When a typically closed-off Peg attempts online dating at Rose's strong urging, the experience plays out like an embarrassing mistake. At least, until she matches with Nolan Abercrombie—intelligent, attractive, and a self-proclaimed dog lover. The two share an instant connection that has Peg cautiously excited to finally bring someone special into her busy world of Standard Poodles and conformation shows.
Before Peg can admit that Rose was right and let down her walls for the budding romance, a terrible accident claims Nolan's life. As details about his background and tragic death come to light, Peg has a serious hunch that someone successfully plotted to kill her first real date in decades . . .
With suspects galore and a slew of puzzling clues to peel through, Peg and Rose team up to solve a dangerous mystery unfolding before their eyes. The question is: Can the unlikely duo turn their radically different personalities into an advantage as they scramble to ID the guilty culprit—or will they manage to work against each other and find themselves precisely where a meticulous murderer wants them to be?
Release date:
July 25, 2023
Publisher:
Kensington Books
Print pages:
304
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“Must like dogs,” Rose Donovan said as she typed the words onto the computer screen in front of her.
“You’re crazy,” Peg Turnbull replied.
The two women were in Rose’s office at the Gallagher House, a women’s shelter in Stamford, Connecticut. Rose, an amiable woman in her late sixties, had co-founded the shelter earlier in the year with her husband, Peter. The cramped office had formerly served as a storage room in the repurposed three-story home. It offered only enough space for a desk, a file cabinet, and a somewhat battered rubber plant.
Rose deleted what she’d written and tried again. “Must love dogs?”
“No,” Peg said firmly.
Rose was seated behind the desk. She had short gray hair and pleasant features. Her body was as slender as a twig, with skinny arms and skinny legs to match. Her typing paused. Fingers hovering above the keyboard, Rose glanced upward.
Peg, who was four years older, was standing just behind her. As usual, the woman seemed to take up more space than she was entitled to. Tall and broad-shouldered, Peg had a linebacker’s build coupled with an equally forceful personality.
Rose frowned at her, exasperated. “Then what do you want me to write? Must adore dogs to the exclusion of all else?”
Peg grinned wolfishly. “That sounds about right. But as you know perfectly well, it’s a moot point because I don’t want you to write anything.”
“Don’t be silly.” Rose started typing again. “This is a brilliant idea.”
“It’s the worst idea ever.”
An orange and white kitten was observing the interaction from the top of the file cabinet. Marmalade had been in residence at the shelter for little more than a month. In that short amount of time, she’d already witnessed several arguments between the two women, so this was nothing new.
Since both women were ignoring her, the kitten hopped down from her perch and padded across the hardwood floor to the beleaguered rubber plant. One of its shiny leaves drooped down to her level. Marmalade lifted a dainty paw and gave it a swat.
“For starters,” Peg said, “why would anyone name a dating site Mature Mingle?”
“Because it’s an appropriately descriptive name,” Rose retorted. “You’re mature, and you’re seeking an opportunity to mingle.”
“No, you’re seeking that opportunity for me. Not only that, but at my age, I’m well past mature. In fact, I think I might be entering my second childhood.” To illustrate that point, Peg crossed her legs and sat down on the floor. Marmalade blinked her green eyes in Peg’s direction, then went back to attacking the plant.
“Hold that thought.” Rose pulled up a new screen. “It’s perfect. I’m describing your personality as ‘playful.’ ”
“I tried online dating once before,” Peg mentioned. “It was a complete disaster.” Maybe that would slow Rose down.
“I’ve heard.” Staring at Peg’s nascent dating profile, Rose didn’t even bother to turn around. “Melanie told me all about it. One bad experience and you gave up. I thought you had more gumption than that.”
Until his death a decade earlier, Peg had been married to Rose’s older brother, Max. The two women were sisters-in-law—previously long estranged and now feeling their way toward a tentative rapprochement. Melanie’s father had been Rose and Max’s sibling, so she was both women’s niece.
“I have plenty of gumption,” Peg grumbled. “I’m also capable of learning from my mistakes.”
