TROY WAS SWEATY, TIRED, AND WET. Susie Bear sat beside him in the truck as they drove home for a shower and a change of clothes. And a nap, time permitting, before his late-night shift. The big dog thumped her thick plume of a tail to the beat of Spoon and “Can I Sit Next to You.”
They’d spent hours checking fishing and boating licenses, and chasing down those driving under the influence, failing to provide life vests on board, and exceeding the catch limit. One drunken boater had thrown a wild punch at Troy, stumbling right into the water in the process. Susie Bear leapt in after him, but the guy was so inebriated that he thought she was a real bear and panicked, kicking and splashing so desperately that Troy had to go after him himself. That’s how he got so wet.
He was really looking forward to a hot shower and a cold beer. But by the time they got home and he cleaned up and fed Susie Bear and popped the tab on a Heady Topper, there was a text waiting for him from Thrasher telling him to call him. He answered on the first ring.
“We followed up on that information your girlfriend sent you.” Thrasher waited for his reaction, but Troy had no intention of giving him the satisfaction.
“Sir.”
“We ran Adam Wolfe by the local PD and the Feds,” said Thrasher. “They say he’s in Quebec.”
“Quebec?”
“Hobnobbing with the secessionists up there.”
“What about his activities down here?”
“They suspected him of setting fire to a couple of logging trucks, but they couldn’t prove anything. They did cite him for putting in art installations on private property without permission.”
“Art installations?”
“Apparently he’s a sculptor. Pretty good one, at least until he gave up doing bronzes for big money and switched to creating works of natural materials for free.”
“Am I supposed to know what that means?”
“Look it up.”
“So no one’s going to move on this.”
“He’s in Quebec.”
“Right.”
“We’ve got our hands full with the holiday. Stay out of it.”
“Right.” He knew how territorial law enforcement could be. But he didn’t see how he could stay out of it as long as Mercy wouldn’t stay out of it. And she was nothing if not stubborn.
All he could do was try to discourage her somehow. Because as long as she was in it, he was in it, too. No matter how much everyone tried to warn him off.
“You like her.” Thrasher laughed.
Troy ignored that. “Sir.”
Thrasher was still laughing when he hung up.
* * *
THIS TIME MERCY let him in right away. She seemed surprised to see him. Her blues eyes were sleepy and she held a glass of red wine in her long fingers.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Troy said, sounding stiff even to himself.
“No problem.” She scratched Susie Bear between her shaggy ears, then stood aside to let the black dog rumble in to say hello to Elvis, who lay forlornly on the couch, obviously embarrassed by his condition.
“The Cone of Humiliation,” he told Mercy. “What happened?”
She told him about the intruder.
“This is the first I’ve heard of this.” He was not happy.
“I didn’t report it.”
“Why not?”
“He’s long gone.”
“For now.” There she goes again, he thought. Her own private army of one. Two, if you counted the dog. Troy always counted the dog. He suspected she did, too. “He could be connected to this investigation. We should at least dust for prints.”
“He wore gloves. He knew what he was doing.”
“You don’t think he’s left any evidence behind.”
“No, and I don’t think anything is missing. Besides, Elvis is my first priority.”
“Understood.” Troy looked over at Elvis, seemingly content to hang with Susie Bear, cone and all.
“Patience says he’s fine. Just a little rattled.”
“If she says so, then it must be true. She’s the best.”
“Yes, she is.” Mercy looked at Susie Bear. “She told me all about your rescuing this big girl. She said she’d been badly abused down South.”
“Yeah. But with your grandmother’s help, she recovered.”
“That’s not how Patience tells it. She says you saved Susie Bear.”
“She would.” Troy looked over at the Newfie mutt, who raised her heavy head at the sound of her name. “She was very scared and subdued. So timid she’d shake whenever I came near her. But over time she learned to trust me.” He grinned. “Now she’s the happiest dog in the world.”
“You must have worked with her a lot.”
“I did. Lots of classes over at Two Swords.” Troy smiled at her. “And of course your grandmother’s good influence.”
“You just missed her.” She smiled back at him.
And he could see her grandmother in that smile. “Did she leave any carrot cake behind?”
“I’m afraid not.” She laughed. “But I have some shepherd’s pie left if you’re hungry.”
Troy hesitated.
“Come on. We’ll never eat it all.” She headed for the kitchen. “Want a glass of wine? Or are you a beer guy?”
“Whatever’s easiest.”
“So you’re a beer guy.”
He followed her and expected Susie Bear to follow suit. She loved kitchens for all the obvious reasons, but she stayed behind with her friend Elvis as a show of support. Between the two of them, there was not a free full inch left to spare on the sofa. Troy wondered if Mercy allowed Elvis on the furniture all the time or if this was a special circumstance due to his injury.
The shepherd looked pretty comfortable there so Troy suspected that he’d taken his usual seat. Either way it was too late. The dogs had the couch now and they weren’t going to give it up.
The kitchen opened right onto the living room, separated by a long pine dining table and an island topped with what appeared to be an old barn door, which also served as a bar.
“I’ve got Heady Topper and Battenkill Ale.”
He had to admit that the woman had good taste where it mattered: dogs and beer.
“The Heady, please.”
She pulled a cold one from the fridge and handed it to him.
“Thanks.” Even better, she knew that real Vermonters drank this beer right from the can.
While he popped the tab, she scooped up a large heaping of shepherd’s pie onto a blue plate and put it in the microwave to heat up. He drank his beer and watched her move around the counter, cutting thick slices of pumpernickel and serving it in a basket along with a small pot of homemade butter.
