by Clea Simon
Who those women were was on my mind as I walked to my car. Jackie seemed pretty simple to me—the good girl. The one who gave up her life to care for her father after her mother’s early death. What I didn’t know was why. Had she wanted the role, the chance to step up and make herself invaluable? Or had she been forced into it by circumstance and a demanding father?
Judith was the wild one. Like me, she had chafed at the restrictions of a small town. Having a stern father, a lawyer no less, probably hadn’t helped. She’d gotten away, and by the looks of it, she wasn’t coming back to stay.
That left Jill. The baby. Clearly, David Canaday had been gentler on her than on either of her sisters. Maybe that was because he was aging, and she was the last one at home. Maybe there was something else going on—a resemblance to the girls’ departed mother. A certain softness in her nature that had been absent in her sisters. Or maybe the baby of the family was simply better at playing their surviving parent. When I thought of the way she had second-guessed me, I knew I had to consider that as a possibility as well.
But not tonight. I confess, when I’d first seen Creighton at Happy’s I’d wondered about his motives. I kind of liked the idea that he might be checking up on me, even if I knew I was going to have to shake him off at some point. But the cast of his questions had made it clear that he was there on business—and that he’d checked at least one person’s whereabouts during the time that David Canaday had fallen ill. That meant that there might be something to Jackie’s accusations. Something in the final autopsy report. I didn’t know what he’d tell me. He can be as close-lipped as I am. But after a day with Jill, I might be able to trade information. At any rate, I looked forward to making the attempt.
When I got to my car, I saw a scrap of paper had been slid under the wiper. It was starting to rain, and so I grabbed it. I didn’t need mush on my windshield. After so many years in the city, I was used to fliers everywhere. Chinese restaurants, iPhone repair services, you name it. But as I peeled the dimpled paper off the glass, I saw it wasn’t a professional printing job.
It was a note. Block print, with blue ink that was already beginning to run. I glanced at it as I ducked into my car. Had I taken someone’s space? Not likely on this half-deserted commercial strip. More likely someone wanted to sell me something—or buy my car. Tossing it onto the passenger seat, I briefly wondered how much I could get for my baby-blue baby. How much cheaper a more gas-efficient car would be to drive. No, some temptations are not worth a girl’s time.
The rain was coming down harder now, and I was grateful to be inside. With wet sluicing down my windshield, I pushed my hair out of my eyes, seeing the blue on my fingers. Probably on my face, too, I thought, as I glanced again at the passenger seat.
SHE DIDNT DO IT, the note read. SHE WAS HELP.
Chapter Forty-six
Great. I sat there blinking at the damp paper, wishing I had left it to disintegrate in the rain. “‘She didn’t do it’?” I read, looking for more—or at least the missing apostrophe. “‘She was help’?”
It seemed pretty clear: “She” was Jill. I’d been asking about the youngest Canaday girl, after all. Creighton had come in just as I was getting into it with Randy, and what he said pretty much cleared her. Unless…Help? That could explain the timing, demolishing Jill’s alibi for good. But why leave this note for me and not the cop who was investigating? Why leave a note at all?
I checked the back of the paper—there was nothing else. For all I knew, the scrap might been left on my car by mistake. Or been part of a longer message
Leaving the paper on the seat, I ducked back into the rain. My wipers had been running for at least a minute by then, and when I lifted the driver’s side wiper I saw a bit of paste. Dyed yellow with pollen, caked down from the motion of the wiper, it didn’t come up easily. Still, I managed to pry it out, and took it back into the relative shelter of my car. White—paper probably—mixed with that pollen and what looked like the corpses of several insects. The rain that dripped from my forelock onto the sodden mess didn’t make it any clearer. If something else had been written, it was gone.
I turned back to the original note, which was beginning to curl on the leather passenger seat. Between the rain and my cavalier handling of it, I was lucky the scrap of paper was still legible. But as I reached for it, I paused—wondering, for a moment, if I should be doing something, anything, with the truncated missive.
