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  No damsel in distress act now; I was genuinely confused.

  He stopped walking again. "Sorry," he said. "As I say, I don't believe in them or nothing. I shouldn't have said that."

  I frowned. "But you mentioned something about my house. I'm afraid that bit went a little over my head."

  Ryan looked a little uncomfortable. "I'm sure you're totally safe," he said, looking anxious to get away from the conversation. "And you can call me any time you need me."

  I liked the sound of that, but he still hadn't told me what I actually needed to hear. "What is wrong with my house, Ryan?"

  His eyebrows shot up a little. "You really don't know?" he asked me, searching my eyes a little. Was he trying to see if I was lying?

  I shook my head slightly. No, I didn't. And I didn't like this feeling of not being in the know.

  He looked around almost like he was making sure he wouldn't be overheard in the street.

  "There was...there was an incident a year or so back," he said slowly.

  "Incident? What kind of incident?"

  He really, really didn't want to talk about this, that was clear. He let out a heavy sigh.

  "A woman was killed."

  I waited for the next part, already knowing what he was going to say. Already dreading it, but needing to hear it nonetheless. I leaned forward, waiting for it.

  Finally, Ryan said the words I knew were coming: "In the home that you live in."

  I crossed my arms and closed my eyes, nodding slowly. "Of course. I should have known it. This kind of thing can only ever happen to Georgina Holt."

  Well. That certainly explained why the house had been so cheap.

  "Thank you," I said. "You didn't need to walk me all the way home. It's well out of your way."

  The sun had started to set. After a busy day at the store, I'd accidentally—really accidentally this time—bumped into Ryan just as I'd been leaving, and he'd very kindly offered to escort me home. Of course, I hadn't objected.

  I wanted him in my home. And not for the reason you might be thinking. I needed to know where it had happened.

  "I felt like I needed to," Ryan said, then caught the look on my face. "Not because you are demanding or anything! I mean, I just wanted to walk you back, make sure you were safe...after everything."

  I smiled at him casually as I opened up the door. "Would you like to come in for some tea?"

  He looked around me, making a strange face as he looked inside my house and hesitated. Maybe he really did believe in ghosts.

  "Come on, it's the least I can do," I said. "It would be impolite not to accept."

  "Sure. Why not." He started to take his shoes off but I told him not to bother. "You'll see why in a minute."

  He raised his eyes at the muddy paw prints as we headed down the hallway into the open-floor space and I headed straight to the kettle to put it on the stove, telling Ryan to make himself comfy while I boiled a pot of peppermint tea.

  "Watch out, it's hot," I warned him as I handed him a steaming cup a few minutes later.

  He took the cup gingerly. "Really? I was expecting it to be cold," he teased.

  He definitely had a sense of humor about him. Too bad he was far too young for me. I like a guy with a sense of humor, especially a sarcastic one.

  "So," I said, raising my cup of tea to my lips. "Where did it happen?"

  "Where did what happen?" Ryan asked, taking a sip.

  "The murder. Where was the body found?"

  He almost spit his tea right back out. He stared at me once he'd gained his composure a little. "Do you really want to know?"

  I nodded. "Of course I do." I waved my hand around my newly purchased home. "I live here, don't I? I should know what happened in my own home."

  Ryan took another sip of tea, more settled now after the shock of my question, and raised his eyebrows at me. "Does anyone else ever really know what has gone on in the homes they've lived in? Most of the houses in Pottsville are a hundred years old, at least. They've all got a history. Arguments, tears, births, deaths..."

  I gave him a wry look and tilted my head. "Yes, you may have a point. But this is something that happened recently. A murder in the very house I am living in!"

  He cast me a sharp eye. "It wasn't confirmed as a murder."

  I crossed my arms. "Just tell me where it happened, okay? Or I'll have to take that cup of tea back."

  He held it upside down. "All finished."

  "Fine. If you don't tell me where it happened, I will have to take my friendship back then."

  "We're friends?" His eyebrows shot up in a little dance again.

