Page 24 of Death on Gallows Path

Whoever set up Zepke’s had this exit from the training room pass through a gauntlet of dog treats on one side and dog toys on the other — on shelves of different heights, to offer nose-level experiences for various-sized dogs.

I noticed the cat toys and treats sat at human eye-level. Cats didn’t come in for training.

Zepke’s was no slouch in separating a pet owner from his or her money.

My bills had drifted down from when I first adopted Gracie. Spending didn’t drop on food or treats, of course. But eventually I acquired the durable accoutrements, like beds and collars and leashes.

Also, the attrition rate on toys eased. Oh, Gracie could still destuff a Lamb Chop with alacrity, but she spread out the mayhem these days.

Yes, we shopped for treats, as did most of the others from class who’d lingered with us.

Given a loose leash, Gracie zoomed to a particular package.

I bent to see what the package was and recoiled.

“What is that?” Clara asked, apparently trying not to breathe.

“It says sprats on the label.”

LuLu had joined Gracie in snuffling at the package.

“Dogs love those,” Leo said.

I noticed he said it from farther down the aisle.

“They stink.”

“That’s why they love them. They’re tiny fish. Lots of good nutrition.”

Giving our olfactory senses a break, we picked a packet of beef and bacon chews.

After paying, Clara and I and our dogs were the last group out the main door, which was set in the corner of the original portion of Zepke’s and opened to angled steps, giving equal access to two intersecting streets.

From our elevation, we could look across Tanner Street to the back of the old-time hardware store. Its front faced the near end of Haines Tavern’s unsquare town square.

Oscar and Quasar — the gray-haired man and his small black dog — stood on the sidewalk near the hardware store’s back corner, talking with a young woman I couldn’t see well, both because of shadows and because she bent to pet the dog. She pushed her hair back as she twisted away, following the moving target that was cavorting Quasar.

That hardware store exerted a strange draw for Teague and Ned. Strange, since every purchase there meant more work for them around the house. Teague also did carpentry. Less now that he worked for the sheriff’s department in addition to substitute teaching. Both guys swore their purchases made work easier, but I was skeptical.

The hardware store did not exert any draw for me. Or Clara. I had proof of that in the moment because she’d dug her elbow into my side and when I looked at her, she was looking away from the hardware store.

“Do you see them? Over there.”

I shifted my focus to the right.

The Gang of Four and their dogs were in a knot by a pickup that must have had a yacht in its recent lineage.

Damon Swindell stood by the open driver’s door, trying too hard to look like he was unaffected by Bryon George’s vehement delivery of words we couldn’t hear.

You’d think the man would shout when he was clearly that worked up. But no. He had no consideration for distant eavesdroppers.

Zoley Georger tugged ineffectually at Bryon’s arm, while Pammy Swindell remained still.

Calm? Frozen by events? No way to tell from here.

We could hear Zoley now and then as her voice rose, imparting snatches about not that way, not what you think, not the way it looked.

Their unsettled dogs milled around the people, ignored by all.