Page 37 of Death on Gallows Path

More rosy hit Willow’s cheeks. “It’s not that much. I got in the habit when they all took a vacation together early on and I stayed at the house with both dogs.”

“When was that?” Clara asked.

“The end of February. They went to the beach in Mexico.”

We all sighed slightly in retroactive envy at being on a beach in late February.

With all of us united by the sigh, she said, “Bryon said to stay at their house. Zoley didn’t want us there. Then Damon started talking about their house being bigger and better. The men went back and forth. Pammy Swindell didn’t say a lot, but she really didn’t want the three of us staying at her house.

“In the end, we stayed at the Georgers’, which was easier for the dogs and me, because of the run. But even the day they left—”

She stopped. Yup, her own words pushed her into skittering territory.

“I shouldn’t complain,” she said.

Darn. We craved complaining.

Clara came to the rescue.

“How were things at the houses normally for the dogs? The usual things you’d see when you took care of them, not anything you wouldn’t expect, not anything a little off.”

Ah, Clara. You very smart woman.

Putting the dogs front and center to make Willow relax. Then, by emphasizing what she wasn’t asking Willow to remember, much less tell us, priming the girl to remember and tell exactly those things.

When Willow hesitated, Clara added casually, “You follow a routine? Go to their house every day? Different schedule different days?”

“Every day. If I skip a day, whoo boy, they’re wound up. They could use more, especially Lucifer.”

“Oh, I know how that is,” Clara said with empathy. “Do the dogs get in trouble in their houses?”

“They’re not in the houses much from what I can tell.” Willow quickly added, “The houses are real nice, so it makes sense, I guess. They’re . . .”

She faded.

Aiming for what I hoped would be the path of least skittering, I contributed, “Are the two houses alike?”

“They’re both pretty new, with new things in them. The Swindells’ is bigger and it has a fountain in front and the pool in back. Well, they both have pools, but . . . Swindells’ has gold all over. All over. And lots of—”

Her hands made looping motions.

“—elaborate designs. Like one of those kings from France or somewhere before they got rid of kings. Only that was real and this . . . Anyway, both houses are real clean. I mean other people I walk dogs for have nice houses and nice things and it’s not like they’re dirty, but they’re not so . . . strict.”

Why on earth had these people gotten dogs?

“Strict in what way?” I asked as neutrally as possible.

“There aren’t any dog toys or beds or such. Izolde isn’t allowed upstairs and Zoley said the dogs were absolutely not to be in the bedrooms. I slept on the couch in what they call the TV room, so I could be with them when I stayed there.

“The Swindells keep a crate in the garage and that’s where Lucifer spends most of his time. He’s still a puppy and his breeding—” She faltered. “He needs lots of exercise. Along with structure. Clear expectations.”

I guessed her pause about the breeding involved Damon Swindell’s contention that the dog was working-line Belgian Malinois and that she shared our skepticism on that point.

“Was Lucifer getting exercise or structure other than what you gave him?” Clara asked.

“No. Letting him run with Izolde and walking him, is still not as much as he needs. Though he’s a whole lot better after our outings than before.

“That’s what I tried to tell Pammy when I went to pick up Lucifer last Monday. He was in the house, which he’d never been before when I came for him. I don’t know how he got in there. She hardly ever has anything to do with him. Afraid of him, I guess.