Best in Breed

Book 11: Locust Point Mystery

by Libby Howard

Genres: Ghost; Mystery; Animal Cozy Mysteries; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

Valentine’s Day in Locust Point brings love, puppies…and murder!

Everyone is enchanted by Olive’s new puppy—even an initially wary Taco. Thinking she might want to add a furry friend to her own home, Daisy convinces Kay to go with her on a whirlwind tour of shelters, rescues, and breeders. But puppy loves comes to an abrupt end when the two women find well-known animal advocate Prucilla Downing dead in a pile of broken trophies and slashed fur coats.

With plenty of suspects, Kay jumps in to find the murderer, find homes for a kennel full of puppies, and find the perfect Valentine’s Day gift for Judge Beck.

Release date: May 18, 2021

Publisher: Libby Howard

Print pages: 228

Sample

I reached up to turn on the outdoor heater, the wooden porch chair I was standing on wobbling under my feet.

“Kay! For Pete’s sake!” Strong hands gripped my waist, steadying me. “I could have gotten that,” Judge Beck scolded.

The heater flared to life with a blaze. I stepped down, grateful for the judge’s help as I descended.

“Thanks.” I smiled up at him. “I didn’t realize that thing was so rickety.”

He let go of my waist to pick the chair up. “I’ll take it around back so no one sits on it. Henry can fix it when he’s back on Sunday.”

The boy had become quite the handyman. I’d taken to assigning him various tasks around the house and paying him small sums for his repair work. So far he’d patched the drywall where several years ago a door handle had punched a hole, changed the light bulbs on the porch and other outdoor fixtures. He’d replaced the cracked glass in a display cabinet, and replaced some chipped tile in one of the upstairs bathrooms. I had every confidence that this chair would be good as new under his skilled hands.

While the judge took the chair around to the back porch, I set out the wine and the glasses, then went inside to get the charcuterie platters from the kitchen. We were expecting a full house for this Friday’s porch happy hour. For once the stars had aligned and everyone was in town and available. That was cause for celebration with special food and wine.

Plus, it was February. The cold weather still had us in its grip, but the days were longer and the nights shorter. Spring was a little more than a month away.

And Valentine’s Day was next week.

Eli had proposed to me on a Valentine’s Day. Every year he would bring me flowers, cook me dinner, and give me a handmade card, telling me it had been the best day of his life when I’d said yes. Throughout our married life, Valentine’s Day had been just as important as the anniversary of our wedding day.

Even after the accident, he’d painstakingly drawn and hand-lettered Valentine’s Day cards for me each year. I still had every one of those cards upstairs in a keepsake box.

This will be the first year I won’t get a card from him. I blinked back tears at the thought. It would be a tough day for me, but I’d get through it, just like I’d gotten through so many other anniversaries this past year. I’d remember. I’d celebrate what we’d shared. Then I’d keep moving forward.

Maybe I’d be the one who made a card for Eli this year. As I took the charcuterie platters out of the fridge, I thought more about how I should honor the day. I’d make a card. I’d take flowers and the card to the cemetery, and Eli and I would have one last Valentine’s Day together. Times like this I missed the presence of his ghost. I knew it was wrong to want him to stay with me after his death. It wasn’t fair to tie his spirit to this plane of existence. And it wasn’t fair to myself to live my life in the past when I hopefully had several decades' worth of life ahead of me.

Honor the past. Look toward the future.

Today was about the future. I balanced the charcuterie platters and headed to the porch, thrilled to see that Daisy had already arrived. My best friend was pouring herself a big glass of Chardonnay with gloved hands, the scarf I’d knitted and given her for Christmas peeking out from the neckline of her puffy winter coat.

“I brought some fresh bread from the bakery and a few of their fruit spreads.” She pulled off one glove to snag a piece of cheese from the platter I was carrying and pop it into her mouth. “Kat is bringing a Crockpot with meatballs, and Olive said she and Suzette are bringing cookies. By the way, did you hear Olive’s news?”

“No, what’s up with Olive?” I set the trays down and went to pour a glass of wine for myself.

“She. Got. A. Puppy,” Daisy announced with a squeal of glee.

I laughed because she sounded exactly like Madison at that moment.

“She’s bringing it tonight.” Daisy looked around the porch. “I wonder how Taco is going to take the canine addition to our happy hour?”

