Chained

by Eileen Brady

  “I’ll take it.” Mari opened the truck’s passenger door and Rosie passed the box to her.

  “Sorry to run but I’m late for my shift at the diner. Thanks again, guys.” With a quick wave she disappeared into the house, the dogs following behind.

  The tall box pierced with air holes perched awkwardly on my assistant’s lap. “Hey, this thing is heavy. What the heck did she put in here?”

  “Maybe a water dish or some food?” I put the truck in gear and turned around in the driveway. “How does the owl look?”

  Mari tried to lift up one corner. “Can’t tell. I think she padded it with something. Maybe it ran into a window.”

  Usually barn owls are nocturnal, flying and hunting at night. I wondered how long it had been on the ground before Rosie and her dogs found it.

  “Okay. Well, don’t bother checking inside. Let’s keep it dark and quiet. We should be at the Bird’s Nest Sanctuary in fifteen minutes.

  I was thinking about Flynn’s stepfather, Bruce, abusing Lizette, when I heard a loud scraping noise. It came from the box.

  My hands on the wheel, I asked Mari, “What’s going on over there?”

  “Maybe it woke up.”

  That noise didn’t sound like a little barn owl. A quick look down the road confirmed there wasn’t any place to pull over, plus we had several vehicles trailing behind us. Decision made, I put on the flashers and braked to slow down. Thank goodness, it wasn’t sleeting or raining now.

  “Ouch.” Mari pulled her left hand off the box. When I turned I saw a streak of blood on her palm. My guess—it wasn’t bird blood. I’d once been trapped in this truck with a hawk. I had a horrible premonition fate was repeating itself.

  Miraculously, a small driveway appeared on the right only a few feet ahead. Using the mailbox as a guide, I turned in and came to a stop, just in time to see a large feathered head pop out of the box. Huge yellow owl eyes stared into mine.

  The tufts on the ears gave it away. This was a great horned owl—a fearsome predator with dagger-sharp talons. And he wanted out.

  “Mari,” I kept my voice calm. “Open your door and get as far away as you can. Now.”

  Immediately she bolted, leaving the passenger door open. Once she was safe, I slid my jacket sleeve down over my hand and waited. The box shook as folded wings pushed up and then out from the cardboard. Most of the magnificent bird’s upper body was visible. Somehow, I needed to get it out of the truck before it spread its four- to five-foot long wings and we were both in trouble.

  Using my elbow I gently slid the box along the seat toward the open door. A cold breeze drifted through the cabin of the truck. The feathered head swiveled almost one hundred-eighty degrees. Two feet with curved black talons emerged and lifted the bird out of the box onto the seat. Alert eyes searched for the sky.

  With my left arm raised to protect my eyes, I gently nudged the now-empty box again with my right arm. Sure enough, the owl got the message. One hop toward the door then both powerful wings unfolded and he flew out of the cab to disappear over the trees.

  “Mari, are you okay?”

  Her head poked up from behind a rhododendron. “Barn owl, my ass.” She scrambled back into the passenger seat, a few leaves stuck in her hair.

  I took a look at her hand. Not too bad, but it needed medical attention. “Guess where you’re going.”

  “To the prom?” she joked.

  “No.” I put the truck in gear and backed up. “But you just gave me a great idea.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Prom night photos, school newspaper articles, the Class of 2007 yearbook—all would help me understand the dynamics of Flynn’s high school class, his circle of friends, and perhaps his enemies. He disappeared in August, only a few months after graduation. Someone somewhere had clues as to what happened to him, except maybe they didn’t know it.

  I planned to call the family and use a request for Flynn’s memorabilia as a cover to weasel details of Bruce and Lizette’s relationship out of Fiona or Sophia.

  Cindy and Mari volunteered to bring me their yearbooks and scrapbooks, while I made a mental note to contact the high school newspaper. The journalism department was sure to have photos in its files and, knowing how most schools operated, they probably never threw anything away. Hopefully, their computer archives would be easy to search, but I didn’t count on it. As a last resort I could enlist the help of Evelyn Vandersmitt. Of course, she might have to okay it with Flynn’s ghost.

  But sleuthing would have to rest on the back burner for a bit since I was booked to the max. The last of my staff had finally recovered from the virus that had laid them low, so things at the animal hospital were getting back to normal.

  Mr. Katt perked up now that his personal human staff was back in full force and proceeded to dive bomb Cindy each time she passed by. After one near-miss, our normally bubbly receptionist let out a string of expletives that would have curled Mr. Katt’s whiskers, if they weren’t naturally curled.

