by Clea Simon
Right now, I wasn’t sure either. I poked the cold cheese, then dug out a baking sheet and slipped two slices into the oven. A girl needs to eat something, and kibble wasn’t an option for me.
I was still waiting for my dinner to lose its chill when the phone rang again. I like to think it was hunger that made me jump. After all, I told myself as I reached for the phone, it was probably only Jill again, calling to insinuate herself further into my life.
“Hey, Pru.” A male voice. Not Creighton’s. “Glad I caught you.”
“Mack.” I pulled the tray out of the oven. Those leftovers were never going to get any better.
“You okay?”
I took a bite. The pizza was still cold in the center.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I took my time answering. Proper chewing is important for good digestion.
“Good, that’s good.” If he noticed that I didn’t return the question, he didn’t comment on it. “I was wondering if you had plans tonight.”
“I’m broke, Mack.” I wasn’t entirely. Jill had made sure of that, but it was a good excuse, simple and close to true.
“Yeah?” I took another bite, waiting for him to realize just how one-sided this conversation was. “I guess we got a little crazy, huh?”
“Look, Mack, if this is a social call, I’m not interested.” The pizza wasn’t that good, and I was getting impatient. “If it’s not…”
“Okay, okay.” I could almost hear him lick his lips. How much did he have to drink these days to sustain? “I’m sorry. Look, I heard that you were talking to Randy. Asking him questions.”
“You heard?” I could picture the beefy tobacconist down at Happy’s. He’d have put a far different spin on my afternoon visit, I was sure. “Never mind,” I caught myself. I really didn’t want to engage. “I don’t need to know.”
“No, Pru, hang on. Don’t hang up.” The man always could read me. “I eavesdropped, okay?”
My silence raised the question.
“Look, I’m staying with Randy. Staying in the back of the shop.” A pause, but not that long. He’d already confessed to the worst. “It’s convenient, and sometimes I help him out.”
Translation: my ex was homeless, or would be if his drinking buddy hadn’t offered him a place to crash. The fact that it was steps away from Happy’s was probably a primary factor in Mack’s decision to accept the tobacconist’s charity.
“Mack.” I searched for the words. I was sorry, truly. I also truly never wanted to hear from him again. If I could have helped him…but I’m a realist, no matter what Wallis might say.
“Look, Randy wasn’t giving you the whole story, okay?” He rushed in before I could hang up. “What he was saying about the Canaday girls?”
“And I care, why?” He had piqued my curiosity, not that I thought he had anything of value to tell me.
“He did use to hang with Judith, back in the day. Okay?” Mack seemed to need some kind of affirmation. Maybe he had gotten used to people not listening to him.
“I gather she was kind of wild.” It was the best I could do.
“Yeah, but not like you.” I was about to hang up, when he caught himself. “Sorry, Pru. I was just— Anyway, that’s all over now.” I didn’t bother agreeing to that. “But she dumped him.”
“Bully for her.” I didn’t see why this mattered.
“And there was trouble. Big trouble, before she left,” Mack said.
“Yeah, I heard.” Poor Mack. He wanted to give me something. “I know her father didn’t want her to go.”
“Didn’t—” I heard him cough. “Look, Pru, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I heard she was lucky to get away.”
“Well, it all seemed to work out for her,” I said. “And now, I’ve got dinner waiting.” Another reheating couldn’t hurt this pizza. Probably wouldn’t help much either.
“Yeah, well, Pru, I thought you should know, you know?”
I nodded, then realized he couldn’t see me. “Thanks, Mack. I appreciate it.”
“Those girls, Pru. They never had anything on you.”
Maybe it was the second reheating, something about the way the cheese had shrunk and begun to separate. More likely, it was Mack. Ten minutes later, I had tossed the leftovers and grabbed my jacket. The spring night had grown chilly, and I needed something a bit more nourishing than flabby scraps.
