Grant’s heart pounded. She understands.
“So, are we doing good cop/bad cop?” she asked quickly in an excited tone. “Can I be the bad cop?”
With her expertise with colorful expletives, he was sure she could nail that role, but he preferred a more subtle approach. “She’s not a criminal, at least not as far as we know. She may have feared for her life when she fled. We can’t scare her. I don’t want to chance her running again before we know what she knows.”
“Gotcha. Good cop/good cop.”
“Or no cop. We’re just people asking questions.”
Hand in hand they walked up onto the wrap-around porch of a small brick home. It was nicely kept, but modest. Grant knocked on the door.
Barking ensued, followed by a woman hushing them and telling one to lie down. A moment later, a flustered brunette with a wild amount of curls and a bright smile opened the door. She looked about the age Pamela Thompson was said to be: 55. “You’re early,” she said in a rush, “but I’m glad you brought your husband. Wait until you see them. It breaks my heart to part with them, but I didn’t even want one dog—I certainly can’t have five.”
“No, of course not,” Viviana said smoothly. “We’ve been shopping around and talking to so many people lately that everyone’s stories have blended into one in my head. Where did they come from again?”
And just like that, Pamela led them into the house and invited them to have a seat on her couch. A black, long-haired female retriever ambled over to them and laid her head on Grant’s knee. He petted it absently and let Viviana take the lead.
“It’s a long story. Would you like a glass of water?”
Both Viviana and Grant said they would. Once they were all seated in the living room, the woman said, “Opal is a flat-coated retriever. She came to me when my neighbors decided to move closer to their grandchildren. They didn’t tell me she was pregnant so I don’t know who the father was, but if you’re willing to take a chance on them, I can’t imagine sweeter puppies. She’s a love, and I’m sure they will be, too. Would you each like to hold one?”
“That’s not—” Grant started to say.
“We would love to,” Viviana spoke over him.
The woman returned with two squirming black puppies. One was all black, the other had a stripe of white down its nose and belly. She handed one to each of them. Grant’s only experience with dogs had been Kenzi’s rescue. He wasn’t prepared for the amount of slobber and kisses that one small animal could deliver. He would have put it down, but at least to start with, it was important to appear interested. “This is a lively one,” he tried to sound pleased.
Viviana was cuddling hers, and it looked ready to fall asleep. Sure, she gets the quiet one.
“So, have you lived in Bright long? We’re in an apartment now, but we’re looking to buy a home,” Grant said.
The woman looked concerned. “I’ve been here almost thirty years. Make sure a puppy is okay with your landlord before you decide on one. I’d hate for you to have to bring it back.” She smiled as if reminiscing. “Everything changes once you take them home and fall in love with them.”
“Oh, we’ve already cleared it with the landlord.”
“That’s good,” the woman said with relief.
“Thirty years,” Grant said, “and yet I hear a slight accent. You’re not native to Australia, are you? Where were you originally from?”
The woman’s smile faded. “So, the female is the runt of the litter and the one your husband is holding should be one of the largest. If you’re looking for an active dog, I’d choose the male. If you want one that will lie at your feet, I’d choose the female.”
Grant exchanged a look with Viviana and made a decision. “We’re not actually here about the puppies.”
The woman’s eyes widened and she stood. “Then what are you here for?”
Viviana continued to cuddle the puppy to her. “We’re hoping you could help us find someone or find out what happened to him.”
The woman clasped her hands in front of her. “I’m always willing to help out when I can. Who are you looking for?”
Grant put the squirming puppy down by his feet. “You are Pamela Thompson, yes?”
“That’s right.”
“Was your maiden name Thorsen?”
She shook her head. “What is this about? Who are you?”
Grant stood. “We know most of the story already, we’re looking for you to fill in what we don’t. You can either talk to us or the authorities we’ll send here. One way or another, we’ll get the answers we came for.”
Pale, and with shaking hands, the woman picked up the puppy and returned it to a small pen then held out her hands to take the puppy back from Viviana. “I have no idea what you think I might know, but you should go now.”
Viviana handed her the puppy, but held onto it a moment after the woman accepted it. “No one thinks you were involved. We think you might have seen or heard something. That’s all. We don’t want to disrupt your life here or put you in any danger, but if you know something . . . please.”
The woman placed the second puppy back in the pen and walked to the door. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I will call the police if you don’t leave now.”
“Would you? Would you risk it? I don’t think so,” Grant said in a low tone.
Viviana tugged on his arm and shook her head. “She’s scared. That won’t work,” she whispered.
“Get out of my house—now,” the woman said as she reached for her phone. “Or I most certainly will have you arrested for trespassing.” She paused then said, “I wish I could help you, but I can’t. Sorry.”
Viviana frowned then said, “Grant, can I see your phone?”
He handed it to her without hesitation.
Viviana flipped through his photos until she came across a photo of his family. She held it out so the woman could see it. “We’re not the only ones looking for this person. Do you see the parents in this photo? They were told their son died during childbirth thirty years ago at a clinic in Aruba where you and your brother worked. Sophie Barrington has mourned the loss of that son for thirty years, but she just found out the baby she buried wasn’t hers. Can you imagine how that is tearing her apart? The g
uilt? Worse—the hope that he might still be alive somewhere. She never forgot him. None of his siblings ever forgot him.” She touched Grant’s arm. “All Grant wants is to find out what happened to his brother so he can give his mother the comfort of the truth—the peace that one only finds in closure. You’re our only lead, our only hope of finding out what happened to Kent Barrington.”
A large older man walked into the room. “So are you taking one puppy or three?” he joked. When the room remained silent and still all humor left his face. “Pam, is everything okay?”
Pam raised a shaking hand to her mouth. “No.”
The man moved to stand protectively in front of Pamela. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but either start explaining or get the hell out of my house.”
Pamela covered her stomach with her other arm as if she were about to get sick. Grant watched both expressions carefully. She doesn’t want him to know what we’re doing here.
He doesn’t know.
Grant guessed at their relationship and followed his instincts on how to salvage a chance to speak to Pamela more. “We were undecided if we wanted a dog from a shelter, and my fiancée may have accidently offended your wife by saying she doesn’t approve of private breeders. I’m sure it’s the kind of misunderstanding we can put behind us. We know now that your wife has what we’re looking for.”
Pamela shook her head. “I don’t. Please, just go.”
Grant squared his shoulders. “Even if we leave now, we’ll be back.”
“I don’t like the way you’re talking to my wife,” the man said, rising to his full height.
“Please,” Viviana said, flipping to another photo. “This is Kenzi Barrington. She’s happily married, but she is plagued by questions about what happened to her twin. She believes he’s still alive. Imagine her pain. Anything you know could help ease it. Even if it’s something so horrible you don’t want to remember, please remember just this one last time so she can finally have her answers.”
Pamela kept hugging herself and shaking her head. Her husband put his arm around her. “What is this about, Pam? What are they talking about?”
