A text from Janis Jets woke Michael the following morning.
Stretching his hands behind his head, Michael stared at the skylight and then the pine ceiling. He'd carefully designed the rough-hewn boards in a diagonal pattern, knowing that he'd be looking up from his bed most mornings.
A bump to the foot of the bed brought his glance downward. "Okay, Maguire. I'll get up. Come here, buddy."
The dog leapt to the bed to nestle close to his body, his nose poking into Michael's ribs. Maguire had spent the past three nights with him. Meadow signed off as soon as she heard the dog was in safe hands. "He's not mine," she reminded Michael. "I just took him through the first year. You can have him now if you want."
The sharing attitude had surprised him. He made an extra trip to town to buy more kibble and an oversized dog bed, which he kept in his bedroom.
Absentmindedly scratching behind Maguire's ear, Michael felt some anxiety. His first thoughts went to any outstanding bills. When he assured himself he'd paid all the November receipts, he thought about his punch list. I have plenty to keep me busy with the constabulary. The rest may have to wait until after the holidays. His heart felt light, his breathing regular. Something's missing though. I wonder…
He scratched Maguire's neck some more. Then it hit him. His eyes flew open. I don't feel sad this morning. What happened to that gut-wrenching guilt I was running away from just a week ago?
He explored his feeling of unfamiliar calm. Will this last? Nah, the guilt will come back. He'd only have to think about Daniel. The boy's clear blue eyes and seven-year-old grin. The way he said "Dad." Michael felt a lump in his throat. Then he inhaled slowly and calmly. Just missing Daniel, but no guilt.
"Love you, son," he said aloud.
Maguire lifted his head, planting his chin on Michael's abdomen. He scratched the dog’s head. You're good medicine for me, Maguire. You keep me company. It's like you know that I require some managing.
Heaving himself out of bed, the dog wiggled over to lie in the warm spot. "You stay there while I shower. Then we can go to the constabulary. Officer Jets has an assignment."
On the way to town Maguire sat in the passenger seat, his head hanging out the side window. "It's cold in here," Michael complained. "Can I close the window now?" When Maguire did not pull his head back, Michael pulled his coat closer. "I guess it won't be much longer." And I'm talking to a dog like he's a person. He shook his head, feeling chagrinned.
Janis Jets was ready for him when he walked into the break room. This time three chairs stood around the table. She sat in one taking notes on her iPad. The aroma of coffee filled the room. "Mug ready for you over there. Cream in the refrigerator," she mumbled, eyes still on her work.
Maguire trotted with Michael toward the sink.
"I didn't invite the mutt," Jets said.
"He doesn't care," Michael commented. Walking back to the table, he sat down. Maguire edged his way under the table to lie on his feet.
Michael reached into his pocket for a dog treat, which he slipped to Maguire.
"If he gets caught in town without a lead, I'll arrest him." Jets sounded confident.
"Not if you want to remain friends with Meadow," Michael reminded.
"The dog could be a public nuisance," Jets said.
"Or the greatest asset Lily Rock ever had. A free-range labradoodle who loves tourists and shows up to greet everyone with a smile."
"Sounds more like a politician," Jets mumbled.
And that's an interesting idea all in itself. Maguire the politician. Maybe I can float the suggestion at the next town council meeting. I know Meadow would approve.
Jets cleared her throat, looking up from her iPad. "So I called the doc and did an informal phone interview. He assured me he wasn't planning on taking Betty King to court and that he was used to a little criticism. 'You're nobody unless somebody's suing you,' he said, and that's a quote."
"Who's coming in for an interview this morning? And why am I sitting at the table, not lurking in the corner with sandpaper?”
"I decided to fully engage your listening skills this next time. No more eavesdropping. I'll introduce you as voluntary constabulary staff and just see if anyone disagrees. You're kind of official."
"Do I get a badge or a whistle?" Michael looked hopeful.
"You get to be quiet and not ask questions," Jets said. "When the interview is over, then I'll run stuff past you."
"That's when I point out anything you've missed," he concluded.
"No, that's when you make more coffee. Geez, give a moose a muffin."
Michael felt a pang. One of Daniel's favorite books, If You Give a Moose a Muffin. We laughed at the moose every time. The loss filled his chest, making breathing difficult. And just like that I'm back to grieving.
"Are you ready for me now?" Avery stood in the doorway. Her tall, thin body, dressed in jeans and a bright blue puffy coat, made her look younger than her sixteen years. She came closer to the table, flashing a brief smile at Michael.
"He's helping with the interviews," Janis explained. "Have a seat."
Looking calm, her dewy skin smooth, her gaze cast downward. He could not imagine Avery would mean anyone any harm. Until Janis Jets asked her first question. "So I heard that you've been stealing from Betty King ever since she hired you last week."
Avery looked up and then directly at Janis. "Stupid Logan. I told him not to tell. I didn't take that much. Just small stuff. It's not like there's anything in a toy store that would interest me. Plus I hate trains. And the kids begging their parents for toys and a chat with Santa? It gets old."
Michael lifted his hands and folded them in front of him. Maguire shifted, easing himself out from beneath the table as if to catch a better look at Avery.
Her eyes lit up. "Hey, doggie. I didn't know you were here." She reached down and scratched his head.
Maguire leaned into her fingers, enjoying the attention. When she stopped scratching, the dog walked to her side and laid his head in her lap. Avery's body listed toward the dog, her hand caressing his side.
Michael reached into his pocket, sliding a dog treat over the table toward her. "Give him that. I can see that he really likes you."
Avery snatched the treat, holding it in her palm. She lowered it closer to Maguire, who took it instantly, returning his chin to her thigh.
Avery began to speak, her voice softer, less defensive. "I did steal stuff, but I didn't have anything to do with Betty's death. She didn't even know my name, called me Elf One. She was just a ridiculously bitter woman who thought running a toy store would disguise her suspicious and mean heart. And her real business, which wasn't toys. Kind of sad really."
Jets tapped her fingers. "What do you mean ‘real business’?"
"Oh come on. Lily Rock isn't that blind. I even heard the rumors and I've only lived here since the fall. Betty King has some kind of black market business and she's connected. You know. To the Mafia." Avery's voice quavered. "I didn't want to cross her, that's for sure." Michael watched her hand reach out to pet Maguire.
Jets made a note in her iPad and continued. "Okay then, on the one hand you don't mind ripping off your employer, especially if she's known to be crooked. But on the other hand you suspected that she was up to something and just kept quiet.
"What I'm wondering is how much did you really know about Betty's supposed real business?"
Avery didn't hesitate. "She sent notes to people in town. Blackmailed them about personal stuff, I think."
Michael's head jerked up. He remembered the note with the Santa on the front and the ho, ho, ho printed underneath. Dropped in Meadow's store. Along with Skye's testimony, Betty the blackmailer sounded true. I wonder who else Betty threatened and collected money from?