Chopping Spree gbcm-11

by Diane Mott Davidson

  “I don’t know why Barry wanted me to have his puppy,” I told my family truthfully. “But I really think I should go get him.”

  Tom mumbled something about letting the cops know what I was doing. Also, the department would need to find out if Barry had said anything else to Darlene. I told him the cops could talk all they wanted to Darlene, to me, and what the heck, to the dog.

  We finished our meal thrashing out logistics for the week, who would be where when, how the driving would work, and so on. Such are the joys of contemporary domestic life. Arch and I thanked Tom for the fabulous dinner. Tom offered to do the dishes, and I accepted with gratitude.

  “I’ll come with you, Mom,” Arch piped up unexpectedly as he finished loading the silverware into the dishwasher, a job he had done without being asked. “I got most of my homework done in school. While you’re driving, I’ll take care of the dog.”

  “Why, thanks, Arch. I’d love your help.”

  And so off we went.

  “You’re late,” Darlene announced ungraciously as she swung open the door of her log cabin. Short, slender, and about sixty, Darlene wore an emerald green turtleneck and a fashionable-ten-years-ago black velvet skirt and vest. Her salon-dyed light orange hair was meticulously arranged in an Annette Funicello bubble, and her impeccable-but-heavy makeup glowed in the light from an overhead chandelier made from antlers. She looked like a perfectly preserved dried apricot.

  “Very late,” she added, with the quirk of an arched, red-penciled eyebrow.

  I took a deep breath and reminded myself to be pleasant. I smiled and said, “Let’s not use the dog’s name, OK? Darlene, you remember my son Arch? He loves dogs and will help me get Late home.” From inside the cabin, Barry’s hound howled so loudly I suspected he’d heard me.

  O-woo! O-woo! Get me out of here!

  “C’mon in, he’s waiting for you!” Darlene closed the door behind us. She added, “He’s in the kitchen. I had to pile some stuff by the door to keep him in.” A prolonged crash preceded a spill of cardboard boxes out the kitchen door. A streak of black, gold, and white hurtled toward us. “Late!” Darlene shrieked, in a voice that would have started an avalanche.

  Late paid no attention whatsoever. Arch had dropped to his knees as the dog rushed us. The bassett bounded up, tongue extended, slathering Arch’s face with kisses. My son, overwhelmed, toppled back on his behind. Late howled with exultation. Darlene screeched a torrent of commands that the puppy ignored.

  “Darlene!” I called over the general confusion. “Can you tell me exactly what Barry said? You know, when he called to tell you about his puppy?”

  Darlene was headed toward the kitchen. I followed, and managed to trip over only one box upended by the puppy.

  “Here’s his food dish, water dish, and vitamins,” she said, as she dumped mismatched plastic bowls and other canine paraphernalia into a grocery bag. “He was outa Puppy Chow.” She whacked the bag down beside me on the counter. “All’s Barry said to me was, ‘If I have to go on a business trip allova sudden, I want Goldy Schulz t’have my dog.’ Then he asked if I knew who you were, the caterer who helps her husband solve crimes, and I said yeah, and he asked me to go get the puppy right then. I said, ‘So yer goin’ on a business trip, then?’ And he says, ‘Maybe.’ So I went and got the puppy. That was yesterday. I’m tellin’ ya, I can’t go through another night listening to him howl and whine. I mean, I used to watch Barry’s house and the puppy when he had to be out of town for a coupla nights, but it’s not like he left me any cash to take care of the hound for the rest of his life. I am sorry Barry died, though. He was a nice neighbor, if a little—Well, you know. Overdosing on the social life.”

  Out in the hallway, Late’s piercing yip was giving me a headache. Arch was egging him on in Boy’s Dog-Speak: Yeah, boy, c’mon boy, sit, yeah, roll over, yeah! OK, I’ll rub your tummy. Bet you’re hungry, right, boy?

  Overdosing on the social life? “Did Barry have many girlfriends?” I ventured.

  Darlene rolled her eyes, opened her refrigerator, and popped open a beer. She did not offer me one, which was probably just as well.

  “Look, I already talked to that private dick—”

  “John Rufus?”

  Darlene slurped foam. “Yup, and I told him about the bra saleslady—”

  “Pam?”

