Page 77 of Death on Gallows Path

“Good thought.”

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow, I have things to pick up, so it’ll look casual. Also, we should talk to Willow again. If we go to the dog park early tomorrow, maybe Donna can set us up—”

“Uh, I’m going to skip the dog park tomorrow. I have a . . . a lunch. Meeting people in Indiana. For . . . lunch,” I finished lamely.

She regarded me for a beat, blinked, and said, “Okay. We’ll wait to talk to Willow again when we can do it together. And I’ll take Gracie and Murph to the dog park tomorrow.”

Friendship is not asking the question you know your friend doesn’t want to answer.

Also, friendship is taking three dogs to the dog park alone.

“You should check with Urban on Damon’s business dealings. Get his view,” Clara added.

That cost her a few friendship points, though dwarfed by the ones she’d piled up.

“But first,” she continued cheerily, “we have to go to Carol’s house. I messaged the group who were at brunch today, asking about Damon’s business practices. They didn’t have anything new on that, but Linda said we need to talk to Carol more, and now’s a good time.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Carol lived in an older area of Haines Tavern, where decades’ worth of naturalized daffodils bobbed in waning swaths of yellow.

She met us at the door with an order: “You go back and get those puppies right now. Bring them inside.”

Linda grinned at us over Carol’s shoulder.

“They can get pretty wild—” I tried.

“Nonsense.”

Clara, wisely, turned back to the van. “Yes’m,”

After letting the dogs out in Carol’s back garden to massacre a few daffodils, we brought them into her bright kitchen, where she gave them water and salmon.

Not salmon treats. Salmon.

Carol then put out a fluffy rug for each of the dogs.

When they all piled onto one, she moved the other two up against the chosen one in case they wanted to stretch out.

I got a look from Gracie that clearly said this was her new standard for acceptable care.

With the dogs settled, we moved to a bay window sitting area looking out on the back yard.

Carol offered cold or hot tea, coffee, and layered cookies that could have been the offspring of chocolate chips and Snickers candy bars.

We might have to find excuses to meet the ladies here from now on.

“Now,” Carol said, clearly transitioning from dogs and goodies to the matter at hand, “we — Linda, me, or the rest — can’t tell you much about Damon Swindell’s business—”

“Businesses,” Linda interpolated. “He was always switching to a new one.”

Carol nodded, then picked up what she’d been saying. “—except that he never has had a good reputation. We’re sorry we don’t have more details about that, but there is another matter. I wasn’t sure—”

“I was. I am,” Linda said. “I understand your hesitation bringing it up at lunch, but now we’ve discussed it and you agreed Clara and Sheila need to hear this. It’s background. Insight. Go on, tell them.”

Carol put down her tea. “As you might be aware, Pammy and Zoley knew each other from their hometown. Then they enrolled at the same college in Georgia.”

“Not UK?” Clara asked.