Abby was irritated with Sheriff Galloway for camping out in her home, but deep down, she was also relieved. This whole mess had shaken her more than she cared to admit.
She closed the front door behind her last piano student of the day, turned the dead bolt and grinned as she hurried upstairs to clean up before choir practice. The sheriff had settled himself in the kitchen to work on his laptop, and sound carried well through her historic house. He was probably pulling his hair out by now.
She freshened up in the bathroom and made her way to the kitchen. The sheriff, with Bates lying by his side, glanced up as she sailed through the doorway. “We have just enough time to grab a bite to eat before heading to church.” She raised a brow. “I assume you’re accompanying me to choir practice?”
Earlier, they’d had a heated discussion about why he needed to hang around, even though secretly she was relieved that he was there while her students were coming and going throughout the afternoon.
He pushed his computer aside and half rose. “What can I do to help?”
Abby opened the refrigerator door. She had to get dinner on the table. They could talk while they were eating. “Not a thing. We’re having leftover lasagna. I’ll just stick it in the microwave. It won’t take but a few minutes to heat.”
The doorbell rang as she put the casserole dish into the microwave and stuck several slices of garlic bread in the oven.
The sheriff scrambled out of his chair and moved in front of her as she headed toward the foyer. “I’ll answer the door.”
She thought he was being a little overprotective, but bit back a retort and allowed him to answer the door. Standing close behind him, with Bates on her heels, a surprise greeted her as Noah opened the front door. An older gentleman with slightly stooped shoulders gave them a wide grin with a perceptive look in his eyes as he glanced back and forth between Abby and Noah. But most astonishing was the child standing next to him. The boy had to be Noah’s son. The youngster was a duplicate of his father, and his interested, electric-blue eyes seemed to be taking her measure.
“My name’s Dylan, and you’re the choir director at church,” he blurted out.
Smiling, Abby made her way around Noah and squatted in front of the boy. “Yes, I surely am, but I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you.”
The child shot his father a disgruntled look before turning to her. “Gampy said I had to stay with him because you were having some trouble and needed my dad. Gampy said we came here to offer help in your time of need, and we won’t turn down a good meal if it’s in the offering.” The precocious child lifted his chin. “Dad and Gampy can’t cook, and we don’t go to church, but a lot of my friends take piano lessons from you and I’ve seen you around school.”
Abby grinned and stood. Dylan was certainly a font of information. “That’s right. I come and play the piano when the school is having a special event such as the yearly Christmas play.” She grinned. “Which will be coming up soon. As soon as my recitals are finished, we’ll start working on the play. You’d make a great Joseph. Why don’t you try out for the part?”
His grin revealed a missing front tooth. “Maybe I’ll do that.”
The older man stuck out his hand. “Name’s Houston Galloway.” He nodded at Noah. “That’s my grandson—” he pointed at Dylan “—and this here’s my great-grandson.”
Abby shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Galloway.”
“I’d be happy for you to call me Houston.”
Noah’s grandfather and son were a delight. “I’d be happy to call you Houston.”
Realizing time was running short, Abby motioned them inside. “Come on in. I have to get to choir practice soon, but we were just about to eat. There’s enough lasagna for four if you’re hungry.”
Two sets of eyes lit up, one young and one old.
Houston spoke for the both of them. “We knew Noah was over here and were hoping you would say that. As Dylan said, us guys don’t know our way around the kitchen too much.”
Abby ignored Noah’s soft snort and led everyone in. Evidently his grandfather was taking care of Dylan while Noah was protecting her.
They moved into the house but came to a standstill in the foyer. Bates stood ready and alert, but his eyes were filled with longing as he gazed at the child. Dylan reflected the same expression.
“A dog,” he breathed, awe filling his young voice. “What’s his name?”
Abby grinned. A dog and a boy. A match made in heaven. “His name is Bates.” She glanced at Sheriff Galloway. “It’s fine if they play, but you’ll have to give permission.”
With wide, excited eyes, Dylan begged his father. “Can I, Dad?”
Sheriff Galloway squatted in front of his son and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “Bates is a trained attack dog. He’s a working animal and you’ll have to be careful. You can play with him as long as you’re in the same room with us. Now, approach him from the side and squat down beside him so he can sniff you. From a dog’s perspective, that’s the proper way to greet him.”
Abby’s heart pinged at the tender way Sheriff Galloway—a hardened former FBI agent—treated his son. A pang of loss gripped her. Her own son, had he lived, would now be over three years old. She stowed away the painful memories and watched as Dylan followed his father’s advice. Bates sniffed all around the child and licked his face.
They all laughed and the group moved into the kitchen. “Everyone take a seat. I’ll have dinner on the table in a jiff.” She laid the table with plates, silverware and napkins, then nuked the whole dish of leftover lasagna and pulled the bread out of the oven. Dylan’s eyes rounded when she filled his plate.
“We don’t eat like this at home. Dad buys those frozen dinners and sticks them in the microwave.”
Abby laughed. “Well, you’re having a homemade dinner tonight. When I cook, I always make a lot because I love leftovers.” She said grace and everybody dug in. If not for the dangerous incidents that kept happening, Abby would almost feel at peace, but one look into Sheriff Galloway’s eyes reminded her that her life would be unsettled until they had some answers.
When they finished eating, Abby stood. “Leave the dishes. I’ll clean up after choir practice. I’ll be late if I don’t hurry.”
The sheriff stood. “I’ll drive you there.”
Houston gave her a peck on the cheek and winked at her, his faded blue eyes twinkling. “That was a mighty fine dinner, Ms. Mayfield. Dylan and I are much obliged. We’ll head on and get out of your hair.”
Abby gave both of them a hug. “It was my pleasure. Y’all come back soon.”
She stood at the door and watched as they walked down the sidewalk and climbed into an old truck.
A throat cleared behind her. “I’m sorry they showed up unannounced. My grandfather tends to live by his own rules.”
Abby grinned. “They’re quite a pair. I enjoyed both of them.”
* * *
While waiting for Ms. Mayfield to gather her things, Noah processed the information he’d gathered. Both choir members, Joanne Ferguson and Walter Fleming, had checked out on a surface search. If they didn’t find some answers soon, he’d give them a second, deeper look.
Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, Noah decided to give Sheriff Brady in the Mocksville, North Carolina, police department a quick call to follow up on the previous incidents involving Ms. Mayfield. Maybe Brady had discovered something new.
The phone rang twice before it was answered.