“Who what now?”
“Gloria – she’s a waitress at Slippery When Wet. I saw her on campus a couple of days ago. I followed her outside and saw her get into a little Audi. I didn’t see the driver, though.”
“What color was it?”
“Silver. But that’s a really common color for that car. I wrote down the license plate.”
“Okay. Give it to me and I’ll find out if it’s Standing’s.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell him about seeing Gloria already,” Don said while Petreski went out on the landing to make his call.
“Things got kind of busy and it slipped my mind. I didn’t think of it again until just now. But what if it was Standing? Was he involved – whatever that means – with both of them? I hope Gloria’s okay.”
“I am not going back there.”
“The shrimp was really good.”
“It wasn’t Standing’s car.” Petreski came back in the room, tucking his phone into his pocket.
“Oh. Well, there’s probably dozens of silver TTs in town.”
“Probably. The one you saw is registered to Michael Miletti.”
“Oh,” Don said. “Well, that’s not so weird, right? He’s her boss, maybe he was giving her a ride to help her out?”
“Maybe.” Petreski didn’t look convinced. He had that line between his eyebrows. I caught Don’s eye and motioned towards the kitchen.
“What?” he whispered when we got to the kitchen.
“He’s thinking. Let’s give him a minute.”
We stood there in my kitchen, looking around and not saying anything. It’s a small kitchen and there wasn’t much to do.
“You want a beer or something?” I finally asked, just to say something.
“It’s, like, 10:30 in the morning, dude.”
“Coffee? I could make coffee.”
“We just had coffee. And I need to go to the bathroom. Can I go now?”
“You can go.” We both jumped at the sound of Petreski’s voice right behind us.
“Ohmigod, my heart,” I breathed, clutching my chest.
Don made a beeline for the door.
“I need to go meet up with Stanek. See you later?”
I nodded, and he was out the door.
❧
He was back after dinner with no news, although he was able to tell me that Gloria Quintanilla was safe and sound.
“There’s something there that’s driving me crazy,” he said.
“How do you mean?”
“Miletti, Lana, Gloria, and Standing. The relationships between all of them. I can’t help thinking there’s something there. Now two of them are dead.”
“Is DNA back yet? On Lana’s pregnancy? And was Ruby drugged? I’ve assumed she was, but...”
“She was. That is, Ruby was drugged. We don’t know about the DNA yet.”
“So how was Ruby drugged? How did whoever did it get in the house and do it? It must have been in her food.”
“I’ve been wondering the same thing. Can you go over the dream again? The one you had the night of the murder?”
I went to get my notebook from my nightstand.
“You started writing them down?”
“Yeah,” I said, settling into my corner of the sofa. “I started a couple of days ago. I’ve been trying to write down everything I can remember, every detail.”
I opened to the dream I had that night – the strange one that ended with Ruby falling asleep. I read through my notes, telling Petreski what I had written, and filling in more details as they came to me. I wrote those down in the margins.
“Hmm.”
“Yeah. I mean, it feels like I’m missing something, but I can’t figure out what, or how to take it to the next level, if you know what I mean.”
❧
“Why is there cat hair all over my pillow?” Petreski asked.
“Um, because you’re a Cat?”
Petreski leaned in closer and sniffed. He picked a hair off the pillow and squinted at it. “This has stripes on it. I do not have stripes.” He picked up another one and held it up. “And this one... this one is curly. Perez was here. Perez and Bridger. Rolling around on my pillow!”
I stifled a laugh. He sounded so indignant. “Can’t you just turn it over?”
“Turn it over? But it’s... it’s my pillow. I can’t believe you let them roll around on my pillow.”
“Technically only Bridger rolled around on it. Perez just kind of, like, lounged on it. And gave Bridger a bath.”
“On my pillow.” He sounded forlorn now, so I took pity on him and got a clean pillowcase out of the closet.
“Here,” I said, holding out my hand. “Hand me the pillow.”
