“He was in a car accident. In San Diego. The case was closed as an accident, but—” Kaine stopped and picked at a fingernail.
“But what?”
She lifted her eyes and met the detective’s. What could it hurt? “I never thought it was an accident.”
He frowned and tapped the photo. “Why’s that?”
Kaine noticed he had a line of dirt under his fingernail that kept poking at Danny’s face. “They said it was drug-induced, only Danny was never a user. And afterward, things like this—the picture—kept happening. But, no one could explain it to me.”
A long moment passed while the officer contemplated her words. “Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll send a dispatch out to check over the place,” Detective Carter assured her. He lifted Danny’s picture. “May I keep this?”
“Absolutely.” He was taking her seriously. Kaine would do anything for the man.
“I’ll touch base with the precinct you worked with. Familiarize myself with your case. But, frankly, outside of this, there’s not much to go on. We can run the paper for fingerprints and see if anything comes back. While I’m sorry about your husband, you have to know if there was no credible evidence for your husband’s death being a murder, there’s nothing I can do here.”
His eyebrow rose. There it was. The familiar, unspoken warning that she would end up walking the line of being accused of making false claims. She was starting all over again. Square one.
Kaine stood and reached back to tighten her ponytail. “Thank you.” She didn’t know what else to say.
Detective Carter filled in the awkward silence. “Ma’am, Foster Hill House always has strange things happening. Kids break in all the time and have parties and whatnot. It may be some kid got on the internet and read your story and is playing a prank.”
Kaine nodded. Certainly. That was it. A prank.
She politely shook hands with the detective and left the station. Now she had two police files in two states with records of the strange occurrences. At least this time she had something tangible, Danny’s picture, to leave with them.
Defeated, Kaine drove around the city square. Not even the quaint village shops inspired her, yet she had no desire to return to Foster Hill House. Not alone.
To the right of the road sat a medium-sized building with vinyl siding inside dark brown metal fencing, and a sign boasting a picture of a dog and a cat. Remembering her impulsive promise to herself, Kaine followed the whim and swung into the parking lot. If she was going to be alone, she was definitely getting a dog.
Crawling out of the car, she tugged her shirt over her hips and strolled to the front door. The idea of a cuddly dog warmed her, but she hoped it would also boast fangs. When she pushed open the door, a cat scampered past her feet and across the linoleum floor. The distinct smell of fur and animal shampoo tickled her nose. The entryway was empty. A lone counter that apparently served as a receptionist desk stretched in front of her, a vacant chair behind it. A small empty kennel was in the corner, its door open. A beat-up leather chair sat in the middle of the room, like it was awaiting an occupant in an interrogation room.
“Hello?” Kaine ventured down the hallway in the direction the cat had fled. The sound of barking dogs greeted her as she pushed open a door. The kennels. Two employees wearing jeans and blue polos stood in the room, and one of them raised his head.
Well then.
Grant Jesse’s welcoming expression froze on his face for a second before it transformed into a grin that reached the corners of his eyes. So he worked in an animal shelter?
“Kaine, what brings you here?”
“I need a dog.” Kaine heard the fear in her own voice, and for a moment she got the feeling Grant recognized it too. No one who met her now would ever guess that only five years ago she’d been a caring, effervescent person.
“A dog?” He jammed his hands in his pockets. He tended to do that, Kaine noted.
“Yeah. I . . .” She was tired of trying to explain herself. Detective Carter had sucked out her will to explain herself ever again.
“Foster Hill House is pretty creepy.” Grant offered up his own suggestion, and Kaine latched on to it.
Thank God. Yes, blame it on the stupid house. She mustered a smile to try to look friendlier than she felt. “It gets lonely there. I’d like some company and I’ve had dogs in the past. I had a golden retriever when I was a teenager.”
The light of interest that flickered in Grant’s eye wasn’t what she’d intended. She just wanted to convince him she was capable of being a responsible dog owner. He ran a hand over his day-old scruff, then shoved his fingers through his light brown hair.
“Sure. I get that. What kind are you looking for?”
“A pit bull,” Kaine offered without hesitation. They were the brutes, right? The ones who attacked to kill and never let go?
Grant choked, laughed, and cocked his head to the left. “Well, that’s a great breed of dog. They’re very loyal, faithful, gentle. . . .” He went on to extol the virtues of the pit bull. By the time he was finished, Kaine was convinced it was the cuddly animal she’d been hoping for. But what about lion-toothed defenders?
“Aren’t they fighters? Killers?” she interrupted, adjusting her purse on her shoulder.
Grant’s eyebrows went up. “You need a killer dog?”
Kaine averted her eyes, fighting an instinctual attraction that just felt wrong. She was married—or she had been. And for all she knew, he was married with four kids. “Well, a guard dog would be nice,” she finally said.
“They are very loyal dogs, and protective. But contrary to popular belief, pit bulls are killers only when trained, and usually they’re abused in the process.”
There it was again. Abuse.
Kaine was so tired of how that word followed her.
“Maybe I don’t want a pit bull.” At this point, Kaine wondered if an ankle-biter dog would be more effective. One of those little rats that ran around and yipped at a frequency so high it could shatter crystal.
Grant waved his hand toward the kennels. “We actually don’t have many dogs here right now. We just had a free giveaway in order to place most of them in homes. We do a lot of rescues from the big-city shelters that put an expiration date on their lives. You see, we don’t euthanize here.”
“That’s nice.” And it was. But Kaine didn’t even know where to go with this education. She just wanted a dog. Company. An animal smart enough to alert her if there was a stranger on the premises. If she ever went back to Foster Hill House, that is.
“Here.” Grant grabbed her hand as if they were old friends.
Goodness, he was touchy-feely, but Kaine didn’t pull away. His hand was strong and comforting—and not wearing a wedding ring.
Grant steered Kaine down a row of empty kennels to the one at the very end. The soulful brown eyes of a black lab stared back at her. The muzzle was peppered with gray, the dog’s hips lumpy with aged muscles, and the ears drooped around the furry face. It blinked at Kaine, then lowered its muzzle between its paws. Resigned. Knowing that Kaine wouldn’t adopt, wouldn’t save, wouldn’t rescue.