by Eileen Brady
Could the murderer be a woman?
* * *
In the middle of morning appointments, Raeleen’s fiancé, Devin, showed up for a medication refill for Muffin. By his side stood a familiar figure. Our former intern, Greta, proudly accompanied him, her hand lightly resting on his arm. The look of adoration on her face was unmistakable.
Mari’s eyebrows went toward the sky when she saw the new couple.
Cindy interrupted her transaction and waved me over. “Just need you to okay this, Dr. Kate,” she said to me.
Determined not to show my own astonishment, I concentrated on the medicine.
“How’s your dog doing?” I asked, scrolling through my notes on the portable tablet. “Any problems?”
Greta answered for him, which further surprised the heck out of all of us.
“Muffin’s doing great, isn’t she, honey?”
A man of a few words, Devin said, “Sure. Much better.”
He might as well have been Shakespeare. Greta beamed at his response.
After I approved the refill, I asked, “How do you guys know each other?”
Again, Greta jumped in first. “We’re in the same history class at school. I needed an elective this semester, and so did he. Luckily, we ended up in the same class.”
“Yeah,” he added in a flat voice. “Greta helps me with the homework. They give us way too much homework, by the way.”
Greta sagely nodded in agreement, before giggling. “You’re so right.”
There was a distinct possibility that my former intern had mistaken friendliness and the need for a study partner for romantic interest. Devin’s body language didn’t show any particular tenderness or interest. I couldn’t help but wonder how long they’d been “doing homework” together. And had Raeleen found out about it?
Mari had a question for Greta. “Have you started another internship?”
“Yes,” she answered enthusiastically. “A radiologist’s office. I love it. No emergencies, no real patients to talk to. So far this matches my needs, perfectly.”
“And veterinary medicine?” my assistant persisted. “What did you think?”
She shook her head. “Nope. Too messy, emotional, and frankly—you all work too hard.”
With that pronouncement she and Devin bade us goodbye and left. Our shy student had been replaced by a decisive woman in love. Crossing the parking lot, Greta again slipped her hand around his arm.
Cindy waited until the door closed completely to comment. “That’s something I didn’t predict. She seemed so nice.”
“Boy,” Mari added. “She pounced on him pretty quick. Anyone know if Greta is his alibi?”
I sagely failed to remind them of their own matchmaking attempts. Instead, I shook my head while Cindy said, “No comment.”
My opinion of Greta had changed, too. She’d attended the Christmas party and heard everything. Greta could have used the “death wish” to camouflage the reason behind Raeleen’s murder, clearing the way to console a grieving Devin. I decided her name would soon be prominently written on my dry-erase board just below Raeleen. Only next to Greta I’d write—killer?
“He’s going to dump her, mark my words,” Cindy predicted. “If Gramps was here, we’d bet on it.”
* * *
The final client of the day had a bizarre problem. Her completely lovable kitty who lay purring on the exam table, waiting for her yearly physical, had learned to turn her touch-free faucet on and off and on and off, thereby providing hours of feline paw-dipping pleasure.
“See,” she said and held her phone up. We both watched her Siamese, Simba, jump onto the kitchen counter. After staring at the faucet, she held up her paw. When the faucet began to flow, Simba leisurely dipped her paw into the water, then scooped a little up for a drink. This continued for a good three or four minutes.
“Very ingenious,” I told the owner. “Now, let’s figure out what to do about it.”
Simba stood up and gave a loud Siamese meow, inviting a conversation with her owner. “She’s very smart,” my client commented. “She also opens doors. I had to change all my handles for doorknobs.” Despite the inconvenience, Simba and her owner obviously enjoyed a happy relationship—a Siamese queen and her lowly human servant.
“Have you checked this brand for an override command? Maybe it can be set to a two-taps code. Or, you can cover it with an appliance cover when not in use.”
None of my ideas appealed to either of them.
“I thought cats hated water,” she added, stroking Simba’s shiny fur. The blue-eyed cat responded by molding herself into her owner’s hand.
That was one of the biggest misconceptions around. “Many house cats enjoy a little water. I’ve had clients tell me their cats curl up in the bathroom sink, lick the leftover shower water when they’re done, or put their heads under running water to lick the droplets. I think Simba is amusing herself while getting a fresh drink using her front paw as a spoon.”
We both stared at the cat who disdainfully turned her back and began to groom her naughty paws.
“A barrier of some sort might help,” I suggested after finishing my exam. All Simba needed was a booster of her rabies shot, which went smoothly. Rabies was a shot I always recommended, especially here in rural Oak Falls. The story my client shared with us illustrated why.
Simba’s owner told me her neighbor had two bats fly in through her chimney this past summer which scared everyone. Another neighbor didn’t realize she hosted a bat colony in the eaves of an unfinished basement.
“Bats are wonderful creatures and eat large amounts of insects,” I reminded her. “If they become ill or disorientated, a sick bat is easy prey even for a pampered house cat.” I draped my stethoscope around my neck. “Now, what are we going to do with you, Simba?”
