Pittie Party Murder: Barkside of the Moon Mysteries Book 8 by Renee George

Author:Renee George
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Barkside of the Moon Press
Published: 2023-10-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter

Ten

I’d never felt so grumpy in my whole life, which was entirely an exaggeration, but whatever. Sure, a man had died. That wasn't good. But people die. I liked Tess. I’d even wanted to defend her against the accusations she faced, but it was taking every fiber of my goodwill and generosity not to wish her a long and miserable life behind bars. Only, not for murder, but for truckicide.

Did Martha still start? Yes.

Did Martha drive? No.

The crushed quarter panel had been shoved into the wheel. There was no way to get it down the road on its own. Instead, Parker had called his dad, and Greer had come over with a tow bar and hauled it to his shop.

I noted Parker’s white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel as we drove to the shelter to meet Gail and Andi. When he’d shown up at the diner, he’d hugged me firmly, but I could feel his anger and tension vibrating through his body.

“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to sound sincere. Not because I wasn’t being genuine but because I was so enraged about my truck that it was hard to make an apology sound anything but begrudging.

“You could’ve been hurt. Our daughter could’ve been hurt. I’m trying hard not to be unfair to you right now because I’m so afraid I’ll say something I won’t be able to take back.”

I understood why he was scared. He loved me, and I was pregnant with our baby. I loved him more than I could say. Even so, I wouldn’t be a prisoner in my body because my actions might worry him. I worried about him all the time. As a pit bull rescuer, there were many times Parker had gone into a sketchy and dangerous situation to save a dog. He’d been chased and threatened, and once, a guy took a shot at him. My heart had nearly stopped beating in my chest when I’d heard about it. Still, I didn’t tell him to stop or that he couldn’t go do the thing he loved. It was his purpose. And, while I wasn’t sure investigating was my purpose, it was something I loved.

“What can I do?”

“Can you promise to keep out of harm’s way?” he asked, then shook his head. “Again, not fair, but I can’t stop the churning dread in the pit of my stomach.” He reached over and put his hand on my knee. “I’ll move past it,” he said. “Just got to feel my feels. Until then, as my mom used to say, if you can’t say anything nice, it’s okay not to say anything at all.”

I laid my hand over his. “Your mom was a wise woman.”

He nodded. “Yes, she was.”

Part of his purpose had been building the new rescue facility outside of town on a large enough compound to give our shelter dogs the best life they could have without being in a foster or forever home. Parker had taken pride in the fact that he’d had a hand in all the construction, from the pouring of the foundation to the shingling of the roof.

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