The Secrets of Bones (Jazz Ramsey #2) - Kylie Logan
Wally the puppy was a nineteen-pound ball of boundless energy with more sass than a three-year-old kid, and more common sense than one, too. He came when he was called, knew the names of his toys and fetched them on command, and he could sit and stay. At least when he felt like it.
He loved morning walks, afternoon hikes, and a jog around the neighborhood after dinner as long as it wasn’t too hot, too rainy, or the John Coltrane wannabe who played his saxophone over at the gazebo in the center of Lincoln Park wasn’t around. Wally wasn’t fond of bebop. He was mostly house-trained, except when he didn’t feel like going outside, mostly polite, except when a visitor didn’t scold him for chewing on fingers and clothing and Wally knew he could get away with it, and he was mostly well behaved.
Except when he wasn’t.
In the month since she’d gotten him, the puppy had become the light of Jazz Ramsey’s life, the dog of her heart she thought she’d never have again when Manny, her beloved golden retriever, died a little over a year earlier. Wally was also a constant reminder that though her relationship with Nick Kolesov, her former lover and the homicide detective who gave her Wally, was still rocky, as long as there were waggly tails and puppy kisses there was always hope.
Wally was square nosed, long legged, and as smart and smart-alecky as Airedales always are. He had a personality bigger than his puppy-sized brown and black body, and an interest in everyone he met and in everything within range of his sensitive nose or the reach of his paws or his mouth.
He was sleeping through the night now, thank goodness, but Jazz swore she was still catching up on the shut-eye she’d missed that first week when he carried on in his crate, sometimes for hours.
She was young, and thanks to the rigorous and rewarding work she did with human remains detection dogs, she was fit, too, but she was also exhausted.
She couldn’t remember a time she’d been happier.
The thought in mind and a spring in her step that hadn’t been there in the year before Wally made an appearance in her life, Jazz dropped her purse on her desk outside the principal’s office at St. Catherine’s Preparatory Academy for Girls and took a deep breath.
Life was good.
“Well, I guess the little beast slept last night or you wouldn’t look so perky.”
Jazz had been so busy smiling at the framed photo of Wally on her desk, she hadn’t seen Sister Eileen Flannery sail into the school’s admin office. As usual, Eileen was wearing a dark suit and the TOMS shoes she swore were the only things that kept her feet comfortable enough to negotiate miles of school hallways every day. Her filmy cream and black scarf had just enough touches of rust in it to bring out the coppery highlights in Eileen’s short, stylish hair. At the same time Jazz admired her boss’s panache, she told herself her own black pants, white shirt, and beige linen jacket were professional enough for the day’s special occasion. Her shoulder-length brown hair was scooped back into a neat ponytail, her nails were polished (something she hardly ever did) with an understated, pinkish shade called Hawaiian Orchid, and her shoes …
Jazz glanced down at her black flats and cringed, then rubbed the toe of her right shoe against the back of her left pant leg. Yeah, like that would help buff out the marks left by a certain puppy’s needle-sharp teeth.
In the hopes that Eileen