  “Yup.” Darlene tried unsuccessfully to suppress a belch. “That’s what the cops called her when they showed me her picture. Blonde who wears her hair in sort of a pickaninny?”

  “The very one.”

  “Well, she’s been over there, too. Those two, Pam and Ellie. That’s all I know about Barry’s girlfriends. ’Cept he didn’t leave either one of ‘em his dog.”

  “Thanks.”

  Darlene put down the beer, picked up the grocery bag, and shoved it at me. Since she couldn’t find any puppy food, she added, she’d given Late some chili last night. He’d seemed to like it.

  “Chili?” I repeated, nonplussed. No wonder you were up all night.

  When Darlene raised that thin eyebrow again, I hustled back to the foyer. Arch had thoughtfully brought along a leash and was clipping it to Late’s collar. Late, panting, twisted his stubby, muscled neck to look me over. He was a hefty, short-haired black hound with a wide, white chest and magnificent gold streaks along his face. He did resemble Barry’s old hound, Honey, especially with his red-rimmed eyelids around large woeful eyes. I’m grieving, his countenance seemed to say, cheer me up.

  “He’s just three months old,” Darlene explained from behind me. She couldn’t hide the joy in her voice at the prospect of ridding herself of the hound. “Oh, and he goes to High Country Vet, so you might want to check in over there, you know, see if he needs shots or worming or something.”

  I thanked Darlene and headed out after Arch and the puppy to the van. Late’s enthusiasm for Arch did not extend to going in a car, however, and once we were all inside, the little dog started whining inconsolably. I started the engine. The dog wailed even louder.

  “Let me try to calm him down, Mom, before you pull out. I brought him some smoked pigs’ ears.”

  “Jake won’t be happy you snitched from his store of treats.”

  At this, Arch launched into more Dog-Speak: Don’t worry, buddy, your new brother is going to love you, yeah, buddy, Jake’s a big old bloodhound who shares everything, et cetera, et cetera. I disconnected from Arch’s reassuring chatter and Late’s crying, and studied Barry’s chalet-style house next door. Two sheriff’s department cars were parked in the driveway. The red police tape that I knew was printed with the word Evidence had been strung around the house and yard. Hmm.

  Barry’s house stood out in this neighborhood because he’d taken great care to make it look handsome. While Darlene had continued to paint her home an opaque lime green—hip some decades ago in Aspen Meadow, like everything else about Darlene—Barry had painted the gingerbread trim of his dark brown wooden house a bright red. Now, the outside lights illuminated not only the Swiss-style abode, but the fresh fall of snow in the front yard. The curtains were pulled, but a lit interior told me the detectives were working.

  Without thinking, I released the brake and allowed the van to roll down to Barry’s driveway. Arch, preoccupied with calming the dog, did not notice. Nor, apparently, did anyone inside. I powered down my window and stared at the house. Why did you leave me your dog, Barry? I heard no answer to my question but puppy whining and the frigid night wind sweeping through the pines.

  “Mom!” Arch whispered. “You’re freezing me out! Late’s shivering! Close the window, would you?” The dog threw back his head and began to howl. “Mom! What are you waiting for?”

  We took off. Tom was not at home, which puzzled me, but Arch helped me get the separate “pet housing area,” as we called it, ready for our latest guest. Because of the catering business, I had to be extra careful about keeping the animals out of the kitchen. I tried not to think of the unsuccessful box barricade Dar
lene had built for Late.

  Late, meanwhile, was getting to know Jake out in our fenced backyard. Like Barry’s yard, ours was blanketed with snow. Howls, yips, and growling let us know the two canines hadn’t quite decided to be friends. When Arch opened the back door, Jake began to lumber in, but was impeded by Late streaking through his legs. Arch said he’d calm Jake if I could get hold of Late. I quick-stepped into the living room, where Late was avidly sniffing one of Tom’s Oriental rugs.

  “No you don’t, buster.” I scooped him up and hugged him to me, then lowered myself into one of the wingback chairs. To my surprise, Late turned, perused my face, and began to sniff my chin. My heart melted at the sight of those droopy brown eyes with their pink rims. The dog appeared worried. You, he seemed to be thinking, definitely aren’t Barry.

