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Chapter One
I was running late as usual.
No, not THAT kind of late.
The kind where I forgot to set my alarm and my rescue dachshund, Bandit, didn’t even wake me for his morning kibble.
If I didn’t love the little guy so much, I might have been more upset when he dragged his bowl into the bedroom as I tried to apply my deodorant and put on my shoes at the same time.
It wasn’t his fault I was off schedule.
Not that we really had one.
As the resident dog groomer of the small town of Pecan, Texas, I usually didn’t get clients until the afternoon.
I live in a barndominium that also doubles as my office, so I don’t have to leave in the morning, at least usually.
So, it wasn’t a big deal to stay a little later at my boyfriend and Dallas detective Adam’s house binge-watching the latest fantasy-book-turned-TV show.
I tossed and turned all night, dreaming of dragons.
Bad idea when I was doing a favor for my best friend Sophia Edward’s surly husband, Jake.
The agriculture teacher was out for the week, and they couldn’t find a substitute, so Sophia’s middle school principal husband figured I could teach the kids dog grooming for the week.
An extra paycheck for me, and Jake still came out looking decent, even with the lack of a teacher.
Bandit climbed into the front seat of my SUV like he owned the car—which he practically does. Ever since my divorce, he is all I have. Even with my friends and boyfriend in town, Bandit has always been my number one.
Once buckled in, I pulled out of my gravel drive, coffee in one hand and a bagel sandwiched between my teeth.
I used to run my business out of a shed in my parents’ backyard. A few months ago, one of my first clients, who does dog grooming and sleuthing, gifted me the cheapest rent possible with a new barndominium and grooming shed on her property.
Tiffany may have been a blonde beauty queen that most people wrote off as a gold digger for marrying a rancher twice her age and now dating his brother, but she is one of the most kindest, thoughtful women I have ever met.
And if it weren’t for her, I’d probably still be in my parents’ shed.
And I was still running late to get to the school on my first day of teaching.
Either way, I needed to get better at my timing.
“Jake’s gonna kill me,” I muttered, swallowing the last of my bagel as I turned on Farm to Market Road No. 7 and toward the school.
The old brick building had been in the community since before cars existed, as evidenced by the hitching posts still proudly displayed next to the PECAN MIDDLE SCHOOL sign.
Pulling around to the back, where the big red ag barn was, I held my breath, watching as Jake came out of the building, phone to his bald head as he paced back and forth.
Shoot, was I really that late?
I glanced at the clock; it was only five minutes after the hour. Surely he built it in, knowing I was never on time. At least I was better than his wife, whom he usually lied to and said everything was thirty minutes earlier than it actually was.
Pulling into a spot, I rolled down the window as Jake approached, shaking his head.
“Is everything okay?” I asked sheepishly, hoping that the big bad middle school principal wasn’t about to reprimand me.
It wouldn’t be the first time by Jake or other middle school principals.
But there was something else behind Jake’s eyes. Something other than anger.
Was that worry?
He let out a deep breath. “No, I’ve been on the phone all morning and can’t get ahold of Mrs. Abilene.”
I raised my eyebrows. “The secretary? Has she ever missed a day in her life?”
Jake shook his head. “As far as I know, she didn’t even take a personal day twenty years ago when her late husband passed. This isn’t like her at all.”
“Well, she is older… Maybe she’s sick and can’t get to the rotary phone?” I asked, trying to hide my smile.
“This isn’t the time for jokes, Leslie,” Jake said, but he covered his mouth to hide his own smile.
“Okay, well, what can I do to help?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I guess I need to get back in the school and see who else can cover the front desk. You don’t have class until the next block, so do you think if I unlock the room you can figure things out?”
No.
But that’s not what I answered.
“Sure.”
Rolling up my window, I glanced at Bandit before turning off the car. “We can do this, right, boy?”
He pawed my hand as if he were saying, Yeah, Ma, we got this.
I hopped out of the car with Bandit at my heels.
I had his leash in my bag, but he never ran too far off for me to need it, as evidenced by his prancing alongside me and sniffing the air as we walked into the barn.
There were cows and pigs behind separated red-barred pens, yellow tags dangling from their ears, ready for the shows they were going to.
I knew most of them hadn’t returned from their show yet, so I tried not to make eye contact. I knew I’d get attached to any animal I looked at for too long.
A streak of brown and gold flashed by my peripheral vision as we walked toward the door labeled AG CLASSROOM.
“Are there any loose animals?” I asked Jake, wondering if we’d have to deal with any raccoons or opossums. Bandit was up to date on his rabies shots, but I still didn’t want to have to watch him fight one.
“I think Toddrick said something about there being a barn cat that hung around by the dumpster,” Jake said, fiddling with his key ring.
“Toddrick?” I asked.
Jake sighed. “Yeah. The ag teacher you’re subbing for.”
“So, Mr. Bowen?”
Jake laughed, shaking his head. “You know you can call people by their first name.”
“Not if they’re teachers.”
“You call me Jake.”
The sweat was now dripping off his shaved head and onto his blue Pecan Middle School polo. He was dressed down from his usual suit but still had his polo and jeans starched.
Today must have been an unusual day in the office, and the missing secretary wasn’t helping.
“But you’re not a teacher. I mean, you were one, but I knew you first as Sophia’s husband.” I kept on rambling, hoping he would get the door open quicker and we could get away from whatever barn cat or raccoon was around.
Jake finally must have found the key, jiggling it in the keyhole before pushing the door open.
At least the classroom smelled better than the barn, probably because stems of flowers were tossed all over the tables.
Jake turned on the fluorescent lights, illuminating the room.
It was a pretty large room, but it was packed with linoleum-topped tables, mismatched chairs, and animal statues that covered just about every corner—well, except for the teeny animal bath and stand situated beneath a dirty whiteboard.
That’s what I was going to teach with?
I guess Bandit was small enough, so it should work.
But what about all of the posters on the wall with rules? What if I got those wet?
Jake groaned. “I told Toddrick to clean this place up before he left.”
Jake picked up some of the stems and then tossed them back on the desk. “I don’t even know if we can get rid of these because he’s been teaching endangered plant species. Let me see who is watching the front desk and if they can get me some boxes.”
He didn’t wait for my reply as he shoved a doorstop under the big metal door and headed back to the barn.
“Well, I guess we have some work to do,” I said to Bandit, who was spinning in a slow circle.
I didn’t have much of a plan other than figuring I’d give Bandit a bath and trim his nails. I assumed that with the way he moved around, it could take the full hour of each class, especially if I had to go through a few hours of trimming and brushing.
As I walked toward Mr. Bowen’s desk covered in papers, flowers, and maybe somewhere a computer, the brown-and-white blip skirted through my peripheral vision again.
This time, though, Bandit saw it as he was stalking toward the door.
“Bandit…” I chided.
But it was no use; he was already on his heels, pouncing out of the door like a dog on a mission.
“Bandit,” I yelled, jogging after him.
Jake was on the phone in the middle of the barn, his eyes widening as Bandit scooted past.
“Cat on the loose,” I called as I ran past him after Bandit.
We went past a row of cows and pigs eating their morning breakfast until Bandit rounded a cement-walled corner.
I went to follow after him, then came to an abrupt halt.
It wasn’t a raccoon or an opossum, thank goodness. The brown-and-white streak was an older corgi, its tiny round fluffy butt planted on the cement floor as it whined and pawed at a hay mound.
“What’s in the hay, buddy?” I asked, slowly stepping forward.
But I didn’t have to guess because the floral green dress gave it away, and I was staring at the pale, very dead face of the school secretary, Mrs. Abilene Foster.
End of Excerpt
