"I have nothing to tell you. Please leave."
His grin faded. "If you made a deal with Sarah Linwood, kid, you're in way over your head."
"You're upsetting my dog," Annie said.
"Yeah, well, your dog's upsetting me."
But he sighed, plainly frustrated with his situation. He wanted answers about Sarah Linwood, but Annie wasn't cooperating and Otto wasn't going to let him pry them out of her. She tried to look as if she had nothing to hide.
"Okay, I'll leave," he said finally. "But you can tell Sarah that me and her still have unfinished business. I'm going to find her. One way or the other. I'm not giving up."
His voice was low, calm, virtually without emotion. Annie felt a chill that had nothing to do with the damp weather. She managed to speak, her jaw muscles aching with tension. "Who are you?"
Otto gave a deep, low growl, almost a purring sound. It surprised Annie as well as her intruder.
"I think he senses my tension," she said.
The man grunted. "I hate dogs."
She didn't think Otto would bite or rip off a leg or anything, but he could knock the man down and keep him down while she went for help. But she didn't know if the man was armed, if he'd shoot Otto or knife him if he felt threatened, if the police would end up arresting her and demanding her dog be put to sleep for attacking innocent people.
"It's okay, Otto," she said soothingly. She raised her eyes to the gray-haired man. "I really don't know anything about Sarah Linwood."
He smirked in disbelief. "Sure, kid."
But without another word, he withdrew into her workroom, pulling the door shut tight behind him.
Otto shot to the closed door and barked loudly, growling as if he had delusions of being a proper watchdog. Annie waited until she heard the back door, which led out to the alley behind her building, shut before she moved.
She put her ear to the workroom door, heard nothing, and finally pushed it open, motioning to Otto. "Go ahead, Otto. You go first."
Eager to do so, he bounded into her workroom and sniffed a trail to the outer door while Annie checked to see if anything had been disturbed. But the shelving unit where she kept her framing and office supplies was intact, the sawhorse table she used for framing, her tools, the two projects she had waiting for her. Nothing seemed to be missing or out of place. She peeked into her small half bath, smelled the goat's milk soap she'd bought from Zoe. All was well there, too.
The metal back door showed no sign of a breakin. She pushed the deadbolt back in and made a mental note to speak to her landlord about an alarm system, never mind that her peculiar visitor must just have slipped in back when she and Otto weren't paying attention.
"Well, Otto." She was trembling, teeth chattering now that the immediate crisis was over. "I suppose this is a case of all's well that ends well. We'll have to keep a closer eye on our customers." She exhaled, trying to calm herself. "Who was that guy?"
Not a customer, obviously. He'd deliberately hidden in her workroom and waited until everyone had left in order to interrogate her about Sarah Linwood.
Why?
Otto seemed to have forgotten him altogether. He pushed his head into the trash can to get at the remains of her and Zoe's wild blueberry scones.
Annie scowled at him. "Otto, get out of there."
He looked up at her, drool dripping off his massive chin.
She sighed. "You don't know what's wrong with me, do you, buddy? So what do I do now? Call the police? The guy didn't steal anything. He didn't even break in. If I call the cops, they're going to want to know if I have been in touch with Sarah, and things could get messy real quick."
Talking to herself. Not a good sign.
What she would do, she decided, was tell Sarah Linwood about the gray-haired man and see what she had to say.
"A pity there's no scone left for me, huh, Otto? I could use a bite to eat. Come on," she said, encouraging him to abandon the trash can, "we might as well finish closing up shop."
The afternoon sun had given way to a light, steady rain as Garvin made his way down the narrow brick walkway off Union Street, emerging into the small courtyard where Annie's Gallery was located. He noticed the simple sign, the half-opened door, a few pots of pansies out front. This was not one of Union Street's distinguished, expensive galleries. He pushed the door open and peeked inside, even a quick glance confirming his impression of eclecticism and unpretentiousness. More pots of flowers, he noted, were on the floor just inside the door. He must be catching Annie Payne closing up shop. But as he stepped inside, he saw no sign of her.
A dog growled, and the big rottweiler of yesterday padded out of a back room. Garvin took an involuntary, automatic step back. "Whoa, boy. It's Otto, right? Yeah. Nice dog."
He plopped down onto Garvin's feet, drool dripping from his massive jaw.