"What do you think?" Garvin asked quietly.
"I think the simplest explanation is probably the correct one. The man who's implied he's Vic Denardo is, in fact, Vic Denardo."
He caught her by the arm. "Annie—"
"I'm all right, Garvin," she said, guessing what was on his mind. "It hasn't been a great day, but I got through it."
"This isn't your problem. Vic Denardo, Sarah—you didn't even know about the murders when you went to that auction."
"I do now."
He released her, his eyes distant, a defense, she knew, against caring too much. "We need to get moving."
She stood back from him and gave him a cool look. Understanding went only so far. Just when did Garvin MacCrae get to call the shots? "Fine."
"Annie—"
"I'm ready whenever you are." Her tone was ice. "I just need to get Otto's leash—"
"I'll do it," he muttered, and stormed past her into her workroom. He snatched Otto's leash off the hook next to her Spiderman poster, returned to the gallery, and ordered Otto to sit. Otto didn't sit. Garvin grabbed him by the collar and snapped on the leash. Otto just watched him with his big brown eyes, as if he didn't understand Garvin's storm trooper mood, either.
"You have to be nice to him," Annie said, "or he won't budge."
Garvin jerked the leash. Otto bowed his neck and sat now that he wasn't supposed to sit.
Garvin looked to Annie as if she were supposed to make her dog mind him.
"Uh-uh," she said. "I'm not intervening. You and Otto have your own relationship."
"He's a dog. We don't have a relationship."
Annie gave an exaggerated sigh. She wasn't going to let him get to her. "I think he was starting to like you. It'd be a pity to lose the ground you've gained with him."
"I don't give a damn if he likes me." Garvin glared at Otto, who stared back at him, calm, resolved. "Come on, Otto. Let's move it."
Annie slung her big tapestry bag onto her shoulder and started for the door. "Otto's going to win, you know. Rottweilers are a very determined breed."
"This isn't a contest," Garvin growled behind her.
She glanced back at him; truly, he was in over his head. "The reason he's going to win is that somewhere deep down in his rottweiler soul, Otto knows you don't want to go to that dinner tonight with dog slobber on your shoes."
"Annie."
"Though I guess it'd be worse having dog slobber on those expensive pants. Otto has no compunctions when it comes to getting his way." She pulled open the door. Dinner or no dinner, she didn't appreciate Garvin's surliness, no matter how understandable the reasons for it. Let Otto teach him a lesson. "I'll be waiting outside."
Neither Garvin's hiss of annoyance nor Otto's look of perplexity deterred her from removing herself to the courtyard. Clouds shifted and churned in the darkening sky. She zipped up her fleece jacket, shivering in the falling temperature. But it wasn't just the cold. By Maine standards, the weather was downright balmy. She'd had a long, confusing day, and Garvin going distant and controlled on her wasn't what she needed from him.
What did she need?
She shook off the question, leaving it unanswered.
Two young men in their twenties headed into Zoe's brightly lit shop, which could stay open until eight, thanks to part-time help. Soon, Annie thought. Soon she'd be able to hire help, keep her gallery open longer hours. She was still so new. There was so much to be done, and here she was, waiting for a man who insisted on going toe-to-toe with a rottweiler.
Otto lunged through the door, a grim-faced Garvin with a tight rein on the leash. "Whoa," he said in an easy, cheerful voice not matched by his expression. "Sit, Otto. There. Good dog."
Annie suppressed a grin. "So Otto won, huh?"
He shot her an unamused look, and her grin erupted. If there was one thing Garvin MacCrae had to learn about her, it was that she didn't give up easily. She went past man and dog and locked up. When she turned back, Garvin was still glaring at her. "You're gloating," he said.
She checked her grin. "Never. But I'll bet having to be nice to Otto, even for purely tactical reasons, has put you in a better mood. It's like skipping."
"Skipping?"
"Supposedly it's a mood elevator."
"I don't skip."
"Of course not. But when push comes to shove, you're kind to rottweilers." Aware of his dark gaze on her, she tucked her keys into her tote. "Here, I can take the leash."
"If you're ready—"
"I've been ready," she said airily. "It's you and Otto—"
"Annie."
She grinned. "All right, I'll stop. You'd better let me take the leash. If Otto realizes you're insincere, you'll never make your dinner on time. Where are you parked?"
"Two blocks up."
"Definitely best I took the leash."