by Clea Simon
Chapter Sixty-two
Once he started, Doc spilled it all, explaining that the money problems of the big animal hospital were worse than I had known. Not just in their severity, but also in their duration.
County had been hemorrhaging money for the last few years, the vet explained. There had been some irregularities that the gray-haired accountant was doing her best to track. Expenses had spiked. As he talked, I began to understand the struggle he’d been through—the fatigue, the pressure. All of it hidden under that gruff Yankee exterior. Yes, County still had municipal funding, but much of that had gone into an endowment—and that endowment had been shrinking slowly, rather than paying the dividends that were supposed to keep it—us—afloat.
“I’ll keep going as long as I can, Pru,” he’d said at last, once more rubbing his tired eyes. “But, I confess, that’s why I’ve been urging you to—well, one reason…”
With a gruff pat on the shoulder, he had walked off, leaving me stunned. Animals will mask an illness. Hide a weakness as long as they can. I know that and expect it. But old Doc Sharpe? He had caught me by surprise.
I drove off, my mind reeling. I’d never taken Doc for the profligate type—it went against everything the old Yankee stood for—and had to wonder what else was going on. What else…or who else. When the call came in from Jill, I ignored it. Sheila was okay, and I had more important things to think about than mentoring the youngest Canaday. At the very least, if County closed I didn’t need the competition.
That call did get me thinking though. Thinking that what I had to do was to cement my position with my few paying clients. Odds were, I’d run into Jill soon enough anyway. I’d planned on dropping by Wilkins’ place later that afternoon. Given the weather, Dave and Mack would be finishing their painting. If I were there, I could inspect their work and dun the lawyer for a check. I was kicking myself now for starting work without a deposit. In this economy, nobody was safe. And trusting a lawyer? Well, more and more, I was learning that was never a good idea. From now on, I’d get cash up front.
With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I ran through the rest of the day’s calls. If I was distracted, I did my best not to show it. I didn’t need another fiasco like I’d had with Meryl Sandburg and Princess. It was close to six by the time I headed back downtown. Close to closing time, and I needed to talk to Albert.
My dark mood a stark contrast to what had become a beautiful spring day, my driving was probably a bit more aggressive than usual. I told myself I needed to get there before the animal control officer left for the day, but I was using the car to let off steam. I caught myself when I heard a grackle exclaim—not that those flashy gawpers are models of calm—but I still got there in record time and managed to slip inside the building without running into Creighton. Jackie should have told him what had happened by now. If not, well, I really had no dog in that particular family fight. Only one tiny kitten.
Frank greeted me as I walked into the animal control office, dashing across the floor to sniff at my leg.
“Hey, Frank.” I squatted to be closer to eye level. “What’s up?” I was speaking in a whisper, but soon realized I didn’t have to. A soft snore emanating from the area of Albert’s beard revealed why his mustelid companion had the run of the place.
“Looking for the sweet!” Frank wasn’t always hungry, but the search for prey was a major part of his life. “Something tasty to chew on.”
“You raiding Albert’s snack drawer again?” For all his flaws, the fat man did share with his pet. Not always willingly, but he did.
“Sweets….” The black eyes held mine as the leathery nose twitched. “Not good for you. Not good at all.”
Despite everything, I had to smile. Whether Frank had picked this up from Albert or from some other dieting human, it surely had little bearing on his lithe and muscular body.
“What!” Albert woke with a snort, and I rose, silently asking the ferret’s pardon.
“Hey, Albert.” I walked over to the desk. I might envy Albert’s job security right now but not the mess before me. A mess not entirely of his making. “What’s up?”
“Not much. Heard you came by Happy’s last night.” He pulled himself up in his chair and brushed some crumbs off his chin. “Heard you had a run-in with Randy.”
“Hardly a run-in.” No, I didn’t want Albert’s job, but the notices piled up before him could mean work for me.
“Heard you were pretty tough on his girlfriend, too.”
