Page 53 of Death on Gallows Path

Clara had run out of casserole-cooking tips, but she wasn’t done. As we crossed the threshold, I thought she studied Zoley’s cheek.

“It’s so good that Pammy has you to rely on, to give her a safe place to recover. To begin to recover, with the shock wearing off and the grief taking hold—”

“Sure. That’s what friends do. Bye, now.”

Before the door finished swinging closed, Zoley pivoted on one of those impressive heels and strode away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

When we were far enough away from the door — closed with unnecessary firmness behind us — Clara pulled in a breath I expected to come out with words of reaction.

I blocked them, warning under my breath, “Bryon.”

He was walking toward us up the driveway. An SUV occupied one side of the driveway. The garage door in front of the side where we’d parked was open and the spot inside empty. Putting those clues together, Clara’s van had blocked him from getting into the garage.

“Hi Bryon,” we said together.

“Hi. It’s . . . Clara and Sheila, right? From dog training.”

“Yes. We came by to drop off a casserole. It’s all so awful.” Clara clamped both hands on his forearm in a gesture that could be interpreted as condolence. It also made it harder for him to walk past us.

“Casserole?” he repeated.

I would have guessed that most people would have keyed in on the awful.

“It’s layers of spaghetti and sauce and cheese, all baked together,” Clara said. “So comforting. It’s wonderful. I can say that, because it’s not my recipe.”

His eyes warmed as she described the dish. I guessed Zoley wasn’t much of a cook. The sterility of the kitchen offered the first clue to that.

“It’s all so unbelievable,” Clara continued. “We were talking with Willow Yost and— You know her, don’t you.”

“Sure. She walks Izolde for us. In fact, I should call her, let her know we’re home, but want her to walk both dogs this evening . . . with everything that’s going on.”

“But—” That was genuine surprise from Clara. She heightened it with wide eyes that hid how closely she watched him. “The dogs aren’t here. Zoley called Donna to take them away and—”

“She what?”

Clara’s grip on his arm became a soothing pat.

“They’re fine. You might not know Donna well, but she’ll take excellent care of them. And Willow’s on hand, so they have someone familiar. She said they were so much more relaxed than when she saw them earlier today.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything she says.”

His harsh tone matched his words. For Willow? Or from learning Zoley farmed out the dogs.

“What makes you say not to believe everything Willow says?” I asked.

A spasm crossed his face. “I . . . I shouldn’t have. I don’t know anything for sure. Forget I said—”

“We can’t do that. Not under these circumstances,” I said as sternly as if I were, oh, say, law enforcement. “You must have a reason for saying that. Did you have an experience with her that made you consider her untrustworthy?”

“Not with the dogs. She’s great with them. It was . . . It was something else, something Damon said.”

He stalled.

“Which was . . .?”

“He said she’d been in his stuff.”