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Not much in there, Shane thought. The kid must have been dirt poor.
Agnes called down from the doorway above. “Doc Simmons is here. Okay if I have him look at Rhett while he’s waiting for you? Rhett ate a lot of chocolate, and that’s not good for dogs.”
“Sure, Miz Agnes. Then get him down here,” Xavier said.
“Dogs?” Shane said to Joey.
“The coroner is elected here,” Joey said to Shane. “Only guy who ran for it was a local veterinarian named Simmons whose business was going under.”
Only in Keyes, Shane thought.
“Hammond,” Xavier said. “You stay here with the body and wait for the coroner.”
Hammond nodded.
“You,” Xavier said, looking at Joey, “I’m going to want the pleasure of your company for some conversation later.”
You and me both, Shane thought, and followed his uncle and the detective up the ladder, determined to find out what a boarded-up basement, a moth eaten old bloodhound, and a food writer with a nice ass could have to do with his ex-mobster uncle before his notoriously unsympathetic boss terminated his career.
By one thirty Tuesday morning, Agnes had answered the same thirty questions at least a thousand times, grateful none of them had been, “Exactly how many men have you struck with a frying pan, Miz Agnes?” since the answer now stood at four, if you counted Shane. Hammond had thrown some variety into the mix by asking about Maria’s upcoming wedding— “She still as sweet and pretty as ever?” — and Doc Simmons had looked at Rhett and said, “Nothin’s gonna kill that ole hound, certainly not your most excellent cake, Miss Agnes,” and then, almost as an afterthought, pronounced the Thibault kid dead. Agnes had said, “Thank you, Doc,” put some cupcakes in a bag for him, and waved him off into the night, watching as he followed the ambulance crew with the body down the lane and over the rickety bridge to the main road. “Rest in peace, I guess,” she said to the tail-lights and went back to the kitchen, but she’d barely gotten there when the door chime went again.
“I’ll get it,” Joey said, sliding off the counter stool. “You tell Detective Xavier here whatever else he needs to know so he can go home.” He patted Agnes’s shoulder and kissed her cheek and then ambled out to get the door while Agnes turned to smile at Xavier, radiating innocence.
“You know everything about me already,” she said to Xavier, but a minute later, Taylor strode in looking blond, handsome, and concerned, and she had to say, “Except for him. Detective Xavier, this is my fiancé, Taylor Beaufort. Taylor, this is Detective Xavier.”
“Detective,” Taylor said in his soft drawl as he slid his arm around her. “Sugar, what the devil is goin’ on out here? Are you all right?”
“I’m just fine,” she said, a little rattled that she’d forgotten he existed. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard somebody broke in,” he said, his drawl getting less soft as he scowled in Shane’s direction.
Shane looked back with the same expression he’d had since she hit him with the frying pan: none.
“And how was it that you heard about the break-in?” Xavier asked.
“Everybody in town heard, Detective,” Taylor said. “Doc Simmons stopped for coffee on his way out here and mentioned it to his waitress who mentioned it to Maisie Shuttle who told my waitress when she stopped by the Inn for dessert.” He moved his hand up to Agnes’s shoulder. “Agnes, you must have been scared to death.”
“I’m fine.” He sounded truly worried, and Agnes tried to feel comforted by that.
“A boy broke in and tried to steal your fiancée’s dog, Mr. Beaufort,” Xavier said. “Would you know anything about that?”
“He tried to steal Rhett?” Taylor said, looking at Shane with astonishment.
“Not Shane,” Agnes said. “A boy. Shane is Joey’s nephew. He’s here to look out for me. Joey asked him to come.”
“I see.” Taylor didn’t look happy. “Well, no, I don’t see. Why would anybody want to steal Rhett? And why would Joey call his nephew? What?—?”
“The house is isolated,” Shane said. “She shouldn’t be out here alone.”
Yeah, Agnes thought, and then felt like a wimp. Brenda had been just fine out here alone.
“Keyes is a safe community,” Taylor said to Shane. “The former owner lived on her own out here without any problems. I don’t see?—”
“A kid broke in with a gun and threatened Agnes,” Shane pointed out.
“Just a prank,” Taylor said stiffly. “She’s not laughing,” Shane said. “And he’s dead.”
“Dead!” Taylor looked down at Agnes. “I thought they just arrested him. What happened?”
