by Clea Simon
“Hey! Here! Here! Here!” Sharp, eager barks certainly got my attention, if not hers.
“Mrs. Horlick?” For anyone else, I wouldn’t have asked. Growler, however, deserved whatever I could get him.
“Hold your horses.” She lit the new smoke, closing her eyes in satisfaction. “Both of you.” She sighed audibly.
“Hey!” The little dog was growing hoarse. I could hear his claws scrabbling at the door.
“Why don’t I just—” I reached for the lead, taking it off the coat hook by the door.
“Watch it!” Growler’s voice surprised me, especially coming as Tracy Horlick turned.
“Do you mind?” I caught a glimpse of yellow-stained teeth.
“I just hate to keep him waiting.” I showed my own. It was a submissive gesture. It worked. She blew the fresh smoke out of her nose and went to free the bichon from his basement prison.
“Dog in heaven.” Growler was grumbling to himself as I snapped on the lead. “Help us all.”
“You be careful where you take him.” His person waved her Marlboro toward the street. “There’s some crazy people out there. You never know what some of them will do.”
“No sense, no sense at all.” Growler was still muttering to himself as we turned the corner. I owed him an apology.
“I’m sorry,” I said the words out loud, for added emphasis. “I thought she might know something about what’s going on with the Canadays. I shouldn’t have let her go on, though. It wasn’t fair to you.”
“Clueless.” The black nose sniffed a tree trunk. Ever since the spring thaw, I’d been reminded of how intense scent could be to an animal like Growler. After the numbing cold, this was like doing shots. “What is James up to?”
The little tail went stiff, then wagged quickly, as Growler took in and catalogued the neighborhood information. In his way, I realized, the bichon wasn’t that different from his person.
“What?” A snappy bark broke into my thoughts.
“Sorry.” I was. “I meant that you also have a network, a way of picking up information.”
“Pity you don’t.” The leather nose was back down in the dirt. I got a sense of an older German shepherd, a poodle—and a cat? “Roberto, not again!”
I had no answer to that, and besides, the dog deserved some private time. Instead, I followed after him until, his short legs flagging, he let me know it was time to return. By then, I was almost ready to face the rest of my day, not that a bit more information couldn’t help.
“Hey, Growler, what do you think she meant—old smoke teeth—when she told me to be careful? I mean, I know she likes to make trouble, but does she really think Jill could be dangerous?”
“You heard that, did you?” The black button eyes stared up at me. “Why don’t you consider where her information comes from, walker lady? Why don’t you consider the source?”
Chapter Forty-one
No matter what Growler might think, I couldn’t entirely discredit Tracy Horlick’s words. After all, reading between the lines, Creighton seemed to take this new development seriously, and although I couldn’t get him to talk, I knew he wouldn’t mess around with a case. All of which meant that I didn’t feel comfortable releasing that kitten yet—small animals can too easily get hurt in the crossfire.
I might be able to get something out of the lawyer, though. Especially if I could get back on his good side. With that in mind, I turned toward the center of town. Time to enlist some allies.
“Hey, Albert.” I breezed into the animal control office, expecting to find him napping. The morning was warm, after all.
“Hey, Pru.” The voice that greeted me came from the tiny alcove that served as a kitchenette. “Coffee?”
“Sure.” I accepted with surprise. Albert was not only awake and offering me coffee, he was arranging what looked like donuts on a paper plate. “Are those —”
“From the coffee shop. Fresh this morning.” He came toward me, but as I reached for one, he stepped back, keeping the pastries just out of my reach.
“Oh, how nice.” I turned, just in time to see Jackie Canaday coming out of the office bathroom. She stopped short, and for a moment we both stared at each other.
“Would you, uh, like one?” With a smile I could see even under the beard, Albert offered Jackie the plate. Behind him, the kettle began to whistle.
“I’ll get it,” I said, stepping past the bearded man. I didn’t know what was going on here. If I got out from between them, maybe I could figure it out.