“Animal Farm Butter,” she said, grinning as she handed him a knife and fork wrapped in a bright yellow cloth napkin. “Patience takes care of their cows.”
“Sweet.” Troy smiled as he smeared the golden butter on the dark brown bread. “Thanks.”
She nodded and placed the now hot shepherd’s pie before him.
He ate and she talked, briefing him on the break-in.
“He didn’t take anything, at least that I can tell.”
“So you have no idea what he was after.”
“No.”
“But when you interrupted his search, he ran.”
“And then fired.”
Troy could see the concern in her eyes. “Maybe he was afraid of Elvis.”
Mercy nodded, but didn’t say anything.
He followed her glance back across the room where the dogs slept nose to nose on the sofa, the cone sheltering their heads. “I’m glad he’s okay.”
“Patience says he’s more wounded emotionally than physically.”
Troy considered this. “Jake’s really good with working dogs.”
She didn’t say anything, so he plunged on.
“Working dogs need to work,” he said.
“Elvis is retired.” Her voice was firm.
“With all due respect, he didn’t act very retired today. And neither did you.”
“I know.” Mercy sighed.
He heard a world of hurt in that sigh. “I’ll be happy to take you over to Two Swords any time.”
“Thanks. I’ll think about it.” She went to the fridge and got him another beer. When she came back to the table, she wore a determined look that told him she was about to change the subject.
“I took some photos and did some checking.” She showed him the cell phone pictures of the deceased Donald Walker and the research she found online.
“Good work,” he said. The truth was, he really was impressed. She must have been a good MP. He told her what Thrasher had given him on Adam Wolfe.
“I’d like to talk to this Dr. Winters.”
“I don’t know about that. Way out of our jurisdiction.”
“Law enforcement is not going to do anything. They’re all busy with the fireworks and parades and drunk and disorderlies.”
“Not true,” he said. “Now that it looks like there could be a connection between the cold case and Walker, Harrington’s going to be all over this.”
“If you mean Detective Kai Harrington, I met him at the crime scene today. Dr. Darling told me he was ambitious.”
“You have no idea.” Troy sighed. “Captain Thrasher told me to stay out of it—and that was before we knew the cases might be related.”
“But this professor is our best lead to Wolfe and these Vermont Firsters,” she said, sipping her wine. “Who knows what they’re up to.”
“It’s Harrington’s turf.” He drained his beer. “Look, Harrington hates the captain. He doesn’t need much of an excuse to make his professional life miserable. Or mine, for that matter.”
“Why?”
“Thrasher fought hard to move Search and Rescue from the Vermont State Police to Fish and Wildlife.”
“The hiker who died in the woods because the staties sat on it,” she said. “I remember that case. My grandmother upset a lot of my grandfather’s cop friends by siding with the game wardens.”
“It didn’t work, but Harrington still holds a grudge against the captain. And the captain still thinks Harrington puts ambition before saving lives.”
“I get that. But it doesn’t change anything. We’ve still got a missing mother and baby, bones in the woods, and a dead Donald Walker. Not to mention evidence of explosives and an armed intruder.”
“I know.”
“And the one common denominator is Adam Wolfe.”
“Who’s in Quebec.”
“Maybe.” She leaned in across the table toward him and tapped his chest lightly with her wineglass. “Maybe not. What do you think?”
“I don’t know what I think.”
“But Dr. Winters might know where he is.” She put her glass on the table and stood up. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, thanks.” He sighed again, and finished the last of his beer. “That was great.”
“My pleasure.” She started to clear the table, and in her precise movements he saw the determination that drove even her smallest actions. She wasn’t going to give up.
“You’re going to go see her whether I go with you or not,” he said.
Mercy put the dishes in the sink, then turned to face him. She squared her shoulders and planted her fists on her hips. “He shot my dog.”
There was really no arguing with that.
“Okay.” He wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin. “But I do all the talking.”
“Understood,” said Mercy, all business now. “It would be good to confirm that Wolfe is in Canada. Failing that, maybe Dr. Winters can tell us who his associates are.”
“We’re on second shift tonight. So we’ll be by in the morning.”
Mercy frowned. “I promised I’d help Patience rescue the cats.”
“Cats?”
“At the Walker place. Dozens of them. Half starved and sick.”
“Why am I not surprised.” If what Amy said was true about her mother and stepfather, they probably didn’t treat their animals any better than they treated their kids.
“Exactly.”
“The Cat Ladies?”
“Yeah.”
Troy grinned. “Susie Bear loves the Cat Ladies.”
Mercy glanced over at the dogs dozing happily on her couch. “Elvis, too.”
“Okay, I’ll text you when we come off patrol.”
He whistled softly and the Newfie slowly shambled to her feet. Elvis, obviously still feeling some effects of sedation, didn’t move. Mercy walked them to the door and stepped out onto the front porch with them.
“See you tomorrow.”
“Good night,” she said.
He could feel those blue eyes watching him as he and Susie Bear climbed into the truck and drove off. He took the driveway slowly, keeping an eye on her in the rearview mirror as she stood there bathed in the halo of the front porch light. They were nearly to the county road before he saw her go back inside. The porch light shut off, and the cabin was dark again.
Troy thought a trip to Bennington was probably a wild goose chase. But he wasn’t going to let her go off on her own again. Dead bodies turned up whenever she and Elvis ventured out alone.
Besides, Patience would never forgive him if he let anything happen to either one of them.
As long as Harrington didn’t find out.