Page 113 of Death on Gallows Path

“Yeah. You do write fiction, though,” he drawled. “From what you’ve said, the Swindells’ dog—”

“Lucifer.”

“—shied away from Damon.”

“Damon was impatient. An extreme leash yanker. Never a word of praise.”

“How about other people? The trainer? You? Clara?”

“We didn’t have a lot of interaction with him. As for Leo, Lucifer was nervous at first, but settled. Oh, and he seemed fine with Donna.”

Teague flipped his hand over, silently expressing that he’d never seen a dog who wasn’t fine with Donna.

I added another. “He seemed good with the dog walker, too.”

“Willow.” No surprise he knew that. “How did he interact with Bryon Georger?”

“I’d say wary.”

My lack of sleep twisted up my thinking. If dogs couldn’t read psychopaths, his reaction to Bryon Georger would make the man, what? Potentially a run-of-the-mill bad guy?

“What’s this?” Teague abruptly took my forearm, bare where my shirt’s loose sleeve had slid back to my elbow.

“Wha— Oh. A bruise. The remnants of a bruise.”

“How’d this happen?”

“Somebody was trying to get my attention.”

“It looks like impressions from fingers. Did somebody—?”

“Yes, somebody did, but not like you’re thinking.” I put my other palm against his cheek. “It was Clara.”

Amusement eased his expression. “I suppose that makes me feel better, but it wouldn’t make it hurt you less.”

“True, but it’s nearly gone. She’d spotted Blanche Todd Alsup and William Alsup, though we didn’t know who they were at that point. What we did know is she’d seen Blanche in a situation with Damon Swindell that indicated . . . mutual attraction.”

“Mmm.” He sounded distracted. Or was he trying to distract me? How much did he know about the Alsups that Clara and I didn’t? He wasn’t surprised to hear their names come up.

Before he made further distracting progress up my arm and possibly because my disturbed night turned off the ruminator in my brain, I said, “Teague, I want to ask you to do something with me . . . without asking questions.”

Both eyebrows rose. “Have to ask at least one — is it legal?”

Despite myself, I felt the urge to chuckle. “Yes, it’s legal.”

“Okay.”

“Would you come with me on a drive to near Lafayette, Indiana?”

His sharp look strengthened my belief that he and Quincy had met there.

“Does this have to do with your maybe?”

I went still.

He meant our oblique exchange about marriage back at New Year’s.

I looked directly at him, but my words skittered to rival Willow’s. “I . . . Maybe? I’m not trying to avoid . . . I’m trying . . . Step by step.”