Page 69 of One Last Promise

London nodded. “And by the way, we checked on your friend Roz. She’s recovering at Alaska Regional. Said for you to come see her.”

Roz.She hadn’t even thought of Roz since . . .hold the phone. “How did you know about Roz? You weren’t at the house.”

London looked at Shep, then shrugged. “She needs to know.” Then she turned back to Tillie. “There was a number left in the case, written on a piece of paper, so we did some sleuthing.”

Shep finished his slice of pizza. “It was a badge number, from Miami.”

“Roz’s number,” Tillie said.

“Yeah. We went to talk to her, but she said she needed to talk to you. Only you.”

Oh.

“Tomorrow, we’ll go back to Anchorage and figure out what is going on,” Moose said. “And if we have to, we’ll have another chat with Rigger.”

“I can’t believe the police haven’t arrested him,” said London.

“Clearly, they haven’t put the man who shot Roz and this guy together as the same person,” said Shep.

“We’ll fix that,” Moose said, and the way he said it made her heart lurch. Memories nearly made her open her mouth.No, Moose?—

A knock sounded at the door, and Bear stuck his head in. “All done. The doctor took a look—no fracture, just some bruising. So you’re good to go, although?—”

“No, we’re going,” said Tillie, standing up.

The room tilted again, and she slammed her hand on the table.

Bear gave her a look.

“Just a headache.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Moose said, and slipped his hand under her elbow.

Apparently, he meant it, because when they got back to his parents’ home, and after she’d put Hazel to bed, she found him, changed, showered, dressed in a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, carrying a blanket and a bucket of popcorn.

“What’s that for?”

“How’s your head?”

She’d taken a couple pain meds with the soda and . . . “Better.”

“Good. There’s aDownton Abbeymarathon that has our name on it.”

“Downton Abbey?”

“Would you preferThe Crown?”

She laughed. “I have never seen either of them. But . . . you seem more like aDeadliest Catchkind of guy.”

She followed him up the stairs and into the main room. The door to the office was shut. She’d seen Shep head in there when they arrived to a home that smelled like freshly baked bread and the beef roast that had survived Moose’s crazy drive home.

And, of course, cookies. Which sat under a glass topper in a pile in the center of the table.

“Naw. I’m all about the manners and the upstairs-downstairs rules, and most of all . . . I’m a goner for the Dowager, Violet Crawley.”

“Who’s she—some hot blonde?”

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