Oh my. That might be a problem. Taco liked to tease the neighborhood dogs while safely on the other side of the fence. I didn’t have much faith that tonight’s introduction would go well. A puppy would be loud and exuberant, and Taco did not do well with loud and exuberant, especially when it was inside his personal domain.

“Is it a small puppy?” Hopefully Olive would have it on a leash, or in one of those tiny-dog purses.

“It’s a French Bulldog.” Daisy scowled into her wine. “I hate to be that person. Olive is so nice, and I know she’s shown dogs in the past. Still, it bothers me.”

I turned to my friend in surprise. “You don’t like French Bulldogs?”

I’d never met one up close and personal, but they looked adorable with their smushed faces and pointy ears. They seemed to be fun, lively dogs, too—perfect for Olive’s personality, in my opinion.  

“No, it’s not that.” Daisy took a quick sip of her wine. “I know Olive would have carefully researched breeders, and that she bought from someone reputable, someone who guarantees genetic health and will always take a dog back no questions asked, but…”

“But you wish she’d gotten a dog from the shelter instead.” I knew Daisy so well. She’d dedicated her life to working with troubled teens and had a soft spot for those she felt were unwanted and unloved.

Daisy nodded. “I mean, I get it. If you want to show a dog, or want specific traits and characteristics, or a guarantee of health, then it makes sense to go to a breeder. But I see these animals at the county shelter and at rescues, and my heart aches for them. They might be old, or ugly, or have health challenges, but they deserve love too.”

I thought of Taco, the supposedly aloof cat I’d gotten from the shelter the day of Eli’s funeral. I couldn’t bear to come home to an empty house. I’d been feeling lost, lonely, and had been aching with grief. And there had been a gray tabby who’d needed a home.

It had been the best decision I’d made in the last year—well, that and deciding to open my house up to a roommate or three.

“I think everyone needs to take their own circumstances and needs into consideration when bringing a pet into the family,” I thought out loud. “The Larses’ dog is from a rescue. And the Petersons a block over always adopt senior and hospice dogs. That’s got to be hard. They only had their last dog for six months before it passed. And like you said, Olive showed dogs years ago. If that’s what she wants to do, she can’t exactly do it with a mixed breed from the shelter.”

Daisy waved a hand, then glanced toward the street where several cars were approaching. “I know, I know. I’m just being a judgmental snob. She has the right to buy whatever dog she wants—one that suits her lifestyle and hobbies. It’s not my business. If I’m in tears over rescue and shelter dogs, then I should put my money where my mouth is and go adopt one myself.”

“Do you have the time for a dog?” I asked her. “With your work, your volunteer stuff, and J.T.? Maybe you should consider a cat. Taco is wonderful company, and I don’t need to take him for walks twice a day.”

Daisy took a thoughtful sip of her wine. “I don’t know. I like both dogs and cats, but now that I think about it, a dog would be awesome. It would be nice to come home and have someone so overjoyed to see me that they might pee a little.”

I laughed. “Well, that’s me—or any woman over fifty, it seems. You don’t need a pet, you need a female roommate of a certain age. Seriously though, Taco greets me at the door when I come home. He doesn’t pee in excitement, but he does act like I’m terribly late and he’s been waiting for me for days.”

She snorted. “That’s because he wants out and to get fed. I’m sure your cat adores you, Kay, but it is a bit different being loved by a dog.”

I spied Kat walking out of her house to head over, Crockpot in her arms. The two cars had parked. Suzette and Olive got out of one, and Violet Smith got out of the other. I waved to the girl, glad that she’d accepted my invitation to join us.

Loud yapping rent the air and drew everyone’s attention. A small fawn-and-black bundle jumped out of Olive’s car and raced toward the walkway, only to come up short at the end of a long leash. Taco strolled up next to me from around the side of the porch and sat, eyeing the stranger, who was bouncing up and down as he barked.

“Cats don’t do that,” I reminded Daisy.

“So I won’t get a puppy. I’ll get a nice, well-behaved, adult dog.” She glanced down at my cat, who was licking a paw and swiping it over her head. “Or maybe a cat. I should probably keep my options open at this point.”

I hid a smirk and went down to greet my guests. Judge Beck had finally returned after taking forever to put the broken chair away. He rounded the porch and made a beeline for us.

“Who is this handsome young man?” The judge reached down and scooped the puppy up.

“This is Fairwood’s Dreamy Day at the Beach, known as Gus by his family and friends.” Olive beamed like a proud mother discussing her son’s exemplary school grades.

