by Lee Hollis
Her head jerked and her eyes rolled. She was wearing a green and white scarf on her head and a matching muumuu that draped over her full-figured form. Her pudgy hands were clasped together.
Hayley placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “Is everything all right?”
Madame Flossie suddenly snapped out of her trance and looked at Hayley with big round doe eyes. “Yes. Everything is fine. There is just a lot of energy going on right now. I’m picking up the thoughts of many animals inside who are dying to talk to someone. Mostly to complain about their owners.”
“Shall we go inside?”
Madame Flossie nodded and followed as Hayley pushed open the door, and they entered the waiting room of the clinic. There was just one elderly woman sitting in a chair with her rag doll cat in her lap, stroking his back.
Aaron’s Nazi receptionist, Edna, nodded courteously with a tight smile and waved them through the door leading back to the exam rooms. She didn’t look too happy about having to cooperate and cater to this obvious pair of whack jobs. “Dr. Palmer sends his apologies. He’s very busy today so he won’t be able to stop by and say hello.”
That was her way of saying, Dr. Palmer has no intention of actually taking time out of his day to indulge in this freak show.
“It’s just as well,” Madame Flossie said, almost dismissively. “We need privacy. Pork Chop will be more likely to open up to me if there isn’t a crowd around.”
“Should I wait outside?” Hayley asked, hoping she would say yes.
“No. You’re fine, Hayley. Pork Chop already knows you. You might be a source of comfort.”
“I’ll go get the pig,” Edna said before closing the door.
Madame Flossie floated about the room, looking around and taking in deep breaths.
Hayley hovered in the corner, trying desperately not to get in the way.
A few minutes later Edna returned with Pork Chop.
Aaron was right. Pork Chop appeared nervous and unsettled as Edna set him down on the cold steel exam table.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” Edna said, an exasperated edge to her voice as she gave the two women one last long withering stare and left the room.
“Pork Chop doesn’t like her,” Madame Flossie said as she delicately scratched the pig underneath his chin.
“I’m sorry?”
“The receptionist. Pork Chop thinks she’s a bitch.”
Hayley laughed. “Are you sure you’re not channeling me right now?”
Madame Flossie ignored her. She was focused on Pork Chop, who was moving around, restless and shaky.
“Yes. I understand.”
“Understand what?”
“Shhhh. Please, Hayley. Don’t interrupt. Pork Chop is talking.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
She half expected the pig’s mouth to be moving.
Hayley had always imagined that if an animal spoke, it would be like in the countless Disney animated movies she had bought for her kids on DVD.
“He misses her so much. He loved Ms. Redmond. Except for the times she would leave him in the care of her servants to take trips with her husband. He would suffer separation anxiety and lose his appetite until she returned. But the servants never told her how upset he was when she was gone; they would always just say he was fine and no trouble. He didn’t like them lying like that.”
Hayley stepped a little closer. She was intrigued.
“Oh my. Now, there’s no need to be so vulgar.”
“What did he say?”
“He clearly does not like Olivia’s husband, Nacho. He just called him a money-grubbing man whore.”
“Wow. Pork Chop actually said ‘man whore’?”
Madame Flossie nodded. “Yes. He says Ms. Redmond used to leave the TV on to keep him company when she went out, so he learned a lot from The Real Housewives.”
Hayley stifled a giggle.
Maybe Aaron was right and this was just a bunch of time-wasting malarky.
Madame Flossie held the pig’s chin. He was staring straight into her eyes, transfixed, or as the pet psychic would have her believe, having a very intense conversation.
“Is that so? He’s saying he saw what happened to Ms. Redmond. Someone came up behind her and grabbed her in a choke hold and twisted her neck until it snapped.”
Pretty close to how Sergio had described what happened.
“It was a man. A man killed Olivia according to Pork Chop,” Madame Flossie said, leaning down so the pig could sniff the tip of her nose. “There, there, it’s okay to cry. You’ve suffered a tremendous loss.”
