The dog wagged and grinned but didn’t move. If Levi wasn’t mistaken, that was Faith Holland’s dog, judging by the size of his enormous head and neon-green plaid collar. The Knoxes lived about a mile down the Hill from the Hollands, and they kept chickens that made up about seven percent of Levi’s calls...they were free range, which meant they often wandered onto the road and had once caused a kid to veer off into the ditch. People were always calling to complain.

The chicken seemed just fine—the dog seemed delighted with the bird, which cocked its head and made a funny, burring noise. The dog wagged and panted, covered in dirt.

“Come on, Blue,” Levi said. “Come on, buddy.”

The dog smiled again. He was a great-looking dog, and dumb as a box of hair. Not that the chicken was Stephen Hawking, mind you. It could’ve walked out from under the porch at any time.

“Please, Chief. Please save my little baby.”

Levi sighed. The Knoxes needed to have kids or cats or monkeys or something. “Okay, I’ll go under.”

“That dog is vicious.” Mrs. Knox wept.

“Want me to call for backup?” Everett asked.

“No, Ev,” Levi said. “The dog’s fine.” Levi had to belly-crawl, using his elbows to pull himself along. His drill sergeant at basic had loved making them do this. Four tours in Afghanistan, and Levi had never once had to crawl. But here it was, coming in handy.

His cell phone rang. All police calls to the station were transferred to his cell if he was out on a call. “Chief Cooper,” he said.

“It’s me,” his sister said. “I’m home. I couldn’t take it another second.”

“You gotta be kidding me.”

“Is it Baby! Is she dead?” Mrs. Knox shrilled.

“She’s not dead,” Levi called back.

“Where are you?” Sarah demanded.

“I’m working. Why are you home? School started three weeks ago, Sarah, and you’ve already been back six times.”

“I’m homesick, okay? I’m sorry I’m such a pain in your ass, but I hate it there! I need a gap year.”

“You’re not having a gap year. You’re in college, and you’re going to finish. Now, I’m busy, so we’ll talk when I get home.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m rescuing a chicken.”

“I am totally tweeting that. My brother, the hero.”

He hung up. Gap year, his ass. She’d go back to college; he’d drive her back tonight...okay, maybe tomorrow morning. And she’d stay in school, she’d do great, and she’d thank him later.

About five more feet of crawling through the dirt—which appeared to be fertilized by the Knox chickens, so, yes, this really was a chickenshit job at the moment—till he could reach the dog. But apparently, the chicken decided there was nothing to fear, because it plunked itself down right against Blue’s chest. The dog seemed quite pleased about that, resting his chin on the chicken’s back. “They’re cuddling,” he called.

“What?” Nancy shrieked. “Did you say killing?”

“Cuddling!” Levi shouted back.

“Chief!” Everett shouted. “Are you in danger? I have drawn my weapon! Do you need assistance?”

“Everett! Put that gun away!”

“Roger that, Chief.”

Levi sighed. More days than not, he imagined that he would die at the hands of Officer Everett Field’s general ineptitude. Alas, Everett was the only child of Marian Field, Manningsport’s mayor, and basically had a job for life. He wasn’t a bad kid, and he had a wicked case of hero worship where Levi was concerned, but he drew his weapon roughly six times a day.

“Blue, old buddy,” he said, “I’m gonna relieve you of this bird, if you don’t mind.” Blue wagged again, and Levi took the sleeping chicken in his hands, then reverse-crawled out. He was filthy. His shift was almost over, at least. Not that he stopped working; there was always something else to do, which suited Levi just fine these days.

“Here you go,” he said, handing Mrs. Knox her chicken. “Think about an enclosure, okay?”

“Oh, Chief, thank you so much!” she said, beaming at him. “You’re wonderful! What about that dog, though? He’s evil! He should be locked up!”

The dog whined from under the porch, probably missing his little buddy. “I’ll speak to the owner,” Levi said.

“That was a great save, Chief,” Everett said, coming over as Levi brushed himself off as best he could. “You did an amazing job. Wow.”

