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“You and Lexi have that in common. Did a good friend give you the cigar to celebrate his baby’s birth?”
“No. Nothing like that. Robert, my old partner, gave it to me when he celebrated a promotion.”
“And that was a memorable occasion. Sure, it makes sense.”
“I’m starting to think I was wrong about hanging on to it, though.”
“Why?”
“You were right. The cigar is just a thing. But it isn’t really the cigar, you know. It’s the memory. When I look at that cigar, I can still see the expression on Robert’s face the day he handed it to me. Kind of cocky, like he’d known the day was coming.”
“Proud.”
“Yeah. That was Robert.”
A veil came over his eyes, and though Maggie wanted to ask so much more, something told her there were some things which would best remain unsaid.
Chapter 8
Later at the station, Jack filed a report that the suspicious person was nothing more than a parent checking on her own kid. He smiled, remembering the expression on Maggie’s face, as though she’d been caught doing something wrong. The call had probably been legitimate and that of a protective teacher, but the only harm done today had been to Maggie’s pride.
After he and Ryan had enjoyed a good laugh and got it out of their system, he’d had to comfort Maggie. The whole thing had really been his fault. He should have told Maggie about Anton that very day and not left her guessing. She’d probably come up with a lot worse scenarios.
Jack looked up from his paper work as the door to the station opened, and Mrs. Lenore Jones made her way inside holding a dog leash. At the end of that leash was a mangy looking dog that had seen better days.
He considered rendering assistance to Mrs. Jones, but the last time he’d tried, he’d been rewarded with a severe tongue lashing. Officially Harte’s Peak’s oldest citizen, according to Calhoun, Mrs. Jones seemed to think that any offers of help meant she’d be considered feeble.
“Hello, Mrs. Jones,” he said, standing. The woman brought out the Boy Scout in him.
“Good afternoon, young man. I’m here about this dog and all his funny business.” She handed him the leash and settled herself into the chair across from his desk.
Jack led the dog to his side of the desk nearly falling back at the strong smell of garbage.
At least the dog had the decency to look embarrassed, if that were possible. Upon closer inspection, he looked like some kind of shepherd mix.
“Funny business?”
With Mrs. Jones, one never knew. Once she’d driven to the station to report that someone had parked their car too close to a fire hydrant. Calhoun spent an hour with her, explaining that she could have just called it in. Mrs. Jones argued that there were not many places left for her to drive to anymore, since church was within walking distance of her home, and that as long as she still had her license she intended to put it to good use.
“Someone has got to take this poor dog.” She raised her chin. “I can’t have him digging up my prize- winning lilies anymore.”
“Have you tried the Humane Society?” Jack frowned at the dog.
Maybe with a bit more meat on his bones, he might almost look—well, maybe not.
Mrs. Jones looked at him as if he were a simpleton.
“Son, they turn them into dog meat over there. I may not be able to keep him, but I sure don’t want him dead. Well? So what will you do about it?”
He supposed this was what small town police work had brought him to. Now he somehow had to find a home for this creature.
“I’ll make a few calls.”
“See that you do. There is somebody in this town who needs a dog. Surely he’s good for something.” She jutted her chin in the mutt’s direction.
Most prospective dog owners probably wanted one that didn’t look like he’d spent the past few months living in a garbage can, but Jack promised to try.
“Thanks for bringing him in.”