“I’d have decaf, if you have it.” Jackie called. She sounded better than she had on the phone, her voice a little less strained. “No milk.”
“Not a problem.” I wouldn’t have trusted any milk in this fridge either. But I did find a jar of Sanka and stirred her up a mug. For Albert and myself, I went with the high-test. It was still instant, but at least we’d get something out of it.
“I’m so glad you could meet with me,” Jackie had taken the one visitor’s seat and faced Albert, who sat at his desk. Even that, I noticed as I brought over two of the mugs, was noticeably neater than the day before. One drawer did peek open about an inch, though, and I stared at it, hoping to hear another mind at work. “It’s been such a crazy time,” Jackie was saying.
“Shiny, bright…” A soft voice, deep from within the drawer. “Shiny—what? Shiny, round. It’s a button! Where is it?”
“Pru?” I looked up. Both humans had turned toward me.
“Sorry.” I hoisted my own coffee. “I guess I haven’t had enough of this yet.”
“I was asking about the kitten.” Jackie definitely looked better today. More relaxed, in yoga pants and a cardigan that picked up the blue in her eyes. She held her mug on her lap as she smiled up at me. “I assume the kitten is still with you?”
“Yes.” I didn’t know what she’d said to Albert, or what he’d agreed to. My hairy colleague seemed overwhelmed by the presence of a female. “I’ve been in contact with your sister about him, in fact.”
I didn’t like the idea of relinquishing the kitten to Jill, not until I had a better sense of what she was up to. But I didn’t trust this woman either.
The argument I was waiting for didn’t materialize. Instead, she looked at me quizzically. “My sister?”
“Jill,” I clarified. Of course, none of the sisters were talking to each other.
“Of course.” She nodded. Whether they talked or not, she seemed to know her sister. “But that’s not a permanent solution.”
“Oh?” The instant was bitter. I drank more anyway. As Creighton had taught me, people love to talk. Give them silence…
“If you don’t want it, you can give the kitten up.” Except that Albert was the one who fell for it. “Pru can take the kitten over to County—”
“No, Albert, I can’t.” It was time to put an end to this nonsense. Partly because I was sick of it. A kitten is not a chess piece to be moved about in a surrogate battle. Partly because I was too distracted to let it continue. That quiet obsessing—“shiny button, where did it go?”—kept intruding itself on my thoughts. “If a family member may want to take the kitten somewhere down the line, then I see no reason to surrender it. As you well know, this is kitten season. The number of cats at County that will be euthanized—” I stopped. If there was anything wrong with the kitten. FVR. Anything. “But that’s what you want, right?” I’d been so distracted. If I couldn’t play on her better nature, maybe I could shame her.
“No, no, I don’t.” She put the mug on the edge of the desk and made a big show of looking contrite, turning the hem of her sweater back and forth. What it did was keep me from seeing her face. “I’m sorry.” She looked up at Albert, who blinked. Those blue eyes still must have some force. “I was—at first, I was so overwhelmed. And when I heard the news…the lab report…”
She dropped the h
em to fish around in her pocket for a tissue. I didn’t see any tears, but the eyes that now blinked up at me were certainly large.
“You can’t still blame the kitten for your father’s death.” I was past being polite. “That’s like blaming gravity. Or age.”
“No, I—I don’t.” She clipped the words, as if setting her jaw for a confrontation.
“I know you took care of him, but you must have known that he was ill.” I, too, was through with pulling my punches. “And that he wasn’t taking care of himself. Wasn’t following the protocol for whatever medications he was on.” I was saying too much, I knew it as the words came out. I had no right to know what was in the medical examiner’s report. I didn’t care. “He was a time bomb.”
“He was lucky.” Her voice had taken on a rough quality that surprised me. “Lucky he went when he did. Lucky that he didn’t know.”
“Pru—” Albert was rising from his desk. About to attempt some gesture of gallantry.
