The pain he so often anesthetized with alcohol would keep him sharp tonight. He punched in the numbers again. He looked at his watch. It was almost nine. After four rings, the call went to Gracie’s answering machine. He decided to leave a message, although he hated talking to a machine.
Stan leaned his head back against the comfortable chair and closed his eyes. He jerked awake to find that it was after 9:30. He’d call her in the morning.
The yard and kennel area looked normal when Gracie drove into her driveway. Haley bounded out of the back seat and loped to the office door with Gracie. It still felt creepy, even though all seemed secure. Goose bumps raised on her arms when she unlocked the door and turned off the alarm. She was grateful for the lingering twilight that still glowed in the western sky. Her fingers were actually shaking as she punched in the code. She took a deep breath and tried to get her heart to slow down.
“Let’s take one more look around before we go in, girl.”
Haley waved her straight, broad black tail in agreement. A chorus of whining and barking began the moment they walked through the doorway to the runs. Everybody and everything did look fine as she checked each run.
“Well, boys and girls, sleep tight. Come on, Haley.” She tried to keep her voice lighthearted, but the words caught in her throat. Gracie switched the main corridor light off. She suddenly felt the need to get inside her house and lock herself in. She carefully set the code before locking the door.
“Come on, Haley, race you to the kitchen.” She took off with Haley who sprang ahead of her with ease. The shiny Lab leapt up the steps and then down again, butt-tucking in circles before she flopped on the ground at Gracie’s feet.
“Girl, you are a clown.” Gracie was laughing hard at the typical Lab comedic antics, one of the endearing qualities of the breed. “Let’s go in before the mosquitoes eat us up.”
Haley trotted through the kitchen door and headed for the cool tiles.
The message light was blinking on the answering machine. Gracie groaned. Isabelle had probably left another message. Maybe her mother was right, and she should give everything back to Isabelle. She had copies now, but she still wanted to talk to Uncle Stan before that happened. There was a reason he gave it to her and no one else. She’d listen to it later.
After a long hot shower and cup of tea, she relaxed watching the local news. The light on the answering machine was in her direct line of vision. The blinking was making her crazy. She punched the button to listen to the playback.
“Hey, Gracie, it’s Uncle Stan. Say, uh … I’d like to talk, uh… to you about those books. Maybe you can, uh… give me a call.” His speech was halting, and he sounded stressed.
“That call I will return,” she said out loud grabbing the handset. Then she looked at her watch. It was 10:15. Uncle Stan would either be still playing cards or in bed. She’d make a point of seeing him tomorrow and get some answers. She also needed to check on Beth and talk with the deputy investigating the robbery. Her head began a familiar throb. I need to just take things one at a time. Why didn’t things happen one at a time instead of in batches? That old saying about things happening in threes should have said things happen in fours or fives.
The ibuprofen bottle was on the kitchen counter, and she quickly downed four tablets to ward off a full-blown headache. She checked to make sure the kitchen door was locked and then settled in with the diary and clippings. There must be something funny about the investigation, or Uncle Stan wouldn’t have given her all of this information. Gracie reread the newspaper clippings and the police report. Everything looked so ordinary. There wasn’t anything that jumped out and shouted cover up or that the sheriff’s department had botched the investigation. She flipped the diary open
Stan leaned his head back against the comfortable chair and closed his eyes. He jerked awake to find that it was after 9:30. He’d call her in the morning.
The yard and kennel area looked normal when Gracie drove into her driveway. Haley bounded out of the back seat and loped to the office door with Gracie. It still felt creepy, even though all seemed secure. Goose bumps raised on her arms when she unlocked the door and turned off the alarm. She was grateful for the lingering twilight that still glowed in the western sky. Her fingers were actually shaking as she punched in the code. She took a deep breath and tried to get her heart to slow down.
“Let’s take one more look around before we go in, girl.”
Haley waved her straight, broad black tail in agreement. A chorus of whining and barking began the moment they walked through the doorway to the runs. Everybody and everything did look fine as she checked each run.
“Well, boys and girls, sleep tight. Come on, Haley.” She tried to keep her voice lighthearted, but the words caught in her throat. Gracie switched the main corridor light off. She suddenly felt the need to get inside her house and lock herself in. She carefully set the code before locking the door.
“Come on, Haley, race you to the kitchen.” She took off with Haley who sprang ahead of her with ease. The shiny Lab leapt up the steps and then down again, butt-tucking in circles before she flopped on the ground at Gracie’s feet.
“Girl, you are a clown.” Gracie was laughing hard at the typical Lab comedic antics, one of the endearing qualities of the breed. “Let’s go in before the mosquitoes eat us up.”
Haley trotted through the kitchen door and headed for the cool tiles.
The message light was blinking on the answering machine. Gracie groaned. Isabelle had probably left another message. Maybe her mother was right, and she should give everything back to Isabelle. She had copies now, but she still wanted to talk to Uncle Stan before that happened. There was a reason he gave it to her and no one else. She’d listen to it later.
After a long hot shower and cup of tea, she relaxed watching the local news. The light on the answering machine was in her direct line of vision. The blinking was making her crazy. She punched the button to listen to the playback.
“Hey, Gracie, it’s Uncle Stan. Say, uh … I’d like to talk, uh… to you about those books. Maybe you can, uh… give me a call.” His speech was halting, and he sounded stressed.
“That call I will return,” she said out loud grabbing the handset. Then she looked at her watch. It was 10:15. Uncle Stan would either be still playing cards or in bed. She’d make a point of seeing him tomorrow and get some answers. She also needed to check on Beth and talk with the deputy investigating the robbery. Her head began a familiar throb. I need to just take things one at a time. Why didn’t things happen one at a time instead of in batches? That old saying about things happening in threes should have said things happen in fours or fives.
The ibuprofen bottle was on the kitchen counter, and she quickly downed four tablets to ward off a full-blown headache. She checked to make sure the kitchen door was locked and then settled in with the diary and clippings. There must be something funny about the investigation, or Uncle Stan wouldn’t have given her all of this information. Gracie reread the newspaper clippings and the police report. Everything looked so ordinary. There wasn’t anything that jumped out and shouted cover up or that the sheriff’s department had botched the investigation. She flipped the diary open
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