After discussing some options my client decided to try my tinfoil barrier idea while at the same time providing Simba with an alternative source of water—a cat fountain.
Everyone left happy, which was a great way to end my day.
Too bad it didn’t last.
* * *
In my apartment I must have walked past the dry-erase board a dozen times while cleaning up and doing a load of laundry. Still thinking about where Greta fit into everything, my thoughts were interrupted by a text.
U busy? Want 2 talk?
Having Luke come over would definitely liven up my evening one way or another. Tonight, we’d finally be alone for more than a few minutes. This “talk” was long overdue, but I had a bad feeling. It would be the perfect topper of this stressful holiday season—being officially dumped just before Christmas. I took a deep breath and texted:
Not busy. See you soon?
He replied:
K
His one word response usually meant he was in the neighborhood. I barely had time to brush my hair and change out of my sweats before Buddy started his happy bark. Like most dogs, he knew the sound of familiar car engines—and Luke was his favorite visitor.
* * *
Usually Luke and I felt comfortable together, but tonight we might as well have been strangers on a bus. The air prickled with tension. Even Buddy’s tail wagged in a tentative rhythm.
“I can’t stay long,” he said, setting the tone of the visit.
“No problem,” I answered, gamely keeping up pretenses.
The casual tone hit a snag as soon as he saw the dry-erase board festooned with victims and suspects.
He moved past me, shoulder briefly brushing mine, his dark hair tousled from being temporarily trapped in his hood.
“I see that Frank Martindale’s entire family is on your suspect list. Who are they, exactly?” Luke picked up a blue marker and tried it on the board.
His challenging tone wasn’t lost on me. “The courts haven’t yet identified an heir that I
’m aware of. But it’s always wise to follow the money.”
“Frank didn’t have much money. All that’s left is his house and a few lawsuits. His estate will most likely go to probate unless a will is found.”
“Right.” I wasn’t about to argue with a law student. “That’s just a reminder for me so it doesn’t fall through the cracks.”
“Plenty of those around.” His fingers touched Raeleen’s name. “I recognize the boyfriend, Devin, but who is Greta?”
Tired of speaking mostly to his back, I moved closer. “That’s the new girlfriend wannabe. Strangely enough, she worked as our intern for the last three weeks, which ties her into the YouTube video. Jealousy might be her motive for murder.”
“Are you thinking that Greta wants the fiancé for herself, so she murders Raeleen and throws in a couple of extra bodies for the heck of it? You can do better than that, Kate.”
This time his voice had that lilting, teasing quality I knew so well.
“What about Eloise?” he continued.
“Listen, this is a work in progress,” I told him. “I’m trying to prove none of these deaths had anything to do with what everyone sees on that YouTube video. Did your pals at the police department tell you anything?”
“Not a lot,” he admitted. “After the coroner admitted Eloise might have been pushed, they started looking at Frank’s death, too. But so far no one can prove anything. Raeleen is a different ballgame. They’ve got plenty of physical evidence of a fight, but so far no match on the DNA. If it is the same perpetrator that attacked Jeremy, he covered his or her hair with a hat and wore gloves.”
“So why focus on Pinky?”
Luke turned toward me, a frown on his face. “Because he was at each crime scene at the crucial time and he plowed the supermarket parking lot, too. He’s lucky that lawyer stepped in to protect him from himself.”
“Poor Pinky.” On opposite sides of the board we faced each other. “Are you here to tell me to stop?”
We stood our ground, both stubborn as usual.
“Actually,” he answered, “I’m here to help.”
And just like that, the painful heart-to-heart talk I both wanted and dreaded was deleted from our to-do list, replaced with a whodunit list.
“You’ve got a good start here,” Luke said, picking up the marker. “I can fill in some other details, but the biggest question marks are these.” He wrote MOTIVE and SANTA.
Immediately, I said, “You can’t call the killer Santa.”
“Only joking with you.” His smile got to me like it always did.
As I watched him write down where the deaths took place, I had to ask, “Why are you doing this?”
“First of all, this is temporary help. I’m going back to school the week after New Year’s. Second, I figure you’re going to nose around anyway, which will make me worry—so maybe we should pool our energy.”
“It’s been a while since we’ve pooled our energy,” I said with a grin.
His ears were the first part to turn red. “I am very—very aware of that.”
Luke moved closer, but I slipped under his arm. It wouldn’t be that easy to make up with me.
“Are we starting with the premise that these are three murders?” I picked up a green marker and held it ready for battle.
With a blue marker still in his hand he said, “That’s a very good question, and I’m not sure of the answer. There’s always the possibility that Eloise’s or Frank’s passing were accidents.” With that he began a new heading called QUESTIONS. The first one read Accident or Murder? The second question mentioned Kate’s wish with a question mark.
“Are you implying that the killer took advantage of my wish to outsmart the police?” Although it originally seemed far-fetched, I’d started to consider it more and more.
“The wish acted like a smoke screen, I would say. But why?” Luke stared at the board then wrote Love or Hate? next to my name.
