CHAPTER NINETEEN
Friday morning, Logan was leaning against the kitchen counter watching Veronica stir pancake batter when he said unexpectedly, “Let’s do it.”
She glanced up at him, amused. “Again? It’s been ten minutes. I need some breakfast if you expect another performance like that.”
It was just after ten a.m. Veronica had decided to take the day off—there wasn’t anything she could do at work until Sinclair’s labs came back, and she hadn’t picked up a new job in weeks. Keith had seized upon this lull to wheedle Veronica into helping resolve a feud between two rival pawnshop owners, one of whom was seeking proof that the other was hiring gang members to vandalize and pilfer from her store. A quick background check on the client had cast doubt on her story: a total of nine false accusations, nuisance lawsuits, and interactions with the state mental health system. Even so, proof of effort was needed to collect the base fee and send the addlepated old dame on her way.
Today, though, Veronica was taking a quick break from that mutt of a case to spend a little time with Logan. She was still in her bathrobe, a half-finished cup of coffee next to her on the counter. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, and for the first time since the Manning case had landed on her desk, she felt almost peaceful.
“Not that. Though now that you mention it, check back in with me on that front in just a moment.” Logan picked up a piece of bacon and crunched down on it. “No, let’s get a puppy.”
She turned to stare at him, her mouth hanging open in mute disbelief.
He grinned. “Huh. Veronica Mars, speechless. I’ll have to write this one in my feelings journal.”
“Are you serious? You’re…I mean, it’s a huge commitment, and…”
“So what? So’s everything worth doing.” His expression was half playful, half urgent. “Come on. You can keep doodling dog faces on every blank pad in this apartment, or we can just take the leap. Why not?”
Maybe it was something about the way he looked at her when he said it, but for once, she couldn’t answer that question. At that moment, all she could do was put her arms around him and kiss him, her mind deliciously blank.
The pancake batter lay forgotten on the counter as they made their way back to the bedroom….
—
Two hours later they were making their way along the fenced enclosures at the animal shelter when Veronica stopped short. From the other side, a tiny black puppy stared up at them, her head cocked inquisitively to one side.
“This one. This is the one.”
Logan knelt down in front of the little dog and looked at the puppy with a serious, measuring expression. She put a paw up against the chain link and wagged.
“This is seriously threatening my hardboiled persona,” Veronica said, “because I have never wanted to squee so badly in my life.”
“It says here she’s going to be between ninety and a hundred pounds,” said Logan, looking at the flyer on the outside of her enclosure. “Where are we going to put her?”
“I lived in a two-bedroom with a territorial pit bull. I’m pretty sure we can make it work.” She knelt down and slid her fingertips through the fence. The puppy followed her with her honey-brown eyes. It was impossible to say what mix she was—her nose was long, her ears floppy, and her paws were three times too big for her body.
The little dog licked her finger.
“This one,” she repeated softly.
An hour and a half later, after they’d gone into the small enclosure to meet the puppy up close and thrown a balding tennis ball for her to chase, they sat across from an adoption counselor to fill out paperwork. Then they walked the puppy out to the car and got back on the highway. Veronica noticed that Logan hung back from the dog, kneeling down to let her sniff his hand, as if afraid he might scare it. As she drove, she glanced at Logan from the corner of her eye. His light brown eyes tracked the puppy in the rearview, almost wary.
Is he as into this as I am? Or is he just trying to keep me happy?
The day was heating up, the sun glaring out from a thin web of clouds. They flew up the PCH, the ocean sparkling blue to their left. The puppy stuck her nose out of the sliver of space Veronica had left in the window, sniffing the salt air.
“What should we name her?” Veronica asked, glancing at Logan as she drove. “Athena? Joan of Arc? Christiane Amanpour?”
“Those seem a little…aspirational,” Logan said. He looked back at the puppy, who was now on her back, gnawing the squeaky toy they’d gotten at the shelter, her paws flopping in the air. Regardless of what she’d grow into, the puppy had a body type that could only be described as roly-poly. “I’m thinking something more like Doodlebug.”
“No way! The other dogs will tease her!” Veronica exclaimed. “How about Havoc? Or Mayhem?”
“Is she a puppy or a supervillain?” Logan raised his eyebrow. “Sugar Cookie. That’s my final offer.”
They headed back into town, laughing as they volleyed names like Nitro, Snuggums, Cerberus, and Peaches. In the backseat, the puppy wriggled and played.
“Mind if we swing by the office?” she asked as she exited the highway toward town. “I want to check in, make sure they don’t need me for anything.
“I thought this was going to be a day off,” Logan teased. “Or do you just want to show off the new baby?”
“Hey, I believe we have a duty to help the puppy-impaired.”
The response in the office was predictable, though it wasn’t Mac who cooed the loudest; it was her dad.
“Who’s a big fierce monster dog? Who’s a bloodthirsty hound from Hell? It’s you. Yes it is.” Keith knelt to the floor and tickled the puppy’s pudgy stomach. Veronica and Logan watched, amused.
“I didn’t know he was this anxious for grandchildren,” Veronica said.
“Just for the kind that can’t talk,” Keith said. The puppy struggled to her feet and started bounding in circles around him. Her dad brushed the dog hair off his leg as he stood up. “Do you remember when we first got Backup? He was so tiny he fit in your mom’s purse.”
“Yeah, before he chewed it to pieces, along with half the house. I seem to remember losing three pairs of shoes, the baseboard in my bedroom, and the better part of my Ninja Turtles collection, all in the first week.”
