Page 5 of Justice Denied

As he climbed out and shut his door, she tried to remember if Kyle had ever once opened a door for her during the eight months they’d dated. Nope, Kyle jiggled his keys if she took too long to get out of the car and always walked ahead of her through the business doors, never bothering to step aside and hold the door for her.

Seth pulled her door open, then closed it after she’d exited. “Thank you.”

He gave her a sweet smile, but it fell off his face as he stared past her toward something in her side yard. “Wait here, please.”

While Jetta couldn’t see what had captured his attention, the concern in his voice kept her glued to the side of the car. Her heart pounded as she considered what might lay outside her sightline—and if it would be connected to what she’d left behind in Chicago.

* * *

Seth crouchednext to the dark furry object lying in the grass near the half-closed back gate of the Ainsley residence. He grabbed a nearby stick and poked the still raccoon. No movement. Dead. Using the toe of his sneaker, he nudged the animal over onto its back. Vomit coated the animal’s mouth and nearby ground. The odor assaulted him, but he ignored it. He’d smelled worse and had grown immune to the scent of regurgitation.

With his phone’s flashlight to illuminate the mess on the grass in the darkening shadows, he spotted the remanent of a reddish-brown pill in the masticated stomach contents. The animal must have gotten into the same stash as Bingley.

Rising, he hustled to his SUV to usher Jetta into her house with their dinner. “There’s a dead raccoon, so why don’t you go inside your house with our dinner, and I’ll take care of it.”

She frowned. “Did the neighborhood fox get it?”

“I don’t think so. It appears the animal found whatever Bingley ingested. Let’s go around the back of the SUV so you don’t ruin your appetite with the view.”

She grabbed the food bag and he got the drink caddy from the SUV before he led her to the kitchen. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I don’t want any other animals getting into the mess.”

“You don’t mind? It must be really gross.”

“I can handle it.” Good thing he had an iron stomach—hardly anything bothered him. Not too surprising, given his childhood. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

He hustled to his house for several black yard trash bags, a snow shovel he unearthed from a back closet, and a ratty old towel. After taking photos of the animal and the surroundings, he used the shovel to move the raccoon onto the towel, then folded it over the still form before sliding it into one of the trash bags. He tied it off, then inserted the bag inside a second trash bag, repeating it until the raccoon’s remains were concealed under three layers of heavy plastic.

Seth placed the bag inside his outdoor trash can, then returned to the scene with a small plastic to-go container. With his hands inside plastic sandwich bags, he scooped up as much of the vomit as he could into the container, sealing it with the lid. He put the container on the ground next to the trash can before heading inside to thoroughly wash his hands.

The sickness of Bingley and the death of the raccoon bothered him. He wanted to check to see if the raccoon had indeed ingested ibuprofen like the dog had. Tomorrow, he would take the container to the vet to see if they could run determine whether it was similar to what Bingley ate. In the morning, he would search Jetta’s backyard—after securing her permission—to make sure nothing remained of what he suspected had been contaminated meat, given the couple of chunks near the raccoon’s carcass. The look on Jetta’s face when she’d come for his help with Bingley tugged at his heartstrings. He never wanted her to have such a look of anguish again.

His phone buzzed, and he paused on the sidewalk to read the text from his colleague and friend, Brogan Gilmore, before knocking on Jetta’s door.

Hey, Melender canceled on me, so want to grab a bite at Ireland’s Four Provinces?

Seth usually enjoyed listening to the Irish musicians who often entertained the crowds at the popular bar and restaurant.

Not tonight.

You said you didn’t have plans…

Well, plans change.

He hoped Brogan would leave it at that, but wasn’t surprised when another text flashed on the screen.

What’s her name?

Seth balanced the phone in his hand, debating how to answer. He decided the truth would be best—just not the whole truth.

I’m helping my next-door neighbor.

Brogan would think Seth meant Mrs. Ainsley, since he often helped the widow.

And here I thought you’d finally met a girl. Guess it will be me enjoying the band solo tonight.

Seth let his colleague have the last word and pocketed his phone. As he crossed the lawn to the Ainsley’s, he tamped down his hopes that Jetta had meant she wanted to enjoy a meal in his company. Jetta put out a strong I-just-wanna-be-friends vibe and he respected that. If only his foolish heart would stop leaping to unwanted conclusions every time she smiled at him or touched his arm, then he would be fine. He could do the friend thing with her, especially because he sensed a world of hurt behind her sunny façade. His hands curled into fists and he purposefully shook them out. As much as he wanted to punch the guy who’d made her so skittish—and who’d left her pregnant and alone—violence only created more problems than it solved. He ought to know. One act of violence had changed his life.

ChapterThree

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