Dead Sleeping Shaman by Elizabeth Kane Buzzelli Page B

seat.
    “Took you guys long enough,” I growled.
    “Yeah … well …” Dolly didn’t look at me. She took off her hat and set it in her lap. “Let’s get going then.”
    “Are we coming back tomorrow?”
    Dolly took in a breath. She hesitated. “I’ll let you know in the morning whether you need to come with me.”
    Her distracted tone put me off.
    “What do you mean, ‘I’ll let you know’? I thought that was the deal. We’d see if Marjory was connected here in any way. There’s got to be some reason …”
    Dolly nodded her head then let her chin sink to her chest. She was obviously tired. “I have to go easy here. The reverend’s got a lot of people following him.”
    “And I’d stomp all over your questions?”
    “Nope.” Her shoulders slumped. “Let me think it out, ok? One of the women back there, Sally, invited me to lunch tomorrow. Nice folks, far as I can see. I asked if I could talk to the reverend and she said she didn’t see why not. She said he’d be happy to talk to me. Just not tonight.”
    In the back, Crystalline was silent.
    “I’m not invited?” I was mad and hurt. For some reason I didn’t understand, Dolly was cutting me out of something important.
    “Don’t go off crazy, Emily. We don’t know anything at this point.” In profile, I could see her face was serious. This was a very different Deputy Dolly Flynn Wakowski.
    I turned the car around and drove out to US131 saying nothing for a minute or two. When I couldn’t contain myself, I asked, “What the heck’s wrong with you, Dolly?”
    She raised one hand but didn’t turn to look at me. “Calm down. Let me think, ok? I’ll give you a call in the morning; tell you one way or the other. It’s … well … that these are nice, friendly folks. I wouldn’t want to hurt them. Sally says they’d really like to have me come around and learn some more.”
    “Oh no,” I groaned. “Tell me it’s not that ‘family’ thing of yours. Please. I’d like to think you’re not falling for some line of …”
    “Fallin’ for nothin’,” she snapped back at me. “Plenty for the two of us to do. But I can’t get anywhere with you hanging on to the back of my coat, draggin’ along.”
    “Do what you want to do,” I snapped back at her. “If the world does end, I can guarantee you won’t be among the angels. As I go sailing up, passing you on your way down, just remember who said you’re too mean to go to heaven.”
    She was quiet. Even Crystalline said nothing from the back seat, probably wondering what she’d gotten herself into and how two hopeless fruitcakes could ever find who murdered Marjory Otis.
    Sorrow woke me the next morning by landing, four-paws splayed, in the middle of my back. This was no longer a puppy but a full-grown dog, and grown to stupendous proportions. Doc Crimson, Sorrow’s vet, said he thought Sorrow was part Afghan and part black lab, with maybe a bit of standard poodle thrown in. Of course, he changed his mind every time I took Sorrow in for a booster shot or to have his long, curving nails cut, or get his hair untangled and the burrs out.
    Since I wasn’t sure what breed I was, I figured we belonged together, me and Sorrow. We didn’t quite fit anywhere else.
    I let Sorrow out, made a cup of tea, then filled a bowl with Special K and skim milk. I set everything on the table in front of my large front windows. The world had turned a brilliant gold overnight. The maples and oaks between the house and Willow Lake glowed. Mornings like this one, with the sun sneaking blood red over the trees from the east, with every golden leaf reflected in the still water of the lake—I could almost believe the world might come to an end. Outside my windows, it was too lovely to last. Perfection—the kind that philosophers claimed struck ordinary people blind.
    I watched the light move and grow as I ate and thought about death: my Mom’s, when I was a kid, and how that hurt in a different way from