No, I finally decided. This was a note, not a bloody weapon. A semi-literate one, at best. And it had been left for me. Besides, as much as I might respect Jim Creighton, I was under no illusions about our small town’s forensic resources.
Maybe if I could figure out who sent it, I’d hand it over. Maybe if I could figure out what it really meant, or why it had been left for me out here, in the rain.
Beauville isn’t much for nightlife. Unless you want to drive to Amherst, Happy’s is pretty much it. On a night like this the crowd was pretty settled. From where I sat, I could see the front door, but I didn’t expect it to open up again till someone ran out of money. Or Creighton had gotten what he needed. And so I was left to wonder who had known I was here.
Randy, for one. The big man had sent me to the bar when I called. He knew the family—knew at least one of the women intimately—and he had excused himself before I left. Then again, he’d come up to me inside. If he had something to say to me, I couldn’t see why he wouldn’t say it. Who was there to hear? Who would disagree?
Albert knew my car, that was for sure. He’d been drinking, but he could easily have excused himself while I was talking to Randy or to Creighton. On the pretext of hitting the head, it wasn’t impossible that he had snuck out the back.
Dave the carpenter was also a possibility. He had left before I had, and he knew the Canadays, too. He might have heard about my car from Albert, or a dozen other sources. But if he had something to say to me, wouldn’t he just have waited till tomorrow? The one thing I didn’t get from the note was any sense of urgency. If there was, it was certainly lost on me.
That left Mack. There was something up with my ex, something besides regret. He’d not been happy that I was working with the Canaday girls, though if that was because of them or because it threw me in closer with Jim Creighton, I couldn’t be sure. Knowing Mack, his concern might have been completely self-centered. He knew that we were over. Didn’t stop him from hoping—or from playing an angle.
I fingered the damp page, considering my options. For all I knew, it was a meaningless rant. A misguided memo tucked under my wiper by mistake. Ten more minutes, and the note would have been illegible anyway. Wiping my hands one more time on my jeans, I squinted out at the rain, and drove myself home.
***
“Wet.” Wallis didn’t even try to hide her disdain when I entered the kitchen, dripping. “Just like a kitten.”
“Thanks, Wallis.” I reached for a towel to dry my hair, then thought better of it. Odds were, Creighton would be over later. I’d had a hard day.
Ten minutes later, I was soaking in the tub. My old house had its drawbacks. Heating it to a livable temperature had nearly ruined me over the winter. But it had a few good points as well, and this was one of them. A claw-foot tub, deep enough for me to sink into, long enough for me to stretch my legs. A tumbler of bourbon perched on the edge completed the luxury, a way for me to warm myself inside and out—and prepare for the evening ahead.
Wallis, of course, thought I was crazy. But she perched on the toilet to watch me anyway. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore her censorious stare as I took another sip.
“You…humans.” The scorn dripped off her like rain. “With your…soap.”
“And how are you, Wallis?” I didn’t want to fight. I wanted to drink, and so I did. “How’s the kitten?”
“Exactly.” She shuffled a bit. I suspected that the presence of so much water made her nervous. “At l
east he’s learning to bathe himself.”
“Thanks, Wallis.” I thought of when I’d picked up Ernesto, only a few days before. I’d bathed him. Washed off the tea—or whatever—that had splashed him. I remembered how he’d sneezed. How he’d recoiled from…something. “Mint smells like catnip to you, doesn’t it?”
“Mint?” She regarded me quizzically, and I tried to conjure a memory. A stand of cat mint—a close relative of catnip—that had grown wild out back where I’d sometimes caught her, in late summer, rolling around.
“Ah yes.” The rumble of a purr. “Don’t waste that on a kitten.”
“You and I, Wallis.” I raised my glass. “We may be more alike than you think.”
“Huh.” Wallis stood up and looked at the bathroom door. I’d offended her, finally. “Don’t be silly.” She jumped to the floor. “I’m beyond being shocked by anything you do. You may, however, want to know that you’ve got company.”
