Mrs. Leola yawned. “Pardon me, but it’s my bedtime. Takes a lot of hours these days to get my beauty sleep.
Connor shook his head and laughed. He didn’t respond but handed her his empty cup. “Thanks for the drink.”
“I owe you more than that. One day I’ll find a way to hide money for you so you won’t find it until it’s too late to return it.”
He issued her a mock glare. “Try it and see if I help anymore.”
“Pshaw. Kids these days.”
Standing up, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I’ll let you know if there are any more hits on the dogs.”
She scrunched her nose and squinted her eyes. “Hits?”
“If anyone asks about them.”
“Oh, okay. I never can keep up with the latest slang.”
It wasn’t that modern of a phrase that he knew of, but he didn’t say anything. He saw the tiredness in Mrs. Leola’s eyes and took his leave after she ran inside then back to hand him a plate wrapped in foil.
Once inside his own house, he showered to rid himself of the grass and grime, then threw the soiled clothes in the wash, along with one of his uniforms for tomorrow night. While the washing machine ran through a cycle, he grabbed his phone and sat down with the plate of pot roast and Mrs. Leola’s homemade mashed potatoes. It wasn’t the meal he should have chosen for nine-thirty at night, but it was so delicious he didn’t care.
After he shoved down the last bite, he looked at his phone for any missed calls or messages. Detective Ames called, wanting to verify Hahn’s shift was covered tomorrow. Connor wasn’t up for the long conversation likely to ensue if he called his immediate supervisor back, so he shot off a text reply instead.
Several messages popped up from his social media accounts. A few were from friends, and there were three inquiring about the dogs. He recognized the profile photo of one, the dad of a young family that attended his church. One of the puppies would be very lucky to go home with them.
He wrote a response, letting them know who he was. Because of his career in law enforcement, he kept his profiles locked down and used generic profile photos that didn’t identify him. He asked if they’d like to come see the puppies tomorrow morning or Sunday after church.
The second message rose several red flags. He could be wrong, but he’d investigated a dog-fighting rink last year before he’d changed precincts, and several questions asked rang eerily like those asked by people he’d arrested. He ignored the message but made a mental note to find out if there had been any recent reports of dog fighting.
The final message asked specifically about the dog he’d named Lilly. Mrs. Leola thought if he named a puppy, he’d be more likely to adopt one. He stood by his decision the timing wasn’t right, but were he to adopt one from that litter, it would be Lilly.
All the pups were cute and playful, but Lilly had extra spunk. She was also very affectionate. When Mrs. Leola gave them free reign of the screened in porch, Lilly would paw at his leg until he picked her up, and of course he would oblige. Until two weeks ago, she could still fit in the palm of his hand. Full grown, she probably wouldn’t weigh more than ten to twelve pounds, and Connor had to admit, small dogs were growing on him.
Nevertheless, Lilly wasn’t his to keep. Reluctantly, he replied to the message, answering all the questions about Lilly as truthfully as he could. He hadn’t expected pangs of regret when he thought of her being adopted, and he tried to push them aside.
Within minutes of sending his reply, his phone beeped with another message. It was the same person wanting Lilly, wanting to know if she could come by in the morning. He took a deep breath and sent her Mrs. Leola’s address, asking to come by around nine.
She answered quickly, confirming that she’d be there at nine the next morning. Saturdays were the only day he liked to sleep in, but he’d make sure he was at Mrs. Leola’s by eight-thirty in case the lady arrived early. The nameless lady seemed harmless enough, but he wasn’t about to put his elderly neighbor at risk. One could never be too careful these days.
The washing machine dinged, signaling the end of the cycle. He left his phone sitting on the table and switched the clothes from the washer to dryer. A wide yawn escaped, but he couldn’t go to bed yet. If he didn’t hang his uniform up at once after the dry cycle ended, it would become a nightmare to iron.
He was tempted to make some coffee, but that would keep him up longer than he wanted. Sighing, he opened the sliding glass door that led to his deck and sat in one of his Adirondack chairs. Lightning flashed in the distance followed by far off rumbles of thunder.
It was a night like this his life changed nine years ago. Had it really been that long ago? Sometimes it seemed like yesterday that he’d been on the verge of proposing to his girlfriend when he’d found out her dirty little secret. Other times, it seemed a lifetime.
Almost a third of his life had passed since then but he’d never forget his first love. Even if they weren’t meant to be, a part of him had never been able to move on.
