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“I thought you said you were upstairs.”
“I was. I came downstairs to see what the noise was.”
“When did you call the police while all this was going on?” Officer Corcoran asked, making a point of keeping her eyes on his face this time. “Just so I understand the exact order of events.”
“I called the cops after I dealt with the damn dog,” Rafe said, a little edgily.
They looked skeptical, as if wondering how much bother one measly Fido could cause, until he led them to the dead beast in the hallway. Officer Rosa whistled.
“That’s a big one. Doesn’t even look like a dog. Looks more like a wolf. Or part wolf.”
“I thought so, too, but I figured it was just a husky mix. How can you be so sure?”
“The shape and color of the eyes, mostly. And the narrow face. I had a school friend growing up whose dad had a wolf-dog. They’re loyal—but vicious.” Officer Rosa’s eyes landed on the chair, now missing two of its legs. “The dog do that?” he asked, eying the splintery stubs.
“Donni was fighting it off with a chair. She was lying down for a nap and the commotion woke her up. By then it had heard her Pomeranian barking and had come upstairs to investigate.” He let out a humorless laugh. “She really loves that fucking dog.”
“It looks sick,” Officer Corcoran said. “And it seems to be missing fur. Or was that part of the self-defense?”
“That wasn’t me. And before you ask, neither were those welts.”
“I’ll call Animal Control.” Officer Rosa snapped on gloves. “We’ll get this bagged up and tested and make sure it isn’t rabid. Or part of an underground fighting ring. Where’s your stepmother now?”
“In her room, seeing to the Pom—I think.”
“Where’s Officer Patrell? I thought Frank was doing his patrols.”
“He was,” Corcoran said, sounding defensive. “I can’t get ahold of him.”
“How the fuck did he drop the ball on this one?” Rosa muttered. He made a face and with a jerk of his head, indicated for Corcoran to help him slip the animal in a body bag he’d brought. Rafe found himself wondering if the body bag had been brought in anticipation of a human death.
Corcoran’s phone went off. She excused herself, listening intently to whatever was being said on the other line. The corners of her already-dour mouth tightened. “Shit.”
“What?” Rosa didn’t look up from the body bag.
“Somebody just phoned in a crashed squad car with the lights on about two blocks away.” She pocketed the phone. “It looks like someone snuck up on Frank and shot him point-blank in the head.”
“I’ll notify Officer Lambert,” said Rosa. “And I’ll thank you to keep that between us, hey, man?” he added, glancing at Rafe, who nodded tightly. He peeled off the gloves, shoving them into a pocket. “Looks like someone might just have it in for your stepmother, after all.”
???????
By the time Donni had fed Powderpuff the cannabis dog treats she normally saved for Fourth of July and had changed into yoga pants and a crop top, her house had become a full-on crime scene. She padded down the stairs in her slippers, arms folded as she took in the room.
Rafe was talking with a short Latino officer she didn’t recognize. He looked painfully young—about as young as Rafe, she realized sinkingly. Rafe was shirtless, and she noticed more than a few of the female officers periodically checking him out. Her belly tipped a little when she caught herself studying that beautiful chest and his—shit—unbuttoned jeans. They were zipped, at least, but it was rather glaringly obvious that he had nothing on beneath them.
Dry-mouthed now, she took a quick inventory of the assembled cops. That horrible Corcoran woman was there, along with a handful of other uniforms she’d seen around town but couldn’t put names to. One of them caught sight of her standing there and said, “They’re going to want to ask you a few questions,” before ushering her to a seat that was out of the way, at the very back of the living room, beneath that Pop Art nude that Marco had been so fucking proud of.
Someone pressed a hot drink into her hands at some point, and then the Latino officer who had been talking to Rafe walked over. He had kind eyes set in a stern face, with the sort of designer beard that was cultivated by tech gurus and trust fund clubbers, alike. She didn’t know what to make of him and touched her hair nervously, hoping the mystique went both ways and that she didn’t look like a woman who’d just been roughly fucked.
“So,” Rosa said. “Tell me about what happened this evening. Starting with when you first became aware that something was wrong.”
“Well, I was upstairs,” she said uneasily. “In my room. When I heard this sound—like breaking glass. And naturally, it scared the shit out of me, because earlier this week I received a letter from someone threatening to kill me. One that wasn’t taken seriously, I might add.”
“Your stepson said you were asleep.” Officer Rosa flipped through his notes. “It sounded like you didn’t come down until you heard the animal coming after your dog. Was this before that?”
Damn it, Rafe. “Yes,” she said slowly. “I thought about going to sleep but then I couldn’t. So I was reorganizing my closet when I heard Rafe shout. I heard everything.”
“And when you came out of your room, what did you see?”
