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They went downstairs, closely followed by Mutley. He was aging—at least ten, Jax figured—and obviously going deaf. The name suited him, since he was of no discernible breed. Millicent produced a leash, attaching it deftly to the dog’s collar.
“When you get back,” Millicent said, “you can have a look at that bathroom door.”
“Er—right.”
“Wonderful!” Millicent trilled. “Now, I have something in the oven, so please excuse me. I don’t want it to burn. It’s for the church bake sale.”
Mutley was waiting eagerly, tail sweeping back and forth.
Jax smiled and bent to ruffle the dog’s ears. “I guess we’re out of here,” he said.
Mutley all but dragged Jax to the front door. There was some terrier in the little guy, he decided. Maybe some spaniel. Could be some border collie in there, too. He was probably too small to be part Airedale...
Jax was like that. He analyzed.
By then, Mutley was definitely ready to roll; he was high-jumping at the door.
“Whoa, slow down,” Jax said with a grin. Good thing he’d never gotten around to taking off his coat. “The great out of doors isn’t going anywhere, buddy.”
It was snowing again, not blizzard-style like last night, but in fat, showy flakes, drifting lazily from a heavy sky.
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