He did, and I changed the pillowcase. “Here.”
He took it and sniffed.
“Okay now?”
He nodded and tossed it back in its place on the bed.
“I’ll tell them to stay off of it from now on. Well, I’ll tell Perez.”
“At least you and Perez are getting along now, though. Right?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe we have an understanding. She hasn’t hissed at me in a couple of days. That’s probably progress.”
“And she was here, or at Don’s?”
“As far as I know. Do you know when Standing was killed?”
“Sometime between eleven and one in the morning.”
“She was here. Don and I were watching a movie and she and Bridger were with us. The movie ended around 12:30, then she followed Don back across the hall. I don’t know what time she left his place. Is she really a suspect?”
“Not as far as I’m concerned. But a lot of people know their history, so we have to clear her.”
“Complicated.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s the why that’s driving me crazy.”
“You mean, why is it complicated?” Petreski looked confused.
“No, I mean, why was Ruby was drugged? I mean, in the grand scheme of things it was so the killer could do the deed, I assume. But why would a particular killer need to drug the dog? Dani wouldn’t need to because she lived there and Ruby knew her. But what about anyone else? Like, who would know that there was a dog, and that if there was a dog that it would need to be drugged?”
“Anyone who observed her, presumably. Which, again, points to premeditation, but not to a specific suspect.”
“No... but I can’t help thinking that the whole drugging thing is important. Like, what was she drugged with? Is it something easy to get?”
“Oh, geez, you ask a lot of questions. The drug angle will get worked to death, I promise, but please let me get some sleep first, I’m begging you.”
Brunch with the Locals
“You sure are a lot of trouble,” I said, looking down into Perez’s yellow, feline eyes. She was perched on the arm of Don’s sofa, swishing her tail back and forth for Bridger to chase.
She hissed at me, so I guess things were back to normal after all.
“Petreski’s out there running his ass off trying to clear you, and all you do is lounge around on Don’s sofa. I mean, you do get that Standing being murdered doesn’t look good for you, right?”
Perez looked away from me, purring loudly.
“Okay, I get it. No love lost there. And maybe someone did the world a favor, but don’t let it mess up your life.”
She thumped her tail a couple of times before jumping from the sofa and exiting through the open window.
“Whatever.”
“Who are you talking to?” Don asked as he came out of the bathroom.
“Per...incess. I think I pissed her off and she left.”
“She’s a prickly one, but she’s good with Bridger. It’s weird that she doesn’t like you, though.”
“Yeah. Super weird.” If he only knew. “You ready?”
“I guess, but where are we going? I am not going back to the stripper shrimp buffet.”
“Ugh. No, we are not go
ing to the ‘stripper shrimp buffet.’ Brenham.” Anyway, I had checked, and the buffet was closed on Sunday.
Don stopped halfway down the stairs. “Brenham? What’s in... No. No, I am not going to Brenham.”
I grabbed his shirttail as he turned to go back upstairs. “It’s a beautiful day for a drive in the country.”
“You just want to go to Brenham and poke around and see if you can find out anything about Lana’s dad.”
“Well, that would be a bonus, sure, but I’m thinking, oh, fried chicken, slice of pie maybe...”
“What would Dani say if she knew you were eating fried chicken and pie?”
I didn’t answer, just tugged on his shirt again and he sighed.
“Fine. We’ll go. But I reserve the right to say I told you so when this all goes horribly wrong.”
“Fine. Whatever. I’ll let you drive.”
We hadn’t had much to go on, but Don’s research skills had yielded a full name – Frank Forrester – and a few details. His name was on the website of one of the churches in the area. One of those churches where neither Dani nor I would have felt at home, if you know what I mean. Seems Frank was a deacon or board member or some other position of authority. I got the impression that Frank was the kind of guy who got off on authority.
I directed Don to a popular diner close to the church and we got a couple of seats at the end of the counter where we could watch the door. It was almost time for church to get out, and I figured there would be a decent number of churchgoers coming in for Sunday dinner.
