Page 28 of Dead & Breakfast
They made onlyone stop before returning to the station to rescue Sal: the pet store. As it turned out, Theodore wasn’t only concerned with the well-being of dead creatures like Arthur’s husband, but also with the well-being of the living.
“Cats aren’t meant to be carried, not really, but if you’re going to lug her around, might as well do it in style and comfort,” he said before thrusting a soft carrier into Arthur’s arms.
“Is this really necessary?” Arthur asked. If it weren’t for Sal’s attachment to the creature, he might have simply let her wander free by now. A carrier replete with a transparent window in the side seemed a mite over the top for a stray Arthur wasn’t entirely sure they’d keep.
“Oh yes,” Theodore said with a stern nod as he tapped the clear viewing window on the obnoxiously fuchsia backpack. “The better to see you with.”
Arthur would rather adopt every stray in Trident Falls than have a conversation with the werewolf that hinged so heavily on “Little Red Riding Hood,” so he simply paid for the carrier without further protest. He even let Theodore pack Rumble into it—Arthur had enough going on as it was without adding the possibility of an infected cat scratch to the mix—before heading back up the street toward the station.
Upon entry, Arthur was met by the melodious rhythm of Salvatore’s voice as he recited an epic poem. From the sound of it, he was about a quarter of the way throughBeowulf, though he’d chosen a more modern version that had translated all the instances ofHwættoBro. The deputies in sight were all wearing headphones or earbuds, but Sheriff McMartin had no such defense, and a muscle in his jaw was twitching.
“Sheriff McMartin,” Theodore said. “I’d like a word.”
“Anything to get me away from this racket.” McMartin rose and gestured Theodore forward. They both disappeared into the sheriff’s office.
Salvatore quieted immediately. “Arthur, is that you, my darling? It’s been so long, I hardly recognize you, and I know I must’ve aged so much while in prison.”
“This is just the city lockup, and neither of us ages.” Arthur spoke matter-of-factly, but inside, his muscles relaxed. It was a good sign, he told himself, that Sal was still up to his usual antics.
“What are you doing with that werewolf?” Salvatore eyed the sheriff’s closed door. “He’s so square-jawed and tall! You said you’d wait for me.”
Arthur gave Salvatore a dead-eyed look. “He’s helping with your case.”
“Oh my, that’s even more scandalous!” Sal waggled his fingers and fluttered his eyelashes.
“How is that worse than cheating on you?”
“You hate Theo.” Salvatore leaned in to speak in a low, conspiratorial voice. “You must be truly desperate to accept his help. Are you that worried about me? Are you trying to woo me with a grand gesture?”
“We’re married, Sal. I think I’m past trying to woo you.”
“Like us, my dear, the romance never has to die.”
“If you’re going to make fun of me for getting help, maybe I’ll just leave you in jail next time.” Arthur crossed his arms in a huff. He’d not forgotten the falsified alibi and the position it put them in. If Sal had just gone to the dentist like he was supposed to…but he hadn’t, and there was no use wishing he had. These were the cards they’d been dealt and Arthur would have to make the most of a losing hand.
“Don’t be like that, my love. I only jest.” Sal traced a line from Arthur’s forehead to his nose through the bars. “How’s my little smarty-pants getting along with the case? Do you have any suspects yet?”
“A few,” Arthur grunted.
“Care to share? I could help, you know.”
Arthur felt for the notebook in his breast pocket but didn’t retrieve it. A sudden hesitance stopped his hand as he stared into Salvatore’s eyes. What if all the names on his list were wrong? What if the sheriff had gotten it right, after all? Salvatore was not a killer anymore. Arthur knew in his heart that was the truth. Or at least he hoped it was.
“Nothing concrete yet, but…it’s a bit odd that with the mayor gone Nora’s been promoted, don’t you think? And she was at the inn last night.”
“Nora?” Salvatore jerked back. “You must be joking!”
Arthur blinked at his husband. “Not at all. She’s my best lead.”
“You couldn’t think of anyonemoresuspicious? And unpleasant? And also conveniently present at the place of the murder?”
Arthur could. That was the problem. “Who…did you have in mind?”
Before Sal could enlighten him, there was a bang as McMartin’s office door swung open and ricocheted off the wall. The sheriff stormed out, his face flushed, a twitch still present in the vein below his jaw. “This is absurd. When the FPI get here, they’re going to have a lot of questions for you, Mr.Park, about aiding and abetting a murderer—”
“Are you formally accusing my client of murder?” Theodore said mildly.
“Well, no. Not formally. But you can’t—you just—I have aninvestigation to conduct!” McMartin’s face reddened as he spoke, nostrils flaring as he glowered at the werewolf with undue anger. Arthur could relate.
