by Dale Mayer
That didn’t bear thinking about.
She searched the kitchen cupboards, looking for bird food but finding none. She turned in frustration, the bird staring at her, his head cocked to one side.
He spoke again. “Thaddeus is hungry. Thaddeus is hungry.”
She glared at him. “Do you have to say everything twice?”
“Yes. Yes.”
She groaned. “Enough.”
“Thaddeus is hungry. Thaddeus is hungry.”
In defeat she pulled out her phone and called Nan. “Have you got food here for Thaddeus?”
“It’s in the front closet on the top shelf,” Nan said with a giggle. “Is he eating the dog food yet?”
“Well, he is trying to. I presume he also eats Goliath’s food too?”
“Who’s Goliath?”
Silence overtook her. Doreen frowned into the phone. “Your cat?”
“Oh, well, Goliath is a better name than I gave him.” Nan giggled. “Cat food and bird food are all in the closet. Don’t leave the door open, or Thaddeus will get in all the food.”
With Nan still on the phone, Doreen headed to the closet and tried to open it. “Why would you lock this closet? The bird can’t turn a doorknob.”
“It isn’t locked. It’s just got a strong spring, so it shuts firmly. Turn the handle and tug real hard.”
“Really?” She squeezed the phone between her ear and shoulder, and, with both hands, she turned the doorknob and gave it a sharp tug. It opened easily enough, considering, sending her backward. “Well, you’re right about it sticking.” She looked up at the corners, realizing the door had swelled, and that was why it had been stuck. “This door should be taken off its hinges and sanded down,” she said to Nan. “There are some things I know need to be done as I oversaw the work at the estate, I’ve just never done it myself.”
Nan laughed. “That’s a minor thing. Wait ’til you see the rest of the things falling apart in the house.”
“Oh, great.” But bags of pet food were up on the shelf. She pulled out the cat food and some of the bird food. She found another set of food and water bowls that she could use to feed the cat, since Doreen hadn’t seen any others out in the house already. Did Thaddeus eat and drink from a bowl? So far she’d seen him eat off the floor and the table. The rest of her conversation with Nan was about how much Doreen was supposed to feed Thaddeus and Goliath and where to feed them.
“He has two bowls. One for water, but he prefers my tea,” she chuckled. “And loves the blue bowl with chips out of the side. He’s partial to that one but will eat out of anything. It’s important that you put Thaddeus on his roost after eating. He’s very good at keeping the house area clean in general, but you have to change the newspapers around the base of his stand.”
While Thaddeus ate on the kitchen table—a habit she really didn’t want him to continue—Doreen walked to the bird’s perch and stood, staring at the soiled newspapers positioned around the base of the stand, and saw what Nan had been talking about. Doreen’s long-sounding sigh had Nan giggling on the other end.
“Did you really think he didn’t have to go to the bathroom when inside the house?”
“How many times a day does he go?” Doreen asked suspiciously.
In a way-too-innocent-sounding voice, Nan said, “Not too often. Just change the newspapers whenever you can. Every day would be good.” And then she hung up.
“Darn.” After the day Doreen had had, what was a little poop? She rolled up her sleeves, gathered the dirty newspapers together and laid out fresh newspaper from a nearby stack—now understanding why they were in this corner. Along with a collection of plastic grocery bags. She grabbed one of those too and filled it with the newspapers to discard.
She certainly didn’t want this mess inside the kitchen. She looked outside at the people standing around where her garbage can was. What a long walk it would be to get the bird-poop papers down there with everybody’s gaze on her. And how hard it would be to get past those people watching her without them noticing her.
Then she got mad. So what if they were watching? She’d been through a heck of a lot worse since the holidays last year. So many people had looked on, snickered and outright laughed at her circumstances.
She’d be darned if she’d let these gawkers make her sleep in the same house as the rather overwhelming collection of bird poop. She walked back into the kitchen, slipped her feet into Nan’s shoes, picked up the bag of poop-coated newspapers and opened the front door. Instantly a murmur arose from the crowd at the base of the driveway. She closed the door behind her and strode, staring straight ahead, to the garbage can. There she lifted the lid, put the garbage inside and slammed the lid down a little harder than necessary.
Instantly silence surrounded her.
And still the clang of the metal-on-metal rang clear. She winced, turned and walked back toward the house. Not a soul said a word. As she entered her front door, neither had she.
She stopped in the threshold, wondering how to turn this around. Normally she’d say she was a wonderful hostess, knowing how to smooth over any awkward moment. She’d prided herself on that to make her husband’s social evenings work. Yet, here she was, in the middle of two worlds, a bridge that she had crossed. But she had yet to figure out a way to bring her previous experiences with her.
She pivoted for one last look at the crowd. And tried to smile.
All eyes stared back at her. Nobody moved.
She took a deep breath, twisted fully to face them and said, “Hello. My name is Doreen. Nan is my grandmother.”
Not a word was spoken in response. She shrugged. Well, she had tried. She turned again.
And just as she was about to shut the door, somebody from the middle of the crowd called out, “Did you kill him? Did you kill the man in the garden?”
“Of course not,” she yelled. “I just arrived today.”