Levi stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “Thanks, Ev. Listen. You draw that gun again, and I’m taking it away from you.”

“Roger that, Chief.”

Levi bent down and looked at the dog, who looked quite morose. “Wanna go for a ride?”

The dog flew out from under the porch, then streaked over to the cruiser, dancing eagerly.

“Maybe you should’ve said that first,” Everett pointed out. “Then you wouldn’t have had to crawl under there. You got really dirty.”

“Thanks for pointing that out. Why don’t you close up the station tonight, Ev?”

Everett’s face lit up. “Really?”

“Sure.” Levi would go back and check it afterward, because Everett always forgot something. Besides, the police station was forty-five seconds from where he lived. Plus, he’d be on the town green, anyway, as there was yet another wine event today. Every weekend, there was something going on, and it was fine. Good for the town, good for job security.

But for now, a shower. He looked at the dog. It didn’t feel right to bring a huge, filthy animal into Mr. and Mrs. Holland’s house, where he’d heard Faith was staying. Dog-washing. Another thing to add to his job description.

Since his wife dumped him a year and a half ago, Levi lived in the Opera House apartment building. Sharon and Jim Wiles had both spent and made a fortune on converting the building into the only apartment complex in town. A month after Nina had casually informed him that married life wasn’t for her after all and reenlisted, Levi’s mother had been diagnosed with a fast and furious pancreatic cancer. She’d died six weeks later. Sarah, then almost finished with her junior year in high school, had moved in with him.

He’d done his big brother shtick, putting his arm around her and letting her bawl, making her grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches, like Mom had done. He missed their mother, too, but he’d been away for eight years. One thing combat had taught him was that in order to handle some of the awful shit they’d dealt with, feelings had to have the cuffs slapped on them, so to speak. He’d shed a few tears at his mom’s bedside, don’t get him wrong, but when real memories crept in—the time she took him to Niagara Falls when he was in fifth grade and she was pregnant with Sarah, so they could have one last day of it being just the two of them...how she sobbed when he came home for good...well, Levi tried to think about something else.

He’d done his best to take care of his sister, to get her into a good school, fill out all those damn forms and buy her what she needed, then ship her off and have her do great and maybe become a doctor or something. She’d be the first person in their family to graduate from college and graduate she would, if it killed him.

Which it might.

“You reek,” Baby Sister said as he came in, Blue on his heels. “And whose dog is that? Is it ours? Can we keep him?” She gave Levi a once-over. “Seriously. You should take a shower. A long shower. God, Levi! Nasty!”

He gave her a cool look (which never worked on her). “The dog isn’t ours. I’m aware that I’m filthy. Why are you here?”

She heaved a great sigh. “I just...I don’t like it.”

“Why?” Sarah went to a beautiful college at the north end of Seneca Lake; the place had its own movie theater, a huge athletic center, flowers everywhere, nice dorms. Honestly, what could she complain about?

“I don’t know. I feel like I missed out on how things are supposed to work. Everyone has friends already, and it’s like I can’t break in. I skipped dinner yesterday because I didn’t want to go to the dining hall all alone. I feel like a loser.”

“Sarah,” Levi said, kneeling next to her chair, “you’re not a loser. Just go sit down next to someone and start talking.”

“And this advice comes from your personal experience? Because last I looked, you have exactly one friend.”

He didn’t take the bait. “You’re smart, you’re pretty and you’re fun. Except now. Now, you’re not fun. You’re also not supposed to be home. I thought we agreed after last time.”

“Take a shower, dude. I’m serious.”

“So am I. You can’t make college work if you keep coming home every three days. You have to tough it out.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m tired of toughing it out. I toughed it out through Mom dying, I toughed it out senior year and I don’t want to tough anything out anymore. I want to be...indulged.”

Levi lifted an eyebrow. “You’re going to be enlisted if you don’t shape up. That college is hardly toughing it out, sis. Your dorm room is three times as big as—”

“Oh, God, not another story from the trials and tribulations of Army, okay?”

