“Okay, this is really confusing,” the detective said. “You don’t have any clue who sent that threatening letter, nor really to whom?”
“No,” Grant said, “I don’t. I know that’s confusing. That’s why I’ve been lying low, trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do.”
“Jesus Christ,” Weston said.
At that time, the dog hopped up from her nap and walked closer to them. Instead of going to Grant, she went to Weston. Weston gently stroked her head and scratched her behind the ears.
“Every time she comes close,” Weston said, looking at Grant, “she comes to me, not to you.”
“I know,” he said, “but I’ve been gone a lot. Shambhala was more my wife’s dog than mine.”
“You think?” the detective asked in a sour tone.
But Weston could understand Kruger’s point and his sour disposition too. A ton of paperwork had to be dealt with, all because of the duplicity of this man in front of them and then that of his twin brother. The authorities would likely have to exhume the body and verify who they had buried. “It’s also quite possible,” Weston said, “that you are Gregory, trying, for some perverted reason, to step into Grant’s life.”
The detective nodded. “Do you have any idea what a nightmare this is for the police department?”
“You do what you have to do,” Grant said, his face suddenly losing all vitality. “Just remember. Not very long ago I was a happily married man with my future ahead of me, and now apparently my brother, my wife and what? A baby—my son or daughter, or my nephew or niece, I guess—they’re all gone. So, if you think it’s confusing and inconvenient for you, just imagine how I feel. I’m so conflicted. I’m angry, hurt and grieving for everybody involved. It’s just devastating.”
“But you’re not an animal person, are you?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Grant asked in frustration.
Weston shrugged. “Not a lot, I guess. It’s just odd because you’ve got an animal here that desperately needed care, and yet you weren’t giving it to her.”
“But remember,” Grant said. “I didn’t know what happened to the dog.”
“And yet I can’t imagine the dog, if it was in the back of that vehicle right up to the crash, having gone anywhere but back home again,” Weston said, stating a truth that was hard for anybody to argue.
“Well, if she did,” Grant said, “maybe one of the rescuers took her back into town, and she ended up running away.”
“That’s possible,” Weston said, nodding his head slowly.
“Thank you,” he said. “I know you’re thinking I’m involved in something shady, and I am—but it’s not by choice. I didn’t do anything to deserve this.”
“Not sure that blame or what you deserve has any place in this,” the detective said. “This is just shit from start to finish.”
Grant nodded. “Finally you’ve said something that makes sense, but you still don’t get it. You might have paperwork to catch up on, and you might have a dog to deal with, but I’ve lost everything.”
Chapter 8
Daniela watched as the truck drove up the long driveway to her small house. She stepped out onto the porch, with Sari in her arms, and watched Shambhala jump out of the truck, shaking herself as she hit the ground, then running up the few steps toward them. Her missing leg didn’t seem to affect her or to slow her down. In her arms, Sari started to wiggle and clap her hands.
“Doggy, doggy!”
Daniela crouched in front of Shambhala, who started to clean Sari’s face. Laughing and crying out, Sari tried to grab the dog’s head, but her pudgy fingers and the dog’s cheeks started slipping past each other. The dog darted in for kisses and then left again.
When Daniela straightened up, Weston stood there with his hands on his hips, looking at the three of them. She smiled. “It doesn’t look like you had a good afternoon.”
“Definitely an odd one,” he said, providing a somewhat cryptic answer. “Sometimes you just never know how things will turn out.”
“Well, that’s confusing,” she said, as she turned and walked back inside.
“Very confusing,” he said. He lifted his head and sniffed. “Smells great.”
“Let’s hope it tastes great too. Dinner’s ready,” she said, checking the clock on the kitchen wall. “Or it will be in a few minutes, if you want to go wash up.”
He took the hint and nodded, heading down the hallway to the bathroom.
She put Sari in her high chair. “It’s time for food.”
Sari laughed. “Doggy eat too.”
Daniela remembered the dog food they had bought at the feedstore and realized it was still in the back of her truck. “Let’s hope Weston can get it for us,” she said with a smile.
“Go get what?” Weston asked, as he walked back into the kitchen.
“The dog food for Shambhala. It’s still in my truck.”
He nodded. “I’m on it.” And headed out the front door. Minutes later he came back in with a large bag on his shoulder.
She looked at it in surprise. “It didn’t look nearly that big in the store.”
“Do you have a bowl I can use?”
Smiling, she pulled out two bowls—one for food and one for water. She gave him the one for food and filled the other with water. Together they placed the dishes down where the dog could eat in peace. Shambhala came over, tail wagging, and dug into the food.
“I wonder when she had her last meal.”
“A handful of treats at the feedstore would be my guess,” he said with a laugh. “Best not to have Sari get close to Shambhala when she’s eating. Clearly she’s been suffering for some time, and she might be possessive over food for a while.”
“It’s so terrible she lost her owners.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Oh?” she asked.
He nodded. “I’ll tell you over dinner.”
She served up three plates, and, as he sat down, she asked, “So, what happened this afternoon?”
“What happened was,”
