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“No. Please … no.”
One of the dogs broke away, bolting down the short hallway.
Felicity followed. And she thought of the invitations she’d waved off.
Another day, maybe.
Too busy.
Too late.
Galina Harmon lay on her bedroom floor, one arm twisted beneath her, eyes fixed on nothing. Her nightdress was bunched around her thighs. No obvious signs of injury. No blood.
A few flies stirred, sluggish in the stale air.
“Galina.” Her voice came out rougher than she intended. She knelt beside the woman and placed two fingers to her neck.
No pulse.
Felicity closed her eyes, swallowing the regret, remembering the last time she had spoken to Galina. It had been a few days after the Christmas dinner. She’d run into the woman in the grocery store, between the canned goods and the spices.
Galina had smiled, warm and hopeful, and invited her over — there would be tea, she’d said, and some friends who spoke their language.
That was when Felicity had shut it down.
Told her — too bluntly — that she wanted nothing to do with that part of her life. With her heritage.
The words had come out sharper than she’d intended.
Galina had studied her for a long moment, pale eyes soft with something Felicity hadn’t been able to name.
No judgment. No argument. Just quiet understanding.
And now Galina was dead.
She rose and peeled off the latex gloves, tossing them aside. Reaching for her radio, she keyed it. “June,” she said, voice steady. “Ms. Harmon is unresponsive. Deceased. Send EMS and animal control.”
The house pressed in around her. She needed fresh air.
She herded the dogs out of the bedroom and pulled the door shut behind them.
In the kitchen, she moved carefully, sidestepping puddles and droppings, her gaze snagging on the empty bowls. The pipes groaned as she turned on the tap. She rinsed the bowls out and filled the largest with water, then searched until she found the container of kibble and poured until the others were full.
The dogs crowded in, noses down, eating like they hadn’t seen food in days.
Which they probably hadn’t.
Poor animals. They had been Galina’s world. Her children.
She unlatched the back door and stepped onto the narrow landing, filling her lungs with clean, cold air. A moment of solitude before the crew arrived. An unattended death always drew a crowd.
The backyard lay muted beneath winter’s hold. Patches of snow clung stubbornly to the shaded edges, grayed and crusted where they hadn’t yet melted. The creeper wound bare and skeletal along the fence line, its tangled branches rattling faintly in the breeze.
The crabapple tree in the corner was stripped down to its bones, dark limbs etched against the pale sky. Galina had cared for her garden, spending hours puttering or sitting beneath the tree in quiet contemplation. She’d once told Felicity it was her favorite spot.
Now the lady of the house was gone, and there would be no one to coax it back to life when the thaw came.
The thought settled in Felicity’s chest like a stone.