Hungry as I was, I began to feel better as soon as I hit the road. My blue baby handles like a dream—and without a hangover, I felt confident about letting her roar. There’s no reason for 450 cubic inches, not when you’re not hauling lumber or running guns. Then again, there’s damned little reason for whiskey or spring fever, either. Talking to Mack had been curative, in its way. I’d felt bad for him. I’d even been a little shocked. Seeing how quickly and how far he had fallen. We’d been close once, maybe even closer than I was to Creighton. Now I couldn’t save him, and he couldn’t bring me down. And maybe—just maybe—that meant I could connect with someone else and not have it be the end of the world. As long as I kept some of my guard up. Creighton wasn’t that smart. He wasn’t a mind reader, like my cat.
I had the radio on, one of the college stations from over in Amherst. At this hour, the kids have gone home. Older students, or maybe its townies, take over, switching out the silly electro beats for music I can listen to. Some nights, it’s jazz. Tonight it was blues, something slow and mellow. I turned the volume up as I drove, the roar of my engine bringing out the rich depth of the vocals. The singer was sexy. Sounded like her man was, too, and I let my foot sink, enjoying the way my car ate up the highway.
Enjoying the anticipation, too, even as I braked around a curve and turned off down a side road. Jim Creighton never struck me as a home owner. Then again, he never struck me as my type, until he did. Besides, Beauville didn’t offer much by way of apartments, and as our resident detective, he probably knew too much about the local condo developments to want to rent out any of them, even the units that were going begging. No, he’d stayed in town and made good, after a fashion. Now he owned one of the new houses on the west side of town. Not fancy, not big like mine, but more efficient all around. I laughed to myself as I realized how apt that was, me with my history and a need for space. Creighton being all clean-cut. Maybe, I thought, I’d even share this little insight. It was harmless enough.
Of course, the problem with new developments is that they skimp on land. Builders know that buyers today want more space inside. They’re willing to give up some foliage. Even privacy, if the price is right. So where my house is set back, that long driveway curving out toward the road, Jim’s is right on it, pretty much, a short driveway leaving just enough space for two cars, side by side.
Both of which, I saw as I pulled up, were taken. Police business, I figured, as I idled out front, under the streetlight—another mod con that’s lacking over on my side of town. Still, it made sense for a cop to live on one of the new “safer” streets. And so I waited. An office matter, I figured. Something to do with all that paperwork.
Like I’ve said, this is a small town. Most everybody knew about us, or thought they did. The people in his office knew better than to say anything, and the folks on my side of town I didn’t care that much about. Still, like I’d been about to joke, I care about my privacy. Maybe it was my years in the city. Living cheek by jowl with a nine million others, you learn to put up walls. To cherish the freedom from interference. To ignore and be ignored.
Creighton’s house did its best. I could see lights inside, but the blinds were drawn, and the streetlight in front of his house played havoc with what night vision I have. Still, I squinted at the windows. When I saw them move, I ducked. Like I said, I don’t like people knowing too much about me.
I backed up then, sidling back out of the light of that lamp, back along the verge of the house next to Creighton’s. Turned the engine of
f, and waited. It could still be a business call. I knew that Jim’s job was as political as anything in town. Knew, too, that he took it home with him, too often. I’d felt it in the tension in his shoulders, in the set of his mouth. One of the reasons he liked me, I’d long suspected, was that I didn’t push too much. Jim might want more from me, but he wasn’t the sharing type. Not really.
There. A light. I looked up as the front door opened, spilling electric light onto the front stoop, and then ducked down again, grateful for my foresight in backing down past the property line. His staff might know about us. I didn’t need them to know I’d made a booty call.
“Thanks.” Through my open window, I heard Creighton’s voice. “I’ll call you.” I didn’t catch the answer, but soon enough I heard an engine start up, a gentle whirr of a late model in good shape as the driver backed out of the driveway. I slid down further in my seat as the car backed up beside me and paused. Yes, I felt like a fool, but there’d be no end to it if I popped up now. Besides, the driver must have been fishing for a phone or a cigarette, because in half a moment, it started off. I sat up just as the driver pulled by Creighton’s doorway and under the streetlamp. Dark hair caught the light, reflecting blue highlights. The driver turned, then, the streetlamp outlining her profile. Judith Canaday. And as she disappeared into the dark night, I turned back and forth, torn between her and Creighton, who stood still on the doorstep, watching her go.