Rose was undeterred. “That was years ago. Now you’re older and wiser. Plus, you have me to help you sort through your potential dates.”
As if that was a plus. Peg snorted under her breath. A decade earlier, Rose had left the Convent of Divine Mercy to marry a former priest. So clearly her talents in that regard were highly suspect.
“It’s not as though you have copious experience with men,” she said. “If Peter hadn’t been posted to your parish, the two of you would never even have met.”
That bald statement finally had the desired effect. Rose ceased typing. She turned slowly in her seat. She was only trying to be helpful. And, as usual, Peg wasn’t even slightly appreciative of her efforts. Rose was about to give Peg a piece of her mind when she saw the long shiny strands of a shredded leaf littering the floor.
Instead, Rose sighed. “Marmie, cut that out.”
The kitten flicked her white-tipped tail. She turned away from the plant and wound herself around Rose’s leg.
“Good kitty,” Peg murmured.
Rose shot her a look. “How is she a good kitty? She’s killing my rubber plant.”
“That was then.” Peg braced a hand on the floor and levered herself up. “Now she’s a good kitten because she stopped when you asked her to. So you should tell her so.”
Rose reached down and scratched behind Marmalade’s ears. “I thought you didn’t know anything about cats.”
“I don’t. But I know dogs. And also how to modify behavior with positive reinforcement. If you want Marmalade to learn how to behave, you have to teach her the right way to do so.”
Rose sighed again. That was another annoying thing about Peg. She was bossy. And she was always sure she knew best. Although this time maybe she did.
“Forget about the kitten,” she said. “Will behavior modification work on you?”
“It’s doubtful,” Peg replied. “I’m pretty set in my ways.”
Rose certainly wasn’t about to argue with that. “I felt that way once too,” she admitted. “As though I knew exactly what the rest of my life would look like because it was already mapped out in front of me.”
Peg started to interrupt. Rose held up a hand to shush her. Amazingly, it had the desired effect.
“Then I met Peter and fell in love. I left the convent and got married. And suddenly it felt as though my whole world went from black-and-white to technicolor. It was an utterly amazing feeling—one that I want you to experience too. You deserve to meet a man and be happy again.”
“I am happy.” Peg’s reply was firm. “And I already did the whole ‘falling madly in love’ thing with Max. Our life together was wonderful. But I’m not naïve enough to believe that I could be that lucky twice in a lifetime. Max was one of a kind.”
“I get that.” Rose nodded. “But you don’t have to fall in love again. Maybe you could just enjoy spending time with a stimulating companion.”
“I thought you and I were working on being friends after all these years,” Peg said, arching a brow. “Now it sounds as though you’re trying to pawn me off.”
“One can never have too many friends, especially not at our age.” Rose trailed her fingertips down Marmie’s back. “You know perfectly well that’s true.”
Peg really wanted to toss back a snappy retort. Except that all at once she suspected Rose was right. Most of Peg’s friends were retired now. Some had moved out of state to be closer to family. A few had passed away. Even the ranks of her fellow dog show exhibitors seemed to be thinning.
Peg definitely wasn’t looking to find love. But maybe it wouldn’t hurt to broaden her circle of acquaintances.
She leaned down, looking over Rose’s shoulder to skim through the information on the screen. It appeared to be mostly complete. Then again, what did she know? She’d never seen a dating profile before.
“Is that everything?” Peg asked.
“Almost.” Rose swiveled around to face the desk. “Just a few more questions. Any piercings or tattoos?”
Peg barked out a laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”
Rose shrugged. “I already answered all the stuff I knew without asking.”
“So you think,” Peg replied mysteriously.
Rose refused to rise to that bait. “Date of birth?”
“Absolutely not.” Peg reared back. “I have no intention of having my identity stolen from a dating site. Let them look at my photograph and guess how old I am.”
“About that,” Rose said. “You need a picture for the profile.”
“So get out your phone and take one.”
Rose stared up at her. “Now?”
“Why not?”
“Don’t you want to . . .”
