Page 9 of Death on Gallows Path

Another mini pandemic of throat-clearing and coughs.

Leo showed no sign of hearing. “Put her back on the bed, hook her leash, and return to this pup.”

Despite Leo’s calm, it took several minutes for Berrie to get back to the task with the first dog. And even then, she argued with Leo.

Truly, the guy deserved medals — plural — for his patience.

Though he didn’t need it with any of the remaining dogs.

Wrapping up class, he said, “When owners learn they make the difference and they — much more than the dog — change, that’s when progress starts.”

“Oh, c’mon, it’s a little the dog,” said gray-haired Oscar.

Everyone laughed. Including Leo. “Five percent.”

“At least go to ten,” the man bargained.

That drew more laughter, ending the session on an upbeat note.

No, I took that back. It wasn’t everyone who laughed. There was a break in the laughing circle.

Damon Swindell. His glower seemed to indicate he took laughter as a personal affront.

His wife, who seemed not to have heard Leo.

The other wife, Zoley Georger, who looked bored.

Her husband, Bryon Georger, who did almost smile.

That Gang of Four was a bundle of fun.

CHAPTER SIX

Teague messaged to be sure he wouldn’t wake me with a call.

I swear he does that to remind me to do the same when I call him at night, because I’m more of a night owl than he is.

He’d had a full day of travel, with connection upon connection to save on airfare for the sheriff’s department. Tomorrow, he would visit a lab specializing in forensic genome sequencing and how it combined with genealogy for law enforcement.

The conference ran Wednesday through Sunday, followed by two days of visits to other departments, then a full-day return trip.

He was a part-time consultant for the North Bend County Sheriff’s Department, which he combined with substitute teaching at some of the area’s tougher high schools.

So he wasn’t an obvious pick for this hard-to-get-info conference.

His last-minute invitation came when someone backed out and his former partner from the Chicago area department where he’d been a detective recommended him.

Teague left that department and moved to Northern Kentucky after he’d been declared legally blind in one eye.

There was more to that story than he’d told me. I was certain of it. But considering my own non-sharing about my past until New Year’s, I’d been in no position to ask.

Since then, with our lives happily rolling along day by day, I hadn’t asked. Rocking boats and all that.

But even though he left only this morning, it felt like my focus was widening past day to day.

His video call came in.

As great as it was to see him, it somehow emphasized how far away he was.