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“I’ll wait for my partner to return, if that’s okay.” She pointed to the Chihuahua in the baby stroller. The dog wore a rust-colored vest with a matching bow tie. “Who’s your friend?”
Georgia’s expression softened. “Marmaduke. He thinks he’s a Great Dane.”
Kit chuckled. “Does he bite?”
“Sometimes. If he doesn’t like you.”
Kit decided to take the risk on the off chance that petting Marmaduke would calm Georgia’s angry demeanor. They needed information.
Kit held out her hand for the dog to sniff, then gave him a friendly scratch behind the ears. “How many residents have pets here?”
“Some. Some people get another when the animals pass, some don’t.”
“Did Frankie Flynn have a dog?”
“No. Not anymore.”
“And Benny?”
“Nope. But he always has a treat for Marmaduke.”
Kit dug into her pocket and brought out a large dog biscuit. “I have a dog. A standard poodle named Snickerdoodle. I carry treats everywhere I go. Can Marmaduke have a piece?”
Georgia gave her a cutting look. “You can’t bribe me through my dog, but if you want to give him a treat, be my guest.”
Biting back a smirk, Kit broke off a piece and offered it to the Chihuahua, who took it gently. “Good boy.”
Behind them, the door opened and closed. Connor slid into the seat beside her. “He’s out for at least a few hours.”
Dammit. “Thanks for checking.” She took her phone from her pocket and opened the secure notes app. “How well did you know Mr. Flynn?”
“Well enough to know that he used to be a cop.”
Wondering why this was the first detail the woman willingly offered, Kit feigned surprise. “I thought he owned an antique store with his late husband.”
Georgia’s expression indicated that she didn’t believe Kit’s surprise was genuine. Sharp old lady. “He did that, too. But you already knew he was a cop.”
Kit didn’t confirm or deny. “Was it common knowledge?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you?” Kit asked.
“Yes.” The woman grimaced. “Well, not voluntarily. I was helping him clean out his closet after the death of his husband and I found a photo of him in his uniform. He was very young in that photo. I asked him about it, but he was upset that I’d seen it, so I let it go. Much later, we discussed it. He told me that he’d been a homicide lieutenant, but he’d walked away from the job when he turned fifty-five.”
“Why did you tell us this?” Connor asked.
“Because I figured if you knew he was a cop, you’d work harder to solve his murder.”
Again, Kit didn’t confirm or deny. “Did he tell you why he walked away from the force?” Because Navarro and the brass would probably want to know.
Her expression softened. “For Ryan. They’d met in the late seventies. Ryan was out, but Frankie wasn’t. He couldn’t have been. Not as a cop. Not back then.”
“No,” Kit agreed quietly, hating that it was true.
Georgia absently petted Marmaduke. “Frankie told me that he’d promised Ryan that he’d retire as soon as he hit fifty-five, no matter what position he’d attained. And he did. Moved away, helped Ryan start his dream business, and married him as soon as it was legal.”
“He changed his name when he married Ryan,” Connor commented.
