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Teddy looked sideways at his partner. Gin had a look on her face that he couldn't quite read: not so much thoughtful as . . . processing. She was thinking something, but she hadn't quite
thought
it yet.

“The police said it was an accident,” Roger said.

“The police said it
probably
was an accident.” Este corrected him. At some point, one of them had taken the other's hand, they weren't exactly standing side by side, but the clasped hands told Teddy that the founders of the shelter were, in fact, a couple, no matter what the official paperwork didn't say. They were closing ranks even as they disagreed, with the unspoken smoothness of a long-term relationship, working out how they were going to play all of this for the public. “They weren't ruling out foul play yet, that's what Officer Reynolds said.”

“But there's no sign that it was anything other than a terrible tragedy,” Roger said. “Surely—”

“They're not going to rule anything out until the autopsy's done,” Ginny said. “They can't. But was there any sign of a disturbance? Locks broken, things missing?”

“Nothing.” Nora shook her head. “The door was open, but there was no sign of anything being
wrong
.”

“Were any of the animals upset?” Teddy asked, thinking of the way the dogs had behaved the day before.

“The animals?” All three of the shelter people looked at him, but Nora was the one who answered. “No; I checked on them as soon as I came down. Most of them were still asleep, and the ones who woke up when I turned on the light just thought breakfast had come early. The new dog in quarantine yowled at me, but I'd yowl, too, if I was stuck in there overnight.”

“So anyone who might have been here last night had access—keys, and the security passcode—and knew enough not to upset the animals.”

“Wait . . . you think that someone
here
stole the grant money? Someone who works here?” The thought distracted Roger entirely from the dead man just taken from the office behind them.

“Of course we do,” Este said, acerbic. “If you'd been paying attention at all, you'd know that.” She didn't let go of his hand, but the tone in her voice was that of someone who had just used up the last of her patience.

Couples squabbling. Teddy wanted no part of that, and from the way Nora moved ever so slightly away, neither
did she. Known trouble in paradise? And if so, did that change anything?

“I think that assuming the two—the missing money and the death—are related is as bad an idea as assuming they're not,” Ginny said, addressing Nora's comment. “Anyway, today's death, however tragic, isn't our concern. Teddy's and mine, I mean. That's for the police to investigate. We're here to find answers about the money.”

“And that's not the same,” Nora said. Her earlier fascination with murder seemed to have faded, faced with the practical demands of the shelter.

“No,” Ginny said. “It's not. We're working for you, for the shelter. That's our only concern.”

Something inside Teddy twitched at that—it sounded too much like Gin was promising them that they'd withhold anything that might make the shelter look bad, or . . . he didn't know what, but it was on a line he'd rather avoid. Money was one thing; dead bodies made him nervous.

Whatever she meant, it seemed to shut both Este and Roger down, and now they merely looked concerned. But there was something about them, the way they were frowning, clearly trying to think one step ahead of the situation, that bothered him. Something was off there. And it was more than a “being hauled out of bed to find out that a volunteer had died in your office” off.

Letting Ginny handle the ongoing discussion, Teddy stepped back mentally, and watched their body language.

“I'm still not sure that your continuing to work is a good
idea. The police will not want amateurs messing around,” Roger said, preparing a brush-off, and Ginny nodded.

“Of course,” she said, every inch the peacemaking professional. “And if this were an official murder investigation, we would not dream of muddying the waters with our own inquiry, if it seemed as though paths might cross. But you said that the police have indicated no reason to believe that it was anything other than a tragic accident, and have in fact said that you can reopen the shelter, and conduct business as usual?”

“Yes,” Este said. “They don't want us using that office, but I don't think any of us could, right now. When they give the go-ahead, I'll have the office professionally cleaned and . . . painted maybe.”

“And smudged,” Nora suggested, and both of the founders nodded.

Nora had removed herself almost entirely from Teddy's field of vision; she was still there but on the outskirts. She might have hired them, but she'd given over all authority to Este, which made sense. Este was the one she had gone to, admitting what she had done. Este was the one still dealing with the day-to-day events, not Roger.

Este herself looked tired but firm, determined . . . but not pushing to have them continue the investigation the way Teddy would have expected, if this was a dominance fight.

“So there is no reason why we cannot continue our research into your problem,” Ginny said, still trying to keep them on the job.

“I really don't think this is such a good idea,” Roger countered. “No offense, Miss . . .”

“Mallard. Virginia Mallard.”

That got Teddy's attention. He couldn't remember her ever using her legal name to introduce herself, not to anyone. Change in routine meant something. Usually it meant that Ginny had decided that she didn't like someone. What was going on?

“Miss Mallard. I'm not sure that's such a good idea.”

“Let it go, Roger,” Este said, although the tone of her voice said she wasn't happy, either. “I've already given them permission; if we stop them now it looks like we don't
want
the person taking the money to be found. And it's quite clear to me, at least, that we can't handle it internally. Discretion—people we hired, rather than complete outsiders—is the next-best thing. Especially, in light of . . . recent events.”

Roger clamped down on whatever he was going to say, and looked mulish, but then nodded. “You're right, of course. As usual.” He half turned his head and smiled at her, a grudging but affectionate expression. “I should just leave the shelter to you, entirely.”

“Not a chance,” she replied.

Teddy caught Ginny's eye and she nodded slightly. Time to go, before they were asked to leave.

“I hate to ask this, in the aftermath,” Ginny said, “but we didn't have anything on Jimmy in the paperwork you gave us. Would it be possible—”

“He wasn't an employee, he wasn't even, technically,
a volunteer,” Este said quickly. “He was just helping us out for a little while. . . . There really isn't any paperwork, other than the agreement he had us sign, to authorize him to”—her hand waved vaguely—“do what he did.”