Sure enough, a few seconds after she stalked off downstairs, I heard a car pull up. I smiled to myself and finished the bourbon. This evening was playing out exactly as I’d hoped.
“Come in,” I yelled. The bathroom was at the top of the stairs. My voice would carry to the door below. “It’s unlocked!”
I closed my eyes again and leaned back. Stretched my legs, letting one foot peek above the bubbles. Creighton would know where to find me. I heard the door open. Of course, he might want to pour himself a drink first.
“I’m up here.” I called down. A girl gets impatient.
“Pru?” I sat up with a splash, the warm buzz of bourbon and bath shocked out of me. The voice, from the foot of the stairs, was not that of Jim Creighton. It was female. Jackie Canaday was in my house.
Chapter Forty-seven
“Told you you had company.” Wallis slid by me without pausing.
“Thanks a lot,” I couldn’t help muttering, even as my guest stared at me, wide-eyed.
I’d hustled down only a moment before, grabbing first for a towel and then my old robe. “Just a minute!” I had yelled, suddenly feeling quite vulnerable.
“Thank you.” Her voice had risen up to me, sounding a bit tentative at the greeting.
“Sorry about that,” I rushed to explain once I made my way downstairs. I’d made myself decent as quickly as I could, but Jackie had still had time to wander into the kitchen. She turned as I spoke. “I was expecting— I wasn’t expecting company.”
She blushed and turned away. “I’m surprised that you left your door unlocked,” she said. “I mean, considering some of the things that go on here.”
“Must have been an oversight.” Hell, she’d left her own front door open the day her father died. I’d apologized reflexively, and now I was getting cranky. “So, what brings you over to my side of town?”
It was late, especially for Beauville standards. As much as I wanted her gone, I also wanted to know.
“Oh, it’s probably nothing.” She walked over to the table. “May I?”
I nodded. I’d already invited her in.
She pulled out a chair and sat, heavily. “Thank you.” She seemed to be waiting, so I took the other seat.
“Yes?” I don’t do hostess.
“The kitten,” she said at last. “I came over to see the kitten.”
“Your father’s kitten?” I was tempted to look around. Surely Wallis was listening in. Instead, I kept my eyes on my house guest. “You came over here tonight to see the kitten?”
She nodded, a little too vigorously. “I know it’s late. I’m so sorry. I’ve been so busy. There’s just been so much to do.” She started digging around in her bag. By the time she came up with a tissue, she had calmed down enough to explain. “I know that I overreacted at first. That much— that much is clear. And since it was a present for my father, I thought, well, since both my sisters will be leaving town…”
“I’m not sure Jill will be.” I thought about what the youngest Canaday had told me. “She’s planning on at least staying the summer.”
“Oh, is she?” That seemed to throw her. “I’ve been so distracted. But at any rate, she will undoubtedly be going back to school in the fall, and I’m sure that a kitten would be too much trouble to take with her.”
“Wait.” I stopped her. “You came over here at night to tell me you’d reconsidered taking your father’s kitten?” She nodded, eyes wide. “Look, Jackie, this is something that you and your sister are going to have to work out between you, okay?”
“Oh, okay.” She stood up as if to leave. “I really should get going.” She turned away from me, away from the table. “Oh!”
Wallis was sitting there, eyeing her with that cool green gaze.
“This isn’t…” Jackie’s hands fluttered up to her chest. “I’m sorry, this isn’t…”
“No.” I took a step over, to put myself between the woman and the cat. “This is my cat, Wallis.” Something was wrong here.
“Of course.”
“She’s afraid.” Wallis was slightly amused, I thought. “She’s afraid to touch me.”
“She won’t hurt you, you know.” I ignored Wallis’ silent protest and reached to pick her up. “Here.”
