Page 14 of On Dry Land

“Useful for all the Olympic swimmers in town,” I deadpan, turning back around and continuing my way to the guesthouse. After a moment, I hear his footsteps behind me, and I know he’s following. As I walk, I pull the key for the cottage off my key ring. Holding it up over my shoulder, I address Spencer. “I’ll leave this with you tonight.”

“Is that the only copy?” he asks. I snort.

“Contrary to how it may seem, I’m not an idiot. I have a spare inside.”

Reaching the cottage, I fit the key and unlock the door, dead bolt sliding free easily. Pushing it open, I reach inside to click on the light before stepping back and waiting for Spencer to walk in. He doesn’t, but hovers uncertainly a couple of arm lengths away on the grass.

“What do you get out of this?” he asks. “Helping me.”

“Absolutely nothing at all.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

Boredom. Apathy. A general disinterest in life. Big brown eyes.

Ignoring the question, I point a finger through the open door. “I hire a company to come once a week—linens are fresh, and everything should be clean. There isn’t any food, but if you’ll tell me what you’d like, I can handle that.”

“Why?” he asks again.

“Food?” I prompt.

“I’m fine.” A pause. “Thank you.”

Tossing him the key, I leave the door standing open and walk away. “Enjoy.”

The winter storm tapers off in the late afternoon, just in time for the sun to go down. Leaning against the windows that face the back of my house, I look across the expansive yard toward the guest cottage. The blinds are drawn on the little picture windows, and the door is closed. Locked as well, I imagine.

“Dryden?” Cody asks. I shift the phone to the other ear.

“What was that?”

“I asked who you called for the Maiden. It wasn’t Vince, right?”

“Lex.”

“Ah.” Cody breathes, relaxing into the exhalation. “Good. She’ll get her right.”

“Mm,” I agree, only half listening as most of my attention is on the cottage. No movement. I wonder if Spencer barricaded the door—pushed the dresser in front of it and hammered nails into the windowsills. I wouldn’t be surprised.

“Want to grab a beer at the Temptress, tonight?” Cody asks, surprising me enough that I jolt out of my stupor. I can’t remember a time he’s ever asked me to go out for a drink. I’ve certainly never extended an offer to him.

“Can’t. I picked up a stray.”

Cody pauses. “You did? Do you even have dog food?”

Snorting, I look down at the pile of foodstuffs I put together in a crate, sitting on my coffee table, waiting to be delivered to my new tenant.

“Yes,” I tell Cody, straightening.

“I didn’t take you for an animal person,” he continues. I almost make the joke that the dog in question seems unlikely to piss on my floors.

“It’s a human, Cody.”

The pause this time around is bloated, not unlike the silences Spencer was prone to on our ride here.

“Didn’t take you for a human person either,” he eventually says. I chuckle, unable to hold it back.

“His name is Spencer Davis, in case you need it for the detective working my homicide. You can have my boat and the Porsche.”