“Edwina should be at the door.” I kept my eyes on the house, looking for any sign of movement through the windows. “She always barks when I come home. Always.”
And I could always see her bouncing up and down through the glass in the door.
Greg’s expression shifted, becoming more serious. “When was the last time something happened here? This was where my sister-in-law tried to kill you, wasn’t it?”
I nodded. “A few weeks ago. And before that, after David died—after the funeral—someone set fire to the house. I had to jump out the second story window.”
“Jesus.” He cut the engine. “I’m coming in with you.”
“That’s not?—”
“It is. If something’s wrong, you shouldn’t go in alone.”
I wanted to argue, but the truth was, I didn’t want to go in alone. Not with Edwina’s strange silence ringing in my ears and the memories of flames crackling below me and smoke billowing still fresh enough to make my hands shake.
We got out of the car together. I fished my keys out of my purse with fingers that felt numb, and Greg stayed close as I found the front door key and fitted it into the lock.
That was when I realized that I was trying to unlock a door that was already unlocked.
I pulled the key back out and dropped it in my pocket with a little whimper.
Greg looked at me, but didn’t ask. Instead, he waited for me to turn the handle and push the door open.
My heart was pounding now, images flashing through my mind—Edwina hurt, Edwina dead, Edwina stolen by whoever had been in my house while I was gone.
She’d only been with me for a couple of months. Mendoza had saddled me with her, actually, after her previous owner had been murdered. I hadn’t wanted her at the time, and now I couldn’t imagine my life without her.
But I could still see, in my mind’s eye, the small, bloody pawprints all over the concrete outside the house in Crieve Hall.
Please, God. No bloody pawprints here.
“Edwina?”
There was a moment’s silence, and then the sounds I had expected earlier: a scramble from the kitchen, and the clicking of nails on the hardwood floors as my dog rounded the corner and took off down the hallway toward me, barking.
My knees gave out. At least that’s what I think happened. Maybe I just sat down. But I found myself on the floor trying to hold onto my dog as she bounced around me, barking and wriggling and trying to lick my face.
I was probably crying.
There was movement up ahead, and I looked up just as a male figure stepped into the doorway from the kitchen.
I should have expected it, I suppose. I had taken one final, unobtrusive look around the dining room at Sambuca before we walked out, and I hadn’t seen Mendoza there. I had assumed he was in the kitchen, picking up more plates of food, but he must have left while Greg and I were finishing up dessert, because now he was standing in my house. He had taken off the bowtie and thrown a zip-up hoodie over the starched, white shirt, but he was still wearing the same black slacks and black sneakers as earlier. There was a whiff of lemon-butter in the air around him, unless that was me. We’d both been splattered with the stuff, after all.
I opened my mouth to say something, found I didn’t know what to say, and closed it again, in favor of burying my face against Edwina’s fur.
“Detective Mendoza?” Greg said.
“Mr. Newsome.”
Mendoza moved into the hallway and extended a hand. To me, not Greg, and not at an angle for shaking. I nudged Edwina off my lap and took it, so he could haul me to my feet. Edwina gave herself one of those full body shakes that started at her head and moved down to the tip of her tail.
Mendoza watched her with a grin, and only when she’d caught her balance and headed for her water bowl and a drink, did he let go of my hand and turn his attention to me. “Good evening, Mrs. Kelly. I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in. She was going crazy.”
Behind me, I felt Greg shift.
“Of course not,” I said. It was the only thing I could say, although the breezy “I hope you don’t mind,” didn’t explain how he’d made it through the door. I knew very well that I had locked it before I left. I remembered doing it, and besides, I would never not lock my door when I left the house. Not after everything that had happened, and certainly not with Edwina inside by herself.
Greg cleared his throat. He must have decided that enough was enough. “Is something wrong, Detective?”
