When a Scruffy Little Dog Refused to Let an Old Woman Disappear

and coffee stains on my sleeve.

Big Mike lumbered in first, stomping snow off his boots.

“Morning, Linda,” he grunted, then added, too casually, “Any word?”

I shook my head. “Not yet.”

He nodded, jaw clenched. “Dog?”

“Still with her when I left last night.” I tried to sound firm. “He’s not going anywhere.”

Mike relaxed half an inch and folded himself into continue reading …