Deadly Dog Days by Jamie Blair

Author:Jamie Blair
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: dog days, deadly dog days, jamie blair, jamie m blair, jamie m. blair, mystery, mystery fiction, mystery novel, mysteries with dogs, dog mystery, dog mysteries, animal mystery, mysteries with animals
Publisher: Midnight Ink is an imprint of Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.
Published: 2016-09-14T16:00:00+00:00

• Fourteen •

The next morning I fought to stay asleep. I was having the kind of dream you don’t ever want to wake from. It was Christmas, and Christmas in Metamora was nothing shy of magical. The shop windows shined with twinkling lights. Pine garland and red velvet bows scalloped the railings of the wooden bridge. Sleigh bells jingled from the draft horses, and fat snowflakes floated down from the sky. The air smelled of cookies and warm sugar frosting.

In my dream, Ben and I walked hand in hand through town, stopping to say hello to neighbors and friends. Little kids made snow angels and chased each other with snowballs, squealing in delight. I carried a shopping bag with a gift from Ben inside—a new weathervane for our house. Ben led Brutus on a leash. He’d somehow trained the crazy animal to behave.

Then he turned to me and smiled. It was the slow, lazy smile from when we were first dating. The one filled with longing. Ben’s “in love” smile. “Cam,” he said, “what do you think I should get Jenn Berg for Christmas?”

I shot up in bed, shaking off the dream-turned-nightmare. My subconscious refused to believe Ben was telling the truth about not dating Jenn. It wouldn’t let me forget for one second, not even while sleeping.

It was hot, and the sheet was twisted around my legs. My hair was damp with sweat, but all I wanted was a big cup of coffee. Today I was doing nothing. Not one single thing. I wasn’t stepping a foot out of my yard, not even if Monica was bored out of her mind and begging me to leave. Well, maybe we could see a movie in Brookville and go out to dinner. Cooking wasn’t on my agenda, either.

I took a quick shower and dressed before heading downstairs. Coffee was in the pot and Monica was sitting on the patio drinking a cup, petting Isobel, who stood beside her chair. What the heck?

I poured my coffee and took the mug outside. “How’d you get her to be nice?” I asked, fending off Gus and the nutso twins.

“She likes me.” Monica smiled, like it was a grand achievement, and it was—not just because it was crabby old Isobel, but because Monica was allergic to dogs and therefore not a fan. Isobel lifted her muzzle and growled at me.

“She doesn’t like me,” I said, sitting down at the patio table. I picked up a stick at my feet and threw it for the three amigos. They ran after it, tumbling over one another, which distracted them from retrieving the stick and started a game of chase around the yard.

“You don’t understand her. She doesn’t like to be stuck with those three young males and all their energy and barking.”

I considered this. “I don’t blame her, I guess. But she has her spot beside the fridge and they seem to leave her alone.”

Monica nodded, watching Isobel tip her face to the sun and close her eyes.

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