“His beloved youngest daughter,” Jackie was saying, standing up to face me as she spoke. “His Jilly wasn’t coming home to visit because she cared. All those visits? Sneaking into town on the sly? She thought I didn’t know—but I found out. She was poisoning him,” said Jackie, a look like that of an aggrieved chow on her long face. “Poison—only his heart gave out first.”
Chapter Forty-two
“What?” I didn’t care if I’d had the same thought. To hear it spoken out loud shocked me. “Now you’re saying your baby sister killed him?”
“I know, you think I’m hysterical.” She dabbed at her eyes. “First, the kitten and Judith, and then…But I knew, you see, I know—I lived with him, these last eight months. My father was a fighter. He was not going to just lie down and die.”
“Jackie.” I stepped toward her, reaching for her. “Please, calm down. I understand, it was a shock. But people die, even when we don’t expect them to.” I had my hands on her arms now, and I pressed the soft wool of the sweater, trying to get her to sit back down. “Believe me, I know.”
“No, you don’t understand. The lab…” The crying started in earnest now. “They’re asking about his medication. Why—why else?” Her one tissue a sodden mess, Jackie pushed her hand into her pocket, stretching the soft wool as she searched for more.
“Albert?” I turned toward him, and he jumped back. That made room for me to reach around and open his desk drawer. I fished out a pile of paper towels, which seemed more to the point than any answer I could give. “Here.” I handed them to Jackie.
“Thanks.” She patted her eyes with the rough paper. “I’m sorry. I get…”
“No matter.” I didn’t need her going off again. This had to be what Creighton was talking about. What Judith had come over to tell him, which raised another question. “Have you talked to Judith?” That sounded too harsh. “Does she know about this?”
A small nod, then a swift shake of the head. “I don’t know,” she said, her words clipped. “If only I’d been there. I was out. You know that. We talked. I had to talk to someone. Mr. Wilkins. We’ve both been talking to him I guess so. I mean, we have to.”
“I still don’t understand.” I didn’t. Not anything about this family. “Why do you think poison—”
“Shiny!” I turned as I heard the cry. Jackie shrieked. Frank, released by my actions from Albert’s desk, had launched himself over the desk and now landed in the visitor’s lap, his agile black paws pulling at a button on her sweater.
“Frank!” Albert lunged for his pet, throwing his stout body over the desk, and knocking over the mug of coffee.
Jackie screamed again and jumped back, while the ferret—who had a much better sense of his person’s agility or lack thereof—merely hopped back onto the desk, neatly sidestepping the flying mess that was Albert.
“Frank, how could you?” Albert pushed himself off and began rummaging for more paper towels.
“What is that?” Jackie had enough sense to turn to me for an answer.
“Frank’s a ferret. They’re perfectly safe,” I said. Provided that you’re not a worm or a grub, I was tempted to add. She was already enjoyably discombobulated. “He’s Albert’s pet,” I added. Seeing as how together we had trained Albert to call the sleek masked ferret by his chosen name, rather than by the ignominious tag of “Bandit,” I was tempted to reverse the order of possession. They were both so flustered, I doubt they’d have noticed.
“He wouldn’t. Would you?” I turned from the flushed woman to the intense dark eyes of the ferret. He was staring at me, nose quivering. In his hands, he held—yes—a button. “Get the order right…”
“Frank.” I held my hand out, palm up, and hoped neither of the other humans in the room were looking. Ferrets can be possessive, and they also have sharp teeth. What I was doing relied more on my special sensitivity than any rules of animal training.
“Shiny.” With a falling note as sad as a sigh, the mustelid placed the button in my hand. I took a moment to look it over: with its dome cap of worked metal, it was a pretty thing. “Sorry,” I whispered quietly to Frank, as he, his tail low, slunk back into Albert’s desk drawer.
“Here,” I held it out to Jackie. “You wouldn’t want to lose this.”
“Oh, thank you.” She dropped the wad of paper towels she’d been using to mop her thighs and reached for it. As she did, the thread in the shank—a thin wisp of white—fell to the floor. “This keeps falling off.” She tucked it into the sweater pocket. “Even without that…that animal.”
