Jane frowned. “Susan became president of the club and helped it grow throughout her four years. I, however, left the university just prior to our Junior year.”
Trying to sound only mildly curious, he nudged her to expand. “Leaving must have been difficult,” he sympathized. “May I ask why?”
“Oh, money troubles, a broken heart, a distaste for academic life…none or all of the above.” She waved a hand in the air dismissively. “Take your pick.”
Kalico stood as though ready to leave. “I really like your duplex. I’ve temporarily moved back in with my parents and….”
“I gather being a pet detective is not lucrative?”
Did her voice hold an undertone of derision? “I am not a pet detective,” Kalico protested. “I investigate insurance fraud, marital infidelities, run background checks, and….”
Jane peered at him over the rims of her glasses. “Yes, of course, you detect more than puppies and kitties.”
Kalico’s neck reddened. “I am, as a matter of fact, investigating a murder. Quite a serious and complicated case.”
“How exciting! Do tell.” Jane leaned forward.
Kalico cursed himself and backtracked. “It’s a cold case—unsolved for over twenty years. I am not at liberty right now to discuss it. Police matter, you know.”
“Of course. Please thank your mother for the lasagna.” She stood.
“I will.” He walked to the front door. “Just text me when you finish it, and I’ll come by and pick up the dish,” He handed her his card. Then, as though struck with a new idea, he said, “Miss Winterjoy mentioned that you will be moving into a new home soon?”
“That’s right. This little place is just a temporary pied-a-terre, until the work is finished on my new house.”
Kalico registered the lie. “And when do you expect that to be, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Soon. But you know how contractors are.”
“Would you mind showing me this place? If it suits me, I was thinking that I could sublet when you move into your new house.” Kalico smiled innocently. “That is, if you have the time.”
Jane studied him over the rims of her glasses. “I’m meeting an old friend for dinner, but I don’t have to leave for a while.” Kalico trotted after her as she showed him two bedrooms––one good sized, the other tiny––and a bathroom.
“This place would be perfect for me,” he enthused. “But do you have a fenced yard?”
“Yes. Ben, why don’t you check out the backyard? I have to make a quick call and then I’ll be right with you.”
Kalico stepped out onto her back porch—a small and, he noted, bare back porch. No large shrub, Belladonna or otherwise, adorned it. Could Miss Winterjoy have been mistaken? Jane seemed understandably sad, but composed and not unfriendly. He’d sensed an undertone of something off, but couldn’t that be because he was looking for something disturbing? He shivered in the cold wind that was still blowing from the north, and gazed across the long and narrow yard with its patchy St. Augustine lawn rimmed by a chain link fence. Jane had sidestepped his question about why she’d left the university. And she had lied about buying a new home. But most likely she was embarrassed that her financial situation was so far below that of her friends.
His phone buzzed, but he ignored it. A faint, circular dirt ring on the edge of the porch caught his attention. He knelt down to look at it more closely, pulled out his phone took a quick picture. The ring was definitely the right size for a large potted plant. He ran his fingers over a small ridge of hardened soil, then stopped, sensing someone behind him. He untied and began tying his right shoe. Jane Roundtree cleared her throat.
“What do you think?” she asked.
Kalico sprang upright. “Of what?”
“The yard. Will it do?” she seemed amused.
“Yes. My dog, uh, Bruno, will love it.” His face reddened.
“I will let you know when my new house is finished.”
“Good. Great. Thanks.” Kalico opened the sliding glass door…
“Wait, Ben.” He turned to see Jane, head tilted like a small hen, smiling at him. “Would you mind doing me a little favor before you leave? I need a box of books that I’ve stored in the shed. They are up high and too heavy for me to get down. Would you mind?”
“Not at all. Happy to help.”
He followed her across the sodden lawn to a red and white shed. She unlocked it and opened the double doors. “My boxes are on the left; the right side belongs to the other side of the duplex.”