  "For the time being. So, spill."

  He sighed heavily and stood up, a little reluctantly. "I was only called in when the body was first found, I didn't work on the case or anything," Ryan said in that drawl of an accent I couldn't quite place. "I'm not a detective."

  "But you were here. After she died. You saw the body."

  He still looked unsure whether or not he should answer. "Yes."

  "So," I said. "Show me where it happened."

  He began walking to the edge of the room and I followed him. I suddenly knew where he was heading. And I knew what he was about to say, without him needing to say it.

  "At the bottom of the staircase," I said quietly. I gave him a slow look. "Hmmm."

  Ryan looked a little uncomfortable. "It ain't the same..."

  I narrowed my eyes a little and looked up the stairs. "Tell me, was the victim, say, a woman...forty something...living alone?"

  Was Ryan turning a little red? It was hard to tell, he had quite an olive complexion. He was definitely heating up, though.

  "Yes, she was," he admitted. "But, Miss Holt..."

  "Oh, please, you must call me George," I insisted. "None of this Miss Holt stuff."

  He nodded. "George then. You have to realize what happened here had nothing to do with what happened to your friend Amanda the other day."

  I shrugged and looked at him wryly. "I never said it did. You're the one saying that, Ryan."

  He looked even more nervous. "And I ought to make this clear, it wasn't ever confirmed it was a murder," Ryan said nervously. "We never found out who did it. Or didn't do it."

  "Well, that's reassuring."

  He looked a little embarrassed. "It was supposed to reassure you, actually. I don't want you to feel afraid in your own home, George."

  "Ah, I'm made of stronger stuff than that," I said with a wink. I smiled at him to make sure he knew that I really wasn't scared. That he hadn't done the wrong thing by telling me. Hey, I'd wanted to know, hadn't I?

  He still looked guilty. I hadn't meant to make him feel bad. I wondered if maybe he wasn't only feeling guilt about telling me, but maybe also guilt about the case never being solved.

  It wasn't Ryan's fault, either way. He just would’ve been the one called out on the first day when the body was found, then he’d be the one left behind to clean up while the detectives worked on the real case. Or, didn't work on the real case. Ryan might have been trying to reassure me, but after our conversation, I felt anything but. I knew he meant well, though.

  "One last question," I said, right before I showed Ryan out the front door. "Did she have a dog?"

  Ryan thought about this for a second and shook his head. "No. She was a renter and the last owners were strict about having no pets in the house."

  "Huh."

  Ryan shook his head, just about to head out into the night that was now black, the sky starless and overcast.

  "I can't believe your real estate agent didn't tell you, though. Isn't that against the law or something?"

  I gave Ryan a look. He was standing right there in front of me wearing his police uniform. "Well, you're the one who ought to know, aren't you?" I asked teasingly.

  He laughed a little. "I better double check that. You want me to go speak to her?"

  No, I didn't want Ryan to go and speak to my young, attractive real estate agent. "I'm not sur
e she even knew, to tell you the truth." And I wasn't lying. I thought back to that day. She'd seemed nervous when I'd questioned her about the price, but not necessarily as though she was trying to cover something up. Ryan was right, that sort of thing was supposed to be disclosed, and she'd be in big trouble if it was proved that she hadn’t. I didn’t want to get her in trouble, either way.

  "All right then," Ryan said, turning to leave. "Keep safe, George. And call me if you need anything."

  I watched him walk away and sighed. I had a feeling I would be calling him sooner rather than later.

  Chapter 4

  Three days had gone by since Amanda's body had been found. There was talk of a funeral happening on the weekend, but I wasn't sure I was invited. Had we been good enough friends?

  Jasper and I were taking a casual stroll to work as I mulled the situation over.

  "I know, Jasper, I am investigating her murder. I have every right to attend her funeral." I felt as though I had a responsibility to attend. In a small town, it might be inconspicuous to not attend a funeral. It might also put me in people's bad books; I could be shunned! And I needed to be making friends, not enemies. With Amanda gone, so far I had one friend, if you counted Jasper. Well, two, if you counted Ryan.

