was sure the drumsticks in her garbage would be much too short to fit the description, and Amy would be exonerated.
Amy looked at Jake. Nothing was said, but the unspoken communication between them was clear. This was getting serious, he thought. This wasn’t funny anymore. They actually suspected Amy.
“It’s okay,” Amy said to the detective. “My garbage isn’t incriminating. You can paw through it to your heart’s content.”
Jake removed his blue veterinary smock. “Let’s get this over with, now. There are only a few appointments left, and Allen can handle them.”
Amy sent him a look of gratitude. She had nothing to hide, but she was frightened all the same. She’d never had anything to do with the police, never even received a traffic ticket. Now she was in the middle of a possible murder investigation.
Suddenly she realized she didn’t have complete faith in the system to protect the innocent. It hurt her to think that someone had accused her of harming an animal; and, what was more, she felt victimized and sullied by the police request that she display her garbage. It lent a certain amount of credibility to the ugly charge.
Half an hour later, Amy sat at the kitchen table with her chin propped up by her hand. Jake sat in a similar position, and the detective kneeled on the floor. Two days’ worth of trash had systematically been strewn onto clean newspapers. Just as they’d all known ahead of time, there had been no feathers, no sign of a butchered bird, no large rooster thighbones, only supermarket packaging.
“I’m really sorry about this,” the detective said. “It was a matter of routine.”
Amy helped scoop up the garbage and stuff it into a large plastic bag. “No problem. Would you like some iced tea?”
The detective declined; he washed his hands and left. The house seemed depressingly quiet. A cherrywood mantel clock ticked somberly in the living room. A bowl of fruit had been placed in the middle of the little table, and Jake stared at it as if mesmerized. Finally, he spoke. “Who do you suppose took that damn bird?”
Amy stood against the counter, her arms crossed over her chest. “You think it could have been a prank? Vandalism? Someone broke into the office and thought a rooster would be a fun thing to steal?”
“That’s one possibility.”
Amy raised her eyebrows. “Another possibility?”
“Who knew the bird was there?”
“A lot of people,” Amy said. “Everyone who works at the clinic, everyone in the waiting room when the bird was brought in, everyone they talked to …”
“Okay, who knew the bird was there, and might have had a motive for taking it?”
“You aren’t thinking of playing detective, are you?”
Jake looked offended. “It isn’t as if I haven’t any experience. I watch a lot of television. I saw Beverly Hills Cop three times.”
She studied him for a moment. “You have any ideas?”
“I don’t like Turner. Besides, he was too fast to point an accusing finger at you.”
Amy agreed. “But why would he want the rooster?”
“Could be a publicity stunt. Could be the change in format isn’t going as well as he’d like.”
“Gee, you’re pretty good at this,” Amy said.
“Yeah, and I don’t even have a script.”
“I’m afraid to ask what comes next.”
Jake looked at his watch. “Dinner comes next. We’ll wait until it gets dark to do our detecting.”
Amy took two potatoes and two rib steaks from the refrigerator. “We? As in you and me?”
“You know where Turner lives?”
“Oh no! Forget it. I’m not going skulking around his house. I’m in enough trouble.”
She scrubbed the potatoes, punctured them, and put them in the microwave. “Besides, I don’t know where he lives. And if I did know, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“Hmmm,” Jake said, stalking her around the kitchen table, pinning her to the counter. “There are ways of making a woman talk.”
He nudged her with his knee and stared into her wary blue eyes with his laughing brown ones. “I could torture it out of you.”
Amy’s gaze dropped to Jake’s mouth. It was smiling and very close. Close enough to kiss, if she wanted. Her hands were splayed across his chest, originally put there to push him away, but now they felt more inclined to caress than rebuke.
She moved her hands over the material of his button-down shirt, straightening his collar, touching her fingertips to the heated skin of his neck. He was nice to touch. Warm and firm. She watched his mouth soften, his lips part ever so slightly. She felt him lean into