Mary was still petting Ziggy. “I can’t believe what they can do with genetic testing these days.”
“So anyway,” Kirk said, sounding excited, “Goody wants to get rid of the puppies because she thinks they’re mutts. I thought you might want one, Mary.”
Mary pulled her hand away from Ziggy and stared blankly at Kirk. “Are you kidding? I thought we settled this.” Then she couldn’t resist rubbing Ziggy’s ears some more. “I’m almost seventy. I can’t have a dog of this size.”
“Well, but they won’t be that size,” Kirk explained reasonably. “Not quite. Goody’s dog only weighs, what, fifty pounds?”
“Something like that.” Erica nodded. “So the pups should end up no more than sixty-five pounds. I did promise Goody I’d help her find homes for the pups. Also explained to her that she can charge a lot for a poodle mix, that nobody but a breed purist thinks of them as mutts. They don’t shed, and they’re so cute.” She leaned down and kissed Ziggy’s head. “Just like you, huh? Cute, but bad.”
“Well, it’s impossible for me. I’ll just have to keep loving Ziggy as a friend.” She scratched the big dog’s ears some more and he panted up at her with eyes that seemed full of warmth and sympathy.
“Uh-oh,” Amber said, her voice changing as she looked down the block. “I’m gonna scoot.” She gave everyone a quick wave and hurried off.
Erica looked at Trey. “We’d better go, too. Keep her company, and it’s time for Hunter to get to bed. Ziggy, too.” And the little group departed.
Mary automatically looked where Paul, Davey and the grandparents had been, and sure enough, Paul was walking toward her, slowly. Davey and his grandparents headed into the new toy store.
Wondering whether Paul had seen Amber flee, Mary watched him approach and greeted him warmly. “I hope you’re having a good night. And I hope you’ll bring that grandmother of Davey’s into my store. I have a lot of pricey new picture books that need to find a home.”
“If there’s something shiny and new to be bought, Georgiana will find it,” Paul said. “And I’d rather have her buy books for Davey, and support your store, than anything else.”
“Thank you, dear.” Mary smiled at him.
“Everyone didn’t happen to leave you alone here because I was coming, did they?”
Mary studied him. “And by everyone, you mean Amber?”
Paul nodded. “Yeah. As soon as I came in your direction, she left.”
“She didn’t tell me she was leaving because of you,” Mary said, which was technically true. “I think they had to put Hunter to bed. And Ziggy, the goldendoodle, he’s just had surgery and needs to rest.”
“No big deal.” They stood watching the crowd and chatting for a few minutes, and then Mary saw Imogene again. Now she was talking to a man Mary knew vaguely, a fisherman who’d been in town for a few months.
“Is she bothering you?” Paul asked.
“Who, Imogene?” Mary considered the question. “She does have her issues, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“Amber says she doesn’t treat you well.”
Mary watched her stepdaughter laugh at something the fisherman said. Then they both turned and headed down toward Beach Street, most likely with the destination of the Gusty Gull.
“She doesn’t treat me well, it’s true,” Mary said. “She suffered a trauma a long time ago, and I think she’s still bitter about it.” She had to wonder at herself, sharing so much information with Paul, and with Amber before. They were both easy to talk to, and it seemed like she wanted to talk.
It was a tendency she’d have to watch in herself.
“Lots of people turn to substance abuse after a trauma,” Paul said. “I found that out in my PTSD support group. Or rather, confirmed it there. I’d seen it happen on the streets a lot of times.”
Mary turned quickly to look at Paul. “She definitely has a drug problem,” she said, “but I don’t think she could have PTSD, could she? That’s for veterans, or people like you, police officers.”
Paul shook his head. “No, they think now that sometimes civilians have it. Like if they experienced an assault, or lost loved ones suddenly. Especially if there was violence involved.”
His words sent a flood of images into Mary’s head. Brakes screeching. The loud crunching of metal. Imogene screaming. Both of them running outside to the street in front of their house, to the smoking remains of Ben’s car.
She could barely breathe. “I need to get back to the bookstore,” she managed to say.
“Are you all right?” Paul looked at her, his forehead wrinkling, and put a hand on her arm.
She shook it off. “Yes, just busy! Nice talking to you!” It was an art, getting people to leave you alone, shutting them out. An art she’d perfected.
If they lost loved ones suddenly... If there was violence involved...
Maybe PTSD would explain why Imogene’s issues were so big and unending.
Maybe it would even explain something about Mary herself.
PAUL WASN’T SURPRISED that the first hour of working with Amber, the Tuesday morning after the town’s big shopping event, was kind of awkward. He had expected that. He had withdrawn from her that day she’d kept Davey for him while he called Davey’s grandparents, and then she’d seemed to run away from him last night.
He wasn’t sure why she’d backed away from him, but he was crystal clear on why he’d backed away from her. He was trying to save himself—and especially Davey—from the attraction sparking between them every time they spoke.
But they needed to do this part of their project together, so he’d suggested working together at his place, making a case by email. They needed to grow up and do their job for the sake of Mary and the crime victims she wanted to help. Trying to work remotely, in their separate