  “Why did your master leave you to me?” I asked him. “From the sound of it, he had two girlfriends. Why didn’t he leave you with one of them? The only thing recommending me was that we already had a hound. Different kind, though.”

  In my lap, Late panted, but said nothing.

  “Was it because of the truck accident?” I asked Late. “Barry was scared because that truck nearly killed him as well as me? So he called his neighbor and said, ‘If I die before I get home, give my dog to the caterer’?”

  Late still wasn’t in a talkative mood, so I just patted him. Arch appeared, carrying a tray of homemade dog biscuits. Apparently, Late’s olfactory glands worked as superbly as Jake’s, because he whirled, jumped off my lap, and tore toward Arch. Arch, delighted to be once more the center of the basset’s universe, started feeding him goodies from the plate. When the phone rang, I headed for it, mostly to prevent myself from mentioning crumbs and dog-mess to Arch.

  “I had to finish up something at work,” Tom reported from his cellular. “Apparently my delegating didn’t work out as well as I’d hoped. Anyway, I didn’t want you to worry. Did you get the dog?”

  “Yeah, thanks for asking. Arch is spoiling him rotten even as we speak.”

  “Is he cute?”

  “He’s black streaked with gold and white, and he has a face frozen in the ‘sad’ setting.”

  Tom snorted. “Did Barry ever mention to you that he wanted you to take care of his hound? The detectives are still working at his house.”

  “Nope. I saw them there, by the way. Do you happen to know who’s going to inherit the place? I don’t think Barry has any kin.”

  “I don’t know about kin. One of the guys mentioned that Barry had left his goods to the ASPCA. It’ll be a while before they can get the transfer worked out, though. Why?”

  I couldn’t tell my husband Because I’d like to be able to snoop around in my old friend’s house, and figure out why somebody stuck a knife in his gut. So I just said, “Oh, I need to know what kind of food he was giving the dog, that’s all.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I always wondered why I bothered to lie to Tom, since he could invariably tell when I was skirting the truth. A fierce crackle broke our connection before I could protest, or even ask when he would be home.

  Arch appeared in the hall holding the puppy in his arms. Could that be a smile on Late’s face?

  “I’m going up to finish the last bit of homework I’ve got,” my son announced. “I’ll take care of Late. What kind of dumb name is that for a dog, anyway?”

  “I have no more idea about that than I do why Barry left him to me.”

  Arch turned and started up the staircase, his usual clomping replaced by gentle steps. Snug in Arch’s arms, Late wagged his tail like a metronome.

  In the kitchen, I started some milk heating for hot chocolate. While I stirred heavy cream and sugar into best-quality cocoa, I listened to the answering machine. There was only one message, and it was from Heather, the weeping mall office secretary. Westside was in limbo over the lunch event I was supposed to be catering on Thursday. She just wanted to give me a heads-up. Super.

  I whisked the steaming milk into the cocoa mixture and considered. I had not heard back from Ellie McNeely. The kitchen clock said it was almost nine. Ellie was a friend, so I sipped the cocoa and punched in her number. No answer. Either she wasn’t at home or she wasn’t picking up.

  Arch appeared in the doorway and said he thought Late, who was whining again, might need to go out. Hearing Arch’s voice and the whining puppy, Jake started scratching at the door to the pet area. I released Jake while Arch held on to the puppy with one hand and opened the back door with the other. Snuffling wildly at Late while giving me occasional confused looks, Jake seemed both curious about, and disheartened by, our canine orphan. Finally Jake loped through the back door. Late, howling, streaked after the bloodhound. I sensed imminent canine combat, although I was confident Jake could fend for himself. For the first time since we’d arrived home, I caught a glimpse of Scout. The cat’s green eyes peered down at the dogs from his perch in a small pine tree.

  I sipped more hot chocolate and tried to think. Since the previous night, I hadn’t made it through a single hour without worrying about Julian. This hour was no exception, I thought, as I finished the chocolate. Just before ten, I washed my cup, let the dogs in, and settled them into their little room. A moment later, Scout scratched at the door, and I carefully placed him into his feline bed on a shelf above the hounds. Then I punched in the numbers for the St. Luke’s recorded prayer list and added Julian’s name.