Rose flapped her hands like she was trying to communicate something. Peg had no idea what, and considering the subject matter, she had no intention of hazarding a guess.
After a moment, Rose sputtered on. “Comb your hair? Maybe change your shirt and put on some lipstick?”
Peg cast a glance downward. “What’s the matter with my shirt?”
“For one thing, it’s a T-shirt.” Seriously. Did Rose even have to point that out? “For another, it says OX RIDGE HUNT CLUB across the front.”
“I’m sure the kennel club won’t mind. I judge their dog show every fall.”
“Now you’re being deliberately obtuse.”
Yes, Peg supposed she was. “You’re saying I should fix myself up.”
“Bingo.”
“You want me to make myself look like someone I’m not?”
“No,” Rose replied with the patience of a saint. Somehow when she’d begun this project she hadn’t envisioned Peg tossing quite so many roadblocks in her own path. “I just thought that since first impressions count, you might want to present the best possible version of yourself.”
“If I change everything, what will my date think when he sees me in person? Maybe he won’t even recognize me. No, I’m sorry. Mystery man will just have to take me as I am.”
“Men,” Rose said.
“Pardon me?”
“Mystery men. There will be more than one. Nobody gets it right on the first attempt.”
Peg laughed at that. “I’ll be lucky if even one man responds to my profile. You’re an outrageous optimist if you’re thinking in multiples.”
Rose was an optimist. She prided herself on looking for the good in everyone. Even Peg, who sometimes required more effort than most.
“Why wouldn’t multiple men respond?” she replied stoutly. “You’re an interesting and accomplished woman.”
“That’s very true,” Peg acknowledged. “And yet, the thing that will be of most interest to the men on your dating site is what I look like.”
“Precisely,” Rose agreed. She reached across the desk for her purse. “And that’s why we need to be sure to take a good picture.”
Ten minutes later, Rose pronounced Peg ready for her close-up. She’d begun the mini-makeover by freeing Peg’s shoulder-length hair from its low ponytail at the nape of her neck.
“Your hair is thick and shiny,” she said, as she coaxed several gray tendrils forward to curl around Peg’s face. “You should wear it loose more often.”
“If I do that, it gets in my way.”
Rose ignored the comment and dug around in her purse. “Lipstick?”
Peg accepted the tube, opened it, swiveled out the stick, and stared at it.
“Pale peach,” Rose said impatiently. “Surely even you can’t find fault with that.”
Peg dabbed a bit of lipstick on her pinkie finger, then transferred it to her lips. “Better?”
“Getting there.” Rose reached up—way up, since Peg towered over her just as she towered over most people their age—and pinched Peg’s cheeks with her fingertips.
“Oww!”
“Don’t be a ninny. That didn’t hurt.” Rose took out her phone. “I’ll shoot you from the shoulders up so your shirt doesn’t show. Now lift your chin and try to look dashing. Perfect. And smile!”
Peg blinked the first time the camera clicked. Then she grimaced for the second take.
“Third time’s the charm,” Rose informed her. “Otherwise I’m going to have to pinch your cheeks again.”
The threat worked. Peg managed to compose herself and smile at the same time.
“Good enough,” she said, glancing at the image on Rose’s phone. “Now upload the picture and we’re finished, right?”
Rose bent down to the computer once more. “Unless you want to look around the site and scroll through some of the men’s profiles. It’s a two-way street, you know. You don’t have to wait for them to come to you.”
“Heaven forbid,” Peg muttered. “How come you know so much about this stuff anyway? Should Peter be concerned?”
“Hardly.” Rose laughed as she straightened. “Online dating is a hot topic here at the shelter. Women who are staying with us often pass the time browsing on dating apps. Some are only window-shopping, but others are hoping to find someone who’ll treat them better than the abusive jerk they were with.”
“Good for them.” Peg sat down in Rose’s chair. Without waiting for an invitation, Marmalade hopped up into her lap. Absently, Peg scratched beneath the kitten’s chin.
“And then there’s Maura,” Rose said. “It seems like she’s signed up for every single dating site there is.”