Kalico stepped into the gloom of the shed. He uttered an involuntary yelp as his face pushed into a clinging spider’s web. The faint odors of gasoline, grass, mulch, and mildew mingled and made him crinkle his nose. He waited for his eyes to adjust. He made out the shape of a couch covered in thick plastic beside a wooden rocking chair. An overstuffed pillow, gray or green, lay discarded on the floor beside them. Two shelves on the back wall were stacked with cardboard boxes. And in the far corner he spotted what looked like a large shrub.
“I need the third box,” Jane said behind him.
Kalico tore his glance away from the suspicious plant and grabbed a small ladder, opened it, and secured its hinges. He climbed three rungs and stretched until his right hand could grasp the corner of the far box. It wouldn’t budge. He’d have to lower the other two boxes to the floor to get to Jane’s books. He gripped the first box and inched it toward his chest.
Suddenly, a swift sharp blow knocked his legs out from under him. Kalico found himself launched into the air and falling sideways. He landed hard on his right side, his shoulder crunching under him, and his head bouncing once off the concrete. Stunned, he lay still, breathing hard. What the hell? He rolled onto his back, began to sit up, then sank back down, his head throbbing and spinning, his vision, blurred.
“Impudent young pet detectives should mind their own business.”
Kalico turned toward the voice that spit out words with contempt. Jane’s short, round figure was backlit against the open door. She leaned against a long-handled shovel.
The realization that she’d swung that shovel like a bat to knock him off the ladder slowly percolated into his brain. He suppressed a groan. From somewhere to his left, a phone buzzed. He lurched toward it, but a wave of nausea forced him to lie down again.
“We can’t have that now, can we?” Jane picked up Kalico’s cell phone and placed it in her pocket. She walked quickly to the open doors. “No use shouting for help, Ben. No one can hear you from back here.” She placed the shovel against a wall and moved outside of the shed. The doors closed with an echoing clang, and he heard a chain being threaded through door handles.
Darkness and silence. He closed his eyes, willing the dizziness and nausea to stop. Vic was going to have a field day at his expense. He could just hear his friend now: “Bested by a septuagenarian! Felled by a female! Turned your back on a suspect, my boy. First thing they teach you not to do at the Academy. You best stick to tracking treacherous terriers.” Yes, a field day….
Kalico jerked awake, eyes opening to impenetrable blackness. How could he doze at a time like this? A time like what? he thought. He knew he needed to move fast, to get out of this shed, but why? His brain was fuzzy, his head throbbed with each heartbeat, and his right shoulder, elbow, and knee ached. Think. He breathed in and out slowly and deeply. He forced himself to sit up. Good. Now focus.
“Jane Roundtree knocked me off a ladder with a shovel and locked me in her shed.” He repeated these facts aloud to himself three times. His mind cleared suddenly: Jane was going after Nancy. No more manufactured accidents; no more playacting as the good friend. She was out for blood.
Adrenaline rushed through Kalico’s body. He stood, ignoring his protesting knee and crushing headache. He looked left, then right: a long sliver of pale gray light marked the door’s position, no more than five steps away. He clenched his teeth and shuffled forward. Instinctively, he reached out and rattled the door�
�s handles. He braced his good left shoulder against the frame and pushed. He grabbed the shovel, inserted the blade between the doors and tried to lever it open or at least widen the gap. Finally, sweating profusely and breathing hard, he stopped, defeated, raised his head, and shouted for help.
He silenced himself and listened. Nothing. Not even barking dogs. He leaned his back against the doors. What are your options, son? Kalico recalled his dad’s response whenever he was faced with a problem that seemed unsolvable.
“Okay, what are my options?” he said aloud. He held up an index finger. “One: break down the damn door.” But with what? There was nothing that could help him on Jane’s side of the shed, but what about her neighbor’s side? He tried to recall what he had glimpsed when he’d entered. He closed his eyes, saw himself pausing in the doorway, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Yes, there on the left, he’d seen a lawn mower, rakes, loppers, and leaf bags. A bright red toolbox rested on a small table. Various paint containers were stacked against the back wall.
