Quiche of Death

by Mary Lee Ashford

  We were on our way to the Land Rover when I heard my name called. I turned back.

  “Hey, Sugar.” It was Theo who awkwardly held a squirming Frenchie.

  He caught up with us.

  “Yes?”

  “I know it’s a huge imposition, but after we were talking at dinner, I was thinking…” He trailed off. “Well, here’s the thing: I wondered if you’d be willing to take Frenchie for a few days.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” I held out my arms for the dog.

  Chapter Ten

  He immediately handed her over.

  “Just until we can find more out about Colette and her family and decide what to do.” The relief was clear on his face.

  “You go get her stuff and I’ll take her to the car.”

  I suddenly remembered it wasn’t my car. “Do you mind?” I turned to Max.

  “Not at all.” He smiled. “I don’t know what your cat’s going to think of the idea, though.”

  “She’ll be fine.” I smiled back. “It’s Mrs. Pickett next door I’m more worried about.” Ernest rarely went outside, so he skated under the radar most of the time. With Frenchie, that wouldn’t be the case, and I could guarantee there would be some issue.

  Theo must have had Frenchie’s things packed and at the ready, because he was back in a flash. I set the carrier in the back seat of Max’s Land Rover and placed the dog inside while rubbing her head and talking to her. Using the seat belt to secure the carrier, I slipped her a treat.

  “Let’s try this,” I told her. “You’ll be okay there.”

  “There’s extra food in here.” Theo handed me the bright pink tote I’d seen in Colette’s room. “And I put one of Colette’s sweaters in the carrier with her. Colette said sometimes she did that when she had to take Frenchie to the vet. She thought it comforted her so I thought it was worth a try.” He shrugged.

  “We’ll get on just fine.” I gave the guy a hug. “Let me know when you find Colette’s family and need me to bring her back.” In my heart I had doubts that finding Colette’s family was going to come that quickly, but I could certainly be flexible.

  “I really appreciate this.” He pushed dark hair off his forehead and I thought I spotted a new Band-Aid on his hand.

  I settled myself in the front seat for the drive back. Max had a great sense of direction and seemed fine with navigating the way back. He made exactly the correct turn out of the driveway and in a short time we were on the road to St. Ignatius.

  “What did you think after meeting the family?” I asked.

  “An interesting bunch.” He glanced over at me. “I gather you don’t think the death of the girl was an accident.”

  “I was hoping for it.” I turned to look back at Frenchie, who’d settled into the carrier and was asleep, her nose buried in the soft blue sweater Theo had tucked in. “But things don’t add up. Gwen told me the woods surrounding the bed-and-breakfast are clearly posted No Hunting.”

  “That should be enough, but I have signs up also and sometimes it’s not.” Max lived in an old farmstead that he’d bought and had several acres of woodland near the house. “Last year I ran off some young hunters that had either not seen the signs or had seen them and ignored them.”

  “It seems odd that Colette has no family contacts, though.” I glanced out at the countryside that sped by. Rolling grassy hills, wildflowers, fields of corn ready for harvest. “Sheriff Terry said her emergency info was fake. Theo knows nothing about her family. They can’t find anyone who knows anything about her past. It seems weird, you know.”

  “Weird, maybe.” Max stopped at a dusty stop sign and turned onto the highway that would take us home. “But it still could be accidental. I mean, no one was around but the family and what reason would any of them have to get rid of Colette?”

  “I know.” I shook my head. “It doesn’t make sense. One mystery solved this trip, though.”

  “What was that?” he asked.

  I explained about seeing someone outside and finding the cigarette butt and now discovering it was Marta’s.

  “Well, that was a surprise.”

  “It certainly was,” I agreed. “I’ll call the sheriff tomorrow.”

  We were quiet for a mile or two and then I remembered I’d wanted to ask Max about Libby.

  “The girl, Libby—you ran into her in the woods?” I asked.

  “Yes, she was taking photos and didn’t realize she was on private property.” He nodded.

  “What was she taking photos of?”

  “I’m not sure,” he responded. “Nature shots, I guess.”

  “Did she say why she was in the area? Or how she found her way to the Arbor property?”

  “No.” Max glanced over at me and smiled. “You have a very suspicious mind.”

  “I do,” I agreed. “But you have to admit, it seems a bit funny that she appeared out of nowhere.”

  I leaned back in my seat and enjoyed the pleasure of being able to relax and look out the window. Fields of crops were an endless wave on both sides of the road. Almost ready for harvest.

  Maybe my father’s family had been farmers. According to Lucinda, there were limited options for the original settlers to the state, so it was likely farming unless they came much later. Perhaps they lived in an area like this. I looked forward to Lucinda sharing more about how to research family roots. She’d given me a place to start and I couldn’t wait to dive on my own research in the first chance I had.

  But first the Arbor family cookbook.

  * * * *

  We arrived back in St. Ignatius before the sun had gone down. The days were getting shorter and soon it would be dark by eight or nine o’clock.

  Max pulled into my driveway and came around to help me carry Frenchie and her things inside.

  I unlocked the door and flipped on some lights so we could see better. Ernest immediately appeared from the kitchen, where I’m sure he had been enjoying one of his favorite pastimes, watching his food dish.

