New Leash on Life by Kathleen Y'Barbo

Author:Kathleen Y'Barbo [Y’Barbo, Kathleen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781636096636
Publisher: Barbour Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2023-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I was still smiling a few minutes later as I arrived at Simply Eat and let myself in the back door with the key. The kitchen was empty, but the sound of voices in the dining area told me that prep was underway.

By the looks of the food on the counter, the grocery issue appeared to be settled. The order must not have been canceled after all.

I spied Roz and Shane rolling silverware into napkins at a table in the dining room. It was nice to see the two of them chatting and acting friendly. Although Shane appeared to be well able to do all the tasks he was assigned, I got the distinct impression that he and Roz did not get along. I was glad to be wrong about that.

Turning away, I went to my office and closed the door. The little room I claimed for my office had literally been carved out of a former storage closet, so there was no window and only just enough space for my desk, a file cabinet, and a bookshelf. A poster of van Gogh’s Sunflowers on the wall in front of me provided the only spot of color in the cramped space.

I’d promised myself I would do something creative in here—bright paint or cheerful wallpaper—when I had time. A year later, I still hadn’t found the time.

“Speaking of time,” I said under my breath as I checked my watch, “time to do something productive.”

With a little over an hour before I was due on the phone with the insurance adjuster, I decided to make a call to my friendly neighborhood ATF agent to see if I could get some information out of him. It didn’t take long to find a number for Trent Mendez.

Brenham might be a big town, but when it comes to its citizens, it can be a very small town. It turned out that Miguel knew him from work and had his office number. The only problem with going that route was it took me far too long to get off the phone with my brother. Finally, after I promised I’d give him a report if I discovered anything new, we ended the call.

Trent answered on the second ring.

After we exchanged greetings, I got right to the point. “My apartment caught fire because of explosives, not drugs.”

Silence.

“Trent? That was a statement, not a question. Did you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” he said.

“And?”

I heard what sounded like the squeak of an office chair on the other side of the call. “And I’m wondering how you have come to this conclusion.”

“The dog told me.”

Silence.

“Nora,” he said slowly, “you’re going to have to elaborate.”

I told him all about what happened with Pal this morning. “Lane—my boyfriend, Dr. Lane Bishop—saw Pal alerting to Miguel’s boots yesterday at my folks’ house. He was wearing his work boots, so he and Miguel think that Pal was alerting based on something Miguel was exposed to at a jobsite.”

“Pal is the dog?”

“Yes, a Belgian Malinois.”

More silence and another squeak of a chair.

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