She opened one eye, then the other, piqued at the interruption. "If you think it was me, say so. Don't beat around the bush. Makes you look weak."
"Okay. So you called him."
"I wouldn't call Gabriel Walsh if I was on fire." She pursed her lips. "No, I might. To sue everyone responsible--from the person who lit the match to those who made my clothes. But I'd wait until the fire was out. Otherwise, he'd just stand there until I was burned enough for a sizable settlement."
"So he's an ambulance chaser."
"He's a money chaser, doesn't matter where it comes from. Young as he is, he runs his own practice. Makes him look like some kind of prodigy, but the truth is with his reputation, even the sleaziest firm in Chicago wouldn't hire him. He is honest, though, in his own way. If he said Rose called him, I'm sure she did, because she called me about you, too. The part Gabriel left out? That old gossip is his great-aunt."
"Oh."
"Yes, oh. Gabriel Walsh comes from a long line of hustlers. He's just the first one to go to law school and get a license for it."
So the last lawyer to represent Pamela Larsen had an aunt who just happened to live across from my new apartment? Seems my luck in finding Cainsville came with a price. I supposed I should have expected as much. Fate is capricious. Nothing comes free. And Gabriel Walsh was an irritation I could deal with.
Grace took another bite of her scone and sighed with pleasure. "Damn. You must have made a good impression on Larry if you got him to bake me up a fresh batch."
"You knew . . . ?"
"That you brought me this? Course I did."
"But you thanked--"
"He got it from you. You let him. You need to pay more attention, girl. Especially around that one."
"In other words, keep my distance."
"Never said that. Men like Gabriel have their uses. You just need to keep your eyes open and your hand on your wallet."
Thunder cracked. Lightning split the sky. When I looked up, the clouds had rolled in again.
"Huh, looks like we're getting a storm," she said.
She stood and walked to the door, then waved impatiently at her chair. I folded it and carried it inside just as the downpour started.
The Puppy Plan
Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it caused serious problems for werewolves, too. Logan had been wandering through the forest behind Stonehaven, goofing off, tramping through the newly fallen snow. At nine, he was a little old for that. Or he considered himself too old for it. But his twin sister Kate had gone into the city with their parents to buy Christmas gifts, so there was no one to see him. And it was new snow. So he wandered about, breaking fresh paths, startling mice and maybe even scooping up a few, like he and Kate used to do when they were kids. Little kids, that is.
As he neared the edge of the property, he noticed the sun dropping over the open road. Time to head back. He was supposed to be in before dark, and, while there was at least an hour left, he hated even skirting the edges of irresponsibility.
It was then, as he turned, that he caught the scent. He stopped in his tracks, lifted his nose and inhaled.
It smelled like a dog, which was weird. With the Pack roaming these woods, other canines steered clear. Once, he and Kate had spotted a fox ambling across the road, and, when it caught their scent, it practically went into spasms before it tore back to its own side.
This definitely smelled like dog, though. That made Logan curious. Okay, most things made Logan curious. He liked learning and discovering. He also liked testing boundaries, though not in the same way as his sister. Kate pushed the ones that would get her into trouble. With Logan, boundaries were about knowledge and exploration. Lately, he'd been testing how close he could get to domestic animals before he startled them.
He walked toward the scent, but it remained faint. Then it was gone. He looked around. He saw the road, and trees and snow. Lots of snow. When he backed up, the smell wafted by on the breeze.
Had a dog passed this way earlier, its tracks now covered in snow?
No. His gut told him that whatever caused this smell was still here, and he paused, analyzing that. Gut feelings were for Kate; Logan preferred fact. He decided that it was the strength of the scent. As faint as it was, it was more than the detritus shed by a passing dog.
That still didn't answer the question of where the dog could possibly be, when all he saw was snow. The forest started ten feet back from the road, the edge too sparse to hide anything bigger than a rabbit.
Maybe it wasn't bigger than a rabbit. Like the one when Uncle Nick took them to visit Vanessa, and they'd been out walking on a busy street and passed a woman with a tiny dog in her purse. The dog freaked, escaped and ran into traffic, followed by Kate, who'd nearly gotten hit catching it. Uncle Nick had decided it was a story their parents really didn't need to hear. Logan agreed. He'd also pointed out to Kate that, while rescuing the dog had been a fine impulse, she'd nearly given the tiny beast a heart attack when she scooped it up, which would have rather undone the point of saving it.
It could be a small dog, then, cowering behind a tree, waiting for Logan to pass. Which meant he should just move along. Except that, well . . . curiosity. He had to see if his theory was right.