  Jasper whimpered. "Yeah, yeah...maybe three," I said, thinking about Billy from the crafting circle. He'd actually texted me during the week, using the cell number I'd put on my business cards and asking me if I'd like to go for a drink. I was a bit hesitant. He was friendly and loved dogs, but he was also a bit old for me. Anyway, I don't like texting, so I was letting the matter hang, waiting until I saw him in person again to decide whether to say yes or no.

  Besides, there was another man I needed to see that morning.

  I quite literally had to see a man about a dog.

  I tied Jasper up outside the police station and told him to sit and be a good boy for five minutes while I went inside. He pouted but sat. "Hello again," I said as I glided through the glass doors. Ryan was standing behind the desk, just finished with a phone call by the looks of it. "You must be growing tired of seeing my face every day."

  Ryan shook his head. "Never," he said with a grin. "What can I do for you today, George?"

  "It's just that I remember that Amanda said she had a dog," I said. "I only just remembered—I can be scatter-brained like that, I'm afraid. Anyway, I'm just wondering what happened to the poor thing? I don't remember seeing it at her cottage on that..." I stopped. I'd almost said 'night.' The night that Jasper and I had been snooping around. "Day. The day she died," I said, choosing my words a little carefully.

  Ryan came out from behind the desk and led me back out the front door. "Where are we going?"

  "Look," he whispered once we were back out on the street. "I'm not really supposed to be working on this case."

  "So it is a case?" I whispered back.

  He shook his head. "No. Not a..." He let out a heavy sigh. "You know what I mean. I was told to just leave it alone."

  I frowned. Interesting. Very interesting.

  I looked at him, completely innocently. "I'm just asking about the dog," I said quietly. "Not about the case."

  He gave me a slow look like he wasn't sure whether to believe me or not. "Okay," he said quietly. "But that's all I can tell you about. I've already told you more than I should have," he said, glancing around. "That was wrong of me."

  "So what happened to the dog then?" I asked, as Jasper tried to get free behind me.

  "She got taken to the shelter."

  I reached down and untied Jasper. "Which shelter?" I asked.

  Ryan blinked a few times. "There's only one in town, I think," he said. "We've pretty much only got one of everything in Pottsville. Anyway, it's right on the edge of town, next to the llama farm."

  I knew the place. I'd been there before. I glanced down at Jasper. "Looks like we're taking a trip back to where you came from, boy. But don't worry," I said. "I'm not going to leave you there."

  Jasper refused to go anywhere near the building. His abandonment issues were real. He whimpered at the sight of the shelter and refused to budge even when I gently tried to pull on his leash to move him forward.

  "Well, what am I going to do, leave you alone out here practically in the woods?" I asked. "That's hardly going to help your abandonment issues, is it?"

  It had taken us a half-hour to walk to the shelter and I had no intention of just turning around. At least, not until I saw that Amanda's dog was really there and that she was okay.

  Jasper sat down firmly on the dirt road and refused to budge. I dropped his leash and placed my hands on my hips. "It's okay, boy," I said. "I'm not going to adopt another dog. Is that what you're worried about? I've got more than enough on my plate with you. I don't need another dog to worry about."

  Jasper didn't look convinced. "Come on," I said, picking up his leash again. "Sometimes in life, we've just got to do things we don't want to do. Dogs included."

  Jasper reluctantly followed me into the shelter.

  "Hi there," I said to a short, plump woman with short, brown hair standing behind the front counter.

  She glanced down at Jasper, who was still whimpering, pulling on his collar, and trying to escape. "I'm sorry," she said anxiously, holding her hands up. "We don't have room for any new dogs right now."

  "Oh, heavens, no!" I said quickly, worried that Jasper might be able to hear and understand. Of course, I don't truly believe he can understand what I am saying—I'm not a total Crazy Dog Lady—but he is intelligent enough to understand a lot of things. Especially body language. And he clearly had a very good memory of his own time in the shelter.

