I flinched at the sudden intrusion into my thoughts. My gaze sailed upward to Graham. I hadn’t seen him leave the huddle of policemen, but there he was, two feet away, his hyper-alert eyes fixed on my face.
“I’m fine,” I said, pushing shakily to my feet. “Or, I will be when you explain this to me.”
“Which part?”
“The whole part.” I gestured vaguely toward the donkey. My voice was barely a whisper. “Who would do this?”
“That’s what we’re tying to figure out.”
“We?”
“Salem PD, and the boys on my task force.”
My brows arched. “Your… boys?”
He nodded.
“On your… task force?”
He nodded again.
“I don’t understand what you’re doing here, Graham.”
Now his brows were arching, too. “There’s a dead donkey in your alleyway.”
“I know why the police are here. Why areyouhere?”
“I’m a consultant.”
“A consultant,” I repeated slowly.
“At Gravewatch.”
“Gravewatch…”
“Why are you repeating everything I say?”
I threw up my hands. “Because I’m hoping if I do, it will start to make sense.”
“This shouldn’t be confusing for you. You know I’m a special consultant for the police. You know what I do for a living. I overheard Flo tell you at Desmond’s birthday last year.”
I blinked, somewhat stunned he remembered such a minute interaction, but barreled past it to more important matters. “She told me you were a fixer.”
“I am a fixer,” he agreed instantly.
“I’m beginning to think our definitions of that word are not in alignment.”
He waited for me to continue.
“See, I was under the impression you fixed things like… say… cabinets. Old furniture. The occasional leaky pipe.”
A muscle leapt in his cheek. He was staring at me like I was a few watts short of a working bulb. “Let me get this straight. For the past two years, you’ve thought I was a handyman?”
“What’s wrong with being a handyman?”
“Nothing, assuming that’s what you are.” His eyes narrowed and something flashed in their depths, something I didn’t know him well enough to decipher. “Gwendolyn, I’m not a handyman.”
“Oh,” I said stupidly. “Then, when you sayfixeryou mean…”