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was a faint thump from the back room.
    “Rex.”
Charlotte rushed back out from behind the counter. She shot Slade a glowering look. “I told you to keep an eye on him.”
    “Sorry.”
    Rex appeared in the opening between the two rooms. He carried a small black evening bag studded with glittering black beads. The dainty purse was barely large enough to hold a lipstick and a compact.
    Charlotte confronted him, her hands planted on her hips. “Step away from the clutch.”
    To her amazement, Rex dropped the object at her feet.
    “I think he likes you,” Slade said. “Usually he ignores commands like that. What is that thing?”
    “A very nice Claudia Lockwood evening clutch bag. It’s worth several hundred dollars in good condition and this purse is mint.”
    Rex sat back on his haunches and fixed her with an expectant expression.
    “He wants you to throw the purse,” Slade said.
    “Forget it. This thing is too valuable to be used as a dust bunny toy.” She hesitated. “I didn’t know dust bunnies liked to play fetch.”
    “Rex doesn’t exactly play fetch,” Slade said. “Not like a dog, at any rate. But if you throw an object he goes after it.”
    “What does he do with it?”
    “He kills it,” Slade said.
    “Obviously you want to be careful what you throw for him.”
    “Very careful,” Slade agreed.
    She looked down at Rex. “Sorry, Rex. I can’t let you rip this to pieces.”
    Rex’s expression intensified. He was utterly still on his rear legs, a statue of a dust bunny.
    Charlotte laughed. “Do you think he’s trying to use psychic power to make me do what he wants?”
    “Wouldn’t put it past him.”
    “You can’t have the purse,” she said to Rex. “How about a duck?”
    She went to the counter and picked up the small, yellow rubber duck sitting near the cash register. She squeezed the duck a couple of times. The duck squeaked. Rex was electrified with excitement.
    She tossed the duck into the back room. Rex leaped to follow. There was a thump. Several increasingly faint, desperate squeaks could be heard. Eventually there was silence followed by much gleeful chortling.
    “Something tells me the duck didn’t make it,” Charlotte said. She went behind the counter and poured the coffee. She set the mug on the counter in front of Slade. She studied his cool cop eyes.
    “You know who was inside my shop last night, don’t you?” she said.
    “Yes,” Slade said. He picked up the coffee mug. “I’ll talk to him. It won’t happen again.”

Chapter 2
     
    HANK LEVENSON TOSSED THE HEADLESS , TAILLESS FISH onto the scale. “Lot of expensive Amber River salmon for one person to eat. Planning on sharing with the dust bunny? I can always sell you a smaller piece of the salmon and give you some cheap bottom fish for Rex. Doubt if he’d know the difference.”
    Slade leaned one arm against the glass display case and contemplated his options. There was no point trying to finesse the situation. The news that he’d had dinner with the owner of Looking Glass Antiques would be all over Shadow Bay by tomorrow morning, no matter what he did.
    “I’m not so sure that Rex wouldn’t know the difference,” he said. “He’s damn picky. He’ll get some of that salmon but I’m planning on sharing the rest with a dinner guest.”
    “A guest, hmm?” Hank swept the salmon off the scale and wrapped the silvery fish in brown paper. “Would that be Charlotte Enright, by any chance?”
    “What was your first clue?”
    Hank snorted. “Saw you come out of her shop this morning. Had a feeling you and she might get on well together.”
    Hank was in his late sixties. He had grown up on Rainshadow and he was endowed with the tough, weathered features of a man who had spent his life on or around the water. When he reached for a strip of tape to seal the package of salmon, a portion of an old tattoo appeared beneath the rolled-back sleeve of his shirt. The image was that of a mythical sea