“Who, Judith?” I spotted a flyer about raccoons, but it was just a reminder about their protected nesting season. Another one, from what I could read upside down, seemed to cover new trapping regulations.
“In his dreams, maybe.” Albert laughed. At least, I assumed it was supposed to be a laugh. Considering his success rate with women, I didn’t want to encourage him. Besides, I was here for a reason.
“Hey, Al.” I pulled one leaflet free from the pile. Nuisance animals. “I’m wondering if you have any more work you don’t want to do. Anything like the Wilkins job.”
“I don’t know, Pru.” He sounded a little sheepish. “I mean, Wilkins still isn’t happy with what you did over there. I thought you were going to make nice?”
“I don’t ‘make nice.’” I had to brazen this one out. “I got rid of his squirrels. Even set him up with Dave, who’s rebuilt the side of his house for him.”
“Well, he called to complain again. Said you were still poking your nose in where you shouldn’t.” Albert looked up, blinking. “He even said you tried to poison his dog?”
“I? What?” This was too much. “I saved his dog’s life, Albert. I mean, come on.”
“I told him that didn’t sound like you.” Somehow, I doubted Albert would speak up for me to anyone. Not that he didn’t like me, but that his ability to stand up to another person—particularly an angry lawyer—was minimal at best. “But, you know, he’s a big deal in this town.”
“Jeez…” I thought about Jill’s call. If the Canaday girl had blamed the incident on me, she was going to have a lot of explaining to do. Then again—I caught my breath—it was possible that her boyfriend may have misinterpreted. Maybe that call—the one I hadn’t taken—had been to warn me. “Look, Albert, Wilkins has got it all wrong. And I am going to straighten it out, okay? Just don’t go giving my referrals to anyone else just yet.”
“Sweet!” As I stormed out of the office, I heard Frank—still on the prowl—behind me.
“Pru, it’s me.” I started to play back Jill’s voice mail as soon as I stepped out of the office. I didn’t know how I’d gotten into this predicament. That Wilkins was angry at me for tearing a hole in his house, I understood. That he had caught me eavesdropping—even if I hadn’t intended to—was another strike against me. But poisoning his dog? No way I was taking the rap for that. Saving Sheila was one of the few things I’d done right recently.
“There’s something I need to talk to you about.” Damn right, lady, I thought, and waited for her to get to it. “It’s about Larry—Larry Wilkins.”
“Pru?” I spun around, startled, to see Creighton standing behind me. Of course, I’d been standing in front of the shared building, oblivious to whoever might be watching.
“Jim.” I hung up my phone, unwilling to explain. “I was just in with Albert.”
“I gather.” He tilted his head, his smile taking on a funny angle. “Thought you might drop in on me after.”
“Had a call.” I held up the phone as evidence. “Something with a client.”
He nodded. “I won’t keep you. Just got a call myself that I thought might interest you.”
I waited. He wanted to be asked, but old habits die hard.
After about a minute he chuckled, softly, as if I’d said something funny. Then, shaking his head, he explained. “All that fuss about David Canaday? All the sniping? It was
n’t anything.”
“But, wait—” I thought about Jackie. About the nicotine. About the tea.
“The medical examiner has finally weighed in,” he said. “I shouldn’t even be sharing this with you, only I know you’ve been dragged into this by his daughters. The ruling is that his death was accident or misadventure, but without a finding of fault. It seems he took too much of one of his medications. So, well, I guess I can’t say ‘no harm,’ since the guy died. But it’s no foul. I’m not going to be investigating. It’s a good thing we didn’t hold up the funeral, huh?”
“Jim, hang on.” I stepped toward him, trying to figure out what was wrong. “Did Jackie talk to you? She was going to.”
He shook his head. “No, she hasn’t called. But, Pru, it doesn’t matter.”
“No, wait,” I said. “It should matter. She saw him die. She watched, and she didn’t help him. And then she lied about it to you—to everyone.” I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. “I figured it out. I got her to confess. She said she would tell you.”
