Page 52 of Carver’s Craving

“Could you text it to me? At this number?”

“Of course. Just give me a moment.”

And, as promised, a text arrived with a phone number. “Thanks so much. Carver said you were awesome.”

Holly laughed. “Carver’s a good customer. Tell him we say hi. Anything else?”

“No. Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure.” With that, she cut the line.

I clicked on the number she gave me, and the phone was answered a moment later. I missed the name of the shop. “Uh, is this Spike?”

“Yep, this is him. How can I help?”

“Well, we met on the weekend. My name is Styx. You’re married to Dickens?” Because making me seem less creepy was a good idea. Right?”

“Sure, I remember you. Did you enjoy the book?”

I exhaled. “Honestly, I’ve been busy.” And books were a struggle. I’d done okay in the bookshop because I’d been able to focus. Here, though, I had a tougher time.

“Okay. How can I help?”

“Uh, Holly said that Taryn towed a van to you on Friday. I think that might’ve been my friend Baxter’s van.”

Spike cleared his throat. “Since you know the guy’s name, I can confirm. Do you know where he is? The van’s fixed, but he’s not answering his phone. I don’t know if I should be worried. I’ll give it a few more days before I consider it abandoned. We have a little lot where we can stow vehicles, so it’s not in the way and it’s locked up. Still, I’d be more comfortable returning it to him.”

“How much was the repair?”

“Not cheap.”

“Ah.” So I couldn’t just go down and pay it, and get my stuff back. “Look, I’ll keep looking for him. If he turns up, I’ll get him to call you right away.”

“I’d appreciate that. I hope he’s okay. I mean, it’s only been a couple of days—”

“Yeah, but you’re right. I’m sure, though, he’s fine. Uh, thanks.”

“No problem.”

This time, I cut the line.

And exhaled again.

Then called the nonemergency line for the Mission City RCMP.

Forty-five minutes later, a constable appeared at the front door.

I let him in.

Poppin barked her little head off.

“I’m Constable Seth Jacobs.” He laughed. “Yes, little one, I hear you. I wish my dog was half as fierce and protective as you.” He met my gaze with compassionate hazel eyes.

“Your dog isn’t a guard dog? Please come through to the great room.” Although the distance was barely a few feet. Still, I wanted to stick close to Walter.

“Absolutely.”

“Don’t worry about your shoes.” Because that was the correct thing to say, right? In all my years, I’d only interacted with police that one day. The day Frank died. So I was a little out of my element.