  "No, this is Jasper. I actually got him from this very shelter two weeks ago. And I don't want to return him," I said with a wide grin, bending to give Jasper a pat on the head. "He can be a bit of a handful, true, but I wouldn't trade him for anything in the world."

  Jasper seemed to relax a little after that. The woman nodded, but she still looked a little unsure. "Okay then, miss." I love being called miss! "Can I help you with something today, then?"

  I nodded. "I was just wondering if there was a dog brought in three days ago." I had to blink a few times, trying to remember what breed of dog Amanda had owned. I was sure she'd told me that evening at the craft circle. I scratched my head. "I think it was a small breed. She might have been brought in by a police officer."

  The woman—Bobby, I noticed her name tag said—suddenly nodded. "Ah, yes, I know the dog you are talking about." She suddenly looked a little sad. "Poor little thing, doesn't know what's happened to her."

  I suddenly felt a horrible sick feeling in my stomach, thinking about Amanda's dog locked up here, wondering where her owner had gone, wondering if she was ever coming back for her again.

  She wasn't coming back. "Can I see her please?" I asked softly.

  Bobby nodded and led me down a hallway to where a cage sat in the end. There was a very small dog huddled in a plastic green bed.

  She was nothing like Jasper. She was tiny, white, and looked utterly terrified when she turned around to glance at us, eyes bulging out, way too big for her tiny body.

  Bobby stood quietly beside me. "Her name is Casper."

  I burst out laughing.

  "Something is funny?" Bobby asked.

  "Jasper and Casper," I said with a grin. "Just perfect." I looked into the cage. "Amanda and I really did have a lot in common," I murmured.

  Bobby cleared her throat. "She does need a home, you know. I'm not sure how long we can…"

  I glanced down at Jasper and could have sworn I saw a flicker of disapproval in his eyes. Ah well. I had to interrupt Bobby.

  "I'll take her," I said. "Thank you."

  Jasper sulked for a little while about having to share his affections with a new, very small, bundle of competition, but after putting them in the yard to play together for a few hours, they soon became good friends. Casper wouldn't leave Jasper alone, running after him wit
h her tiny legs every time he tried to escape her, and snuggling up together when they finally tired.

  Jasper had also instilled in Casper a few of his bad habits, such as digging, and destroying all plant life. I glanced at them out the window, wondering if I should scold them, but I had work to do inside. At least they were getting along.

  I'd gotten my big old whiteboard out of storage, along with a couple of markers, and set it up. I didn't have any photos of Amanda, nor of the woman who'd lived and died in my house—Julia, her name was—so I'd had to make a couple of rough sketches. I wasn't a bad artist, if I do say so myself, but there was something a bit grim about drawing the faces of two dead women in the middle of my living room. Well, I supposed the whole thing really was rather grim, wasn't it?

  Underneath each face I wrote a list of the things I knew about them, and the way they had died.

  There was a frantic scratching at the window. "Okay okay," I said, looking at Casper's paws working like crazy, trying to scratch right through the glass. "You can come inside." I pulled the sliding door open. Jasper ran in after her and I fed them both before setting them up in two beds: Jasper's large and green, and Casper's small and pink.

  "So," I said to the two dogs who were both curled up now, finally exhausted from a day of playing (and by a day of playing, I mean a day of destroying everything). I returned to the whiteboard and studied it. "What do we have here, exactly?" I looked over my shoulder at them for any answers they might have.

  Some people might find it strange that I talk to dogs, yes. But they are the perfect sounding board. They give you their undivided attention, they don't contradict you, and they offer unconditional support.

  I turned back to the board and sighed. Maybe unconditional support wasn't what I needed right then, though. I needed someone to help me with the puzzle in front of me. I could see the things that were obvious, but there was something that just wasn't properly clicking in my mind. And Jasper and Casper couldn't be much help in that regard.

  I looked over the board, tapping my marker in my hands. We had two victims, both found at the bottom of a staircase. Amanda, and Julia.