Free Clawed: A Gin & Tonic Mystery by L. A. Kornetsky Page B

of interest, or whatever term the real cops actually used? She felt a tremor of panic. But even if they had, that wasn’t enough for the cop to be eyeing her like that, was it? She hadn’t done anything wrong, just being here. . . . Or had they run her name through their computers, found out she’d been involved in murders before? But if so, they’d know she’d never been a suspect in any of them, right? Or was just being around dead bodies too many times cause for suspicion?
    No, it couldn’t be, otherwise Miss Marple would have been cooling her sensible heels in prison for years, right?
    “I’m banned from the entire street?” She kept her tone surprised, not amused, or anything else that might possibly read as snark to someone with a gun. “I promised not to leave town, so that limits where I can walk Georgie,” and never mind that she was staying at a hotel in another neighborhood entirely; if the cop didn’t ask, she didn’t have to volunteer that information.
    The cop glanced down—she’d given Georgie a once-over as she approached, and apparently dismissed her as not-a-threat, but was now able to give her proper notice. “And you’re Georgie, I take it, huh? Hi there.”
    Ginny blessed the money she’d spent on getting Georgie properly trained, because the shar-pei glanced at her for approval, then dropped onto her haunches and leaned her squared-off head into the cop’s hand, accepting the ear-scritch as her just due.
    “Looks tough, but melts like butter, huh?”
    “Pretty much,” Ginny admitted. “But she has to be walked on a regular basis, no matter what—or if momma’s on the most-wanted list.”
    “Yeah, I get that. A dog’s gotta pee when a dog’s gotta pee.” The cop had a sense of humor, thank God. “I was just coming to take the tape down, actually. You’re fine, so long as you don’t actually go near the house itself.”
    Ginny shuddered, and it wasn’t entirely an act. “Believe me, I have no desire whatsoever to go near that house ever again.” She might be an investigator, but she wasn’t a ghoul. And it wasn’t even a lie: desire and need had nothing to do with each other in this case.
    “So just cross the street and I’ll pretend I never saw you.”
    Ginny knew that was a lie: she wasn’t as good at reading people as Tonica, not even close, but this cop wasn’t going to “forget” that the only witness and a possible suspect happened to wander down the street the day after, not when they hammer into everyone’s skull that killers sometimes return to the scene of their crime. But hopefully she wouldn’t bother to tell anyone until the end of her shift, and by the time anyone followed up on it, they’d have a real suspect to go after. . . .
    Ginny crossed the street anyway, and only looked back once.
    *    *    *
    Georgie was confused.
    She had been uncertain about getting in the unfamiliar car the first time, but trusted Ginny, because she always trusted Ginny. She had been willing to stay in the strange room, because Ginny said to stay, and there were enough things there that smelled like Ginny to reassure her. And walks were always good, and meeting new dogs and smelling new smells was always good, but it was all too much of a newness . She had trusted Penny, who told her to make sure she went with Ginny, and she had asked the little dog, who hadn’t known anything, but Ginny had spoken with the other humans, who maybe knew something, so that was good.
    But even though Ginny said the human who was petting her was safe, Georgie wasn’t convinced. The scritches were good, the hand was firm and warm, and the human smelled of coffee and soap, and those were all good things, safe things, pleasant things, but there was something else there, too, that Georgie didn’t like. Something cold and hard and bitter.
    But the scritches were good, and Ginny said it was all right, so Georgie allowed it.
    But as they crossed the street, Georgie suddenly,