Chapter Thirty-nine
I was about to drive off. I mean, I didn’t need a road map. But in the second that I lingered, watching Creighton watching her, he turned. Maybe he’d caught the movement as I’d sat back up. Maybe he’s got some sensitivity of his own, honed by years of old-fashioned police work in our admittedly low-tech town.
Or maybe there was something between us. Whatever. Once he caught the movement he certainly recognized my GTO. He stood there, staring, and I stepped out of the car. I’ve never been one to avoid confrontation.
“That was quick.” I walked up the driveway, keys still in hand. “Judith not the kind to cuddle afterward?”
“Pru.” He didn’t have to say any more.
“Sorry.” I looked down at my keys, trying to remember what I was doing there. “None of my business.”
“Come on, Pru.” He reached one arm out to me. “Don’t be like that.”
I pocketed the keys and followed him in.
***
As I’d expected, Creighton’s larder was better stocked than my own. We hadn’t talked yet, not much, but a half hour later, when I exited the bedroom, pulling on his old terrycloth robe, I found him grating cheese into a pan of eggs. By habit, I went to the cabinet behind him.
“Tabasco’s on the table.” He didn’t even look up. “Want to get us some beers?”
“Sure thing.” I grabbed two from the fridge. “So, are you going to tell me about it?”
He looked up, one eyebrow arched. “Pru, I don’t know what kind of stamina you think I have but…”
“I get it.” I handed him his beer. He’d earned it. “I mean, are you going to tell me what she came over to talk about?”
The eggs were done. At least, that seemed to be his excuse for turning away. “Pru, you know I don’t talk about cases.”
“Oh, so this is a case now?” I reached for my plate, grabbed some silverware and headed for the table. “And here I thought everything was pending, waiting for the final report from the medical examiner.”
“It is that.” Creighton filled his own plate and joined me. In a T-shirt and his old sweats, he looked almost disreputable. Between that and his willingness to respond to a little bit of fishing, I figured, I’d try again.
“But you wouldn’t have any input into that, would you? Any bearing on a dispute about a will?” He looked down at his plate, intent on his food. I liked to think I’d made him work up an appetite. Hell, I was hungry, too. This was something different. “Jim?”
He responded by shoving a forkful of omelet into his mouth.
“It’s the lab tests, right? They found something.” I put down my own fork as the scenario became increasingly clear. “And Judith Canaday heard about it. She wants you to investigate.”
“Not her call.” His mouth was still pretty full, but I got that much. “I’m still waiting for the medical examiner’s ruling.”
“Wait, I’m missing something.” He kept eating. When I stopped, he eyed my plate. I pushed it toward him as I worked over his words. “The blood tests. They came back?”
The briefest of nods as he reached for the salt.
“Is it possible that someone was sabotaging his care?” I thought of what Jill told me. Of what she knew. “Messing with his medications?”
“Pru.” He scraped up the last of the eggs. “I love you, but I can’t tell you anything, okay? It’s an ongoing investigation—yeah, I’ll give you that—but please, Pru, let’s just leave it at that.”
With that he stood, taking both our plates over to the sink. I sat there, drinking as he washed the plates and stacked them in the drainer. My mother would have loved him, it hit me, watching him work. When he was done, he dried his hands on a towel, looked over at me, and returned to the bedroom. I’d finished my beer by then, and so I followed. We didn’t speak. With three little words, couched in his usual cop speak, Jim Creighton had already found a way to shut me up.
