See Her Die (Bree Taggert #2)(6)

“I need to ask you a favor,” Cady said.

“The last time you said that, you took over my kennel.” Matt and his K-9 partner, Brody, had been caught in the cross fire between the sheriff’s department and a drug dealer. Injuries had ended both of their careers. With his settlement from the county, Matt had bought the property and built a kennel to train K-9s. He’d intended to import dogs from Germany, but Cady had “temporarily” filled the kennel with overflows from her dog rescue. Three years later, the kennel was still full of homeless dogs, and Matt hadn’t made any progress getting his business started.

Cady turned both palms up in a sorry-not-sorry gesture.

Matt snapped the leash onto Greta’s collar. “What do you need?”

She gestured toward the kennel. Matt recognized the older woman standing next to Cady’s minivan. In her seventies, with a head of fluffy white curls and a hearing aid, Mrs. Whitney fostered senior dogs for Cady’s rescue. Since most of the animals Mrs. Whitney took in were unadoptable due to age and illness, Cady referred to her house as a small-dog hospice. Usually, she was energetic for her age. Today, her posture was stiff, and she was clenching her hands together.

“What’s wrong with Mrs. Whitney?” he asked.

“She reported her grandson missing.”

“Eli?” Matt had never met him, but Mrs. Whitney talked about him all the time, and there were about a thousand pictures of the university student in her house.

“Yes.” Cady’s brow furrowed. “She’s really worried. Could you find out what’s happening with the case? She can’t hear well, and she gets confused.”

“I don’t work for the sheriff’s department anymore.”

Cady pursed her lips. “But you must still have friends in the department.”

Friends?

Matt suppressed a snort. “You do remember I was shot by friendly fire.”

Officially, the incident had been labeled an accident, but Matt’s relationship with the sheriff’s department was strained.

“But you’re close to the new sheriff,” Cady suggested.

“I haven’t seen her since she became sheriff.”

Matt and Bree were supposed to have dinner a few weeks ago, but she’d canceled. He hoped she was just busy.

Cady’s eyes begged. “Please, just listen to Mrs. Whitney.”

Matt sighed. “You know I will.”

They walked over to Mrs. Whitney.

The wind kicked up across the yard, and Mrs. Whitney shivered. “Thank you so much for helping.”

Matt held up a hand. “Come inside. I haven’t had my coffee yet.”

Greta needed exercise immediately upon being freed from her crate in the morning. Otherwise, she tormented Brody. Matt commanded her to heel in German, and they walked toward the house. Greta fell into step at his side, glancing up at Matt every few strides to look for a new direction.

Matt led the way into the kitchen. Brody sighed from his dog bed in the corner. Greta made a beeline for the older dog, dropped her shoulders to the ground, and wagged her butt in the air. When Brody ignored her, she nipped at him.

Matt commanded her to leave him alone.

Greta stopped and glanced back at Matt as if to check whether he was serious. He maintained eye contact. Her tail drooped. She gave Brody one last killjoy look, then veered off toward the water bowl. When she was finished drinking, she plucked a black KONG toy from a wooden box in the corner and tossed it in the air.

Matt brewed coffee.

Cady pulled out a chair for Mrs. Whitney, then sat down. Brody got to his feet, stretched, and walked over to greet Cady. She rubbed behind his ears. “That’s my best boy. Does that youngster annoy you?”

Brody wagged. A traditional black-and-tan German shepherd, he had big brown eyes and excelled in looking pitiful. Today, he rested his head in Cady’s lap and gave her a woe is me look that could have won an Oscar.

“Brody has traded early-morning training sessions for after-breakfast naps,” Matt said.

Brody moved from Cady to greet Mrs. Whitney, sitting and lifting a paw with his best company manners. The older woman seemed to calm as she stroked the dog’s head.

Matt brought three mugs to the table and sat across from Mrs. Whitney.

“Thanks for seeing me,” she said. “I don’t know who else to ask. I’m so worried about Eli.”

“When did he go missing?” Matt rested his forearms on his kitchen table and gave Mrs. Whitney his full attention.

She pulled a tissue from her handbag and pressed it to her blotchy face. “Last night, he was supposed to come to my house for Sunday dinner. When he didn’t show up, I called his friends.”

Matt cleared his throat. “I don’t want to be . . . um, indelicate, but maybe he’s with someone. Does he have a girlfriend?”

Mrs. Whitney’s parchment-colored cheeks flushed. “No. He doesn’t have a girlfriend at the moment, and I’m well aware that a young man would rather spend a weekend with a young woman than visit his grandmother.” She blew out a loud breath through her nostrils. “But if Eli was going to cancel, he would call. He might give me a ridiculous excuse, but he’d call. He knows I worry. I called him. I texted, but he hasn’t responded. That’s not like him either.”

Matt asked, “What about other family? Brothers, sisters—”