie, who thought everyone was guilty until proven innocent.
Michael lowered his voice. "I'm not accusing you of anything." He glanced at Dixie as if to say, Unlike some people. "But I'd like to have a look in the shed out back, just to make sure stuff didn't get shoved into a corner and missed."
Brad reached under the counter and came up with a key. "Sure, go ahead." He slid the key across the counter to Michael's outstretched hand. On the way out, Dixie heard a howl coming from behind the closed door. Okay, that's the first animal sound I've heard here other than human.
She watched as Brad turned his back to open the door and hurry away. A couple of scattered barks escaped as the door closed behind him. Dixie and Michael turned from the counter, heading toward the door.
Once outside, Dixie stopped to listen again. No dogs barking this time, but a low rumble sounded in the distance, and a sharp blast rang in the cold air. The increasing roar, more intense, finally manifested in a group of motorcycle riders coming from the main road. Two by two, they rolled over the dirt toward the shelter.
Dust flew into the air, making Dixie cough into her elbow. The first one to arrive shut off his engine and jumped off the seat. He came toward Michael, lifting his helmet, his face grim. "I heard about old man Maguire."
Michael nodded. "We lost him."
"Was it the fire?"
"Smoke inhalation, at least that's what they thought."
The man turned around and gestured to the rest of the gang by waving his hand in the air. One by one they parked their bikes and switched off their engines. They hopped off the bikes and stepped closer. Dixie took a deep breath, leaning into her crutches.
The bikers formed a semicircle behind the first man. Helmets held in hands, they all looked grim. Sad faces and downturned mouths met Dixie's inquisitive glare. The first man said, "Thanks for letting me know about old man Maguire and Lola's. We'd like to make a donation to the memorial fund."
Maybe that's the guy Michael said he knew. Her suspicion was immediately confirmed.
"That would be greatly appreciated, Rich. I'll send you details after the holidays." He looked over the entire group. "You're all welcome to the service too."
The leader nodded. He took a step backward, pulling on his helmet. A voice from the crowd called out, "Still having Christmas? The light festival?"
Michael answered, "So far as we know. Scaled down, of course. But it's on for tonight."
The men stared at him and then one by one turned away. "We'll be there," one man finally called over his shoulder.
"Usual time?" asked another guy.
"Nine o'clock," Michael assured them.
As their leader got back on his bike, the rest filed behind him, putting helmets over their heads. Hopping on seats, several of the group started their engines. The rest did the same. A deafening noise like rolling thunder filled the air.
Dixie watched the gang speed away, dust flinging into the air. One motorcycle backfired, startling her. She shook her head. A spark from a tail pipe could have caused the fire. She watched the gang rumble out of sight before turning to Michael.
"Were they in town yesterday around four o'clock?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. I don't usually keep track." He looked at her intently. "You certainly are an inquisitive little thing, aren't you?"
"I am not a little thing."
He flushed. "You're right. Sorry about that. I know better than to talk about a woman's stature."
"There's been a fire, a death, and this place…" Dixie looked over her shoulder, "has an unsettling vibe."
"I think I know what you mean," he admitted, "but until you came I didn't realize the extent of what's happened right in front of me. You've made me look at Lily Rock differently, with your questions and nosy attitude."
Dixie felt a moment of pride. "I think you may have just complimented me and probably didn't intend to."
He nodded.
Since she'd arrived in Lily Rock, she'd made every attempt to look like a weekend tourist. But now she sensed she needed to come clean. She was going to follow her gut. I need to take charge and move forward with an investigation. In some ways Lily Rock has no clue. So she answered the question he had not directly asked.
"I'm a cop," she told him. "Actually the oldest recruit, back at the academy for further training. Lots of reasons for that, my previous experience included. I may or may not be assigned to a small town. It's up to my captain. He thought it would be a good thing to go undercover during my time off over the holidays. I'm here to assess the need for a Lily Rock police presence. But I have the feeling you already figured that out."
His lips drew a straight line. Finally he nodded. "I figured."
Using the energy from her confession, the relief she felt in speaking the truth, she added, "Now let's get to that shed. I'm kind of curious what's stored in there. And by the way? Dogs bark more incessantly at shelters. There's not enough noise around here."
"I figured you weren't who you said you were. Pretty interesting." He glanced at her crutches.
She nodded. "My gut tells me there's something odd going on here at Paws and Pines." She tucked her crutches under her arms. "So point me to that storage shed and bring the key."
"It's behind the kennels. I've got the key right here."