  He meowed a loud complaint about being left alone for so long.

  “I think you’re in trouble.” Max chuckled and reached down to pick up Ernest. “Hi, buddy.” He scratched under the cat’s chin and then put him back down on the floor.

  “It sounds like it.” I set down Frenchie’s carrier and she stood up, looking around in confusion.

  “Have you had a dog and a cat in the same house before?” Max asked.

  “Before moving here, I’d never had a pet.” I knelt down and stuck my finger through the gap in the wire front to pet Frenchie’s nose. “Not a dog or a cat or a goldfish. My mother wasn’t a fan and when I was out on my own, I was always too crazy busy.”

  I flipped open the latch on the door of the carrier.

  “Well, you might want to—” Max began.

  Too late.

  Frenchie shot out and ran in circles around the room. Her high-pitched, excited barking echoed off the walls. Ernest arched his back and hissed, his tail suddenly twice its normal size. He leaped onto the nearby entry table, knocking off a vase and scattering mail everywhere. Frenchie lunged forward, barking at the pieces of the vase.

  I tried to grab the poodle and missed as she jumped sideways. Ernest took that opportunity to dive from the table to the floor and then under the couch. Frenchie followed, still barking, wedging her nose under the side.

  Ernest hissed a warning, then struck. I didn’t think his claws actually connected with her nose, but Frenchie let out a piercing screech and scuttled back to her carrier. Ernest shot out from under the couch and headed upstairs in a furry flash.

  I looked at Max. “You were saying?”

  He grinned. “I was saying you might want to let them get acclimated to each other. It doesn’t always go well.”

  “No kidding.”

  I got Frenchie
to come back out of the carrier and checked her over. There was no bleeding so I think she was more startled than injured.

  After Max left, I cleaned up the broken vase. Thank goodness it was an inexpensive find from a yard sale and not some fancy high-priced item my mother had sent me.

  I gathered the mail that had gone every which way. Then I went upstairs to see if I could find Ernest. He was sitting on top of my dresser, still on high alert, a look of betrayal on his face. I picked him up, but he refused to relax. He didn’t take his eyes off the bedroom door, watching to make sure we weren’t attacked again.

  “We have to get along with each other,” I told him. “Frenchie is our guest. She has lost her person and we’re going to let her stay here for a while.”

  He jumped out of my arms and headed for the bathroom, where he waited for me to join him and turn on the faucet so he could get a drink. I didn’t know why he insisted on drinking water that way when his water dish in the kitchen was always filled with fresh water. Which reminded me that I’d better check on his food. He had been alone most of the day and I generally give him more food when I get home from work.

  Back downstairs, I looked around for Frenchie and didn’t see her. I flipped on the light in the kitchen and found her right away. She’d polished off Ernest’s food and was now helping herself to his water. She looked up at me, water dripping from her face and chin, giving her a bewildered Fu Manchu poodle appearance. Apparently all the excitement had made her very thirsty.

  Ernest looked at us from the doorway.

  “Sorry, bud.” I reached down to get the dishes and set them in the sink to wash them out. I’d have to sort out this feeding thing. I grabbed Frenchie’s bag from the living room and headed back to the kitchen to find a bowl for her food.

  She stood in the middle of a room in a puddle.

  Ernest gave a loud meow as if to comment on what he thought about our guest.

  No good deed goes unpunished.

  That’s what my Aunt Cricket would say and, in this case, it wasn’t far from the truth.

  I guess there was more to dog-sitting than I’d realized. Max had been right to ask about my experience. It consisted of interactions with Dixie’s dog, Monto. She sometimes brought him to the office. He mostly napped and begged treats.

  I grabbed some paper towels and cleaned up the puddle. Ernest walked out of the room, his tail switching in disgust.

  Finding Frenchie’s leash and clipping it on, I took her outside. We walked north. Or maybe south. Anyway, we walked in the opposite direction from Mrs. Pickett’s house. There were lights on and she was probably inside with her television on, but somehow the woman always knew when something had gone awry at my house. Then she would show up at my door. I didn’t think I was up to dealing with her tonight.

  We walked three blocks and then turned back. Frenchie seemed happy with the arrangement, trotting along beside me, occasionally stopping to sniff a plant or water one.

  When we got back home, Ernest had situated himself on the back of the chair where I usually sat to read. He raised his head, but other than that seemed settled. I unclipped Frenchie and she jumped up on the couch and lay down.

  Things were looking up.

  I left the two of them in their living room détente and went to clean up Ernest’s dishes. Running water in the sink and washing them thoroughly, I rinsed the two bowls and set them aside to dry. Looking around, I tried to figure out where I could put them that Frenchie couldn’t reach but Ernest could.

  I hated to put them on the counter because I’d been trying to train Ernest to stay off the counter. It was, however, the most likely solution, as there was a ton of counter space. The big country kitchen was one of the things I loved about the house. It was currently a rental, but I hoped to someday be able to buy it. Greer Gooder, my landlady, had also become a good friend.