Peg was acquainted with Maura Nettles, the shelter’s live-in housekeeper. She admired the woman’s strong work ethic and practical approach to life. Maura wasn’t a dog lover, however. Peg intended to keep working on that.
“That sounds exhausting,” she said. “How many dates has Maura had?”
“None that I know of. But she keeps trying. She’s looking for the perfect man, and she’s convinced he’s out there somewhere.”
Rose reached around Peg, grasped the mouse, and made several adjustments to the page on the screen. Then Peg heard an audible click and Rose grinned at her.
“You’re live,” she said.
In the moment, Peg couldn’t decide whether to feel hopeful or horrified. She picked up the kitten and lowered her to the floor. “So now what happens?”
“Now we wait and see who contacts you.” Rose smirked. Peg wasn’t a “wait and see” kind of person. She was more the “everything should happen right now” type. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about taking the initiative.”
Peg shook her head. “I allowed you to sign me up. That’s as much initiative as I can stand for one day.”
“Your choice,” Rose said blithely. Under the circumstances, Peg could only envy her nonchalance. “In that case, it’s out of our hands. But I have a good feeling about this, Peg. Brace yourself. Online dating just might turn out to be your next big adventure.”
The Gallagher House was located on an older, moderately run-down street in midtown Stamford. Too close to the busy Connecticut Turnpike to be of interest to affluent millennials or real estate flippers, the area had yet to be gentrified like its more attractive neighbors. A row of tall, narrow houses, each situated on a tiny plot of land, lined both sides of the road. Some had been maintained as family homes during their decades of existence. Others had passed from one set of careless hands to the next and were now plainly showing their age.
The building that housed the women’s shelter had belonged to the Gallagher family since the middle of the previous century. Beatrice Gallagher helped Peter and Rose found the shelter, then bequeathed the home to them upon her death earlier in the year. The three-story building had a multitude of windows and a narrow, covered porch. The steps leading up to the front door were newly repaired, but a row of shingles on the porch roof above was beginning to work its way loose.
There was always something that needed to be repaired, replaced, or covered with a fresh coat of paint, Rose thought as she walked back inside after seeing Peg off.
As soon as she and Peter managed to fix one thing, something else broke down. Even with grants, charitable donations, and funding from the city budget, money was always tight. Rose often felt as though she had to pinch every single penny before letting it slip through her fingers.
Then again, having recently spent several years on a mission trip to Honduras, where she and Peter had lived in a tin-roofed hut, cohabiting with more varieties of insects than she’d previously known existed, Rose was well aware of how comfortable her life was now. Clean hot and cold running water? Check. Accommodations that weren’t toppled by a strong wind? Also check. Not to mention the luxury of fresh milk for her coffee each morning.
As Rose shut the front door behind her, Peter came walking down the stairs from the second floor. Nearing seventy, he was a thoughtful and perceptive man who had degrees in counseling and social work. When Peter wasn’t making repairs or grimacing over the Gallagher House ledgers, he served as resident counselor for the women who’d sought refuge in the shelter. He had kind eyes, a ready smile, and an innate ability to draw people in and make them feel at ease in his company.
Now, however, her normally affable husband was frowning. Rose stopped in her tracks. “Trouble?” she asked.
Two women sitting in the living room to the left of the front hall immediately lifted their heads. Liz had been at the shelter for nearly a week. Jules had arrived just the night before with a tear-stained face and only the clothes on her back. Under the circumstances, Rose’s question had clearly been ill-considered.
She quickly turned to step into the wide doorway. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you. Everything’s fine. I was merely talking to Peter.”
He came over and joined her. “Fine is a relative term. I’ve just been up on the third floor. Jenny’s son, Rocky, flushed his sister’s doll’s head down the toilet.”
Jenny and her two children had currently taken over most of the shelter’s top floor. Jenny’s three-year-old daughter, Bell, was adorable, but five-year-old Rocky was a menace. Rose knew it wasn’t charitable to think such thoughts, but she would definitely be relieved when Jenny’s sister arrived in a few days to take the family home with her.
