Page 120 of Death on Gallows Path

William and Blanche did not show up to observe.

This time, Zoley and Pammy didn’t come, either.

Nor Bryon Georger.

Even with only two suspects here, I didn’t get much out of this training session.

Could I blame being sleep-deprived after that long nap?

* * * *

“. . . and work on stay at home. We’ll try it again next week.”

That smacked more of a threat than promise from Leo, considering none of the dogs had stayed for more than a few seconds when tempted by distractions of dogs, people, balls, treats, toys that squeaked, utterly silent toys, or movement of any kind.

I was as distractible as the dogs. The weird dreams from last night mixed in my brain like a kaleidoscope . . . a kaleidoscope of bruises.

Kit’s information on covering up bruises turned the kaleidoscope into a concealer wheel spinning at high speed, making me dizzy.

Zoley’s bruises weren’t hidden by concealer.

Not by clothes, either. Not like my bruise from Clara’s enthusiasm at spotting Blanche and William, which had been hidden by my sleeve.

Kit said something else . . . Defensive injuries.

Zoley’s outfit a week ago, notable for being out of keeping with the event and the season, displayed that she had no injuries on her hands or arms. No defensive wounds.

Yet thick makeup on her cheek.

Purposefully thick to call attention to what the makeup covered or — back to that formal definition of begging the question — there was nothing to cover?

A bruise could have come from Damon or Bryon . . . or, conceivably someone or something else. Before my mind wandered to falling branches or books — right, like Zoley Georger would be taking a book from a shelf — I tried to pull it back.

Bryon, William, Zoley, Pammy, Willow, Oscar.

Had they been on that dream trolley? Were they headed somewhere?

It felt more like they were layered on top of each other, so tightly I couldn’t see any of them well.

Why there, at that spot on Gallows Path?

Why now?

“Sheila? Sheila, are you coming?”

I looked up to the training room, empty except for Clara and LuLu standing by the door and Gracie, who had her nose stuck into the treat bag beside my chair’s leg, happily chowing down.

Layers . . .

Why there? Why now?

Because different parts of the elephant could feel like one thing, but be another.

* * * *

“You were completely out of it,” Clara said. “And now I see that look on your face.”

We’d reached the shop.