Brenham was close enough to Houston to have a weekend influx of city people, but the clientele here was mostly locals, and we got a few sidelong glances.
“Am I obvious?” I asked Don, keeping my voice low.
“What do you mean? That you’re spying?”
“No. I mean me. Like, am I picking up a homophobic vibe?”
“I think it’s more of a ‘wary of strangers’ vibe.”
“But am I?”
“Well, maybe your jeans fit better than a straight guy’s would. Make you feel better?”
“Yes and no. I just don’t want to get beat up in the parking lot.”
“You boys aren’t from around here,” the waitress behind the counter said as she stopped by to top up our coffee.
“Um, no ma’am,” I said. “Houston. Just wanted to get out of the city for the day.”
She nodded. “Too hot and crowded.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I figured it was best to put on my manners until I got the lay of the land.
“Ma’am? Can’t remember the last time I got called ma’am by a city boy.”
“Oh, well my grandma was very old school about manners.”
I could see Don trying to keep a straight face out of the corner of my eye.
“Well, it’s nice to hear. You need another minute with the menu?”
“Oh, yes, thanks.”
“Your grandma was what, now?” Don asked once the waitress was out of earshot. He snorted and I couldn’t blame him. Grandma Rosemary, the one who set up the trust fund for me, was not, as one might assume, dead. She was living in an artist colony in Arizona. The last time I spoke to her on the phone she was nagging me about wearing sunscreen because, and I quote, “sunburned nipples are nothing to joke about.” I gave a little shudder thinking about it, even now.
“I panicked. Maybe my other grandma was, back in the day. It could be.”
“Sure, dude. Whatever you say. The next time I see Rosemary I am so telling her about this. Your dad is gonna laugh and laugh and laugh.”
The waitress – Susanne, her tag said – came back then and I ordered a short stack with a side of sausage. I looked around the room while Don placed his order. It looked like a few churchgoers were starting to trickle in.
“What do you really think you’ll find out?” Don asked. “It’s not like you can start asking questions. We don’t even know what he looks like.”
“I didn’t think he’d be here. I don’t think he’s in town.”
“Then why are we here?”
“Because if he’s not here, people will be talking about it, won’t they? Gossip, dude. The real American pastime.”
I picked up my coffee and opened my ears. Sooner or later someone was going to wonder where pillar of the church community Frank Forrester could be.
❧
I was on my third cup of coffee and dragging my last bite of sausage through a puddle of maple syrup when I finally heard something.
“He’s in Houston. Family business,” a lean, grey-haired man in a western shirt with a bolo tie was saying to a woman who was sitting down across the table from him.
I picked up my coffee and leaned back, trying to hear their conversation without being obvious.
“Family business?” the woman snorted. “Far as I know the only family he’s got left is that little hussy daughter of his.”
“Hmm,” the man responded, but I could see him stiffen and lean back. He seemed disinclined to continue the discussion. Figures I would be sitting near the one person who wasn’t a gossip.
Don glanced over at me and raised an eyebrow. He had heard the exchange also.
“Dr. Wells,” a man in dusty jeans and boots approached the table. “I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch, Dr. Wells, but Stormy is colicky and Shari’s having a fit over it.”
“No problem, Rob. Let me just settle up here and I’ll be right out.” The man nodded and left. Dr. Wells stood and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “Mrs. Pruitt, I’m sure you understand. Duty calls.”
I wouldn’t say he ran away, necessarily, but he didn’t dawdle over his good-byes.
I kept my eye on Mrs. Pruitt in case she picked up the conversation with another victim. She scanned the room, lips pursed, before getting up and heading for the door.
“Ready?” Don asked.
I nodded.
We stepped out into the sun and headed for the car. We passed Mrs. Pruitt, standing in the shade of the awning of the business next door, cell phone pressed to her ear.
