Dead Dancing Women
words I would have thought to put together.
    â€œI’ll fix your hair for you, and show you a few makeup tips.”
    It was my turn to give her a look, like: Who’s kidding who here?
    â€œYou know,” she went on. “What the chief said, about me staying here with you awhile? That’s not a bad idea. If he can’t work it so I’m off patrol, well still, I could be here a lot of the time, and we could go on doing the investigating we’ve been doing. Get to the bottom of this so you’re not afraid.”
    I narrowed my eyes and looked hard at Deputy Dolly. Did I want to spend a lot of time with her? Did I want her around at all? Did I need someone here with me when Jackson came to visit? Hmm.
    â€œAnd you know what else?” Dolly was perking up, sitting straighter. Her light eyes were wide open as if she’d been struck by a perfect thought. “Get yourself a dog. If you had a dog nobody’d dare bother you. Trust me. Creeps don’t like barking dogs. Everybody up here in the woods keeps at least one of ’em. Look at old Harry. He must have a dozen dogs back there. Don’t see anybody fooling with him.”
    First positive idea I’d heard. A dog. A sweet little black and white face leaped into my head. Simon’s puppy. Perfect. The little guy would have a home. I’d be safe.
    With Deputy Dolly and a puppy, who’d dare come after me?

ELEVEN
    Being alone wasn’t as alluring as it once was. In the morning, after Dolly left to go to work, the walls crept closer. I felt as if I couldn’t breathe; couldn’t get my own stale air down far enough into my lungs because I’d breathed that same air before, tasted it before, was so overly familiar with that air I’d become allergic to it. And the sound of my refrigerator thumping and buzzing, my damned birdcall clock I’d thought so charming when I bought it—all of it was driving me crazy. My ears hurt at times, from the quiet that fell in between the mechanical sounds. My skin ached for the presence of another human being. Not to be made love to—it wasn’t a deep down yearning sex thing. More a need to feel the floor shiver with movement I didn’t make myself, to have a laugh or a word travel toward me, to share an emotion, draw a response, be given a touch of solace. For the first time in three years—I was more alone than I could stand.
    I liked the idea of getting a dog. Dolly’d made fun of the idea of a puppy protecting me from anything. She said I should visit the shelter in Traverse and get an older dog that needed a home, who knew how to bark and tear a stranger’s leg off. Old/young—I figured it didn’t matter much since I’d never had a dog before and I’d be starting from scratch either way. Better to begin with a young one that wouldn’t sense my inexperience and give me trouble. It seemed to me, with an old dog, it would be like Jackson—I’d be jumping through hoops for him within days. Not to say that I’m a wimp. More that it takes a lot of energy to control people and things. I never had that kind of energy.
    Only enough to call Gaylord and talk to Officer Brent. I needed to know what was happening on the state police end. I had to write a follow-up for Bill. Getting to work felt like plugging into a stream of energy, tapping into things and people in motion. Better than standing at a window watching a quiet lake and a couple of loons, and doing nothing.
    Brent was up in Mackinaw City, working on a case. Again, I got another officer.
    â€œWe don’t know a lot at this point, Miss Kincaid.” The policeman’s voice went deep and official.
    â€œThe arm and the head, they’re from the same person?” I needed at least that much from him. Not two disparate bodies. Certainly not two of them.
    â€œI think we can assume the … eh … appendages are from the same person. That would be all

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