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back door. Dropping it
on Mac, he went to his knees to rub Mac’s damp coat and mop his paws. Mac’s
paws are sponges, they absorb his body weight in moisture.
    Mac
wriggled out and promptly shook, spraying Royal and the floor with snowmelt. However
much you towel a dog, it always has moisture to spare for a shake. Then he left
tracks across the kitchen as he trotted to the pantry. Mac thinks he gets a
treat every time he suffers anything done to his body.
    Royal
sat back on his heels. “Mommy gives you a treat at the drop of a hat but you
are a little hefty. Extra weight is not good for a dog.”
    Mac
didn’t budge. He sat with his eyes lifted to the pantry.
    Royal
sighed as he got upright. He opened the pantry door, dug into the small box of
liver treats and dropped two on the floor for Mac, who sucked them up.
    I
grinned. “Ha! Now you see why I can’t say no to the little devil.”
    Royal
took his jacket off the back of a kitchen chair. “I’ll be home soon. Behave
yourself while I am gone.”
    Home. Now I noticed the changes in the kitchen. Tidy, spotless counters. The floor so
clean you could eat off it if so inclined, if you avoided the mucky trail Mac
left. Royal’s wok perched near the sink, which didn’t contain a single dirty
dish or pan. Royal was living in my house.
    “Come
on, Tiff,” Jack urged. “He’s on the move.”
    I
crouched and held out my hand. “Mac! C’mere boy!”
    Mac
kept a hopeful gaze on the pantry door.
    I
tried to snap my fingers but they didn’t work. “Mac! Hey, boy!”
    “He
doesn’t hear you,” Mel said.
    Mac
sensed Jack and Mel in the kitchen, why not me?
    “Now,
Tiff,” Jack commanded, jogging his head at Royal.
    Royal
went to Mac, bent and ruffled the hair on his head. “Behave.”
    “Mac!”
I tried one last time. I didn’t want to leave him. Surely if I stayed. . . .
    “You
can’t do anything here,” Jack said.
    With
one last look at my little black boy, I joined my roommates as they hustled
after Royal. We caught his aura and left with him through the front door.
     
    We
pulled up outside the new courthouse which incorporates Clarion Police
Department.
    “Ready?”
Jack asked.                                                  
    I
hoped so. If my fingers slipped their hold on Royal’s aura, I’d be stuck in the
truck and I didn’t want to miss this meeting with Mike Warren.
    Jack
and Mel reached out and grabbed at Royal as he slid from the pickup. I imagined
we’d make a startling picture if people could see us: three people clinging to
the tall man who strode up the steps and inside the courthouse.
    Royal
didn’t check in with the desk sergeant. He lifted a hand to Officer Penrod and
Penrod waved him on. Up the escalator we flew, stuck to Royal head to toe as if
velcroed.
    Royal
entered the squad room. For some unknown reason I expected it to look different.
Maybe because an age seemed to have passed. But nothing had changed. Half a dozen
detectives sat at desks, officers moved through the big room. And there, in his
office, Mike Warren stood looking through the window.
    As
we passed his desk, Brad Spacer said, “How’s she doing?”
    Royal
didn’t pause, he kept going, face looking as if the muscles had frozen. “No
change,” he said tersely.
    Mike
turned from his window, spotted Royal approaching and beckoned him in. Royal
shut the door behind him as Mike stood behind his cluttered desk.
    They
shook hands across the desk. Mike sat and indicated Royal should do the same.
Mel and Jack let go of Royal. Still clinging, I knelt on the floor at his side.
    “How
is she?” Mike asked.
    “The
same.” Royal’s expression turned grim. “They moved her out of ICU.”
    “A
good sign, isn’t it?”
    “I
suppose so. But they think she should have woken before now and do not know why
she has not.”
    Mike
settled deeper in his chair. “I’m pulling my men from the hospital, Roy. I need
them on the