“...haven’t seen him in days... Houston, Dr. Wells says. They’re thick as thieves, you know...”
“Now that was interesting,” Don said, once we were in the car.
“Told you so.”
“Dr. Wells, local veterinarian and close friend of the elusive Frank Forrester.”
“Who hasn’t been seen in days, apparently. I wonder how many days? I wonder if he left town before or after Lana’s murder.”
“And whether Dr. Wells supplied his friend with animal tranquilizers, either knowingly or unwittingly.”
“So many questions.”
“I’m really starting to hate small towns,” Don grumbled as he put the car in reverse.
Time for a Salad
“Where were you today?” Petreski asked when I opened the door that evening.
“And a good evening to you, too,” I said, holding the door and leaning on the door frame so he couldn’t get in.
Hi sighed and rolled his shoulders. “Fine. Hello, Jake. I was worried about you today. Where did you go?”
“Better.” I stood back so he could come in. “And to answer your question, Don and I went out for lunch and a drive in the country.”
He turned back to look at me, his green eyes narrowing. “Where in the country?”
I waved a hand in the direction of nowhere in particular. “Oh, you know. Around. Looking for bluebonnets and... stuff.”
“Bluebonnets? Bluebonnet season is way over. Try again.”
“We were hanging out in a diner in Brenham.”
“Of course you were.” He ran his fingers through his hair and looked up at the ceiling.
“Oh, and we went to Buc-ee’s. Want some jerky?”
“No, I do not want some jerky. What kind of jerky? No. No, I do not want jerky. I want... Okay, fine. Just one piece. And a beer.”
He was still studying the ceiling as I went to the kitchen to get beer and jerky
. By the time I got back he had taken off his jacket and tie and was sitting on the sofa with his feet on the coffee table. I handed him his beer and he took a long swallow before he spoke again.
“I’m assuming you went to Brenham to look for Forrester?”
“Nope.” I shook my head. “Not for Forrester himself. Because that would be foolhardy and dangerous, and didn’t we both agree I was going to be careful? No, I was looking for something more exciting. Gossip.”
“Gossip?”
“Oh, yeah. Small towns are great gossip mills.”
“I am aware. I did grow up in a small town, remember?”
“Psh. Waxahachie is practically a Dallas suburb these days.”
“It’s small enough. Now spill. I know you must have heard something. You’ve got that smug look on your face.”
“Okay. So, Don figured out that Forrester is a big-wig in one of the churches there. So we went to the most popular restaurant closest to the church, and just sat at the counter listening.”
“And?”
“A woman named Mrs. Pruitt was talking to Dr. Wells – he’s a vet – and he said someone – I didn’t hear who – was in Houston dealing with family business. And then she said something about a hussy daughter.”
“Hmm. Could be talking about Forrester. Charles Wells is one of Forrester’s known associates.”
“Known associates? Sounds suspicious.”
“It just means they know each other.”
“Suspiciously.”
“Anything else?”
“Then I heard Mrs. Pruitt on the phone saying something about whoever – probably Forrester – not being seen around in days. And that’s it. But I wonder how many days? And we wondered whether Forrester could have gotten the drugs used on Ruby from this Wells guy. Oh, and Wells did not want to talk to Mrs. Pruitt. He got all stiff and formal when she started getting nasty and judgy.”
Petreski sat in silence for a while, chewing on a bite of jerky. I leaned back and looked out the window for a few seconds before getting up to make a salad in my tiny kitchen.
I had just started cutting up a tomato when Petreski stuck his head in. “You’re really making a salad? I thought that was all a joke the other day.”
“Nope. I’ve got this stuff and it needs to get eaten. So we are having a salad and, um... I guess a sandwich. I’ve got stuff for sandwiches. I honestly do need to start eating better.” I sighed. Just because I’d made a mature decision didn’t mean I was happy about it. “I had pancakes for lunch and I’m meeting my personal trainer tomorrow, so...”
Not a Mermaid Page 10