“He was just getting settled,” Keith protested. “You know, you’re in a new house, you have to fluff the pillows a little.”
“Or rip them apart, as the case may be.”
The puppy capered over to Logan suddenly, setting one paw against his shin and gazing up at him. Veronica fought the urge to coo. Channel Philip Marlowe, she told herself sternly. Come on, Veronica, Sam Spade doesn’t coo.
“She seems to like Logan,” Keith said.
Logan gave a nervous laugh; he was always strangely formal around her dad. He leaned over and stroked the little dog, his movements tentative and very gentle.
“Did you ever have a dog when you were a kid?” Mac asked him.
Logan shook his head. “Nah. Mom was allergic, and…Aaron worked a lot.” The puppy leaned against his leg, and a faint smile spread across his lips. “We didn’t really do pets.”
“Well, prepare to be owned,” Keith said. “Looks like this one’s already figuring out how she’s going to work you over.”
They were still playing with the dog a few minutes later when the door opened and Cliff McCormack entered, carrying a bankers box of paper, followed by Lisa Choi and Weevil. Cliff raised one dark eyebrow, looking around. Mac was on one side of the room, the squeaky T-bone in one hand, and Veronica was on the other side, poised to catch it in a game of keep-away. The newcomers distracted the puppy entirely from its game; she ran to Cliff, her tail whipping back and forth, and jumped up against his legs.
“Did I get the time wrong, or did you start a doggie day care while I was out of the room?” Cliff asked.
Mac quickly hid the squeaky toy. Veronica hurried over to scoop up the puppy. It wriggled in her arms, licking her cheeks and chin in raptures of affection. Her dad stood up from the sofa. “Sorry, Cliff. I lost track of the time.”
Lisa Choi was as efficient-looking as ever in a dark red pantsuit, a black briefcase at her side. Veronica was suddenly painfully aware of her rumpled T-shirt, now speckled with dog hair, and the suddenly adolescent-seeming Vans she’d donned that morning. Lisa gave Veronica a blink-and-you-missed-it smile as their eyes met.
“You’re Keith’s daughter, right? It’s nice to meet you.”
“Daughter and partner.” Veronica wasn’t sure why she said that, but it was out before she could stop it. “I’m a PI too.” She gave what she hoped was an authoritative nod. The puppy picked that moment to start licking her ear.
“These files aren’t exactly light. Where are we working?” Cliff broke in, shrugging to get a better grip on the box.
“Sorry, yeah. My office.” Keith gestured toward his open door. Cliff went through, followed by Lisa and Keith. Weevil hung back for a moment.
“Lisa’s a ballbuster,” he muttered. “She already told me I gotta get rid of the bike. Says I gotta clean up my appearance if I’m gonna win this thing.”
“Yeah?” Veronica shrugged. “Well, I’d listen to her if I were you. The county’s not going to roll over and let you take their money. If they can make you out to be a petty thug, they will.”
He exhaled loudly. “Yeah, I know. They been doing that my entire life.”
“Well, get ready for more because discrediting you is their plan A, B, and C,” she said. Weevil shook his head morosely.
Logan, who’d watched this exchange with a deepening frown, interjected: “But you’ve got their plan D, right?” He looked at Weevil, let one hand slide toward his belt buckle and discreetly whirled the other in the c’mon, c’mon sign.
Eli looked puzzled for a moment, then sighed. With a wan half smile, he cupped his crotch with one hand and muttered, “Dese nuts.”
“Better!” Logan exclaimed, stepping up to Weevil and enfolding him in an overlong bear hug. “You can’t let the cuicos bust you down, carnál. Stay strong.”
Over Logan’s shoulder, Weevil raised his brows at Veronica.
“Eli? We want to get started.” Keith waved from the doorway of Veronica’s office. “We’re running kind of late and have a lot to cover.”
“Yeah, Mr. Mars, I’m coming.” Weevil gave Veronica and Logan a cool nod and disappeared into the office.
“Wow, heartbreaking,” Logan murmured. “I know this is wrong, but I want to put a big greasy bike chain in his hand, slap him on the butt, and tell him to start trashing the place. Just to get some of the old thug brio back. I mean, Weevil and I were never tight, but I always respected the fight in the guy.”
Veronica stared at the closed door. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
But then, he’s never had so much to lose. She thought about Jade and Valentina, sleeping on a pull-out sofa in Jade’s mother’s little house. She thought about the plywood-covered windows in the garage Weevil had closed four months back.
“Well, hopefully two million dollars can get some spring back into his step,” Mac said. She sat the squeaky toy on the edge of the desk. “I’ve never totally bought that ‘can’t buy happiness’ thing.”
The office phone’s ringtone cut through the room. Mac snapped it up. “Mars Investigations.”
Veronica knew who it was from the way Mac’s eyes widened. Veronica handed the puppy, who’d conked out in her arms, to Logan. The dog made a small grunt of complaint, then burrowed into the crook of his elbow. Logan looked startled to be holding her. He stood still, staring warily at the little animal.
“Okay. Yes. Yes, I understand. Thanks so much.” Mac slowly put the receiver back in the cradle, her lips a wide, thin line. She looked up at Veronica.
“That was the lab,” she said, her voice a forced calm.
“And?”
Mac slowly shook her head. “It’s not a match. The DNA from the night of the attack doesn’t belong to Charles Sinclair.”