Hayley, despite her skepticism, was transfixed. She had already been told once to keep quiet, but she just couldn’t resist another outburst. “Was it Olivia’s husband? Was it Nacho?”
Madame Flossie picked up the potbellied pig in her arms and pressed him into her chest. “There. There. Let it out. Let it all out.”
She then turned to Hayley. “No. The husband had nothing to do with the crime. But Pork Chop was very clear about one thing. The killer was a stranger. He had never laid eyes on him before.”
Chapter 13
“So you were a friend of my mother’s?” the young man said, barely above the drinking age of twenty-one. His shoulder-length brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail and a maroon tank top hung over his bony frame. He was wearing baggy jeans that hung low on his waist and there was a Doctor Who phone booth tattoo on his left shoulder that gave the impression he was at least slightly more interesting than he appeared.
Hayley held out her hand. “Yes. I’m Hayley Powell. You must be Edward.”
He leaned against the door, casually eating some potato salad from a plastic container before finally taking her hand and shaking it. Then he quickly withdrew it and wiped the palm of his hand on the front of his tank top.
Hayley cleared her throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Your mother and I had only met recently. She hired me to write a blog for the Redmond Meats Web site.”
“Oh. So you’re here to get paid? How much did she owe you?”
“No,” Hayley said, mortified. “I’m not here for money. I heard you had arrived in town and so I just wanted to stop by and offer my condolences.”
“I see,” the boy said suspiciously.
“Who is it?” a girl’s scratchy voice cooed from behind the door.
“Someone who worked for my mother.”
A shapely woman, no more than eighteen years old, popped into the doorway and slid underneath the boy’s arm. She was a foot shorter than he was but round and curvaceous, the exact opposite of his wiry frame. She wore a light green sundress and a flower in her curly blond hair like some sixties flower child dancing through Haight-Ashbury. She twisted a long strand of her golden locks around her finger and pushed her pouty lips out as she gave Hayley the once-over.
“I’m Peggy,” she said.
“Hayley. Nice to meet you.”
“This is my girlfriend,” Edward said needlessly, as the girl was clinging to him like a lost puppy who had just been found by her owner in the woods.
There was a moment of awkward silence.
“Would you like to come in for some tea?” Peggy blurted out, surprising her boyfriend, who gave a look that seemed to say, For the love of God, please shut up!
“No, thank you,” Hayley said. “I know this must be a difficult time for both of you and I don’t want to intrude. . . .”
“We’ve only been here a few hours and I’m already going stir crazy in this big old empty house! Please! We have real Earl Grey British tea! Not that watered down American Lipton crap,” Peggy said excitedly.
Hayley glanced at Edward, who had given up. It was apparently easier for him to just bend to his girlfriend’s will, so he simply forced a smile. “Yes. Come in.”
“Well, maybe for a few minutes . . .”
Peggy clapped her hands and pushed the door all the way open, allowing Hayley to step inside before turning to Edward.
“What’s the maid’s name again?”
“Cathy, I think,” Edward said, shrugging.
“Caroline. I believe it’s Caroline,” Hayley corrected him.
“Okay. Let’s try that! Caroline!” Peggy shrieked so loudly some birds in a tree opposite the main entrance to the estate flapped their wings in a panic and flew high into the sky just as she slammed the door shut.
Caroline walked down the hall toward the foyer, her heels clicking on the hardwood floors. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of Hayley. It was clear she considered her a nosy nuisance and was none too pleased she was now hobnobbing with Olivia’s son and girlfriend of the moment.
“We’d like some tea, please, in the parlor,” Peggy said, adopting an English accent. “Proper English tea. You’ll find it in the pantry.”
“Yes, I know where it is,” Caroline said flatly before turning on her heel and skulking back to the kitchen.
“Again, Edward, let me just say how sorry I am about your mother,” Hayley said as Peggy took her by the arm and led her into the same room where she was escorted the first time she arrived to meet with Olivia.