“One: I can use the lawn mower to break out of here.” He held up a second finger. “Two: pick the lock or sever the chain.” Although the gap between the doors was small—no more than half an inch—he could try to get shears or needle nose pliers through it. Perhaps he could cut or twist the chain or move the padlock into a position that would allow him to manipulate it. The red toolbox would hold tools to help him.
“Time to move!” He stepped reluctantly away from the small, lighted area, then stopped himself. His dad always insisted on a third option for every problem because it forced him to think “out of the box.”
Kalico held up three fingers. “Three.” He had nothing. His head ached. Two possibilities were good enough. Patience, Ben. Think. He ran his hand over the door. It was made of some kind of resin, most likely reinforced with steel. He reached up to the top of the doors—the seal was tight. He ran his hand down one side over two hinges and to the floor. The doors were flush with the floor. Two hinges!
“Three: take off the hinges and let the door fall!”
That was it! Grinning, Kalico forced himself away from the door and stepped slowly into the darkness, inching his way toward the small table with the toolbox. He kept his hands out in front of him, stopping when his shin nudged what he assumed was the lawn mower. He then sidestepped until his arm grazed a table. He found the toolbox, unlatched it, plunged his hand inside of it, and came out gripping a hammer. He placed it in his left hand continued and groped again, pulling out first a wrench, and then—bingo!—a screwdriver, and—yes!—it had a flat head.
Several solid blows later to the hinges with leveraging from the screwdriver to pull out the pins, followed by a strong shove, and one side of the shed’s double door fell slightly forward. Kalico stepped out into the cold air—free. He ran to his car, opened the trunk and drank deeply from the bottle of water he kept for rescued animals. Then he poured the cold water over his head, cursing as it stung his scalp and cheek. But he felt alert again. He jumped behind the wheel, right knee protesting, and sped off to Nancy MacLeod’s house.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Emelia Winterjoy stood at her kitchen sink, an open can of Fancy Feast Liver Paté in one hand, and stared at her image in the window. She looked pale and another night without sleep had formed dark smudges under her eyes. Blush and concealer had done little to amend her haggard appearance. She sighed deeply. It was five o’clock and time to walk next door for dinner. She had determined to tell Nancy about her suspicions of Jane and about her decision to rehire Benjamin Kalico. She’d even called Lynn at the last minute, inviting her to join them. Might as well kill two birds with one stone. She winced at the cliché. She was tired and worried. An annoyed “Meow” brought her attention back to the task at hand.
“Sorry, Perdita. Here’s your dinner.” The calico cat rubbed against her owner’s leg once, then moved leisurely over to her dish and began to eat. Emelia picked up two dog dishes and filled them with dry food. “Trey! Snow! Doggie dinner time.” Her corgis bounded into the kitchen, skidded across the tile, and buried their faces in their bowls, tails wagging furiously.
Emelia smiled at their enthusiasm, then she took a spinach salad from the refrigerator and, at the last moment, selected a bottle of chilled Pinot Grigio. She may need added courage. Nancy would be incredulous and would want to dismiss Emelia’s suspicions. She may even be angry that her friend had resumed her sleuthing. Hopefully, Lynn would be on her aunt’s side.
Never a coward or one to shirk responsibility, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, marched to Nancy’s house, and rapped purposefully on her front door.
“Come in, Em. It’s unlocked,” Nancy’s musical voice called out faintly from somewhere at the back of the house.
Emelia entered, locked and bolted the front door, shaking her head at the lax security, before walking into the kitchen and setting the salad and wine on the counter. “Where are you?”
“Cutting irises from the garden to adorn the table.” Nancy swept into the room, her arms filled with pale lavender and deep purple flowers. Moody wiggled forward to greet the visitor and to demand pets. Emelia complied, as Nancy arranged the irises in a clear blue vase.
“They’re beautiful!”
“Yes, indeed. And I have a pot of Chicken Tika Masala simmering on the stove, and I stopped at Phoenecia Bakery for naan. Tonight we are going to feast Indian style! I have even lit a fire in the fireplace! ”
“Nance, how marvelous.” Emelia breathed in the delicious spices. “Lynn is running a bit late because she had an after school conference with parents.”
