Page 39 of Death on Gallows Path

“I got out of there while they were wrestling in the garage. Was glad my car turned on right away and I didn’t look back.”

Clara nodded approvingly, then slid in, “What did the other man look like?”

Willow shook her head. “I didn’t see him well. He was kind of tall, at least as tall as Damon, but bigger. Not fat, but not thin, either. He had a black UK windbreaker on.”

A man who was neither fat nor thin, wearing a University of Kentucky logo windbreaker in the spring. That did us no good.

“Have you seen other people who come by the house?” I asked.

“Other than their cleaner? No.” A smile flittered at the corners of Willow’s mouth. “She’s funny with the dogs. Sounds like she’s scolding them, but then she’ll have them out of their crates and with her in the laundry room— Oh. She made me promise not to tell the Swindells or Georgers about that. I shouldn’t—”

“Our lips are sealed,” Clara pledged.

Willow’s warmth about the cleaner highlighted that she had none about the members of the Gang of Four. The pink returned, likely in recognition of that self-revelation.

“I need to get going now. School stuff,” she said.

Amid praise of her care of the dogs, we spilled out phrases of thanks and reminders to call if she thought of anything else.

She started to turn away, then stopped.

“I don’t know what you can do, but maybe something that will help Izolde and Lucifer.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Finally — finally — we reached the café and its pastry menu.

Today’s special was apricot “eggs.” They were made to look like a fried egg on a piece of toast, with a halved apricot as the yolk, powdered sugar and milk glacé as the white, and puff pastry as the toast.

Half the fun was the trompe l’oeil. The other half was hoping the taste added up to delicious.

Not wanting to bank entirely on that hope, I also ordered a lemon-raspberry tart I knew was delicious. Clara added a slice of lavender cake as her for-sure treat.

“So,” Clara said, “what do we know?”

I didn’t look up from my mouthful of tart. “Well, one thing’s clear.”

She brightened. “Oh?”

“Willow calls that dog Izzy behind Zoley’s back.”

She deflated slightly, consoled herself with a mouth of “egg” then roused to say, “Good for her. Did you see the way her mouth twisted when you brought up Lucifer? Not because she doesn’t like the dog — that’s obvious. Probably over treatment of that poor puppy, starting with calling it Lucifer.”

Or, possibly, Willow’s mouth scrunch was from something the dog walker had eaten.

Clara’s thoughts had gone a different direction. “You know, her description of the man who tackled Damon matches the guy who lurked around when I saw the woman with Damon. You saw him, too, last night.”

“I saw a shadow. No way could I identify the person behind that shadow.”

“I could.” Her innate honesty prompted, “Probably, I could. When it comes to Damon and Bryon, it sure sounds like the two men aren’t — weren’t — friends. Everyone talks about Zoley and Pammy being so close, but I wonder about that friendship.”

“Because you noticed Zoley didn’t talk to Willow a lot, yet dropped in the fact that Pammy was a scholarship girl at their school?”

“Why would anybody do that?” She shook her head. “Glad we have Willow as a witness. She was in their house, saw them daily, picked up hints of what was going on, how they interacted. We have to pay attention to what she says and— What? Why are you pointing at me?”

“Because of what you said, Clara. How they interacted and that Willow Yost saw that. And she did. But other people would have, too, even without other friends. We just have to figure out who.”

Her gaze went unfocused for a moment, then came back to me. “I’d say parties, but that would require having other friends— Oh, restaurants. The Swindells would have been seen at restaurants for sure, because I don’t see either of them specializing in comfy dinners at home. The Tavern, for starters. In fact, I’ve seen them there, for sure. Is that what you were thinking?”