“Pru, it’s over.” His voice was gentle now. A little sad. “None of that matters anymore. There’s not going to be an investigation. Not by me. Not by you. No more drama. It’s over.”
“Over?” I wasn’t sure, but I thought he was talking about more than the case.
“Good-bye, Pru.” And with that he turned and walked back inside.
Chapter Sixty-three
I was in no mood to hear Jill’s whining excuses after that. Nor was I about to start drinking this early in the day. Not in Beauville, anyway, where Happy’s was the only reliable outlet—for both alcohol and, it seemed, gossip. No, I wanted someone to blame for all the various troubles I’d had lately, and I knew who. Driving a little too fast for the road, I got to Larry Wilkins’ house in no time flat.
“Hey, Pru.” Dave Altschul was standing out front, the paint on his shirt and jeans explaining his presence there. “I was going to call you.”
“What’s the problem?” I eyed the carpenter. He might appear more together than Randy or Mack, but he was another of the late-night Happy’s crowd.
“No problem.” He sounded a little hurt. “Just that we’re done. I was going to leave an invoice for Wilkins, but I thought you might want to be the one to give it to him.”
“Sorry, yeah.” Flustered, I brushed my hair back from my face. I’d forgotten my original reason for coming here. “I can do that.”
“Okay, then.” He walked past me to the cab of his truck and pulled out a clipboard. Detaching the top sheet, he handed me a surprisingly professional-looking invoice. “Here you go.”
I folded it in half. “I’ll take care of it immediately.”
“Thanks.” He was looking at me funny, so I waited. “You know, Mack’s trying, Pru. He did good work for me.”
“Whatever.” I walked away, embarrassed, and rang the lawyer’s doorbell.
“Mr. Wilkins?” He opened the door almost immediately. Over his shoulder, I saw Jill holding Sheila’s leash. For some reason, she was shaking her head. “I wanted to touch base with you. I believe our work on your house is now complete.”
“Really.” It was a statement, rather than a question.
“Would you like to check it out?” As I made the offer, I realized I myself had not. Well, Dave was still around, in case anything needed to be done.
“Give me a minute.” He walked off into the other room, and Jill ran up to me.
“What are you doing?” She reached for my hands. “Didn’t you get my message?”
“Yeah, I got it.” I was still holding the invoice, which was getting crushed. “I also spoke with Detective Creighton.” I waited. She shook her head. “The medical examiner’s report? He’s not going to be investigating your father’s death.”
“Excuse me?” Larry Wilkins had come back and was shrugging on a jacket. “Is she bothering you, Jill?”
“No, no, not at all.” Jill dropped my hands and looked away, flustered. Sheila looked up at her. I could sense her confusion.
“I heard the good news,” I said, to lighten the atmosphere. “I gather the investigation into Mr. Canaday’s death is going to be closed.”
“Well, that is good news.” He looked over at his girlfriend as he ushered me out the door. “You have to excuse Jill,” he said, the moment we were outside. “She’s still taking it very hard. She didn’t get to say good-bye, you know.”
“I know that her sisters haven’t made these last few weeks easy,” I added. “For you, either.”
“Simply the usual.” He led the way around to the side. “It’s my job to ease the transition for my clients.”
I laughed. “I’m sure that if David Canaday had known how much trouble his will was going to cause…” I paused. Maybe the old man had known. Maybe it had been intentional.
Wilkins smiled, a dry, thin smile. “I was thinking of Jill, to be honest.”
“Of course.” I wasn’t surprised, not really. Jill probably inherited his services with the lion’s share of the estate. What I wasn’t sure about was the ethics of their involvement. “You don’t represent Jill’s sisters, I would imagine?”
“No, no.” He stared up at the roof. So did I. Dave’s repair showed up the shoddy nature of the addition. It was solid. That nest was history, like other nests from years before. “Not anymore.” Wilkins’ voice cut into my thoughts. “So, tell me, if the squirrels come back, will the carpentry work also be covered under the guarantee?” He smiled, looking a bit sheepish now. “I probably should have asked.”
