Honey and the Hatchet

Chapter 4: Sunglow

You wake up slowly and lazily. No fanfare. And no idea when you fell asleep to begin with. Panic shakes you awake; you don't recognize the room you're in. You stumble to the door before you remember. The murder, the blood, the hours of driving here and there.

Lean against the door, press your forehead against it. Tommy's death feels so unreal. Just yesterday morning you said hello, talked about his newborn grandson. Let yourself hyperventilate for a bit before trying to take deep breaths. Christ, who's going to take care of Peekaboo?

Wait.

Turn around too fast and lose balance. You have no idea where your phone is. Thankfully, that doesn't seem necessary. Mr Jane looks to be asleep in the arm chair. Pulled it back to where it was, away from the desk. His jacket is still on the counter in the small kitchenette.

You dig through the pockets to find his phone; blissfully unlocked. Everyone also is thankfully entered with their actual names.

"Jane where the hell have you been?" Agent Lisbon sounds extremely upset and out of breath. It takes you a second to be able to answer. She sounds entirely different from yesterday.

"Um, Agent Lisbon? It's Skye Benraft?"

"Oh. Oh my god, Miss Benraft I'm so sorry. I thought..." Can almost hear her pinch the bridge of her nose. "What can I help you with?" Voice still has an edge to it, but she sounds much more like the agent you spoke to earlier.

"Sorry, I just—Agent Van Pelt told me to call if I remembered anything and you were the first name I recognized in Mr Jane's phone, uh. He stayed the night. I mean! Jesus no he kept me company? God all of that sounds wrong, shit." Take another stuttering breath.

"I'm sorry, Miss Benraft, but I'm—"

"No, it's—the dog, Tommy had a dog. A tiny black and white thing? God I really don't know what race it is, just that her name is Peekaboo and she wasn't in the house when I was there," you finish with a sigh, run a nervous hand through your hair.

"It's possible the dog just ran off after the murder. The door was left open," Lisbon tries to reason. If it had been any other dog and any other person, you might have been inclined to agree.

"No, no Peekaboo never stayed more than ten feet away from Tommy. He'd walk her without a leash all the time and in the eight years I've been in that neighborhood she's never run away before."

Agent Lisbon is fairly quiet for a moment. You hear a door opening and closing and conversations in the distance.

"Do you have any idea if the dog was a pure bred? Some kind of show dog?," agent Lisbon asks. You frown; it's not hard to recall.

"Uh, actually. Probably, yeah. Yeah I think I remember Tommy mentioning that Peekaboo won a couple shows? He might have been preparing for another show, I—it's not like we talked a lot but that was just so weird that a man in his nineties would enter a dog show. It kind of stood out, right?"

Lisbon makes an appreciative sound on the other end. "Thank you, Skye, that's actually a great help. Was there anything else?" She sounds like a patient mother, now. Calm and collected. Makes you feel like you actually helped. You're not convinced you did.

"Well, there's, I don't really know how to—"

Your conversation is cut short; the phone is plucked from your hands and your heart just about leaps out of your rib cage.

"Lisbon! I'll be busy today. Take Grace with you, I'm sure she'll appreciate it." Snaps the phone shut.

Oh Jesus. You absolutely feel like a wounded gazelle under his stare. His face only seems impassive on the surface; even you can recognize the clenching of the jaw and the deliberate set of the brows. You back up against the fridge.