“And yet, there is a dead man in your garden.”
“No,” she hollered at the top of her voice. “There is a dead man in Nan’s garden.”
And with that the crowd gasped in shock.
“Nan wouldn’t kill anyone,” someone yelled.
“And neither would I,” Doreen yelled back. She glared at them, spun on her heels, then slammed the door shut. If only she could shut out the world that simply. She leaned against the door, tamping down the scream in the back of her throat.
Just then Mugs raced through the hallway, Thaddeus riding his back and screaming at the top of his lungs, “Thaddeus is here. Thaddeus is here.”
Doreen grabbed her hair, pulled and joined in, screaming at the top of her lungs.
Chapter 8
From the din inside, it was almost impossible to hear the knock on the door. Wiping the frustrated tears from her eyes, Doreen scrambled to peer around the corner of the living room window. A massive crowd remained outside. If anything, it appeared to be larger.
She glared at them from her hidden position. But someone at the door pounded again. The whole darn frame seemed to shake at that movement. She peered around the corner, but all she could see was someone big, and she chewed on her bottom lip, wondering if she should answer. By this point Mugs thought he should add to the noise again. He barked and barked and barked.
What now? I’ll never get to eat at this rate.
If for no other reason than to shut him up, she walked to the front door. With her chin held high, she flung it open. And her jaw dropped. A man—huge, broad, sexy as hell, and a bit older than she was—filled the doorway.
He looked at her and smiled and asked, “Doreen Montgomery, I presume?”
She stared at him suspiciously. “How do you know my name?”
“I work with law enforcement. So I already know who you are. Besides you’re in Nan Montgomery’s house.”
“But my married name was Merriweather.”
“Have you reverted back to your maiden name?”
“Paperwork is in progress,” she admitted. “
But Montgomery’s the only name I’ll answer to now.”
He motioned to the living room behind her. “May I come in?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Why?”
He laughed.
That made her even more suspicious. “Are you just one of the many who wants to come here and gawk?”
“Hell, no, I don’t. I’m the investigating officer for the Serious Crime Unit here in town.”
She bolted backward. “Does that mean I’m a suspect?” She outstretched her arms as if to ward off an attack. “I didn’t do anything, honest.” Then she stopped and stared at him suspiciously. “Do I need a lawyer to talk to you?”
“Whoa, take it easy. No. You are not a suspect but more of a witness after-the-fact. My brother is a lawyer, if you want to talk to one. I almost went to law school with him.” He smiled reassuringly at her. “We both work on the side of the good guys.”
“There is no such thing when it comes to a lawyer,” she snapped. She narrowed her gaze at him and asked, “ID?”
He raised an eyebrow, pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and extracted a card from inside. With two fingers, he held it out to her.
She read it. Mack Moreau. He looked like a man called Mack should look, as he was the size of a freaking Mack truck.
And the card presented him as Corporal Moreau of the Kelowna RCMP Serious Crime Unit. So at least he was who he said he was. If that made any difference. “Why are you here, and do I need to get a lawyer of my own choosing?” Yet, she had absolutely zero trust in them at this point in her life.
He shook his head. “No, you don’t. Things are done very casually here. I came to welcome you to our town and to see what the hell was going on in your backyard. More cops will be here anytime now.”
“More cops?” She waved at her backyard. “How can there possibly be more cops working for this small town? They’re all in my backyard already.”
“A lot of times we deputize civilians if we need them.”
She stared at him as the information computed in her brain. “So you can deputize me to work in my own garden?”
At that he gave a boisterous laugh. “Well, if it wasn’t your garden, and there wasn’t a body found on your property, without that conflict of interest, if you are in fit physical form to assist us as needed for the case, then it’s possible.”
She stared at him, disgruntled. “I’m fit.”
His gaze went from the top of her no-longer-coiffed hair all the way down her very bedraggled suit to Nan’s pink garden shoes on her feet. In a very gentle voice he said, “It looks like you’ve had a very difficult day.” He motioned to the kitchen. “Why don’t we put on a cup of tea?”
She couldn’t decide if he was being patronizing or compassionate. She decided she’d had enough of the bad guys, and she’d take his compassion if it were there. “Fine. But watch out for Mugs and Goliath.” She turned to find the giant of a man busy rubbing Mugs’s belly as he lay on his back, his stubby legs in the air, a serious groan coming from his mouth. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard him make that sound before.” She stared at the man and shook her head. “I suppose you think you can charm anyone?”
“Nope. But dogs are easy.”
“How do you feel about cats?”
Goliath snuck around the corner of the hallway toward Mack. He gave the cat a great big scratch on its back and under its chin. And, just like that, he’d won over Goliath too as the traitor dropped to the floor and purred like a lion. Doreen stared at Mack. He had an affinity for animals she’d never really had a chance to explore. Before today.
“How’s Thaddeus?” Mack straightened and walked toward Doreen, glancing over at Thaddeus on the tree post. “I’m used to seeing him on that roost all the time.”
“He seems to like that place.” She put on the teakettle, grateful she knew how to do that much. Too bad she hadn’t made any coffee. She’d have it to offer him now. But what would she serve him with the tea? “I haven’t had a chance to go shopping yet,” she said. “I wasn’t sure the crowd outside would let me.”
