P. Alderman - Haunting Jordan

“Do you think he’ll have time in his schedule?”

“He’ll have to make time. I doubt Drake is going to wait long before he returns to town, this time armed with an arrest warrant.”

Chapter 13

JORDAN swung by the vet’s office on her way back to the house, arriving hours later than she’d promised the dog and feeling more guilt than she’d ever felt over the failure of her marriage. At the sound of her voice, the dog started howling from the back area.

The receptionist grinned. “He’s been despondent since you dropped him off yesterday. I think you just reaffirmed his faith in human beings.” She told the technician who was sitting beside her to bring him out. “You didn’t give us his name though. We need it for our records.”

Jordan felt her face heat. “We haven’t agreed on one yet.”

The receptionist didn’t seem to find her comment the least bit odd. “Then we’ll use your name for now. But call us when you decide so we can properly file his records.”

Jordan handed her a credit card to pay the bill, then quickly braced as the dog exploded through the door from the kennel area, dragging two people in his wake. He ran straight at her, planting his paws on her shoulders. Jordan staggered under the impact, laughing and letting him lick her face and neck.

“Aren’t you gorgeous!” She hugged him, stunned by the change in his appearance.

The vet, a trim woman in her midforties and attractive in a natural, farm-girl sort of way, helped pull him off Jordan. “I’m so sorry—he’s a little hard to control once he gets an idea in his head. You didn’t leave a leash—”

“He doesn’t like them,” Jordan explained. “Any health problems?”

“None that we found.” The vet rubbed his head. “He’s around four years old and in good health, other than being underweight. We brought him current on his shots, so he may sleep a little more than usual today. I’ve prepared a list of foods and supplements you’ll want to consider, to bring his weight back to normal and boost his immune system.”

Jordan signed the credit card receipt, then leaned down to give him another hug. “I can’t believe how handsome he is, now that he’s clean.”

“He’s a mix of Great Pyrenees, Saint Bernard, and German shepherd, all smart breeds. He’s very gentle and intelligent, and—we seem to have established—loyal.”

“I’d already figured out the intelligent part,” Jordan said wryly. “So you have no idea who owned him before me?”

“Nope.” The vet smiled. “And it doesn’t really matter, does it? He’s chosen the person he wants to be with.”

* * *

AFTER loading the dog plus all the food and supplements she’d purchased into the Prius, she drove to the house. The men were gone, along with the detritus from the wisteria. Though Amanda’s tent was still in the backyard, she was nowhere to be found. Tom had left notes taped to a kitchen cupboard indicating he’d get back to her within a couple of days with the remodeling plan.

When Jordan stuck her head into the library, she found Hattie and Charlotte still mysteriously absent, which had her wondering whether they were occasionally called back to wherever ghosts came from, for some kind of confab with their superiors. Surely there was some sort of society, complete with its own laws that ruled the spectral realm. It made sense, didn’t it?

Feeling antsy and unable to settle, she headed for the kitchen to retrieve her portable CD player. She’d take advantage of the ghosts’ absence while keeping her mind off the meeting with Drake by putting some work into those stacks of books in the library. Restoring a sense of order to the room would make her feel as if she’d accomplished something productive for the day.

She put one of Ted’s CDs in and set the player atop the stacks of newspapers on the corner of the old oak desk. With the trio playing in the background, she started sorting through piles of books. The dog collapsed on the floor, stretching out to sleep with a grateful sigh.

Ancient, leather-bound volumes of classics had been heaped together with modern fiction—everything from The Complete Works of Henry James to Vonnegut and Grisham. Alphabetizing the collection, which had to number in the thousands, was out of the question, though she actually considered it for a brief, insane moment. The thought of establishing that level of control over even a small corner of her life held great appeal. In the end, she settled for sorting out the worst of the moldy volumes to be taken to a used-book dealer for assessment, then dusting and stacking the others in the bookcases.

At dinnertime, having organized one entire wall, she knocked off for the day. She was about to wake up the dog when she spied a stack of small, thin volumes that she’d set aside while filling the last bookcase. They didn’t look like published books. Curious, she picked one up and flipped through it. They were diaries—more of Hattie’s, by the look of the writing. She picked them up and headed upstairs to add them to the growing pile of reading materials next to her bed.

Fifteen minutes later, she and the dog were on their way to the pub. Though clouds were building to the southwest, she decided they could both use the walk to stretch their legs. If they were caught in the rain on the way home, it was only a few blocks—they wouldn’t melt.

As they walked, Jordan realized she was feeling more confident, and less panicked, now that she’d decided to hire a private investigator. Despite the nerve-wracking interview with Drake, and despite knowing he had every intention of arresting her for Ryland’s murder, she felt, well, good . Charged up. Ready to take on the world.

She shoved both hands into her jeans pockets, frowning. Over the last year, she’d become far more insular than she’d been at any other point in her life. She’d always been a planner, but she’d never been one to avoid problems. Her MO was to analyze, consider alternative strategies, then take action. Since when had she become so passive, so willing to rely on others to come up with solutions?

Because of the public nature of Ryland’s legal problems and their divorce, she realized, she’d gotten in the habit of lying low to avoid the press, and of waiting for others to take action. But in the case of Ryland’s murder, she now saw she’d been far too trusting, assuming the cops would find the real murderer.

Well, no more of that , she decided as they reached All That Jazz. Deciding to launch her own investigation, albeit from afar, was a step in the right direction. Hopefully, she thought as she and the dog entered the pub, Jase would tell her this evening that the private investigator was already on the case, working to develop viable suspects.

“Well, aren’t you just the handsome guy.” Darcy reached out to run a hand down the dog’s back as Jordan followed him over to her table. “He cleans up good.”

Jordan took a seat. “According to the vet, he sailed through his homeless phase with no health problems. Good genes, evidently. He’ll probably become even more insufferable, now that he knows.”

“What makes you think he hasn’t known all along?”

“Valid point.” She pulled her passport out of her jacket pocket and held it out. After a brief tug of war that had Darcy raising one eyebrow, she forced herself to let go.

She glanced around—the pub was already filling up, some people standing around and chatting, others ordering drinks or food. Jordan was once again impressed that Jase felt laid back enough about the business to allow folks to drop in simply to enjoy the music. Most tavern owners would have required people to pay a cover charge and purchase at least one drink.