One hand reached out, and I thought Jackie was going to pet Wallis’ head. But as her hand came near, Wallis tilted her head up. Going to sniff her, I thought, but Jackie withdrew as if my aging tabby had been a tiger growling.
“That’s all right.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “Well, I won’t bother you anymore.”
“Put me down.” Wallis twisted in my grip in case her message was unclear, and I released her. She trotted away as I walked Jackie back to the front door.
“There’s one thing.” I waited. Whatever she said, I figured, was the real reason she had come. “It’s about my sister…”
I nodded. Of course, the accusations were beginning to pile up.
“I have some concerns.” She bit a lip that already looked scraped and raw. “There are some inconsistencies in her story.”
“Inconsistencies.” If she was finally going to accuse her baby sister of poisoning their father, she was going to have to say it out loud. Jill, I was learning, wasn’t the goody two-shoes I’d originally thought, but I had no reason to believe she was a killer.
“Some, well, some legal issues.” As I stood there, I felt the brush of fur against my bare ankle. A question, like a feeler, reached into my brain. I held it off, focusing on the woman in front of me, keeping my silence. Waiting.
“I don’t know if you should trust her, Ms. Marlowe,” my visitor said at last. “I don’t know if you can, you see.”
I nodded. This was what I’d expected. But even as I waited for the rest to come out, I saw a flash of light. Headlights. A car had pulled into my driveway and was making its way up to my house. Creighton. Jackie had to leave.
“I understand there’s some tension in the family.” I opened the door and put my hand on her upper arm. I’d push her if I had to, but it seemed she was moving. “And I gather that Jill is the focus of it.”
That was the blandest way I could put it. I didn’t care about being kind, I simply wanted her gone. But I’d clearly said the wrong thing, because she turned to face me, the timid pliability gone.
“I’m sure you and she can work this out.” I was pushing her now, softly, but steadily.
“Jill? I’m not talking about Jill.” The brush against my foot. The kitten. I lifted my foot, hoping that this would suffice to block the curious kitten from lumbering out my front door. The car in the driveway went dark. Surely, Creighton would see that I was escorting a visitor out. I willed him to wait, for privacy’s sake.
“I’m talking about Judith.” Jackie was staring at me now. “She’ll say anything. You can’t trust her, Ms. Marlowe. You can’t.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t have to. Jim
had come up behind her, quiet as a cat.
“Miss Canaday,” he said, his voice soft and calm. She turned and jumped. He nodded, acknowledging her.
“Detective.” She blinked at him, gathering herself, and for a moment I thought she was going to engage him. That he was here at her request.
“Ms. Canaday here was just telling me about her sister,” I said, keeping my eyes on Jackie. “Telling me about how Judith is out to get Jill. Next she was going to say something about poison, I’m sure. About how it was really Judith who poisoned their father.”
“I wasn’t—” Jackie’s eyes dropped as she caught herself. “Officer, you know the history, even if Ms. Marlowe doesn’t.”
“I know she was never charged,” said Creighton. I couldn’t help it. I looked up at him then and swallowed. This was a whole new can of beans.
“Jim?” He shook his head. Turned to Jackie, who looked sickly white in this light.
“Look, Ms. Canaday, there’s no point in dredging up old history. Or in spreading rumors.” He shot me a glance. “And pending means just that. Pending. When there is something definite, Ms. Canaday, you’ll be among the first to know. And now,” he stepped aside from the doorway, “I think we should all call it a night.”
She looked from Creighton back to me and then at him again. “Don’t forget,” she said, her voice strained. I stood there silent, taking the full force of her gaze until she crumbled, looking down at her feet as she stepped back out through that door and headed for her car.
“Charged?” Creighton had my full attention now. “What was that about?”
“Ancient history.” He shook his head. “When Laurence Wilkins’ wife died, her family made a fuss.”
“Sounds familiar.”
He grunted. “She’d been ill even longer. Congestive heart failure. Judith was her aide. She practically lived over there, the last few months. I always thought she got a raw deal.”
