"You didn't touch anything, I hope." Detective Davenport was one of the most incompetent and irritating officers on the force. He looked at Sara as if she were a first-day rookie and not a third-year detective.

She'd found a leash for Magnum, and they were on the front porch with Detective No-Good. Neighbors had spilled from their houses, finding the unfolding scene at 816 Cedarwood to be exciting enough to pull them from whatever they might have been watching on TV. After all, they had a real-life crime drama going on right on their street to entertain them. "Are you going to have uniforms cordon off the area?"

His eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me how to do my job, Cain."

Guess he doesn't like to be patronized either! "Would never dream of it."

Davenport bellowed over his shoulder to the closest uniformed officer and requested he usher people back inside their homes. To Sara, he said, "Just answer my question, Cain. Did you touch anything?"

He hadn't asked before; he'd made a statement, but she'd let that slide. "Of course I didn't."

Davenport perched his elbow on his substantial belly and scribbled in a notepad.

He's probably doodling...

"Why are you here this evening?"

"We've been through this." Magnum winced at her side as if he too were tiring of Davenport's attitude.

"Yadda. Yadda. So this guy"—he pointed at the dog—"led you here?"

"I wouldn't put it like that." She took a deep breath, thankful she had a lot of patience to pull from, but Davenport threatened her reserves. If he didn't get on with the investigation, the victim's friends and family could never hope for justice.

"And how do you know Cliff Cunningham?"

"I don't."

"Yet here you are at his house." He gestured toward the structure with the tip of his pen.

"I've seen him around. That's how I knew where Magnum lived. When I brought him here, that's when I found Cunningham." She prattled off the entire story again without an ounce of energy, exasperated. "Listen, are you going to go inside, look around, or do you plan to interrogate me all night?" The sun was low in the sky, and she'd guess the time was after eight.

"I have seen the vic, and I will— Hey, you're doing it again," Davenport huffed.

She wasn't intentionally telling him how to do his job; it just kept spilling out. But given how fast he "closed" his cases, he'd benefit from a refresher course on murder investigation. "How did Cunningham die?"

"He was murdered."

"That would be the manner of death."

He grimaced.

"I asked how."

"Someone hit him hard on the old..." He tapped his head. "And how the heck should I know how? If you're talking all technical and stuff, that's what Needham is for."

Albert Needham was the chief medical examiner in the area. Sara gave the detective a few seconds to cool off before she went on. "I am curious if you've figured out what caused the man's injuries yet." There was nothing near the body, but it wasn't like she'd had a chance to look around. Upon discovering Cunningham, she'd backed out of the house, taking the dog with her—preservation of the crime scene of utmost importance.

"Don't know yet."

Then again, how could he when he'd spent the last hour and a half talking with her? Sara pressed her lips. Her mother had taught her if she had nothing nice to say, then keep quiet.

Davenport flipped his notepad closed and jacked a thumb toward the road. "You can go. I'll call if I need anything more from you."

With pleasure... She tried to give Davenport the dog leash, but he held up both his hands and stepped back.

"I don't want him."

"He comes with the crime scene."

"Nope. You found him. He's your responsibility."

"What am I supposed to do with a dog?"

"Do I look like I care? Take him to the kennel or the pound." He walked past her toward the house.

Kennels would be closed. Taking him to a pound would likely seal his fate. She was still devastated that Daisy, her beagle as a teen, had been sent to the farm. "You can't be serious." She followed Davenport.

He stopped inside the door, turned around. "Can I help you?"

"Ah, yeah, you can. Who is Cunningham's next of kin?" They might be Magnum's only hope.

"He's got a sister, but we haven't been able to reach her yet."

"Reach her," she urged. "I'm sure she'll want the dog, but I'll take him home for now."

"Whatever floats your boat, darlin'."

Hmph. This man was infuriating and would test even Job's patience.

"Now, if you would... Scoot." He raised his brows and made a sweeping motion with his hands.

She backed onto the porch and looked down at the beagle. "Guess it's you and me, Magnum."

As she walked the two blocks to her house, the sun continued to sink to the horizon. Not that she lived in fear, but she had to admit, having Magnum at her side bolstered her courage. A dog of her own might be a good idea. But that wasn't really feasible. She worked all hours, leaving little time and energy to care for one.

She unlocked her front door, cursing herself. She'd been so caught up dealing with Davenport, she hadn't even thought about Magnum's needs. She really didn't want to face Davenport again. A quick check on her phone confirmed the time was nearing eight thirty. Pet stores would be open, but Magnum would need his regular food, as a substitution could make him ill. A change to a dog's diet needed to be introduced over time.

"Just for you," she said to Magnum as she texted Davenport.

Need to know brand of Magnum's food. Even better, bring his bag over. Leave on my front porch.

There. She wouldn't even need to see the man.

She unleashed Magnum, who was already wildly sniffing the air. "Go. Explore."

He did just that. His nose dove to the baseboards, inhaling every millimeter. The people who had rented the house before her had owned three cats. Was the animals' hair and dander still caked in the cracks? Whatever it was, with a powerful sniffer like that, it amazed her he could turn the receptors off to sleep.

She slipped out of her shoes and inspected the damage. There were some areas of the canvas that remained white.

She did a quick Google search on her phone, and it told her to mix vinegar with warm water. That was easy enough, but she imagined scrubbing the shoes would require some patience, something she was running low on after being with Davenport. Was he even doing his job over there? Or was he simply going through the motions and running with the quickest, most obvious evidence and pigeonholing someone to fit his frame?

But whatever his actions were, or lack thereof, shouldn't be her concern. The key words being shouldn't be.

A distraction might be a good thing.

In the kitchen, she mixed up the concoction of one-third vinegar with two-thirds warm water and got to work. Magnum passed through, giving the area a thorough inspection. She filled a bowl with cool water for him, which he gratefully lapped up before carrying on with his exploration.

It took some time and was more difficult than the article let on, but her shoes were once again a brilliant white, though wet. She set them over a floor vent, figuring she'd let the fan from the central air conditioning take care of drying them.

Magnum returned from his travels, sniffed the shoes, and looked up at her.

"Cover every square inch there, Magnum?" She smiled as she got on her haunches and petted his head, letting her fingers go down the extension of his big floppy ears. Soft as velvet.

As she stood, the setting sun had mostly disappeared behind buildings, but a sliver came through the window and hit her in the eye. It gave her an idea of how to cap off this horrible day.

She poured herself a glass of wine and topped up Magnum's water, then slipped onto the small back deck with the dog and their refreshments.

The glowing orange orb was low, but it ignited the sky. Magnificent.

The beagle stepped down into the small yard to investigate. She got in one sip of wine when her phone pinged with a message.

Do you think I'm your errand boy?

She considered pitching her phone, but it hadn't wronged her. Another ping.

Having a uniformed officer bring the food. You're welcome.

There's a saying that's very popular on ball caps and T-shirts: "Wine for the things you can't control."

She'd drink to that. Bottoms up.

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