“It’s Red. Everyone calls me Red,” he snarled, as if he was annoyed she hadn’t guessed his nickname before.
“I’m sorry. Red.”
“And let’s be clear. Red does not stand for red meat, right, honey? My baby is a strict vegan. Just like me,” Peggy said, plopping down on an antique love seat.
“The height of irony,” Red scoffed. “Heir to a bacon fortune and I won’t even touch the stuff.”
“Do you watch Downton Abbey?” Peggy asked, leaning forward, her eyes as big as saucers as she stared at Hayley.
Hayley was struck by the sudden change in topic and needed a moment to collect her thoughts. “Yes, I’ve seen it.”
“I love that show! Doesn’t this place sort of remind you of the big house they live in? I mean, not the design or anything, but the grandness and the echoey rooms.”
“I suppose. . . .” Hayley said, her voice trailing off as she saw not the slightest similarity between this seacoast Maine mansion and Highclere castle in the English countryside.
The next few minutes were a detailed rundown of why Peggy loved Downton Abbey. How she never missed an episode. How she modeled her life after the fashionable and proper Lady Mary, which Hayley found amusing because in her opinion, the haughty character of Lady Mary was self-absorbed and spoiled.
Who would want to be like that?
Peggy continued prattling on about how now that Red was going to be inheriting his mother’s estate, she would be living a parallel life to her fictional heroine, and how marvelous it all was.
Red sat back in a chair next to the love seat his girlfriend was occupying and watched her with a tight smile, indulging her for the moment but ready to intervene if she said too much.
“This place reminds me so much of how Lord and Lady Grantham lived during that time. Except their servants were a lot nicer,” Peggy spit out as Caroline entered with a tea tray and set it down on a small antique coffee table between them.
Hayley noticed the corners of Caroline’s eyes were wet with tears. Either she had been in the kitchen crying over her late employer or, more likely, over the fact that she was now beholden to this crass, gold-digging harpy.
“Thank you, Caroline. That will be all,” Peggy said in her most lofty, obnoxious tone.
Caroline cringed and got out of there as fast as she could without being too obvious.
After just a few sips, Red was clearly bored. This was Peggy’s little tea party and he wanted no part of it. He set his cup down and stood up. “I have some things to do.”
Details to handle regarding my mother’s passing . . .”
“Of course, I understand. I should go. . . .”
“No. Please, stay. Keep me company,” Peggy begged.
“Finish your tea. It would mean a lot to Peggy,” Red said as he walked out.
Peggy put on a frown for full effect. “He’s really bummed out by his mother dying.”
Bummed out?
Lady Mary would never say anything like that.
And on the surface, at least in Hayley’s eyes, Red did not seem the least bit upset by his mother’s grisly murder in the garden.
“Were they close?”
Peggy let out a spurt of giggles. She put a hand over her mouth when she noticed Hayley staring at her.
“I’m sorry. That was rude. Just the idea of Red being close to his mother is hysterical. He couldn’t stand her!”
“But you just said he was . . . bummed out.”
“Yes. Because he’s the executioner.”
“What?”
“Yes. The executioner of the estate.”
“You mean executor,” Hayley said, gently correcting her.
Unlike Sergio’s malapropisms, which were born out of English being his second language, this flighty nitwit had no legitimate excuse.
“Yeah, I guess. He’s her only child and his dad was paid off and kicked to the curb when he divorced Red’s mother, so now all the annoying details and boring paperwork is on his shoulders.”
“I see.”
“My poor baby. Stuck here for God knows how long handling this whole mess. Just when we were scheduled to go to the Coachella music festival in Palm Springs. But between you and me, if I had a choice of standing in the desert baking in the sun, dehydrated, listening to one obscure band after another for three days or hanging out here in the lap of luxury, I’m happy we had to come here!”
Such a sweet, sensitive girl.
