They drew close to Joy’s house and, still carrying his ball, Tiny darted toward the building. When he was out on his evening run, Leon occasionally stopped by and said “Hi” to his neighbor, but he didn’t make a habit of it. Although Joy had a heart of gold, she could talk for hours once she got started. No matter how much Leon enjoyed her company, he didn’t always want a lengthy analysis of everything that had gone on in Stillwater that day. Joy was one of those people who loved to share the details of town life, but she had gradually realized that Leon preferred privacy. And, since she knew his reasons, she generally respected his wishes.
Tiny often had other ideas. The dog’s parentage was doubtful, but whatever his genetics, it was impossible to get him full, and he was always looking for more food. The treats Joy gave him were one attraction, but he also enjoyed the attention she showered on him. Now, he bounded onto the front porch, sure of a warm welcome.
As Leon reached the house with Flora at his side, he was surprised to see Joy’s door was closed and her rocking chair—the one she usually occupied on the front porch at this time of day—was empty. This situation clearly unsettled Tiny, who abandoned his ball. Going back and forth from the steps to the door, the dog sniffed the air and whined as though searching for a clue as to Joy’s whereabouts.
“He really wants those cookies.” Flora’s words were light-hearted, but her tone was slightly nervous as though she, too, sensed something off-key about the atmosphere.
Leon could tell there was more to Tiny’s behavior than hunger. He kept looking over his shoulder as though urging his master to hurry. The dog was clearly anxious about their neighbor’s welfare.
Leon quickened his pace, his heart rate kicking up a notch as Tiny started to scratch at the bottom of the door. When he reached Tiny’s side, Leon knocked on the glass panel, then stood back, surveying the house.
“Could she have gone away?” Flora asked.
“Joy has a cat. She rarely goes anywhere, but when she does, she lets me know. I have a key so I can come in and feed Bungee.”
“Let me guess. He likes jumping?”
“You have no idea.” The fact that Bungee had not appeared yet was another sign that things weren’t right. The large ginger cat was generally laid-back, but he hated dogs. Tiny’s presence was usually his cue to leap onto the porch in full-on hissing and spitting mode, ready to chase away the intruder.
When Leon knocked again and there was still no answer, Flora tried peering through the glass. Since there was a lace drape on the other side, it was impossible to see anything. “Maybe we should try the door? It may not be locked.”
After a brief hesitation—What if Joy is sitting inside watching TV and she tells me to get the hell out of her house?—Leon tried the handle. When the door opened, his heart sank even further. He entered the cool interior with Flora at his heels.
“It should have been locked.”
Tiny pushed past them, through the neat sitting room and into the kitchen. His single bark held a note of anguish that sent a trickle of ice-cold dread down Leon’s spine. Before he stepped foot over the threshold, he already knew whatever he found in the next room wasn’t going to be good.
Sure enough, Joy lay on the tiled floor of the small room. As they approached, Tiny lay down, placing his head on his front paws and flattening his ears. Leon didn’t need to check her vital signs to know their friend was dead.
He was a doctor. Seeing bodies was a sad part of his routine, but he experienced a moment of deeper sorrow as well as shock as he looked down at the woman he’d liked and considered one of his few friends. Heartbreak had been his constant companion for the last four years. He knew all the forms it could take, knew its viciousness and twists and turns. Just when he thought it had no more surprises for him, pain delighted in finding new ways to sucker punch him. Like now. What he felt when he looked at Joy was nothing in comparison to what he had experienced when his wife, Karen, had died. Didn’t even scratch the surface. No, what astonished him was that he was still able to feel fresh grief after he had been turned inside out by it for so long.
A widow in her early sixties, Joy Valeski had to be one of the most popular people in Stillwater. She could be counted on to provide a hot meal in an emergency and a bunch of flowers in times of sickness. If there was a problem, Joy would be there with her sleeves rolled up, digging gardens, raking leaves, collecting newspapers, and providing home-cooked meals. Now, all that goodwill was gone and Leon wasn’t the only one who would miss her.
As he squatted close to the body without touching it, it was obvious that his medical expertise would not be required to determine the cause of death. It was immediately and horribly apparent. Joy had been repeatedly stabbed in the neck.
He clenched his teeth together hard, riding the twin emotions of shock and anger. When he spoke, his voice was tight with suppressed emotion. “The medical examiner will c-c—” his stutter hit hard, and he had to force the word out “—confirm the exact cause of death, but the wound on her neck looks particularly deep.” He drew Flora’s attention to a gaping injury on the right side of her neck. A deep crimson puddle surrounded Joy’s upper body, and the sweet, sickly tang of blood filled his nostrils.
Flora placed a shaking hand on his shoulder, leaning closer to get a better look. As she studied the wounds to Joy’s