“His full name, at least, then, and the hours he regularly worked, and if you could show us where he worked?”

“Why?” Roger was still being prickly.

“Routine,” Ginny said. “It helps us narrow our search if we can say for certain that everyone has been accounted for.”

“They teach that in detective school, I guess,” Este said, but her smile was tense. “James McAdams. Nora, if you could handle the rest of what they need? And if you'll excuse us, we need to talk to the rest of the staff when they get here, let them know what's happened.”

The reminder of how early it was set off the urge to yawn again, and Teddy stifled it long enough to say good-bye, then gave in, enough that his jaw cracked, audibly.

“Sorry,” he said, not at all apologetic, when Nora and Ginny both looked at him.

“Come on,” Nora said. “I can show you . . . God. He died in the office he worked in. I don't think we're supposed to go in there, Este said?”

“It's okay,” Ginny said. “We've seen dead bodies before. The spot where one fell isn't going to be much worse, and we won't touch anything.”

Technically, they'd seen a dead body wheeled out of a hotel room on a gurney, after the paramedics were
finished, which wasn't the same thing at all. But it sounded more hard-boiled the way Ginny said it.

As they left the lobby, the sound of an argument, low and bitter, started up again between the two founders. Teddy tried to hear what was being said, but then the sliding door shut behind them, and he couldn't hear anything more.

T
he dead man had, apparently,
worked in Roger's office while the other man was on medical leave. There was yellow crime scene tape still dangling across the doorway, and Nora gave it a dubious look, but Ginny reached up and untied it, letting the end drop on the floor and stepping over it, Tonica on her heels and Nora a distant third.

It took all of three seconds for Nora to excuse herself and back out, looking distressed. The other two, not having known the dead man, felt no such hesitation.

The office was slightly smaller than Este's, and dustier around the edges from being abandoned for several months now, but otherwise similar in layout. One wall was filing cabinets, chest-high, and topped with banker boxes, while the other two walls were filled with framed certificates. Ginny stepped closer to examine them without touching: some were academic, some were job-related, some had to do with the sideline Tonica had told her about, the coffee-roasting place. He seemed very proud of the certificates they got from various food-rating organizations.

There were two photographs hung on the wall, mixed in with the certificates: one of the two founders, together, looking younger and grinning widely, and one of the entire staff standing in front of what she presumed was the newly opened shelter, a handful of dogs at their feet and several of the staffers holding cats.

“Who's that?” she asked, pointing to one of the men in the photo.

“Williams,” Tonica said, coming around to look over her shoulder. “Scott Williams, the vet.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Oh, I'm just surprised that he's in a staff photograph. I guess he's been with them since the beginning, though, just like the others. And unlike the dead man. Last in, first out.”

“Nice,” Tonica said. He was looking at the desk; there was no chair, although there was a plastic chair mat that had seen hard use.

“They said the chair broke when he fell over. I guess they took it out as evidence.”

“We're not here to investigate his death, Tonica,” Ginny reminded him, even as she moved to stand behind him, trying to see what he was seeing.

“There's enough room for someone to stand behind him, pull him backward.”

“Or to lean over the desk and push him backward, if they were big enough.”

“If he hit his head hard enough, and then was left there
with a hemorrhage in his brain . . . This might not have been an accident, or a random tragedy.”

“It's not our place to investigate. As you're fond of reminding me, we're not cops; we're not even licensed investigators. Dead bodies are for professionals.”

“Right.” But Tonica kept staring at the space where the chair had been.

“Teddy.” She rarely called him by his name, so he looked up with a start. She pushed a wayward curl off her forehead and tried to tuck it back into the barrette it had escaped from. “Do you think he stole the money, and got killed for it?”

Tonica shrugged, and then ran a hand over his own brush-cut hair, as though it had somehow gotten mussed, too. “I don't know. Maybe. If the timing's wrong for Roger to be our thief, the timing's perfect for him. He came in late at night, when nobody else was around, he knew the money was here, because he was working the books, and there wasn't anyone to bother him. And he came into the picture at the right time, after Roger was out on sick leave, assuming Nora didn't miss earlier errors.”

“I'm hearing a
but
in your voice.”

“But. Yeah. If this guy was going to come in and skim, don't you think he'd do more damage? I mean, why only take a little at a time, when he could hide the entire thing going missing?”

Ginny considered that. “Maybe he stole for fun? Because the cash was there and he couldn't resist it? I know the statistics say that most people are honest, if only for fear
of getting caught, but some people, they'd never think of robbing a bank or taking money out of someone's wallet, but when they see something they want, unguarded. . . .”

“Maybe.”

Neither of them seemed to believe the dead man had been their thief, but there wasn't anything that conclusively said he wasn't.

“It's too easy,” Tonica said, finally. “I'm not a believer in too easy.”

“People are pretty simple,” she said. “Sometimes, it's not so much easy as lazy. We take the quickest way to what we want. My father . . .” She stopped. “Okay, bad example, moving on. But it's entirely possible that this guy came in, saw that there was cash on hand, and figured he'd be in and out before anyone noticed. . . .”

“Except,” she went on, seeing the flaw in her own theory immediately, “if he was a half-decent bookkeeper he'd know that someone would see that the money was missing, more or less immediately, because it had to be paid out on a regular basis, and there's no way to hide that it's missing. So a once-and-out would make more sense than a slow skim. Damn.”

“This is why it's best to pay everyone in bank funds,” Tonica said. “Under the table just always ends in headaches. Okay, first thing we need to find out was, was he a half-decent bookkeeper?”

“Let's go find out.”

*  *  *