“Just the head?” Liz asked with a grin.
“Yes, although that was bad enough. I managed to retrieve it and unclog the plumbing, but I’m afraid Sissy, the doll, is a lost cause.” Peter’s statement was punctuated by a loud wail that traveled down the stairwell from the top of the house.
“Maybe not.” Jules hopped up. “I grew up with five brothers and sisters, so I’m an old hand at resuscitating dead toys. Come on, Liz, let’s see what we can do to help.”
Liz rolled her eyes as she walked past them. Apparently she agreed with Peter’s assessment of the situation. Nevertheless, she followed Jules up the steps.
“That was nice of them,” Rose said. A person who always tried to be helpful herself, it made her happy when other people took the initiative to do the same.
“I wish them luck.” Peter didn’t sound optimistic. “The doll’s hair is tangled in a huge knot and I think she’s missing an eye. And that doesn’t even address the problem of how to reattach the head to the body.”
“Hopefully Jules will surprise you. And if nothing else, working on Sissy will take her mind off her own problems for a while.”
It was late August so all the windows in the house were open. When a car backfired on the street outside, the noise was so loud it sounded as though a gun had gone off in the hallway. Rose hurried over to the window to have a look.
The vehicle in question had to be at least twenty years old. A low-slung sedan, it might once have been red but now its color had faded to a sickly shade of dusty rose. One dented and mismatched fender wasn’t painted at all. There was a tear in the car’s vinyl roof, and judging by the loud rumble coming from the street, its muffler had been removed.
As Rose watched, the car moved past the shelter, leaving a trail of exhaust in its wake. The driver pulled over to the curb in front of a house at the end of the block. Rose pulled her head back inside. She was turning around to say something to Peter when Maura burst into the hallway from the direction of the kitchen.
“What the hell was that?” she asked.
“Backfire,” Rose told her.
“Thank God.” The housekeeper wore an apron over her faded jeans. She used it to wipe off her flour-covered hands. “I was afraid the porch roof had collapsed.”
“Not yet,” Peter said cheerfully.
“If you’re trying to reassure me, it’s not working.” Maura was in her late thirties and solidly built. She had short, no-fuss brown hair, five piercings in each ear, and a can-do attitude toward life.
Originally she’d arrived at the shelter in need of protection. Several weeks later, after she’d all but taken over managing the place, it had become clear to Peter and Rose that they needed her help as much as she needed theirs. At that point, Maura had moved into the basement apartment and become the shelter’s resident cook and housekeeper.
“I’m trying to be truthful,” Peter said.
“Frankly, I’d prefer reassurance.” Maura walked over to join Rose at the window.
While they were talking, a second car came down the road from the opposite direction and parked in front of the same house. Three men who looked to be in their twenties, hopped out of the two cars and went inside the home. Rose noted that they hadn’t stopped to knock. One of the men had a key. Rose wasn’t at all sure she liked the looks of that.
“What’s the matter?” Peter asked. He knew Rose well enough that even from across the room he could tell that she was troubled.
“Mrs. Mayberry has visitors.”
“Oh?” He came over to have a look. “Anyone we know?”
“No.” Rose frowned. “Three rather rough looking young men just let themselves into her house. I hope Mrs. Mayberry was expecting them.”
When they’d first moved onto the block, Peter and Rose had introduced themselves to each of the surrounding homeowners. They’d explained the mission of the Gallagher House and emphasized that they intended to be respectful of their neighbors’ privacy and mindful of the fact that the shelter was located in a mostly residential area. No one had objected. Indeed, some residents—Mrs. Mayberry among them—considered the shelter to be a welcome upgrade to the slowly deteriorating neighborhood.
Now Peter stared at the two cars at the end of the block. Neither was in good condition, and one had a layer of mud covering its license plate. Peter liked to keep an eye on things, and this looked worrisome.
“I haven’t met Mrs. Mayberry,” Maura said, considering. “But around here, anything’s possible. Maybe she likes hanging out with young men. Could be they’re down there playin. . .
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