“Not a problem. I will wait to make the rice.” She uncorked the wine and pulled two stemless wine glasses from a cupboard. “Let’s go into the living room, drink the wine, and have cheese and crackers. Will you get the cheese plate from the refrigerator?”
The friends settled on the couch and poured the wine. Nancy raised her glass. “A toast: ‘May those who love us love. And those who don’t love us, may God turn their hearts!’” She laughed and sipped the cold wine. Emelia followed suit.
“That’s an old Irish toast. Gareth used to say it at every special occasion. I can’t recall the ending.” She shook her head ruefully.
“Oh, I’ve heard him say it! Doesn’t it include something about God turning ankles so that we may recognize those who don’t love us?”
“Yes, that’s right. ‘So we’ll know them by their limping.’” Nancy chuckled at the memory.
“If only it were that easy,” murmured Emelia.
“What, Em?”
“Nothing. Nothing. You seem in bright spirits this evening.”
“I am.” Nancy spread her arms wide, showing off the delicate rose, mauve, pink, and tangerine swirls of color in her long-sleeved silk blouse. “It’s been such a trying few months—what with my accidents and the loss of our Susan—I decided to do a little retail therapy, try a new recipe, and embrace my dearest friends. We must treasure each moment we have together.”
“I agree.” Should she tell Nancy now or wait for Lynn? “In the spirit of treasuring one another…,” she began.
“We need to get you into some spring colors. New clothes will make a new woman of you.” She studied her friend’s face. “In fact, Em, you look exhausted.”
“I haven’t been sleeping.”
“Is it grief over Suse?”
“Yes. And no,” Emelia answered honestly. Where was Lynn, anyway? She glanced at the clock over the mantle. It was 5:20.
“At least you’re not worrying about me anymore!” A teasing smile crossed Nancy’s face. “I’m so glad that you gave up the absurd notion that I was in danger. We need to chalk that fantasy up to too many Jane Marple mysteries!”
Emelia’s arm jerked at Nancy’s assertions, and she dropped her wine glass, which rolled onto the carpet, luckily unbroken. “I’m sorry. So clumsy of me.”
“Stay put. I’ll get some paper towels and another glass.” Nancy swept
out of the room with Moody at her heels.
Emelia blotted drops of wine from her gray pants, then moved over to the fireplace. The gas flames were cheerful. She glanced at the pictures framed on the mantle: a young Gareth, wearing a green plaid shirt, and holding a “Save Our Planet” sign.
“Here’s another glass of wine, Miss Butterfingers.” Nancy looked over Emelia’s shoulder at the picture she was holding. “I love that one. Look how serious he is—that was during Gareth’s environmental warrior days.”
“Nance, did Gareth know Jane in college?”
“What an odd question.” She thought for a moment. “They may have had a class together, but, no, I don’t think so.”
“Oh, but we did know each other. We knew each other well.” Jane Roundtree commented from behind them.
Emelia gasped. Moody growled deep in her throat. Nancy, however, turned with a smile. “Jane, what a lovely surprise. I didn’t hear you knock.”
“I let myself in. You really should lock your backdoor.”
“True. You’re just in time for dinner. I’ve been meaning to call.” She shushed Moody, and motioned for the little terrier to sit.
“I didn’t expect to find you here, Emelia.” Jane ignored Nancy’s invitation. “Is this a ‘lovely surprise?’” She mimicked Nancy’s soft tone.
Her mind racing, Emelia moved to the couch. She picked up a glass of wine with one hand while her other hand moved to the side pocket of her purse that held her phone. “Of course, it is, Jane. Wine?”
“No. And I’ll take your phone.” Jane moved forward, grabbed Emelia’s purse, took out her phone, and pocketed it.
“Em? Jane? What’s going on?” Puzzled, Nancy looked at each woman in turn. Then she saw the small gun in Jane’s hand.
“Nancy, join your friend on the couch. Sit. Now.” Jane moved leisurely, placing herself in front of the two women. “Do you want to tell her or should I?” she nodded toward Emelia who cleared her throat.
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