Chapter Forty
The next morning, I was in such a good mood I was even willing to talk to Jill Canaday. Driving over to Tracy Horlick’s I almost welcomed the call. Creighton had told me enough to know that the feud between the sisters was escalating. If that meant I was getting rid of my pesky tail, my day would be perfect. If only I could figure out what to do with that kitten.
“Hi Pru, I hope I’m not calling too early.” Damn, she sounded perky, too. “I was hoping to catch you before you left for the day.”
“Sorry, Jill.” I had the window open, the breeze running through my hair. “I’m already on the road. Early appointment.” She didn’t have to know I was on my way to walk a toy dog.
“What if I meet you at Mr. Wilkins’? I have to go by there this morning anyway, and…”
“I wasn’t planning on—Hang on.” Another call was coming through. A good excuse to get off the line. “I’ve got to take this, Jill.”
I switched off without waiting for her response.
“Ms. Marlowe.” Laurence Wilkins. “I wanted to know what time you’d be by today.”
“Excuse me?” Damn, I’d meant to get someone over there. This would be an easy few hours’ work for a good carpenter.
“The squirrels, Ms Marlowe. They’re back.” He paused. I didn’t think he was hesitating. “When I originally called animal control for a reference, I wasn’t sure about hiring an unlicensed woman for animal removal. It wasn’t until I checked with the director of veterinary services over at County Animal Hospital that I decided to call you. I’m sure he would be interested to hear how his recommendation panned out.”
I took a breath, counted to three. I didn’t like this man, and I certainly did not want to go back to that sad and haunted nest. I don’t respond well to threats. I did, however, have a professional reputation to maintain, as did Doc Sharpe. Beauville is a small town, and I owed it as much to Doc as to my own future earnings to make things right.
“I can be over there by noon, no problem.” I tried to make it sound like part of the plan.
“I’ll be here.” He hung up first, a power play. Somehow I was quite sure he would be, and that Jill Canaday would be too.
Not that I was going to rush over. I could pull dominance, too, and besides, I did have other clients.
In her inimitable fashion, Tracy Horlick seemed to read my mood before I even opened my mouth.
“You’re looking chipper,” she said, as if that were a bad thing, eyeing me as she flipped a lighter until it
caught. “Must be nice to have everyone at your beck and call.”
“Excuse me?” I wasn’t completely faking my ignorance. Creighton was not exactly chasing me.
“That Canaday girl.” The old bag reared back, as if to escape her own cigarette smoke. “She’s made you her new big sister, hasn’t she?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” I couldn’t figure how old Horlick knew about Jill Canaday’s interest in me. Then again, I didn’t question how old Horlick knew anything anymore. Easier to simply accept it—and try to use it. “And I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”
Tracy Horlick’s eyebrows might have been drawn on, badly, but they moved fast—rising almost to the door jam at the hint of gossip. “Really?”
“Well, it seems like she and her sisters are at odds.” That was the most innocuous way I could think of phrasing it. “You must know about that.”
I was fishing, and she knew it, those brows scuttling down again to gather in a scowl. “Maybe I do. Maybe not.” She took a drag. “And maybe you should be careful who you’re getting close to.”
“So it’s Jill who’s being accused now?” That was more than I’d gotten from Creighton. That didn’t mean it was true. “Last I heard, Judith was in the hot seat.”
It was a gamble, but if I wanted to draw her out, I had to offer something.
“I don’t know anything about that girl.” Another drag, while I waited. At this rate, Horlick must be going through a pack an hour. “She left town like a bat out of— whatever. She hasn’t been back here in years.” Jill, then.
“Hey! Hey!” From inside the house, I could hear Growler.
“I think Bitsy wants his walk.” I’d get as much from the bichon.
“Huh.” With a noncommittal grunt, Tracy Horlick turned back inside. But instead of the dog’s lead, she reached for a carton of cigarettes, sliding a fresh pack into her hand. “Hang on.”
I did, while she opened the cellophane and carefully extracted a cigarette. There was something going on here, something I didn’t quite understand. Horlick’s habit was too intense for her to be taking her time like this.