“You should probably use a thicker thread.” The other buttons, I could see, were attached with the same wool as the sweater: a pretty sky blue. “Or maybe some of that yarn.”
“I know. I ran out.” She went back to patting at herself with the sodden paper.
“I’m so, so sorry.” Albert was wringing his hands.
“Let me get some water.” I grabbed the empty mug off the floor—at least it hadn’t shattered. “He didn’t get your sweater, did he?”
“No, well, maybe a little.” I handed Albert’s mug to him, motioning him toward the sink. “It’s not a big deal.” Jackie called after him. “I’ve had so much time on my hands, I’ve made dozens of these. Knitting was something to do while I sat with my dad.”
The memory was too much for her. As I watched, her face collapsed in on itself, the blues eyes went wide and then scrunched up, as she pulled the sodden paper towels up to her mouth and started to wail.
“Jackie, it’s okay.” No, it wasn’t. Her father was dead, and I suspected her life currently had no meaning without him to care for. I knew the formula, though. “You’ll be okay.”
The storm subsided as quickly as it began, and soon Jackie was simply sniffling into the wet, brown towels. Albert had returned with the water by this time, and she took it from him, sipping from it as she sniffed.
“Thanks.” She looked at the desk and started to reach over to place the mug there, then thought better and held it in her lap. “I’m sorry. It’s still so…” She started to play with the hem of her sweater again. I could see the coffee spot now, pale brown against the blue, right where the button had been torn off. She saw me looking and tucked the bottom of the sweater under itself, folding it up nervously as if the spot or the loose white thread were somehow her fault.
“Please, forget about it.” I leaned back on the desk. “But could we go back to what you were saying before we were interrupted?”
I figured I had a minute or two at most. As soon as this woman had collected her wits, she would realize that not only was she wet and messy, but that she was confiding secrets to a total stranger. Hey, if it were me, I’d have been out of here long ago.
As it was, she nodded, pliable now that she was already wrung out. “He was so strong…If only I’d been there…” Jackie bit her lip.”
“Maybe it’s a good thing.” She blinke
d up at me, and I tried to explain. “He might have—” I caught myself. “You might not have been able to do anything, but if you’d been there, the state wouldn’t have requested an autopsy.”
“But it’s not fair.” Her voice was shaky. “I was always there. Always.” The neat roll of the sweater unfolded as Jackie raised her hands wide. “And she’s been saying crazy things. She even said that I didn’t need to leave. That I didn’t …” The hands came in again, covering her face. “I can’t.”
“Pru.” Albert’s voice was low, a warning, and I could feel him straining to pass by me; his belly was warm and soft against my arm. What he wanted was to get to her, probably one of the more noble impulses he’d ever had—unless he simply saw her as vulnerable. Still, I held him back.
“What did the lab tests show, Jackie?” I repeated my question to make sure she understood. “What poison did you find?”
“Nothing’s official. Not yet.” She looked up at me, those blue eyes wide and clear. “These things—with time, they go away, you know. But now that they know what they’re looking for, they’ll find it. I looked it up—contine? Cotinine? She must have thought it would be gone.”
I shook my head, confused. “This continine, it’s a poison?”
“It’s what you get.” She swallowed and blinked. “It’s what the body does with liquid nicotine.”
***
I couldn’t come up with a response to that, not fast enough. And at the sight of both of us, me and Albert, staring at her open-mouthed, Jackie must have remembered where she was and who she was talking to. Gathering up the mess of paper towels, she looked around in vain for a waste basket. Finally, after what must have been thirty seconds of serious searching, she simply deposited them on Albert’s desk, stood up, and walked out.
“Why’d you do that?” Albert was the first to recover, turning on me with unexpected vigor. “She just came in because of the kitten. I could have handled that. What are you doing here anyway, Pru? That lawyer called again, you know.”
