Page 84 of No Judgements

“Is that my dog?” Rick asked in tones of disbelief, apparently astonished at the transformation of this sleek, confident creature before him, and the dirty, pathetic one that had lain for so many months beneath his bar stool.

The sheriff’s deputy was quick to retort, before Drew could say a word, “In your statement you said you didn’t have a dog, Rick.”

Rick turned swiftly back to his raking. “I don’t. I don’t.”

“Then try to keep your story straight.” To me, Ryan said, “Drew told me you’re running some kind of pet rescue for all the people who are stuck on the other side of the bridge?”

Startled, I said, “Oh! Yes. I am.” I couldn’t believe that Drew had been talking about me. “I mean, if it’s all right with you—”

“’Course it’s all right,” the sheriff’s deputy said. “I think it’s great. According to the engineers, it might be eight, ten days before we can get that bridge repaired. We’re gonna need all the help we can get—”

“Eight or ten days!” I was shocked. Most of the homes I’d already visited had left only enough food for two or three days. “We’re going to run out of pet food. Do you think Frank over at the Emporium is going to reopen soon?”

Drew was frowning. “Frank and his family evacuated, as well.”

I was horrified. “Where am I going to get food for all the dogs and cats people left behind?” I glanced at the sheriff’s deputy. “Do you think Frank would mind if I broke into his store and took what I needed, then left an IOU?”

Ryan was already shaking his headnoin disbelief when Drew laid an arm around my shoulders. “We’d better leave the nice officer to his work, don’t you think, Bree?” he said, gently steering me in the direction of his house. “Be seeing you, Ryan. Thanks for the help.”

“Don’t mention it.” The sheriff’s deputy looked out at his rough-and-tumble crew, one of whom was taking an impromptu break to lean on his rake and flirt with one of the female electric workers. “Hobart!” The sheriff bellowed. “Back to work!”

Drew whistled to his dogs, who tore themselves away from the birds and sand and came loping after us. “Looks like we’ve got a big day ahead of us,” he said, his lips in my hair.

“We?” I loved the heavy weight of his arm around my shoulders. Even more, I loved the intimate way he dipped his head down to whisper in my ear.

“Of course we. You don’t think I’m going to let you run around town, getting all the glory for rescuing every pet in Little Bridge and keep it all to yourself, do you?”

This time, I didn’t mind when he said the wordlet. I loved his possessiveness.

I wrapped my arm around his waist and hugged him. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Chapter Thirty-One

ARE YOU AN EVACUEE OF HURRICANE MARILYN? IS YOUR HOME IN LITTLE BRIDGE ISLAND? DID YOU LEAVE A PET BEHIND?

We know that you didn’t expect to be gone for this long, or that the storm was going to be this bad!

Call the offices ofJUDGE JUSTINEand leave a message giving your name, address, type of pet(s), their needs, and a way we can get into your home to care for your beloved Fifi or Fido!

We will feed, water, and care for your animalsWITHOUT JUDGMENT!

BECAUSE JUDGE JUSTINE CARES!

Twenty-seven. That’s how many people had contacted my mother’s office since she’d posted the informationabout the Little Bridge Hurricane Marilyn Emergency Pet Rescue Mission. Twenty-seven!

I couldn’t believe there were that many people stranded outside the island who’d left their pets behind... but there were apparently more coming.

“Shawna’s faxing them over later,” Mrs. Hartwell said. She was making copies of the pages she already had. “I hope you don’t mind about the copies, but I think it’s a good idea if we draw up a schedule. That way, we’ll not only know where you are at any given moment, and be able to find you, but we’ll also make sure all the animals are fed and walked every day around the same time.”

Although everything she was saying made sense, the only thing I could focus on was: “Fax?”

“Yes, from your mother’s office. We decided it would be easier if they just faxed over the names and addresses instead of reading them off. That way, we wouldn’t have to sit there, writing everything down by hand.”

That wasn’t exactly what I meant. “You have a fax machine?”

“Well, yes, of course, for the business. It makes ordering stock so much easier.” She stuck a sheaf of papers in my hands. On the top was a fax cover page addressed to Sabrina Beckham, care of the Hartwells. It was listed as being from Shawna Mitchell, personal assistant to Judge Justine Beckham. Peeking beneath it, I saw several pages of neatly typed names, addresses, and notes about pets, their needs, and how to break into their owners’ homes.

“What’s this, Aunt Lu?” Drew asked. Along one side ofthe library, Mrs. Hartwell had hung a large bulletin board. On it, she’d stuck a map of Little Bridge Island. The map was dotted with brightly colored pushpins, each connected with color-coordinated yarn. “Your murder board?”