“Another dog?” Marybeth said, raising her eyebrows.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Don’t apologize. I’d only be angry if you left it out there to fend for itself.”
“It’s goofy-looking,” Joe said. “I named it ‘Bert’s Dog.’？”
“What’s another dog?” she said with a rueful smile.
* * *
—
“Any word from Nate?” Joe asked Liv after Marybeth refilled their wineglasses.
“He tries to call every night,” she said. “I kind of insist on it.”
Joe understood.
“He’s in Denver right now,” she said. “He thinks he’s close to finding Axel Soledad.”
Denver had been much in the news of late, as rioters had resumed nightly marches and set fire to a few downtown businesses.
“How close?” Joe asked.
“Close. Falconers are a strange breed, as you know,” she said. “They don’t get along together in person, but in a weird way they stick together. None of them want a guy like Axel Soledad around. So they pass along tips and sightings to Nate.”
“Close” meant Axel Soledad was very likely to be maimed or killed at any time, Joe thought. Either that, or they could lose Nate himself. That prospect horrified him.
“I still think Nate should get the federal authorities involved,” Joe said. “Transporting stolen wildlife across state lines is a federal crime.”
“He’ll never do that. He thinks he needs to take care of this himself.”
Joe nodded. He knew Nate and Nate’s particular code of justice better than anyone. He also knew that Nate’s past experiences with the feds had been primarily negative. Several FBI agents still had it in for him.
“Still . . . I wish he’d consider it.”
Liv responded with a Mona Lisa smile that conveyed to Joe he was wasting his time.
“Please tell him I’ll be there if he needs help,” Joe said.
“He knows that.”
“Well, just tell him again, please. I suppose this means he won’t be here for Thanksgiving.”
“I doubt it. You’re stuck with Kestrel and me.”
“We’re happy to be stuck with Kestrel and you,” Joe said. Marybeth toasted that sentiment by clinking her wineglass against Liv’s.
* * *
—
All three adults turned their heads when there was a crash from inside the guest room, followed by peals of laughter from Kestrel.
“What’s going on back there?” Marybeth called out.
“Sheridan knocked the lamp over,” April responded with glee. “She’s a clumsy oaf.”
“I am not,” Sheridan shouted.
“If you two are going to wrestle, you need to take it outside,” Marybeth said. Kestrel was obviously enjoying the tussle going on because she couldn’t stop squealing and clapping.
Marybeth shook her head, but Joe could tell that she was delighted her daughters were getting along in a familiar way.
He leaned back in the chair and rubbed his eyes. It had been a tough day and the bourbon was working on him. He slid his elbow back along the tabletop until it struck something solid on the edge of the surface.
Joe peeled the spare apron back and revealed the Nazi photo album.
Liv recoiled when she saw it as if she’d been stung. “Are those swastikas?” she asked.
“Yes,” Marybeth answered.
Joe could see the symbols stamped or carved into the silver bands that crossed the red leather cover.
“So this is what the fuss was about this morning, huh?” he said to Marybeth.
“Let’s let it go for now,” Marybeth said as she covered the album again and scooped it up. “Let’s save it for later. It’s not something you want to look at tonight. This thing can put a spell on you. Trust me when I say it’ll spoil the mood.”
Joe found it an odd statement, but he trusted her judgment.
“That bad, huh?” he said.
“Let’s just say it’s as disturbing as it is mysterious,” Marybeth said as she found a place for the album in her pantry and closed the door. “I should have put it in here to get it out of the way to begin with.”
Joe and Liv exchanged puzzled looks.
Marybeth stopped in her tracks and smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand.
“What?” Joe asked.
“I got so wrapped up in that stupid photo album that I forgot about making dinner for tonight. I was going to make a pan of lasagna.”