Judge Beck held the squirming puppy up and it promptly licked his nose. “Hi there Gus. So by the fancy name I take it he’s a show dog?”

“Yep,” Suzette chimed in. “Olive missed showing, and I was interested as well. Frenchie’s don’t have a lot of coat maintenance, and we both liked their personality.”

“Plus, Frenchies are popular enough that we don’t need to travel quite so far for shows.” Olive grimaced. “It’s hard to finish a dog when the shows in three surrounding states only have two or three competitors in your breed.”

The judge went to put the dog down, then suddenly changed his mind and handed him over to me. “Congratulations on the addition to your family. Let me get you ladies some wine while Taco decides if he’s going to allow Gus onto the porch or not.”

Taco had moved to the top step of the porch and was staring at us, tail twitching and murder in his eyes. I had a feeling Olive and Suzette might be having their happy hour on the lawn instead of the porch.

“Oh my gosh! Is this the new puppy?” Kat gushed as she joined us, handing the Crockpot off to Judge Beck.

I took the opportunity to unload Gus into her eager arms. Leaving Olive and Suzette to make the appropriate introductions, I followed the judge back to the porch and to Taco.

“Now you listen here.” I lowered myself down to sit on the step next to my cat. “Gus is a guest. You don’t have to like him, but please don’t jeopardize his modeling future by clawing him up. Either stay on the porch and be polite, or you can hang out in the shrubberies. Or in the house.”

The cat ignored me, gaze fixed on the four-legged intruder, tail still twitching.

“I mean it Taco.” I waved a finger at him. “Be nice, or take yourself elsewhere.”

“Should I put him inside?” Judge Beck stopped beside me, two glasses of wine balanced in one hand. He extended my glass with the other.

I took the wine, stood, and dusted my pants off. “No, he can escape the porch if he needs to. Gus is leashed, and I’m sure Olive will put him back in the car if he gets too rowdy.”

The judge’s gaze drifted across the lawn to where Olive, Suzette, Kat and Violet stood with an ecstatic Gus rolling on the brown winter grass. “He’s a cute little guy, isn’t he? Growing up, I always wanted an English Bulldog, but now I’m thinking my dream dog might be one of those.”

“Oh, not you too.” I laughed. “Daisy is already talking about getting a dog from the shelter. Am I going to come home one day to find Gus’s brother or sister chasing Taco around the house?”

He stiffened. “I’d never do something like that without your agreement.” His hands clenched, then his shoulders dropped. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Heather’s allergic to cats, and I always wanted us to get a dog—especially once the kids had gotten older. She refused every time I brought it up. Said she’d be the one stuck taking care of it and that she had enough to do.”

“I’m sorry.” I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I guess it was because I hated that he and Heather had fought over this.

But partners fought. You couldn’t share a life with all its messy responsibilities without occasionally arguing. Eli and I had gone through some doozies in our marriage. There were a few times we could have gone either way. Somehow we’d always made it through the storm.

The ladies and the excited puppy headed toward the porch. Another car came down the street, parking a few houses away where there still was space on the curb. I recognized it as Matt Poffenburger’s. I was so glad he’d been able to make it tonight. I hadn’t seen him since mid-November, when I’d met him at the nursing home to have lunch with his father. I’d truly enjoyed helping him with various fundraisers and charity events this past year and hoped that his coming here tonight meant we could continue that friendship.

I waved at him, and he jogged through the grass to join the crowd.

“Wine, ladies?” Judge Beck offered the glasses to Olive and Suzette as they climbed the steps. “Kat? Violet? What would you like? I’m serving today.”

Violet blushed red, her eyes fixed on the steps. “Just a soda, please. I need to drive home after this and I’m a total lightweight.”

I had to smile at her sudden shyness. Judge Beck could be an imposing figure, and even though she’d been attending the occasional happy hour for over a month, Violet still seemed to be flustered around him.

“Well, I’m walking across the street and down one house,” Kat announced. “So bring on the wine!”

“I’ll help pour,” Matt said. “but I’d rather have a beer if you’ve got any.”

“In the kitchen,” the judge told him. “Let’s get these ladies situated, then we’ll go raid the fridge.”

The two men headed off to the table while Violet paused on the steps and knelt down to stroke Taco.

“That puppy is cute, but you’re still the king of the porch,” she told the purring cat.

I snorted. “He’s the king of everything he surveys.”

“I’ve actually been thinking of getting a cat myself,” Violet confided. “Now that I’ve got a good job and a place of my own, it would be nice to have a furry companion.”

