I looked over at Savich, who was staring into his nearly empty coffee cup. He looked every inch a mean son of a bitch, big and muscled, wearing jeans and a dark blue turtleneck sweater, short boots. You could count on him to cover your back. “It’s fifteen minutes after eight o’clock in the morning, Mac. I ain’t going nowhere until I get food in this empty belly.”
Sherlock said, “Before we do anything, you guys need to go shower. A shave for you, Mac. Your hair’s standing on end. Actually, both of you could use some more sleep. But it’s odd. You both look real relaxed.” She raised her eyebrow, blinked twice, and walked quickly into the kitchen.
“She knows,” Laura said to me.
“I hope she approves of you.”
Laura and I didn’t share the shower, but it was a temptation. We brushed our teeth together. When we returned, I inhaled the smell of bacon and eggs and nearly cried. I saw that Nolan was riding around on Savich’s shoulder. Grubster was sitting on Sherlock’s lap.
“Quite a menagerie you’ve got,” Savich said, and lightly stroked his fingertip down Nolan’s breast.
“Squawk.”
The table was set. We all sat down like grown-ups. Savich brought out the plates of food he’d kept warm in the oven. “Eat up.” Savich ate for five minutes, then said, “Mac, you mentioned this old fellow, Charlie Duck, who was murdered. What about him? How does he fit into all of this?”
“All we have is his dying words to Doc Lambert: ‘a big wallop, too much, then they got me.’ He knew something about Laura’s drug case, no question at all in my mind about that. But what?”
Laura said, “There hasn’t been a whole lot of time to think since I met Mac, but I agree with him. Charlie found out something he shouldn’t have and that’s why they killed him.”
I said, “After breakfast I want to call the M.E. in Portland and see what he has to say. I want to speak to Maggie Sheffield, the sheriff, and see if she’s learned anything. I’d assume that she would have called here if she’d gotten any leads on Jilly.”
“Charlie Duck’s funeral is this afternoon,” Laura said as she fed a sunflower seed to Nolan, who was seated on a chair arm. “We can go see what’s in the pot and maybe stir it up.”
“We’re going to start stirring the pot much sooner than that,” I said. “Paul’s first on the list.”
Savich reached down and fed a bit of bacon to Grubster. He said to Sherlock, “Do you think they’ll keep us as interested as Scan does?”
“He’s already a hell-raiser,” Sherlock said. “Savich is trying to find some weights light enough for him so he can begin his training.” She looked at Grubster, who was now washing himself on one of the love seats. “That’s some cat,” she said. “Big varmint but a sweetie.”
“I found him when I was a sophomore in college. He was so tiny and skinny then, not larger than one of his legs is now. The vet thinks he’s about seven or eight years old now. Once Grubster trained me with a can opener, he never stopped eating.”
Sherlock made more coffee. I lit the logs in the fireplace. The room was soon warm and cozy. Sherlock said unexpectedly, “It was probably a good thing you saw Laura use a gun. She was forced to tell you everything. I hate to go into situations blind.”
“My wife,” Savich said, patting her thigh, “can find a silver lining in a ditch. But you know, it’s probably better that the shooters got away. If you’d taken them in, the shit would have hit the fan and you’d be sitting here watching yourself on national news. The agency directors would be arguing about who should be in charge, and the criminals would probably disappear while all the bureaucratic chaos was going on. You and Laura would be separated and sent to different sides of the country for endless debriefings that would ultimately lead nowhere. So Sherlock’s right, as usual.”
He stood up and picked cat hairs off his jeans. “I do have an announcement to make. Laura is nuts about you, Mac, so there’s one good thing in all this mess. Now, let’s get this show on the road.”