Free Shepherd's Crook by Sheila Webster Boneham Page B

would swing by to check the animal shelter when I went to see my mom. And go shopping , whispered that nag in my head. You need a dress for the wedding.
    Yeah, yeah.
    The red Honda—Jo’s car—was gone when we got back to the arena. Hutch’s car was still there, but he was nowhere in sight. I grabbed a bottle of water from my van and poured some into a stainless steel bowl. Jay drank enough to be polite, and I took a swig from the bottle.
    â€œOkay, Bub, let’s think about this a little,” I said, pulling my phone out to check the time. “We’ll give it half an hour, and then we’ll have to go home.” Jay cocked his head, letting his tongue dangle out the side of his mouth, and looked at me as if to say, “Sure! Whatever you say!”
    We strolled to a stump and I sat on it. The charcoal clouds had thickened, and the place felt spooky. I glanced at the door to the storage room and flashed on the way Ray had looked. I closed my eyes, forced myself to breathe, forced other images to the top. A blue jay was screeching somewhere behind me, and a pair of mourning doves cooed from the corner of the building.
    There are no ghosts here . I shivered. You’re alone with your dog, and safe.
    And then I wasn’t.

nineteen
    An almost slim young woman in pressed jeans, blue cowgirl boots, and a fitted denim jacket over a red sweater was coming my way from the far end of the pole barn. I could hardly believe how much she had changed in the past year. Apparently trauma can have positive effects on some people.
    She bent to pet Jay and said, “Hi, Janet. How are you?”
    â€œGiselle! What are you doing here?”
    Giselle Swann trains at Dog Dayz, as do Tom and I, but since Precious, her Maltese, weighs about six pounds, collar and all, Giselle wasn’t one of the sheep-herding crowd. Not that Precious wouldn’t have been willing—he’s a gung-ho agility and obedience dog, and Giselle had recently started tracking with him. He might control the sheep by sheer will.
    â€œI heard about the missing dog, the Sheltie, and I had a little time between classes, so …” She smiled at me, and I realized that she was wearing lipstick and eye makeup, all very subtle and becoming. And I would bet a morning’s photo shoot that she weighed at least eighty pounds less than she had a year earlier.
    â€œGiselle, you look fantastic.”
    Color rose in her cheeks and I expected her to deflect the compliment, which had always been typical Giselle, but she fooled me.
    â€œThanks, Janet.” The smile expanded. “I’m pretty excited to be able to wear jeans that don’t have an elastic waist.”
    I resisted the urge to pull my comfort-waist pants a little higher.
    Giselle leaned in and lowered her voice. “What’s going on? I heard that some sheep went missing on Saturday, and a man committed suicide?”
    â€œI don’t think we know that it’s suicide.”
    â€œThat’s what the radio said.” Giselle looked thoughtful. “I’m not really sure which is better.”
    She had a point. In case she had heard a different newscast than I had, I asked, “What did the news story say about the sheep?”
    â€œJust that they were missing and police were investigating. They said it might just be a case of negligence, that maybe someone didn’t latch the gate.”
    â€œI really don’t think so. Summer and Evan are obsessively careful about their animals.”
    Giselle narrowed her eyes at me. “Maybe you should do some sleuthing. You’re pretty good at it.”
    I was about to decline when Hutch came around the far end of the long building. I pointed with my chin and said, “I think I’ll let him take care of it.”
    Giselle turned around and gasped. “Is that …?” Her voice drifted off, and I wondered whether Hutchinson made Giselle nervous. He had interrogated her during