“The shelters will be full of kittens soon,” Kat told her. “You’ll have a lot to choose from.”

“I think I might get an adult cat instead.” Violet picked Taco up. The cat snuggled against her, kneading her arm with soft paws, the perfect ambassador for the adoption of adult cats.

“I’m thinking of adding a pet to my household as well,” Daisy said. “A dog. Or a cat. I’m not sure yet.”

“Trust me, dogs are more work.” Kat laughed. “I love Atlas, but he’s glued to my side when I’m home. I can’t even go to the bathroom without him whining and scratching at the door. The guests love him, though.”

“Taco sometimes does the same thing when I’m in the bathroom,” I told her. “There I am, having a private moment, and suddenly there’s meowing and a little furry paw reaching under the door.”

Daisy chuckled. “Guess I’ll need to learn to pee with the door closed.”

“That or have a dog sitting smack in front of you, staring as you go,” Kat told her.

“Or a cat trying to climb onto your lap when you’re on the toilet,” I added.

“So, are you heading to the shelter this weekend to see what’s available?” Judge Beck asked Daisy as he and Matt handed out glasses of wine and Violet’s soda.

“I think so.” Daisy pursed her lips. “The Milford County Shelter first, then maybe I’ll hit up the Oxbridge County one as well.”

“Don’t forget the rescues,” Violet said. “Especially if there’s a particular breed you’re looking for.”

“Ooo, you have to check out Second Chance Rescue,” Kat chimed in. “Prucilla Downing is a saint.”

“Wasn’t she involved in shutting down that puppy mill last month?” Olive asked. “It was all over the papers.”

“Yes, but I think most of that was because of Free the Fur.” Violet made a face. “That group is a little extreme, but I’ve never heard anything but good about Prucilla Downing and her rescue.”

“Puppy mill?” Had this happened when we’d been skiing? This was the first I’d heard of it.

“Just outside of Milford near Washdale,” Kat said. “The guy was breeding purebred dogs two litters a year from their first heat until they could no longer have pups, then he’d dump them at a rescue or a shelter. He was selling the puppies to pet shops all over the country. No one knew about it until Free the Fur and Prucilla Downing got involved. Like Violet said, Free the Fur can be extreme and controversial, but they were the ones who fought to have the puppy mill investigated. Second Chance Rescue coordinated the foster care for the animals after the seizure, though. Prucilla made sure the dogs got immediate veterinary care and had places to go with people who understood the challenges of caring for neglected and unsocialized dogs.”

“Wow.” I’d clearly missed that huge local story.

“I read about that,” Daisy chimed in. “I hadn’t realized Prucilla Downing ran a dog rescue though, I just thought she was active in animal welfare.”

“She does both,” Violet told her. “Her rescue scored really high on NonProfitRating.com. The woman is dedicated.”

“She is,” Kat said. “Second Chance Rescue has transported dogs from kill shelters out of state to be fostered and adopted. They also take in injured dogs and cats that some shelters don’t have the funds to help. She’s a saint.”

“She sometimes has puppies available for adoption too,” Violet added. “Shelters can’t manage the bottle-babies or a litter of underage pups with their mom, so she takes them in.”

“How big is her facility?” I wondered. The woman must have a farm and a sizable staff to accommodate all those animals.

“Oh, she’s just got a regular sized house and yard. Most of the animals are with one of her foster care people, so she doesn’t have them onsite.” Violet set Taco down. “She has a website where you can see all of the adoptable animals. Then you fill out an application. They interview you, do a visit to your home, and if everything looks okay, they arrange for you to meet the pet at their foster home.”

Daisy laughed. “Wow, that’s like adopting a child!”

“She wants to make sure the animals go to a great home,” Kat replied. “After all those poor dogs and cats have been through in their lives, I don’t blame her at all.”

Daisy lifted her hands. “Oh, I understand, really. I just don’t want to go through all that only to find out at the meet-and-greet that the dog and I aren’t a good match. I’d rather meet the dog first, then jump through all the hoops.”

Kat laughed. “Well, definitely check out the shelter, then. But you should still go to Second Chance Rescue. She does have some adoptable pets onsite, and she might make an exception and let you meet a dog first if you’re interested in one that’s in foster.”

Daisy nodded. “I’ll do that. Are you free tomorrow, Kay? Shall we spend the day visiting shelters and rescues? Lunch is on me.”

