Free Dogs Don't Lie by Clea Simon

image, even if the architecture didn’t—I realized that its sudden appearance might lead to a longer conversation. I needed to handle the cop first. Besides, Albert wasn’t known as an early riser.
    Jim Creighton—the duty roster ID’d him as “James”—was an unknown. I’m pretty good with faces, especially one like that, with a chin from a movie poster and eyes like mountain ice. He was either younger than me or from one of the other small towns that huddle down into the Berkshire foothills like so many scared possums. I was betting on the former. He seemed to take his job seriously. If he were any good and not from our town, he’d have fled to the city by now. That had its plusses and minuses. As far as I knew, he didn’t know me, didn’t know my history, but he’d have sources. People who could tell him more about me than I’d like. And while he seemed to have more enthusiasm than experience, there was something about him that worried me. A dogged edge, something Tom had had, too. Specifically, I didn’t know what he thought about me defending Lily, but I bet he thought it odd. Most humans would, and Creighton seemed like the kind of cop who would trust that instinct and follow up on it. In retrospect, I’d let too much show for my comfort. I’d have to see what I could do to rejigger that first impression.
    I paused before the double glass doors that led into the cop shop, remembering to smile just in case anyone was looking out. From here on in, presentation mattered. Creighton had taken against me. Add in that I’d spent the evening before breaking into the murder victim’s house and possibly, just possibly, been seen by another invader, a dark shadow I had slipped by on my way out a back window, and I knew I wanted to appear as cool as a cucumber, no matter how long he left me to simmer. And so I fixed my smile and pushed the door open, entering through a glass foyer that felt like an air lock. The receptionist, an old timer with dead eyes, took my name and nodded me to a seat. I picked up an outdated
People
and caught up on the latest Angelina Jolie news. Some things about waiting areas never changed. I couldn’t find anything about her pets, though.
    Sitting in the large, open room, I wondered what she would have made of the scene at my house, last night, when I’d come home, kitten in tow. Wallis had been horrified. As soon as I’d entered the house, I could feel the tension, and when I switched the light on I got a full view of a furious tabby, complete with arched back and puffed-up tail.
    “And what is
that?”
The fur was just for show. She was no more threatened by the tiny kitten than she’d be by a moth, and that thought made me keep the kitten in my hand.
    “It’s a kitten, Wallis.” Sometimes the direct approach is best. “She’s—” I stopped. I didn’t want to say “witness.” I didn’t know what the tiny catling understood. “A guest.”
    The kitten must have gotten something. She blinked up at me, blue eyes big in that orange tabby face. “
Mama?”
    “Christ.” Wallis turned tail and walked away before I could tell her about the folder. I knew she was heading for my favorite chair, and not to curl up for a nap. We were in for a rocky night.
    ***
    Wallis had gotten me up before dawn, and I was paying for it. The walk with the bichon had kept me from going back to sleep, and I’d barely managed not to bite off the head of his stupid owner. Still, I’d made an effort before coming downtown, and, as I sat there waiting, I knew I looked good. September still hadn’t made up its mind, flirting with summer before leaving him for fall. I’d opted for a sweater. Seasonal, and just the right amount of cling to distract the most inquisitive sort. In this case, I was innocent. Well, if you didn’t count the break-in last night. But I wasn’t stupid—and I had a tricky role to play. I wanted Creighton and his colleagues thinking, looking beyond Lily for a human