Red After Dark (Blackwood Security #13) - Elise Noble Page 0,113

I bet Black was bang up to date with his emails. I breathed a sigh of relief when Dolly came back with the food.

“Eat, eat. What are you doing this afternoon? There’s a classic automobile show over in Suffolk.”

“I’m going to a painting class at the Marshall Gallery. We’re doing dolphins.”

Which should be fun since I couldn’t draw for shit.

“Oh, you’ll have a wonderful time. Who’s teaching you? Loretta? She’s such a talented artist. Quite young, but she went to some fancy art school in New York.” Dolly pointed at a vivid landscape on the wall opposite. “That’s one of hers.”

Way to make me feel inferior. It was no Monet, but at least the boat looked like a boat rather than a tadpole.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“And what are you doing, sugar-pie? Are you gunna paint fishes too?”

“I’m taking Barkley to a dog-training class.”

At the sound of her name, Barkley lifted her head. Dolly didn’t mind her coming inside as long as she lay quietly under the table, and now the grey-haired woman picked a piece of discarded pie crust from an empty plate at the next table and held it out for Barkley to snaffle.

“But she’s such a good girl already.”

Black pulled Barkley’s nose out of Dolly’s crotch.

“Her obedience needs work. She’s no good at staying where she’s told.”

Every evening, Black put Barkley into the new pet bed he’d bought and ordered her to stay. And every morning, he woke to find her squashed against his chest. Or draped over his legs. Or curled up on his pillow. If he overslept, she huffed doggy breath all over his face. She’d had some training—she knew how to sit, and give you a paw, and roll over—but her recall was non-existent, and if she started barking, stopping her was impossible.

“If anyone can teach her, then Dillon can. He’s wonderful with animals.”

“Do you know if there’s anywhere I can ride around here? I’d love to see the scenery from horseback.”

“That’d be Fletcher at Hope Valley Ranch. Ten years ago, the place was a ruin, but he’s fixed it up good and now he offers trail riding. I’ll find you his number.”

“I really appreciate it. And are there any evening activities?”

Even another knitting class beat sitting around the hotel room with Black right now. We could bury our noses in our laptops, but we couldn’t escape the awkwardness that shrouded us.

“The Penngrove Community Theater’s putting on a performance of Much Ado About Nothing.”

I was beginning to think this whole trip was much ado about bloody nothing. Dyson was a ghost.

“Shakespeare? Lovely.”

“Their patron’s a big fan of the Bard. He spent time in England when he was a young man. I’ve got a brochure with all the details somewhere—I’ll hunt it out, but let me go and get your lunches first.”

“Diamond, we could just talk in the evenings,” Black said once Dolly had disappeared.

“How does that help to fix things?”

“We might have to face the fact that Dyson won’t be found. That this can’t be fixed. Then what?”

“Congratulations. Now you know how Alaric’s been feeling for the last eight years.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“And yet it did. I’ve got a horrible feeling your biggest regret is getting caught.”

“That’s not true.”

I shrugged.

The truth was, I did think Black was sorry. And I did miss spending time with him the way I used to. But I’d put up with his petty jealousy for too long, and if I didn’t teach him a lesson now, he’d never learn.

“Prove it.”

We lapsed into silence until Dolly bustled back with enough food to sink a battleship. Black had been running with Barkley early in the mornings, but I’d stayed in the hotel room out of stubbornness. The bulge over my waistband said perhaps I should have a rethink.

“Here you go, sweetie-pie. Ham biscuits and pancakes with syrup and bacon.” One portion had become two. Biscuits for both of us—which came with green beans and potato gratin—and the stack of pancakes was a foot high. A pig had given up its life for our lunch, and Canada was probably experiencing a maple syrup shortage. “And here’s that brochure.”

I wasn’t a Shakespeare fan. I’d skipped school the year we were meant to study The Merchant of Venice, and consequently, I’d never developed an appreciation of his way with words. Nate had tried to educate me on more than one occasion, but I still preferred reading the Heckler & Koch catalogue.

What did Penngrove have to offer? Much Ado About Nothing, Romeo