I hesitated. I was such a sucker for animals in need. I’d walked into a shelter the day of my husband’s funeral and left with a cat. There was a reasonable chance I might come home tomorrow with another cat. Or a dog. Or both.

“I’ll go, but you can’t let me adopt any animal without waiting at least a week,” I told Daisy.

There. That should give me plenty of opportunity to be objective about my ability to care for another animal. And let Judge Beck weigh in. I was sure the kids would give an enthusiastic thumbs-up to any additional four-legged resident, but it would be the judge and I who would need to provide the care. And there was Taco to think of. He was definitely the king of the house, and I didn’t want to bring any newcomer in who would upset him and make him unhappy.

My attention was diverted by the yap-yap of Gus as he happily sniffed my porch. Olive kept him close, letting Gus explore but not giving him enough leash to jump up on people’s legs or knock any of the porch furniture over. Gus suddenly noticed Taco over by the table with the food and strained at the end of the leash.

“Uh oh.” Olive handed her wine glass to Suzette and scooped the pup into her arms.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll be respectful to that cat,” she told the puppy before turning to face the feline. “Taco, my man, are you going to accept Gus into your domain?”

Taco stuck his tail in the air, but didn’t seem particularly bothered by Gus’s presence. Olive slowly set the pup down once more, shortening the leash.

Gus sniffed the floor, finding something more interesting than the cat. Pausing, he began licking at something on the porch decking that I couldn’t see. Taco watched him for a few seconds, then wandered close to sniff whatever Gus was licking. The pair stood there, nose to nose, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Then Gus looked up, apparently startled to see Taco in front of him. With a quick step backward, he let out a sharp bark.

Taco ignored him, still sniffing at the spot Gus had been licking.

The dog barked once more. I tensed when Taco looked up at the pup and swiped his face with a paw, but the cat kept his claws retracted and the move seemed more playful than any sort of warning.

Gus sat down on his butt and tilted his head as he regarded the cat. He didn’t bark. Taco swatted him again with a soft paw, then returned to sniffing the porch while the puppy stared at him.

So far so good. I decided that Taco must have been exposed to dogs before and wasn’t particularly bothered by them. And Gus seemed smart enough to know where he stood in relation to the feline of the house. After watching Taco for a few seconds, Gus laid down and let out a big sigh.

Well. That obviously was one less thing I needed to worry about.

“Tell us all about your new puppy,” Violet said to Olive. “Where did you get him? How did you decide on this particular breed? Are you really going to show him, or is he just a pet?”

Olive beamed. “I’ve always loved French Bulldogs. When I was little, I showed our family dog in 4H, then started taking my Boston Terrier to AKC shows after college. I always wanted a French Bulldog, though.”

“I had no idea you showed dogs,” Kat commented.

Olive shrugged. “It was a fun hobby. My Boston Terrier wasn’t bringing home any trophies, and I wasn’t planning on breeding her, but I loved the competition and comradery of the dogs shows. I decided I wanted to get back into that sort of thing.”

“Well, Gus is definitely adorable,” I chimed in. “I don’t know much about breed standards, but I’d give him a trophy if I were a judge.”

“Oh, he’s got an impressive pedigree,” Suzette told me. “Once we found out Gus was sired by Wilmont’s Heart of a Lion, we knew he was the puppy for us.”

Olive dug a paper out of her purse and unfolded it before passing it around. “Here’s a copy of Gus’s lineage. Denny Topper at Fairwoods Kennel has exclusive rights to breed Grand Champion Wilmont’s Heart of a Lion. Lion was twice Best of Breed at Westminster. He came close to winning Best in Show one year. He was the absolute standard as far as French Bulldogs were twenty years ago. I’ve got a list from the AKC of all the registered puppies Lion has sired over the last ten years, and it’s only a hundred and twenty. We were lucky to get Gus.”

I did the math. “Wait. How old is this Heart of a Lion dog if he was winning dog shows twenty years ago? And how is he still having puppies?”

Daisy laughed. “Doggie Viagra? Please tell me it’s doggie Viagra!”

Olive chuckled. “No, it’s not doggie Viagra. Wilmont’s Heart of a Lion died fifteen years ago. Denny Topper at Fairwoods Kennel is another French Bulldog breeder. He bought the stock and breeding rights from Gus Wilmont’s estate after he died. Smartest thing he ever did.”

“Breeding rights to a long dead dog? How exactly does that work?” Daisy asked. I was glad that I wasn’t the only one confused about this whole thing.