“You should have.” I sounded snippy. Somehow, I didn’t see Laurence Wilkins forgetting to nail down a point. “And, no, it’s not. What is covered is the removal of the nuisance animals. For one year,” I added for good measure. Those babies—that keening cry—they had been kept alive in the mother’s memory. “So tell me, is your work time-limited too?”
His eyebrows went up. “Are you questioning me?”
“I’m wondering about all the animosity between the sisters.” I was working up to asking him about Judith. About his wife, when the thought struck me. Something about the passing of time. The persistence of memory. “I’m wondering if it pre-dates the will.”
“I’ve been close to the Canaday family for years.” Perfect lawyer doublespeak. In the back of my mind, I remembered him telling me, “I watched these girls grow up.”
He hadn’t answered my question, but I let it slide. Judith had been cleared, after all. And now the investigation into David Canaday was being closed. I needed to focus on saving my own career, and so as we stood in the bright sunshine I pointed out where Dave and Mack had repaired the edge of the roof. Already the paint was drying. Soon the patch would be indistinguishable from the older construction.
When I was done, I handed him the invoice. He hesitated before taking it—a split second that made me wonder again about the quality of that addition. But then he uttered the magic words—“Why don’t I write you a check?”—and I relaxed, following him back inside.
“Pru.” Jill was waiting in the hall.
“Jill.” Wilkins nodded toward her. “Ms. Marlowe and I have some business to finish up.”
He opened the door to his office and walked in, but before I could, Jill grabbed my arm. “When you’re done,” she said, her voice low, before letting go.
“Something wrong?” The lawyer didn’t sound particularly concerned.
“No.” I followed him into the office. Whatever Jill was on about, I’d find out later. Right now, I was so close to getting paid, I could smell it.
“Shall I make this out to Pru Marlowe,” he paused. “Or to cash?”
“Are you suggesting I’m not going to pay taxes?” For a lawyer, Wilkins was, well, squirrelly about money.
“Not at all, not at all.” With a fast scribble, he filled out the check, which he handed
to me.
“Thank you.” I checked—he’d signed—folded it and put it in my pocket. “Now, I don’t expect you’ll have any problems. But if you hear anything….”
“You’ll be the first to know.”
I lingered a few minutes once I was outside. Jill wasn’t anywhere in sight, however, and I’d had a trying day. She’d never had any trouble finding me before. If she wanted to talk, she knew my number.
Chapter Sixty-four
When I heard the doorbell a few hours later, I wasn’t unhappy. If Creighton were willing to let things slide back to their usual state, I would take that. In fact, as I went to answer it, drink in hand, I realized a smile was spreading across my face. The combination of the hour and the slight formality—he hadn’t bothered to ring the door in a while—held great promise for a new détente.
“Jill.” I didn’t bother to hide my disappointment.
“Pru, I’m sorry.” She looked around, as if she could see anything in the dark. “Are you busy?”
“Uh, no.” I’m not usually indecisive. I’m not usually surprised, either. Blame the bourbon. The ten seconds it took to readjust were enough. Jill Canaday was in my house and closing the door behind her.
“Jill, hang on here,” I moved to stop her. “You can’t just barge in.”
“Pru, I’ve got no choice.” Leaning back on the door, she looked up at me, eyes wide. “I don’t know where else to go.”
“Seems to me you have several options.” I was big enough to throw her out. It wouldn’t be pretty, though, and I’d rather talk her into leaving. “You’ve got your sister’s house, which by all accounts is big enough to take you in. You’ve got your lawyer boyfriend’s house…” I was going to add something about Doc Sharpe. Hell, even he had seemed to fall under the youngest Canaday girl’s spell, when she leaned in and grabbed me, nearly spilling my drink.
“That’s just it, Pru. I don’t have a place of my own. I don’t have any privacy—and I need to think things through.”
