Page 125 of Not That Ridiculous

Just Liam.

I looked around, my heart fluttering unpleasantly. I rubbed the centre of my chest, telling it to chill out.

“Where’s Kevin?” I said.

Liam’s hands paused mid-scrunch. He pivoted on the balls of his feet to look up at me. “Gone home.”

I stared at him. “Is he coming back?”

“No.”

I stood there like a muppet, wrong-footed. Liam straightened and caught my arm, easing me towards the house.

“Come on,” he said.

I scanned up and down the street, looking for Kevin’s Land Cruiser.

It wasn’t there.

Because he’d gone home.

Liam squeezed my arm. “Charlie,” he said.

“Yeah. Yes. Of course.” I pulled away and strode into the house, down the hall, and into the kitchen. Right. Fine. Tidy up the kitchen, pack Phil’s bag, wait for Katie to pack mine, and then?—

I paused by the kitchen table, cluttered with cups.

Kevin hadn’t drunk either of his lattes. The hearts I’d drawn on top without even thinking about it had dissipated.

You couldn’t even tell they were lattes anymore; the drinks may as well have been flat whites.

I grabbed a tray from the counter, briskly loaded it up, and marched over to the sink. I turned the hot tap on and emptied the cups, washing it all away. I got out the washing-up liquid, squirted it onto a sponge, and got to scrubbing. Liam came up behind me. I tensed. “If Kevin’s allowed to go,” I said without looking at him, ”I assume I am, too?”

“Yes. Katie’s got your bag. What does Phil need?”

I set a clean cup on the draining board and picked up another one. “Food bowl, water bowl, lead…” I listed it off, then paused. “Does the Premier Lodge allow dogs in their rooms?”

Liam was over by Phil’s cupboard, pushing Phil out of the way when he kept trying to stuff his head in it. “Don’t worry about it,” he said.

“Iamgoing to worry about it, Liam. I’m not leaving him to sleep in my car. He’s a big boy. He won’t be comfortable. I won’tleavehim. You know what? It’s fine, I’ll give Suzanne a call. She’ll take him overnight, I’m sure.” I finished washing the cups and picked up a tea towel. “Unless you want to take him?”

“I’d take him in a heartbeat, and you, too, Charlie, but I can’t because?—”

“Sure, sure. Sure. You’re investigating. You’re on the case.” I dropped the tea towel—the cups could air-dry—and went to shuffle Liam out of the way. He let me move him without complaint, and I quickly got Phil’s backpack crammed with food and snacks, his bowls, and his favourite squeaky toy, and clipped his lead onto his collar. Phil already had a bed in the back room of Suzanne’s shop. Oh. He had bowls too. Well. They were in there now. No point in unpacking them.

I looked down at him then up at Liam, who was watching me with sympathy in his eyes if not on his face, which was very firmly set in detective mode. “You know,” I said slowly, “Phil never once went upstairs. Not once in all the time I’ve had him.”

Liam’s sandy brows twitched together. “Never?”

“Nope.”

“Not even to sleep with you?”

“No.”

“I’d have pegged him for a bed hog. He’s pinned me to the sofa enough times.”

“I know. My boy was born to snuggle. But he point-blank refused to put even a paw on the stairs. Do you think he knew about the body? Bodies, I mean. Do you think that’s why he didn’t go up?”

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