Afraid to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

And Alvarez definitely wasn’t going to think about it now.

Her new puppy, a mottled mix of some kind of shepherd and either a boxer or lab, roused in his crate, stretching and barking to be released while her cat, Jane Doe, who always slept on the second pillow of the bed, lifted her head and blinked.

Seeing that Alvarez was awake, the puppy made I-need-to-go-out whines that turned into excited yips. All the enthusiasm she was lacking seemed to manifest itself in the half-grown dog.

“Hey, you know better,” Alvarez admonished the pup before letting him out of his kennel. Immediately he began leaping and barking at her despite her best efforts of controlling him. “No, Roscoe! Off! Down!” He streaked into the living room of her town house, running in circles around the ottoman and coffee table before wiggling with excitement at the patio door.

Alvarez glanced at the cat, who’d climbed onto a shelf over the desk and took in the scene with feline disdain. “Yeah, I know. Don’t rub it in.” Seconds later, she let the dog outside, where he disappeared into the darkened corners of her small yard to, no doubt, lift his leg on every tree, bush and post he could find. It was still snowing, she noted as she closed the slider against a gust of winter air so cold it cut through her flannel pajamas. Through the glass, she saw that the pots she’d left on her patio were covered with five inches of icy white fluff, the lawn, before Roscoe tore into it, blanketed in a peaceful coat of white.

Yet she found no peace or serenity with the snow.

Adopting Roscoe had been a rash decision, especially on the heels of buying this town house, but now it was a done deal and the stupid dog had burrowed a special little spot into her heart.

Despite his faults.

“Pathetic,” she told herself.

Bounding back to the slab of concrete that was her patio, he started clawing at the glass of the sliding door. She cracked it open and he tried to race inside, but she caught him by the collar. “Not on your life, guy.” Using the hand towel she hung on the door handle for just this purpose, she wiped each of his huge paws before allowing him inside again.

Rarely did she go to the gym now; instead, she ran with the dog, wearing him out before she showered, dressed for the day and left him in the laundry area. It wasn’t an ideal setup, but as soon as she was convinced he was completely housebroken, she figured she’d install a doggy door and then could forgo hiring the neighbor woman to walk him at noon. She seldom stayed late at the station any longer, opting to bring her work home with her.

Which was probably a good thing.

But reminded her only that she was alone.

Not that she hadn’t dabbled in dating in the past year. A few had been interested in her, but she hadn’t returned the favor. She’d dated Kevin Miller, a pharmaceutical salesman who was a gym rat in his spare time and was always talking about his job. He’d bored her to tears. Terry Longstrom was a psychologist who worked with juveniles who’d been arrested, and he’d taken her on a couple of dates, but for all of his good points, she just didn’t find him attractive, and as shallow as that sounded, she couldn’t pretend to be interested in him. The worst of the lot though was Grover Pankretz, who had once worked in the local DNA lab before his job was eliminated when the company had downsized. A brilliant man but a little too possessive from the get-go. He’d wanted to get serious by the second date. So she’d ended that before it really began. Fortunately all of the men interested in her had moved on, either away from the area or onto new relationships. Terry and Grover, she’d heard, had married.

The truth was simple: She just wasn’t ready to date seriously. . . as evidenced by her ridiculous fantasy for an older, unavailable man like Dan Grayson, who just happened to be her boss. Typical.

“Face it,” she told herself, “you really don’t want a man in your life.”

She finished with her morning routine and drove to the sheriff ’s office on Boxer Bluff. Traffic was snarled in the usual places and backed up where a single car had slid sideways just before the railroad tracks. All the while the snow kept falling and her wipers worked double-time to slap the flakes away.

God, she hated this time of year.

It seemed that here, in Grizzly Falls, the Christmas season brought its own share of disaster with it. Despite the holiday wreaths on the doors, the trees decorated and glowing festively in the windows, and the twenty-four-seven deluge of Christmas carols from the local radio stations, trouble lurked in the shadows of all the radiant joy. Not only did domestic violence cases escalate during the holiday season, but, in the past few years, some homicidal maniacs had terrorized the locals.

Not exactly a season of peace and joy.

The road was slick in spots, but her ten-year-old Subaru gripped the road and churned up the frozen, icy streets without any trouble. The Outback was another change in her life, though of course she knew that all the new cars and town houses wouldn’t fill the hole inside her. The pets were a step in the right direction, she thought as she pulled into the parking lot of the station. She’d inherited the cat on a case last year, as its owner had been the victim of a vicious murder and she’d felt a connection to the animal, but the puppy had been an intentional, if irrational decision.

What had she been thinking?

Obviously not about pee on the carpet, chewed furniture or vet bills; nope, she’d seen something warm and cuddly, with bright eyes, a wet nose and a tail that wouldn’t stop wagging when she’d visited the shelter.

“Stupid,” she told herself as she drove toward the station, but she couldn’t help but smile. She’d thought Roscoe would be some kind of protection, keep burglars at bay.

Yeah? Then why did you feel as if someone had been in your house last week, huh? Remember that premonition that something you couldn’t describe had been changed at the town house? Where was Roscoe the guard dog then?

Of course, it had probably been nothing, just her case of nerves after interviewing Neil Freeman, yet another sicko who had let his eyes run all over her while she questioned him about his dead mother. Turned out the mother died of natural causes ... but his demeanor, his salacious turning of every answer into something sexual and the way he touched the tip of his tongue to his lips as he stared at her had really gotten to her. Which was probably just his intention. Twisted creep!

She told herself again that Freeman had not been in her house and that Roscoe would have let her know it if he had.

And how would he do that? Face it, Alvarez, you’re becoming one of those kinds of pet owners. Inwardly, she cringed.

Damn it, she loved that dog and maybe, just maybe, Roscoe was just what she needed. She knew only that no matter what, she wasn’t going to give him up.

Wheeling into the parking lot, she turned her thoughts to the weeks ahead. There was the Christmas party for the office, of course, and Joelle Fisher, the receptionist cum Christmas elf, had already decorated the department and started talking about the Secret Santa exchange that she always organized. Alvarez wasn’t interested; she just knew that she’d pile on a lot of extra hours over the holidays. That was her Christmas tradition; let the people with families stay home.