“Straws.” Suzette held up both hands and shrugged. “It’s sounds like science-fiction, but evidently it’s been a thing since the nineteen-sixties. Cryopreservation. Frozen semen. If you’ve got a dog with some amazing genes, you can freeze his stuff and he’ll be siring puppies long after he’s gone.”

My mouth dropped open. “Even fifteen years later? Doesn’t it degrade or something?”

“Nope. It’s good indefinitely,” Olive said. “They use liquid nitrogen. When they thaw it out, they rate the motility and that determines how many straws you need, but the swimmers are still good.”

Wow. I hadn’t known any of this at all. And I couldn’t believe we were standing on my front porch at Friday happy hour, discussing frozen dog semen.

Olive went on to talk about her pup’s genetic background and how she’d decided to call him Gus to honor Gus Wilmont, the breeder of the puppy’s sire over two decades ago. Looking over, I saw that the pup and Taco were busy ignoring each other. The cat had jumped up into a porch chair and was curled up on the cushion with Gus sniffing away underneath. Taco didn’t seem bothered at all by our canine guest, and Gus was clearly more interested in what food people may have dropped on the ground than the cat.

Judge Beck moved to stand beside me, while Matt, with a beer in his hand, joined the conversation about Gus’s impressive lineage.

“They seem to be getting along okay.” The judge nodded toward Taco and the puppy.

“Thankfully yes.” I smiled up at him. “It’s a relief. We’ll be able to get our puppy fix on Friday evenings when Olive brings this little guy over. All the joy, and none of the work.”

“And a happy cat. Or at least a cat who doesn’t seem particularly disturbed to be sharing the porch with a puppy.”

“Did you mean it when you said you might be interested in a dog?” I asked him. “Daisy plans to drag me around to half a dozen rescues and shelters tomorrow. Obviously I wouldn’t make any split-second decisions, but if you really want a dog, I can keep my eyes open.”

“It’s your decision whether or not we get a dog. Honestly, I’m happy with just Taco.”

“I think I’m happy with just Taco, too.” I remembered what he’d said about Heather and decided I needed to elaborate. “It’s not just my decision, you know. You live here too. I would never adopt a dog or another cat without getting your input first. And I’d absolutely respect your decision on whether you wanted a new four-legged roommate or not. I just want you to know that I’m open to discussion and compromise on these kinds of things. If you really want a dog, now or in the future, I’ll be open to discussing the idea. Although I kind of like just having Taco right now, your opinion and your wants are important too.”

He smiled. “I appreciate that. I don’t really think it’s a good time to add another pet to the household. I’ll admit I was a little worried about your intent when you started asking questions about Gus’s parentage and the breeders, though.”

“Come on, you didn’t find all that fascinating?” I elbowed him and grinned. “Frozen semen from a long dead dog. It’s almost like a science fiction novel.”

“Or a horror novel,” he teased. “A zombie dog, passing on strange genetic traits through cytogenetic breeding.”

I looked over at the puppy. “If Gus’s head spins around or his eyes glow, I’m running for the house and locking the door behind me.”

“I’ll grab the wine on my way in.” Judge Beck shifted to look at Gus as well. “Think he’ll start eating brains? Mind-controlling Olive and Suzette? Levitating objects with a wave of his paw?”

“I hope not. Good thing he’s all of seven pounds right now. I think we can fight him off,” I said.

The judge shook his head. “I’ve read the books and watched the television shows. Seven pounds of zombie dog is still seven pounds of zombie dog. I’d rather grab the wine and run than try to fight an undead puppy.”

“Taco would defend us,” I told him, knowing Taco would probably be the first one in the door. Or maybe not. The cat had proven to be a good defense against poltergeists—especially when the ghosts messed with his food.

“His parentage might have horror-movie potential, but I think we’re safe. At least for tonight.” Judge Beck reached out a hand for my empty wineglass. “Can I get you a refill?”

I looked around at all my friends here on my front porch, laughing and enjoying themselves. The heater gave off just enough warmth to keep us comfortable. There was food and drink and companionship. And a puppy now, in addition to my cat. I loved this tradition I’d started just after Judge Beck moved in. I loved the direction my life had taken after tragedy had left me wondering what the future held.

My heart felt close to bursting with sudden happiness. And as for another wine…well, just like Kat, I didn’t have far to walk.

I slid the empty wineglass into the judge’s gloved hand. “Thank you. I would like a refill.”