  I slapped my forehead. How could I have forgotten? I was supposed to call Greer when we got back. She lived in town at the Good Life, a retirement community, and she would be upset if I didn’t stop by and fill her in on the latest at Arbor House. Mostly she’d be upset if the other residents had more of a scoop than she did.

  I called Greer’s number but the call went directly to voicemail. Glancing at my watch, I realized she was probably at Scrabble night. Greer loved all the activities at the Good Life, but her two favorites were movie night and Scrabble night at the community center. I’d try her again tomorrow morning.

  I filled the dishes and placed them in the middle of the table. Maybe tomorrow I’d be able to come up with a better idea.

  “I’m going upstairs,” I announced to the two as I went through the living room. I wasn’t sure how Frenchie would do in a strange house, but she seemed to regard her carrier as her safe place, so maybe she was used to sleeping there.

  As I got ready for bed, I was sure I’d have trouble falling asleep. But I was out minutes after my head hit the pillow.

  * * * *

  I woke up on the very edge of the bed, with Ernest curled in the small of my back and a black poodle nose inches from my face.

  “Good morning, Frenchie.” She was just tall enough to reach the side of the bed if she stood on her hind legs.

  The integration of feline and canine seemed to have improved. Or at least no one was hissing or barking. Progress.

  I tried to sit up without mashing the cat and he finally moved, but not without giving me a very stern look. Switching his tail, he jumped to the nightstand, tried to stick his paw in the bottle of water I’d left there, and then unable to do that, batted it off the edge so that the water bottle landed directly on Frenchie’s head.

  The poor pup yelped as if she’d been attacked by a wild animal. And I guess in a way she had, but it was a plastic bottle and only a tiny bit of water was left in it, so it hadn’t been heavy.

  “Ernest, be nice,” I scolded, grabbing a towel from the laundry basket and mopping up the water that had spilled onto the floor.

  Heading down the stairs, Ernest was with me every step of the way. Frenchie sat on the top step, watching forlornly.

  “Come on, girl.” I motioned for her to come ahead but she just stared down at me.

  I looked behind me where Ernest sat, looking innocent.

  I sighed and headed back up to get the dog.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dixie had already arrived when I got to the office. I pulled the Jeep in beside her pickup, which was parked in the shaded area behind the shop. Stepping inside, I set Frenchie’s crate down in order to pull the door shut.

  “How did it go?” She must have heard me come in. “Oh.” She stopped.

  “Yeah.” I picked up the carrier and headed to my office. “Just temporarily. Until they can find out about Colette’s family.”

  “I can only imagine how that went over with Ernest.” Bending down, she unlatched the door and Frenchie pranced out. “Did you survive, sweetie?”

  Why did everyone see that cat-dog issue coming but me?

  “She did okay.”

  “I was talking to you.” Dixie grinned up at me.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking, but I couldn’t leave the poor pooch there with Theo trying to take care of her, and her nipping him at every chance.”

  “I get it. And if it’s any consolation, I probably would have done the same.” She picked up Frenchie and snuggled her. “How is the family holding up?”

  “Pretty well, all things considered.” I reached in and fluffed the sweater Theo had put in the carrier. It had been a good idea: The dog liked laying her head on it when she was in the crate. She probably could smell Colette on the fibers.

  “Any news on the case?”

  “Not really news, but some details to share.” I booted up my computer and sat down. “Sheriff Terry had let Theo know they contacted the firm where she worked and that her emergen
cy contacts were bogus.”

  “No other leads on his end?”

  “None.” I tried to take a sip from my travel mug and realized it was empty. A comment on my morning. “Let me get the coffeepot fired up and I’ll fill you in on the rest.”

  I started the coffee and then filled Dixie in on the photos Max had taken, our invitation to stay for dinner, Libby, the mystery girl; the big Marta revelation, and how I’d come home with Frenchie.

  “Wow, I feel like a slacker.”

  “Right,” I scoffed. “You could never be a slacker.”

  It was part of the reason we worked so well together: We both believed in the virtues of hard work and getting things done.

  “Maybe not a slacker, but I used to be better about not volunteering at every opportunity.” She handed me the filled coffee cup. “You’re a bad influence.”

  “Probably.” I took a sip. “If you can’t be an inspiration to people, be a warning.”

  “Your Aunt Cricket?” she asked.

  “Always.” I took another drink and set the cup on my desk. “What have you volunteered for now?”

  “The quilting ladies over at Quilting Time are having an open house and I told them I’d donate some cookies.”

  “That’s easy-peasy for you. I’m sure they’ll be good.”

  “That’s not the problem.” She made a face. “The problem is I need for them to look like quilt squares. I have some ideas, but I’m not sure. Can you take a look?”

  “Sure.” I was happy to help on the design side of things. Dixie knew better than to ask me to help on the baking side.

  After looking at her ideas for designs, I was even more sure the cookies would be perfect. We picked a simple square shortbread cookie for the base and all of the creative work was done with the frosting.

  “Okay, then.” Dixie pulled her dark red hair into a bun. A sure sign things were about it get serious in the kitchen. “I’m going to try a batch and then this afternoon, I’ll practice frosting them.”

  “Great idea.” I saw practice cookies in my future. And probably in Disco’s future as well.