Outside, it had not cooled off but the rain left a clean smell behind. We’d forgotten to turn the lights on and stood in the semidarkness listening to the water dripping on the leaves overhead. The dogs seemed to be getting along. They made a funny pair, one so huge he could crush the other one. But Baxter was very gentle with Tuffy, almost as if he understood what a bad day it had been for the little guy.
“I feel like Baxter really understands what Tuffy is going through,” Seth said, as if he had read my thoughts.
“Yeah, they seem to be friends already.”
“I hope they find out who killed that lady. It’s not right. She was just leading her life, and then someone comes along and takes it all away. Leaving behind people and animals that care about her,” Seth said.
“I know.” I put my hand tentatively on his back, not sure what to do. “They’ll do their best. No one wants to let a murderer go unpunished.”
“Clyde?”
“Yeah?”
“I was wondering . . .” He turned toward me, and I pulled my hand away.
“There you are!” said a voice from the back door. I heard a click and the backyard was flooded with light. The screen door slammed and the porch steps creaked.
Alex walked toward us, only his dark outline visible with the porch lights behind him.
“Hi, Seth,” he said.
“Hey.” Seth raised his hand and let it drop.
“I see you have a couple of new inmates here at Chez Fortune.”
“We didn’t know what to do with Sara’s dog, so we decided to keep him until her family can take him, and Tish called and needed to board Baxter with us for a day or two,” I said, shielding my eyes from the sudden brightness.
“Makes sense,” Alex said, hands in his pockets as he surveyed the yard.
“So, um, I’m taking them in before they get too wet,” said Seth. When he whistled, the dogs came immediately to his side.
I watched, fascinated, as they followed him into the house. Neither one of them had ever done anything I had asked, whistle or no whistle.
“Hey, Alex . . .”
“Um, Clyde . . .” We both began at the same time.
“You first . . . ,” we said together, and laughed.
“Should we just forget it?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’m sorry. I should have known better than to force you to eat eggplant.”
“Well, I usually love all your food.” I caught his look of disbelief. “Okay, I love most of your food. Some of the more exotic stuff can throw me a little. Doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with it.”
“Sorry, you had such a bad day. How hard are they pushing for a psychic solution in there?” He cocked his head toward the house.
“My mother made pot roast.”
“Oh, it’s on, then.”
“I think it’s only just begun.”
*
The next day, Tuesday, Tish called in a panic about Baxter getting his heartworm medicine. She’d left a message and then shut off her phone. I had no choice but to go pick it up. Baxter got very quiet as we pulled into his driveway and lay down on the seat next to Tuffy. He pushed his jaw out and refused to look at me. I could tell he was gearing up for a battle. Apparently he and Tuffy had bonded more than I had realized.
“You stay here with them, and I’ll run in and get his medicine,” I said to Seth.
He gave me a thumbs-up and kept his head bobbing to whatever was on his iPod.
I knew Tish’s house like my own, mostly because it had been my own. I had grown up here for the first eight years of my life. She had also been my babysitter off and on when I was younger, and I’d spent a lot of time with her. Much of my teen years were spent in the cozy living room that had once been mine, just hanging out, doing homework and avoiding my family. She was one of the few people in Crystal Haven who seemed to understand why a person might not want to have any psychic insight into events. When my mother got to be too much for me with her pressure to be a psychic, Tish stepped in and let me just be myself. She was from a generation between my family and me, a few years older than Grace but not as ancient as my mother and my aunt had seemed when I was a teen. Enjoying the absolute trust of my parents, she often became the chaperone to my teenage activities, straddling the line between cool and responsible.
I passed the oak tree that had been my favorite climbing tree as a kid. It had a hole near the first large branch. I used to write coded notes and stick them in the opening to be found by my imaginary friends. I remembered telling Mac about my fantasies of finding treasure maps or secret messages hidden there. Shortly after that, I began finding notes from Mac. He was better on paper than on the phone or even in person. He had to force me to check the hiding place the first time. After several very subtle hints that I didn’t interpret correctly, he drove me to Tish’s house, dragged me to the tree, and shoved my hand inside. After that, I checked every day and was almost never disappointed. I still had the notes, somewhere.