“It’s not here.”
“Okay, fine. Goodbye.”
“Call your mom sometime soon,” he said in place of a closing and hung up.
She leaned her head against the wall and shut her eyes. She tried to calm the throbbing in her head and neck and shoulders. The doorbell chimed, and she was grabbing for her revolver before she even realized it. Jesus! Maybe Greg was right. She did live in a crazy paranoid world.
Beside a lamppost in her driveway, she could see a van with Riley’s Veterinary Clinic imprinted on the side. A man in white overalls and a baseball cap stood on the portico. Sitting patiently beside him with a blue collar and leash was a white Labrador retriever. Despite there being no massive bandage around the dog’s chest and shoulder, Maggie recognized it as the dog she had helped rescue from the Endicotts’ house. Nevertheless, she examined the man, making certain this wasn’t a disguise. Finally she decided he was too short to be Stucky.
“The Endicotts live farther down the street,” she said as soon as she opened the door.
“I know that,” the man snapped. His jaw was taut, his face red, his forehead glistening with sweat as though he had run here instead of driving. “Mr. Endicott refuses to take the dog.”
“He what?”
“He won’t take the dog.”
“Is that what he said?” Maggie thought the idea incredible after what the dog had been through.
“Well, his exact words were, it’s his wife’s frickin’ dog—excuse my language, I’m just repeating what he said, but let me tell you, he didn’t use ‘frickin’,’okay? Anyway, he said it’s his wife’s frickin’ dog and if she took off and left the stupid dog, then he doesn’t want him either.”
Maggie glanced at the dog who cowered close to the ground, either from the man’s raised voice or because he knew they were talking about him.
“I’m not sure what you expect me to do. I don’t think my talking to Mr. Endicott will change his mind. I don’t even know the man.”
“Your name and address is on the release form you signed when you brought in the dog. Detective Manx told us to leave the dog with you.”
“He did, did he?” Of all the nerve. It was Manx’s one last dig. “And what if I refuse to take him? What will you do with him?”
“I have orders from Mr. Endicott to take him to the pound.”
Maggie looked at the dog again, and as if on cue he stared up at her with sad, pathetic brown eyes. Damn it! What did she know about taking care of a dog? She wasn’t home enough to take care of a dog. She couldn’t have a dog. Her mother had never allowed her to have one while she was growing up. Greg was allergic to dogs and cats, or so he had said once when she had brought home a stray she had found while out running. Allergic or not, she knew he would never have been able to tolerate anything with four paws climbing on his precious leather furniture. Suddenly Maggie realized that seemed like a good enough reason.
“What’s his name,” she asked as she took the dog’s leash from the man’s hand.
“It’s Harvey.”
CHAPTER 35
Will Finley couldn’t sit still. He had been jumpy all morning. Now he roamed the halls of the county courthouse. He swiped a jerky hand over his face. Too much caffeine. That was his problem. That and very little sleep. It also didn’t help matters that Tess McGowan hadn’t returned any of his phone calls. Today was already Thursday. Since Monday, he had left messages on her answering machine and at her office. Or, at least, what he thought was her office. He had taken one of her business cards from the antique desk in her bedroom. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have had her home phone number or known her last name. Hell, he had even tried leaving her messages at Louie’s until the burly owner told him to “leave Tess alone and fuck off.”
So why couldn’t he leave her alone? Why did she consume his thoughts? He had never been obsessed with a woman before. Why this one? Even Melissa had noticed his preoccupation, but she had accepted his explanation of being overloaded at his new job and stressed out about all the last-minute wedding preparations.
It didn’t help matters that he had avoided having sex with her since his night with Tess. Hell, it had only been three nights and yet he’d been afraid Melissa would notice, especially last night when she had hinted about spending the night at his place. He had practically shoved her out the door, using the lame excuse that he had to get some sleep for a big trial in the morning. What was his problem? Was he really afraid that Melissa would discover his betrayal somehow if he touched her differently? Or did he simply not want to erase the memories of having sex with Tess? Because he had played back that night over and over in his head so many times he could conjure it up at will.
Shit, he was fucked up!
As he turned the corner, heading to Records he ran into Nick Morrelli. The contents of Will’s folder spilled across the floor, and he was on his knees before Nick had a chance to know what hit him.
“Hey, what’s the hurry?” Nick said, joining Will on the floor.
Others stepped around them, not paying any attention as their heels smashed and crumpled the scattered papers.
Nick handed him the papers he had gathered while they stood up. But Will’s eyes darted across the floor, making sure he had everything. That was all he needed—to lose some piece of paper that would give the defense an edge in whatever this trial was.
“So what’s the rush?” Nick asked again, hands in his pockets, waiting.
“No rush.” Will straightened the stack and raked his fingers through his hair. He wondered if Nick could see the slight tremor in his hand. Although the two men were new to the D.A.’s office, Nick had been one of Will’s professors in law school back at the University of Nebraska. He still looked up to Nick as a mentor instead of a colleague. And he knew Nick had sort of taken him under his wing, helping a fellow Midwesterner adjust to the rush of big-city life in Boston.
“You look like shit.” Nick looked concerned. “You feeling okay?”
“Yeah. Sure. I’m fine.”
Nick didn’t look convinced. He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost lunchtime. How ’bout we get burgers down the street? I’m buying.”
“Okay. Yeah, sure. If you’re buying.” Geez! Even his speech was jerky. “Let me drop this stuff at Records.”
It was warm enough for shirtsleeves, but both men wore their jackets. Will realized he’d need to wear his jacket for the rest of the day if the pools under his arms were as obvious as they felt. Maybe all these physical reactions were simply cold feet. After all, the wedding was, what, three or four weeks away? Holy crap! How could it be that close?
Will filled the conversation with boring stuff about the trials Nick had missed while in Kansas City. It was the only way to ignore the concerned look in his ex-professor’s eyes. Nick politely listened, then seemed to wait until Will’s mouth was full of fries before he asked.
“So you ready to tell me what the hell’s bugging you?”
Will wiped away the ketchup on the corner of his mouth and swallowed. He grabbed his Pepsi and washed down what threatened to stick in his throat.
“What makes you think something’s wrong?”
“I didn’t say wrong. I said what’s bugging you?”
“Oh.” He wiped his mouth again, buying time. Leave it to a lawyer to fuss over the wording.
“So what’s wrong?”
Will shoved his plate aside. He had managed to wolf down half his burger and almost all his fries before Nick