“No idea.” I didn’t want to be an integral part of this mess.
He turned toward me. “Does the killer love you, killing those who upset you—or does he hate you and is trying to frame you for murder? Or is it both? Or neither?”
A chilling thought either way. “Luke, can we please look at the facts? Only one person of the three was definitely murdered, without a doubt.”
“Executed, actually,” Luke pointed out.
We both raced to the same conclusion.
It was all about Raeleen.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The following day icy sleet turned the roads into skating rinks. Luke and I had agreed to disagree before he left for home. Cindy was kept busy with a number of canceled appointments. I sat in the employee lounge munching on a brownie while reading a veterinary journal with my feet up. Our generous clients had been dropping off homemade goodies for us all week. My larger scrub pants were feeling a bit tight.
Mari strolled in carrying a spray bottle of cleaner, looking for something to do.
“Well, I’ve cleaned all the exam rooms and pissed Cindy off by spraying the reception room chairs while she was working. A very productive morning.” She plopped down and placed the cleaning stuff on the closest counter. “What are you eating? The brownies?”
“A clever diagnosis. Let me get rid of the evidence.” I held the remnant up before finishing it off.
“Didn’t work,” she said, looking at my jacket. “Don’t eat chocolate when you’re wearing white.”
One quick glance confirmed the observation. It doesn’t seem to matter how careful I was, I usually dropped food on my clothes.
“Can I get you anything?” I asked my assistant. All I needed was another half cup of coffee to make the universe right.
“A brownie, and one of those squiggly things in that Christmas box, please. You know we’re eating much too much sugar, don’t you?”
Putting everything she asked for on a paper plate, I added a few jellybeans for color and more sugar. Mari was a sucker for jellybeans.
“This is so strange,” I commented, “the two of us sitting around doing nothing.”
Almost immediately Cindy interrupted, holding the hospital portable phone in her hand. “Want to go pick up some donations?” she asked. “A couple of dog beds, some puppy enclosures, a few dog bowls. It’s at Eloise Rieven’s old place. Her son, Joe, is cleaning out the house.”
I sat up, suddenly interested. “Sure.” Many of our clients gave us used pet items, which we washed and kept for emergency situations or donated to local rescue groups. It felt good to be able to offer a nice dog or cat bed to a needy pet.
But I had another motive for wanting to visit Eloise’s house.
“The weather is pretty bad,” Mari said. “Why don’t we take my truck?”
I readily agreed. Mari’s monster four-wheel-drive with big snow tires and a full set of chains made me feel safer on our slippery roads.
“Guys,” Cindy added, “if it keeps up like this we’re going to close early. Text me when you’re leaving the Rieven place, in case someone books a last-minute appointment?”
“Will do,” I told our commander in chief.
* * *
Mari drove, an unusual situation for us. I’d thrown my emergency backpack on the second row seat, as well as our medical supplies, just in case. The roads, slick with layers of thin ice, were as bad as described. Busy work crews sanded the main thoroughfares. Eloise Rieven’s farmhouse wasn’t too far from the animal hospital, but it took us twenty-five minutes going at least ten miles below the speed limit. Sited relatively close to the road, like many older homes, it nestled in a cleared area, with an orchard and gardens in the back of the house.
By the time we turned into the driveway, most of the main road had morphed to dirty slush. The uneven driveway, however, sported some icy patches despite being sanded and plowed.
“If this freezes tonight, I don’t want to be anywhere near it,” Mari said.
“Second you on that.”
We both held on and slid out of the truck, our boots hitting slush and gravel. There were two other cars parked near the stairs. Last time when we picked up her bulldog, we’d used the back stairs. I was curious what the front entrance looked like. Someone had cleared a walking path on the bluestone sidewalk. As soon as we reached the front door, we both got as much ice off our boots as we could. A worn welcome mat didn’t help much.
I heard some movement inside before I rang the doorbell.
When the door opened, a woman in overalls and a coat stared me in the face. She obviously didn’t recognize either of us.
Mari spoke up first. “We’re from Oak Falls Animal Hospital. Joe Rieven told our receptionist you had some animal items to donate?”
She smiled immediately. “Karen.” A firm handshake ushered us both inside. “I’m with Clutterbusters. Thanks for coming on such a horrible day. Everything’s in here.”
We immediately noticed there was no fire in the wood stove. The radiators in the main room banged a little when the furnace kicked in, but it didn’t feel much warmer inside the house than outside.
A woman dressed in business casual with a tape measure, helped by a younger man in a suit and tie, measured the front room.
“Real estate agents,” Karen said while walking down the hallway. “Can’t sell the house full of stuff. We’ve been hired to get the place cleaned up, but the weather isn’t helping any.”
After nodding at the agents who paid no attention to us, we walked down that same dark, narrow hallway crowded with artwork I’d seen before. A quick turn put us into a charming but outdated kitchen.
“I forgot how her kitchen looked. Talk about vintage,” Mari said.