  I was starting up to bed when the dogs began to wail. I sighed. Was this what we were going to have to listen to all night, every night? Outside, someone killed a car engine. Oh good, I thought, my spirits rising. Tom’s back.

  But it was not Tom. A timid knock at the front door only intensified the dogs’ howling. I checked the peephole, then opened the door.

  Ellie McNeely, her trim figure still swathed in the trench coat and scarf in which I’d seen her earlier in the evening, gave me an apologetic look. Her hands fidgeted as she struggled for words. What was she sorry about? The unannounced visit? The late hour? The fact that she had not answered my calls?

  Her hands finally came to rest on her lapels. She smoothed her coat and tossed her bangs off her forehead.

  She said, “We need to talk.”

  “I’ve been trying to get hold of you.”

  “Please, Goldy. I need you to come with me. I feel… awful.” A zigzag of emotional pain twisted her lovely face. “The cops suspect me. They told me not to leave town. They say I need to be clearer about my relationship with Barry. What about the cuff links? What about this? What about that? They want me to give a minute-by-minute accounting of where I was Monday night. I told them, I went home with a friend. Why don’t they believe me? Are they going to let Julian out and send me to jail instead?” Her voice cracked. “If you don’t help me, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Come with you where?” I asked, bewildered. If we needed to talk, why couldn’t we do so in my snug kitchen?

  “For a drive,” she replied enigmatically. She looked up and down our street. A chilly whip of wind slashed through the evergreens. Ellie turned back to me, stamped her boots, and pulled her gloved hands into fists. “Please. It would help me so much to talk to you. But… it just has to be the two of us.”

  “It’s almost ten o’clock, Ellie. And there’s no one here but my son. Why don’t you come inside? I’ll make you some hot—”

  “Please, Goldy!”

  I pressed my lips together, then nodded. Ellie was my friend from both St. Luke’s and Elk Park Prep. In fact, she was one of the only school parents who’d ever even been nice to me. Plus, she seemed distraught. And if I was going to help Julian, I needed to find out what Ellie knew. If that meant taking a drive, so be it.

  “Let me run tell Arch I’m leaving.”

  I sprinted up the stairs and informed Arch that Ellie McNeely was here, and we were going out for a bit. I’d put the pets to bed, I assured him, and Tom would be home soon.

  “I don’t n
eed a babysitter, Mom.”

  OK, it was official. I had had enough. “You know, Arch, I wish you would try to be a bit nicer to me. Even a tiny bit would do.”

  “Sorry, Mom. But you are always bugging me.”

  How was telling him I was going out “bugging him”? I didn’t know. Lately, it seemed as if there were lots of things I didn’t know. I asked, “Do you want the animals up here with you?”

  “I suppose.” He threw off his quilt, revealing his standard nighttime wear of sweatshirt and sweatpants. “That way I can take care of the puppy, in case he gets scared.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and paused, hunched over. He struggled for words. “Good idea, Mom,” he mumbled.

  I’d had a good idea? Where were the Guinness people when you needed them?

  While I donned my snow boots, mittens, down jacket, and scarf—with the temperature in the single digits, the wind chill was bound to be horrific—Arch shepherded the two dogs up to his room. Scout the cat, not surprisingly, decided to stay put.

  Ellie sat waiting for me in her new SUV, a silver BMW that was the twin of Marla’s. The car was lovely, but in its interior light, Ellie didn’t look very good. Her expensively colored hair had turned waxy, probably from being repeatedly raked by her manicured nails. Her face, usually flawlessly made up, was puffy and still wrought with worry. The whites of her eyes were dark pink. From crying?

  “I don’t suppose you’ve heard how somebody or somebodies are trying to smear me?” she demanded as I slid into the cold leather passenger seat.

  “I’ve heard some things. That’s why I’ve been trying to call you.”

  She revved the engine that she’d kept running while I was getting ready. “I suppose you heard the story about my Lexus being stolen and rammed into Barry’s car.”

  “Yeah. But that was a while ago, wasn’t it? Barry took me out for espresso at The Westside Buzz in his new Saab. He loved having a fancy new car, and didn’t seem too upset about losing his old Mercedes.”