Doc stepped to the mic, not seeing as Marie Claire collapsed to one side, eyes glazed and muscles twitching in herky-jerky spasms.
“Stop!” Rhett dropped Pepper’s hand and dashed forward.
“Son.” Doc frowned, his bushy brows contracting. “This forum is no place to rehash old—oh! Marie Claire!”
Everything happened in a matter of seconds, but time moved in slow motion.
Rhett knelt down, checking her vitals as the seizure stopped. “Has this ever happened before?”
Sometimes dogs have a one-off seizure and it’s not an emergency.
“Three times in the last month,” Doc said in a choked voice. “I took her to TLC in Hogg Jaw, and they assured me she was fine. The diagnostic bloodwork they ran came back negative for anything serious.”
“The wait-and-see approach is not a good idea with reoccurring seizures. We’ll have to bring her to my office for a checkup. Now.” He caught Doc’s gaze and refused to look away. “You okay with that?”
“Can you help her?” The old man’s voice cracked, and for the first time Rhett saw Doc as he was, not the towering father figure of his imagination, but an old man who matched bowties and hair ribbons on his pet. A man who doted on a dog to try to bring a little joy to what was a lonely life.
Rhett’s heart expanded in pity. “I’ll move heaven and earth.”
Doc mashed his lips before replying. “Thank you, son.”
All those years ago, Dad had been in the wrong. But hell, he’d lost the love of his life and was hurting. Rhett glanced at the tattoo on his arm. What would Mama say? Stay true to self-pride at the expense of patching things over? Stay true to emotional isolation? To a lonely existence because it guaranteed never being hurt?
Never.
“You should take her home to rest tonight. Keep her under observation, and you can bring her in first thing tomorrow morning. There are many possible underlying causes, so we have to do a lengthy workup. No stone will be left unturned.”
“I can be there first thing.”
“Sounds good. We’ll make her better, Dad. I promise.”
A half hour later, the band was back onstage and the town celebration had resumed. Pepper lifted a flute of Champagne to her lips, smiling as Tuesday and Rhett danced.
“Mind if I have a word?” A crisp British accent, not a slow Georgia drawl.
She turned, blinking into the shadow. “Cedric Swift? Is that you?”
“At your service.” The British sailing historian stood in the gathering dark, looking decidedly uncomfortable.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“What would you say if I told you that I might have some information about illegal activity?”
“In Everland?”
He nodded once. “Stealing in particular.” He pointed to the flower-strewn cement base where Davy Jones used to stand. “That dog statue to be exact.”
“You know where Davy Jones is?” she asked, shocked, mostly because of the relief flooding her. Who knew that she’d grown so attached to that bronze furball, and yet, he was a part of this town. This place that felt so much like home that her body ached with the promise.
He frowned. “Not exactly. But I think I do know who took him.” He undid the top button in his button-down shirt and rolled his shoulders. “I’d been up in Charleston doing research. Found a few interesting leads on…well…a few interesting things. The night the statue went missing, I’d had a hard time sleeping, so I decided that a midnight stroll would do me well. Fresh air and the like. And that’s when I saw a man behaving rather peculiarly.”
Her brows mashed. “Peculiar how?”
He cleared his throat. “Creeping through the town green in a black ski mask, carrying a sack and a crowbar peculiar.”
“That isn’t something that you see every night.”
He chuckled. “Happily, he didn’t see me. So I watched, assuming he was going to break into an automobile. But instead, he headed to that dog statue. It was hard work for him to get it off. Ample swearing. Then it came free, striking him in the face. He ripped off his mask and it was—”