“The Army, Sarah. You don’t call it ‘army.’ I was in the Army. Try to get it right.”

“Whatever. Come on, Levi, don’t be a hard-ass. It’s Thursday. I have one class tomorrow afternoon. I can skip it.”

“No, you can’t. I’ll drive you back tonight.”

“Levi! I’m so homesick! Please let me sleep here!”

He ran a hand through his hair, then surveyed the cobwebs he’d picked up under the porch. “Fine. I’ll bring you back tomorrow morning. Pull up your schedule so I can make sure you’re not lying.”

She smiled, the winner of this round. “Sure. But take a shower or I’m gonna puke.”

He stood up. “Want to help me wash the dog?”

“No. But I appreciate the offer.”

He moved to ruffle her hair, but she ducked. “Levi. Clean up.”

He knew his sister loved him. She’d even changed her last name to Cooper when she was sixteen, to make sure everyone knew who she was, she’d said. But he still wanted to kill her sometimes.

He took the dog into the bathroom—his own bathroom, thank God for that—and turned on the shower. The dog bent his head in deep shame. “Yeah, don’t give me that, chicken chaser. Who’s idea was it to go under the porch?” He took out his phone and dialed from memory. “Hi, Mrs. Holland, it’s Levi Cooper.”

“Dear! How are you? Do you know how to get flying squirrels out of the attic? Faith doesn’t want us to set traps, and I don’t want her to watch her grandfather fall to his death, though to be honest, widowhood is looking better and better these days. By the way, that pipe that burst last winter? Do you remember the name of the plumber you recommended? Ever since Virgil Ames moved to Florida, I don’t know what to do! And Florida! Who’d want to live there? All those bugs and lizards and alligators and tourists.”

“Bobby Prete should be able to fix the pipe, Mrs. H.,” he said. “Listen, I’ve got Faith’s dog with me.”

“Oh, yes, he ran off when Ned was watching him.”

“Can I bring him up?”

“Just give him to Faith, dear. She’s down on the green, anyway. Which reminds me, I’ve got to get ready. Lovely talking to you.”

Levi took off his shirt and threw it in the tub, giving it a good rinse before putting it into the laundry bin. “Come on, dog,” he said to Blue, who’d curled up in a tight ball and was pretending to sleep. “Time to face the music.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

THERE WERE PROBABLY five hundred people crowded onto the green and the streets around it for the Seventeenth Annual Cork & Pork, which sounded disturbingly perverted but was in fact a pig roast and wine tasting. Five hundred people, Faith noted, and it seemed like at least half of them were dying to console her—still—over being jilted on her wedding day.

“You were the most beautiful bride,” Mrs. Bancroft was saying. “Really. We were all so shocked. So shocked.”

“Thanks.”

“Have you seen him? Is he here?”

“I haven’t seen him yet, Mrs. Bancroft. But we’re getting together next week.”

Mrs. Bancroft stared at her, shaking her head. “You poor, poor thing.”

“Oops. There’s my brother. Gotta run.” She left Mrs. Bancroft and went over to the Blue Heron tables and looped her arm through Jack’s. “You needed me desperately, dear brother?”

“No,” he said, pouring a one-ounce taste for a woman whose T-shirt proclaimed her as Texan and Carrying. “In fact, I’m not sure we’re even related. How many sisters do I have, anyway? You seem to be multiplying.”

“Mrs. Bancroft is the eighth person to call me a poor thing and ask how hard it is to see Jeremy again.”

“You are pretty pathetic,” he agreed. “Your name again?”

“Why are so many people in my way?” asked Mrs. Johnson. The long-time Holland housekeeper managed somehow to convey terror in her beautiful, lilting Jamaican accent. “Shoo, children. If you don’t leave soon, there will be body parts everywhere, and I washed and starched and ironed this tablecloth this morning. If you want to live, move, I say.” She straightened out the bottles so they were perfectly aligned.