“If they’re bothering you, I can have them dispersed.”
She faced him. “Can you?”
“Sure. They’re just curious. Those are all your neighbors, plus a few from surrounding neighborhoods it seems. They want to know what’s going on. They’re harmless enough.”
“How can you tell? One of them might be the murderer. Isn’t it true that murderers often stick around when the police arrive at the scenes of their crimes?”
“Usually with a fresh one. Not so much when it’s been buried for a while. Although this one is a relatively recent murder, as I understand flesh is still on the bones.” He tilted his head toward her. “But you are correct in that criminals do return to their crime scenes. And they do seem to enjoy watching everybody scurry around to solve the mystery.”
“I thought so.” She opened the tea drawer. “I don’t know what tea to serve you.”
“How about coffee instead?”
She eyed him suspiciously. She had heard the hopeful tone in his voice. “The coffeemaker is right there. Feel free.”
He walked over, swung out a basket from the top of the coffeemaker she hadn’t known existed and dumped out its contents in the trash can under the sink. He opened the drawer below the coffeemaker, pulled out a coffee filter, stuck one in and then reached for a bag of coffee.
And she didn’t even know it had been coffee. She walked over and studied the bag. “Nothing on it says coffee.” She felt his stare of surprise.
He quietly said in a calm voice, “It says espresso.”
She nodded. “I read that. I didn’t realize that was the same kind of coffee one could use to make coffee in a coffeemaker.”
“Absolutely. Espresso makes some of the best coffee.”
“Good, because I really could use a cup.” She walked over to the table and sagged into a chair. At that moment, Thaddeus decided to walk across the kitchen floor, strutting his stuff but coming from the other side of the kitchen. “Where the heck were you?” she asked in an accusing tone.
“Thaddeus is here. Thaddeus is here.” He ruffled his feathers and jumped onto the table.
And then she got it. She leaned forward and studied the dog food. “You were in the cupboard, eating all the dog food, weren’t you?”
“Thaddeus is here. Thaddeus is here.”
“You might not be for long though,” she threatened.
“Thaddeus is a long-term character around this place.” Mack walked over and brushed the side of the African Grey’s cheek. “Hello, Thaddeus. How are you doing?”
Thaddeus lifted a foot to the man’s finger, bobbed his head, proceeded to hop on, and then walked all the way up to Mack’s shoulder, where he sat quite comfortably. “Thaddeus is fine. Thaddeus is fine.”
“Glad to hear that, big guy. I’m sure it’s been a pretty tough adjustment for you not having Nan around.”
“Nan is gone. Nan is gone.”
But Thaddeus’s tone of voice had changed to a soulful mourn, so much so that Doreen could feel his grief.
“Nan is not gone,” she reassured Thaddeus. “Remember? I took you to see Nan today.”
“Did you? How is she?”
Doreen looked over at Mack and said, “Honestly, she seems quite happy there. I was expecting her to be in worse shape.”
Mack pulled out a chair beside Doreen. As he sat down, Thaddeus maintained his position perfectly on his shoulder.
The smell of coffee filled the air. She turned and looked at Mack. “I should’ve asked earlier. How much coffee did you put in?”
“Two scoops,” he said without missing a beat. “And the scoop’s inside the bag.”
She stored that information away for later. She so wanted to learn to make a decent cup of coffee. Even if it took her ten pots to get there. She was a little desperate for her caffeine.
“And your relationship with Nan?”
&nbs
p; Her gaze focused on him, her mood mellower now that she knew coffee was coming. “My grandmother. She’s the only family I have left. I didn’t get to see her very much when I was married. We did phone a lot though.” She smiled. “Nan used to tell me how her life was busy and not to worry if I didn’t have more time for her.”
“Did you believe her?”
“No, I think she often said that to make me feel better.” Doreen looked at him. “My marriage wasn’t exactly the easiest. Nan seemed to call at my low points. She always cheered me up. Just hearing her voice made me happy. She was also the one who constantly told me how I had choices in life.”
“Did you agree with her?”
There was no probing. His questions just seemed like simple curiosity. So she answered him the same way. “At the time, no. When you’re in the middle of a situation, it’s very hard to see options. But now I can laugh and realize—looking back over the years—how upsetting the situation was, and yet, how many options I did have at the time. I wish I’d listened to her earlier.”
At the last gurgle of the coffeepot, Mack nudged his shoulder, and Thaddeus walked to the table. Mack rose and filled two mugs with coffee, bringing them back to the kitchen table. “I think everyone feels that way at some time or another about their lives.”
“And, if they’re smart, they’ll listen to the advice given to them by those who are older and wiser.” Her gaze fell on Thaddeus, busy preening himself. After all, he had just finished eating the dog food. Time to clean himself afterward, right? “I’m surprised Nan didn’t find a home for her pets though.”
“Except for one thing,” Mack said quietly. “She did find a home for them.”
She raised her gaze, startled at his words. “Me?” When he nodded, she laughed. “I meant a good home.”
He tilted his head to the side and studied her carefully. “And why is it you can’t provide them a good home?”