“He doesn’t even care about getting all that money. Luckily he’s got me to look out for him and to make sure he gets what’s coming to him. More tea?” Peggy said, lifting the pot from the tray.
“No, thank you, I’m fine.”
Peggy didn’t wait for Hayley to finish. She poured anyway, filling her cup to the brim.
“Oh. Okay . . .” Hayley said, resigned to the fact she would be stuck here for a little while longer.
“After we first got together Red wanted to take me to Bali for a month, but he didn’t have enough money and got angry because he’s got a huge trust fund, but he can’t touch it until he’s twenty-five and his mother wouldn’t let him withdraw a cent early. I told him what mother who loved her son would deny him his due? Especially when he’s met the love of his life and wants to impress her and give her the lifestyle she so richly deserves!”
“You . . . actually said that to him?”
“Yes. Why?” she asked, doe eyed, oblivious to how wretched she was acting.
“No reason. Well, I guess now that Olivia is gone, that’s all moot.”
“Moot? What’s moot?”
“I just meant now he’s going to inherit everything, so the trust fund issue is no longer important.”
“I know! Isn’t it wonderful?” Peggy said, a gleeful look in her eye.
Remarkably, after a moment Peggy must have realized she shouldn’t be so giddy over her financial prospects so soon after a woman’s death, so she struggled to appear slightly more solemn. “Of course, despite Red’s relationship with his mother, it’s still all very tragic.”
She knew she needed to act more appropriately. Like how Lady Mary mourned when her younger sister, Sybil, died, on Downton Abbey in the second season.
That lasted about a minute.
“I saw a Rolls Royce parked in the garage earlier! Would you like to go for a spin?”
“Oh, I can’t.”
“I asked Caroline where the keys were kept and she pretended not to know, but I could tell she was lying. She just doesn’t want me driving it. So I did a little snooping and I found them in a drawer in Olivia’s bedroom,” Peggy said, fishing them out of a pocket in her sundress and dangling them in front of Hayley. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”
How Hayley became this obnoxious, odious girl’s new best friend was completely beyond her. “Afraid not. I need to go home. I have a column to write for t
he paper.”
Peggy sighed. “Suit yourself.”
The girl had zero interest in what kind of column Hayley needed to write or anything else. She was too focused on her joy ride in a Rolls.
Peggy floated out the door, not even offering to show her out.
Hayley stepped into the hallway and was greeted by Red again, who seemed to be having second thoughts about leaving her in the hands of his chatty, gossipy girlfriend.
“I appreciate you stopping by, Hayley,” Red said.
No, he didn’t. He just wanted to make sure she was going to leave.
“There is one thing I want to discuss with you before I go,” Hayley said.
His shoulders tensed. He’d been so close to getting rid of her.
“It’s about Pork Chop. The vet, Dr. Palmer, is going to release him tomorrow. I know you’re probably swamped with funeral arrangements and meetings with lawyers, so I just wanted to say I would be happy to drive him over here myself and drop him off.”
“That’s very sweet of you, Hayley, but it’s not necessary,” Red said.
“It’s really no problem. . . .”
“The thing is, I don’t want him.”
“But—”
“My mother showered more gifts and attention on that porker in one week than she ever did on me my entire life. So I have no intention of ever laying eyes on that damn dirty pig ever again!”
Chapter 14
“I’m sorry, Hayley, but I can’t keep him here any longer. If someone doesn’t claim him soon, I’m going to have to resort to more drastic measures,” Aaron said, sitting behind the large oak desk in his office, sleeves rolled up and tie askew.
It had been a long day and he was tired.
“You mean put him down?” Hayley gasped.
“No. I mean calling animal control. What they do with him after that, however, I have no say over. I’m sorry.”
Aaron’s very businesslike behavior was nagging at Hayley, but she chose not to call him on it.
“Well, what should I do?”
“You can always take Pork Chop home with you until you figure out what to do with him,” Aaron suggested, rifling through some paperwork and scratching some notes on a pad with a pencil.
