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Dottie chewed on her soda bread. “For a new restaurant, Biddy McPherson’s is doing great. You had a good write up in the restaurant column last week and that restaurant critic can be a real pain.”
In truth, Dottie had been jealous when Mic had decided to open the bar in memory of her parents. She’d been waiting for Mic to retire for years, so they could solve crimes together. They’d been like Thelma and Louise in years past, and Dottie wanted more of it.
Mic laughed. “Yeah, how well I know. And yeah, I’m happy with the way things are goin’. I’d been saving all of my life to open the place and have been lucky we’ve done so well. We’ve got a great manager in place, a fantastic cook who takes direction from me, a bunch of loyal customers, and we’re the ‘official home away from home’ for the Richmond Police Department.”
Dottie shook her head “The local watering hole for the RPD. Can’t ask for more than that, Michaela. Now that Biddy’s is up and running are you gonna do more of your private detective stuff?” she asked, hoping to hear a resounding yes.
Michaela munched her bread. She dipped her spoon into the succulent beef stew and sniffed the aroma before replying. “You know, I probably will. Kind of miss the excitement of police work. I just don’t want to have too much work to do all of the time. After all, I am retired.” She smiled broadly.
Dottie hid her smile behind a piece of bread. That was just what she’d been hoping to hear. Thelma and Louise would ride again.
“Umm, the stew needs more Guinness,” Mic said. “I think I cooked it down too much.” She pushed her chair back, walked to her refrigerator and reached for another bottle of the Irish stout.
Dottie’s mouth dropped open. She couldn’t believe what she heard. “The stew is great. You have more energy than anyone I know. I think you can handle both. You were complaining last week about having too much free time.”
Dottie paused for a moment and glanced at Angel, Mic’s seventy-eight pound retired German Shepherd police dog as he limped into the kitchen to his bed by the fireplace. “Is he okay, Michaela? He’s limping pretty badly.” Dottie scratched Angel’s ears as he passed.
Michaela nodded as she rose from her chair. “Yeah, it’s his leg where he took the bullet, but I think his Lyme disease is acting up, too. Dogs are just like us. In this kind of weather, they need their medicine. I need to give him his anti-inflammatory. It’s so damp outside he’s probably hurting worse than usual.”
Dottie laughed. “Yes, my bones are hurting today, too and I haven’t taken a bullet. It’s the damp weather.”
Mic moved towards the island, removed Angel’s Meloxicam from the dog drawer, and drew up the dosage for an eighty-pound dog. She set it on the counter as she reached for his heartburn medicine. She called softly to Angel as he struggled off his dog bed by the kitchen hearth.
“Come on, baby, this’ll make you feel so much better.” Mic said. She sat on the kitchen rug next to Angel, her faithful friend and protector. Angel dutifully took his medicine and was rewarded with a beef jerky treat. She sat on the floor with Angel and rubbed the dog’s ears as the dog struggled to hunker into his bed.
Dottie watched, mesmerized by the obvious attachment between the dog and his mistress. The love between the two was crystal-clear and the scene was poignant. Mic and Angel were inseparable, and truth be told, Angel had saved Mic’s butt more than a few times.
Mic returned to the table and continued to eat until she heard Dottie’s phone vibrating again in the living room. Another text.
She stood. “I’m getting your phone because someone wants to talk to you badly.”
Dottie nodded, her mouth full of bread. She smiled as Angel’s tail thudded on the floor as his mistress passed.
A few seconds later, Mic returned with Dottie’s phone, her face serious. “It’s a second text from Margaret, plus she’s called three times. You need to pay more attention to your phone.”
Dottie took the phone from Mic and read it. “Oh no,” she wailed, “Allison never came home from her job interview at the dentist’s office. Margaret’s hysterical. Should we call the police?”
Michaela read the fear in Dottie’s eyes and concern for Allison shot up her spine. “Tell Margaret to call the police immediately, and we’ll check with them as well.”
Dottie texted Margaret and pushed her plate aside. “I’m going over there. She sounds distraught, almost manic.”
Mic nodded, “Call me and give me an update. I’m going downtown to the precinct to check things out, and see if anybody knows anything.”