  Now that appointments had picked up, Cindy, for some strange reason, decided this was the perfect time to work on all the little repairs and touch-ups the office needed. Our employees were to focus on one part of the hospital at a time. Neon-colored Post-it notes warning of wet paint began popping up everywhere as the staff did random touch-ups to scuff marks in the hospital exam rooms and hallways.

  Thankfully, Mari and I had plenty of house calls to make, so we could leave, but not before I backed into a wet wall and got green paint in my hair.

  ***

  Our first scheduled appointment was a surprise since we’d just run into him at the Circle K. It turned out to be Henry the baking biker.

  Mari remarked on the exterior of Henry James’ old farmhouse house as we pulled up. It looked pretty shabby. Built by his grandparents, it was a typical old farmhouse, with bluestone front steps and a wraparound porch in sore need of restoration to bring it back to its former beautiful self. However, restorations cost money and Henry had put that on hold for now. His priority was the big shiny Harley motorcycle stashed in the newly repaired garage.

  “How’s your hand feeling?” I asked. Mari had insisted that I drop her off at her house yesterday so she could drive herself to the local 24-hour medical clinic.

  “It wasn’t as bad as it looked. The tetanus booster I got hurt worse than the scratch.”

  “Lucky you’re right-handed. But if it bothers you while we’re working, let me know.”

  Henry’s older cat, Dante, was a former unaltered tom whose face and body carried scars from many feline fights. Now a pampered pet, he lived his remaining lives indoors. A look-alike son served as his companion, inheriting Dad’s mellow personality and sky-blue eyes.

  I rang the doorbell but didn’t hear anything so used the iron knocker instead. The sky hung low with gray clouds and the air smelled like snow.

  “Hey, Doc. Hi, Mari. Come on in.” Henry wore an apron over a wife-beater t-shirt. His bulging muscles and hairy chest made quite a contrast to the tailored cook’s apron. Of course, not many bakers sported a bright green snake tattoo that looped around their necks. Despite the incongruities, I’d found Henry to be a pussycat at heart.

  We followed him through the plastic-covered living room, which looked frozen in time, into the kitchen where the smell of something baking engulfed us. The warm, yeasty odor spiked with cinnamon instantly made me hungry.

  “What are you making?” Mari asked.

  “Three different types of breads—banana, zucchini, and date nut.” A dusting of flour decorated his ham-like hands.

  “Yumm.” Mari sat down at the round kitchen table.

  “Work first, food later.” I wandered over to the sunroom directly off the kitchen, a likely place for a cat to be lounging. Indeed, both felines were curled up on a blanket draped over the sofa. They barely moved when I walked in.


  Henry followed, although I knew from experience he’d pass out if he saw his cats get any shots or blood drawn.

  “Anything wrong with these handsome boys?” I sat on the sofa next to Dante who reacted by stretching out and rolling on his stomach.

  “Could you look at Dante’s bad ear? Oh, and Junior needs his rabies shot. Your office sent me a reminder.” Henry tried to hide the panic in his face.

  Mari and I exchanged glances.

  “We’ll be fine here, Henry. Go ahead and check your oven.” Mari told him. “Make sure to save me a sample.”

  “Sure.” He gratefully took off without glancing back.

  “Good job, Mari. I didn’t feel like picking him up off the floor.” With our squeamish owner safely out of the room, I started examining the older cat whose now-lush coat reflected a nutritious diet supplied by a loving owner.

  Meanwhile, Mari removed a rabies vaccine from the refrigerated carry pack, along with a syringe. “Checked both cats’ records on the way. Dante is up-to-date. Only Junior needs his vaccine.”

  While I waited for Mari to draw up the shot, I observed the older cat scratching his head. Remembering his outdoor past, I checked his ears, one crumpled and bent close to his head from an old hematoma wound. Sure enough, my otoscope revealed a mild waxy buildup but no obvious ear mites. I took a swab to make sure and then examined and vaccinated Junior with a tiny cat-sized needle. Getting his injection didn’t interfere with his purring. After we finished both cats, father and son followed us into the kitchen, slowly lumbering along like a couple of tiny tigers.

  “Done? Everything okay?” Henry turned toward us, a hot tray in his hand.

  “Everything’s fine. Just keep an eye on that crumpled ear of Dante’s and clean it out periodically. Junior is in perfect health.

  I stripped off my gloves and put them in Mari’s rigid plastic refuse case that held the used syringes. We always brought all our medical waste back to the hospital for proper disposal.

  Henry presented us with two plates of freshly sliced pieces of lemon pound cake and what looked like chocolate chip date nut bread, along with a dollop of cream cheese. “Come try this and tell me what you think.”

  That was one of the perks of doing house calls. Most of our clients felt the need to feed us. The downside to that? Mari and I rarely refused anything.

  “Okay, right after we wash our hands.”

  When I first met Henry I didn’t know that his intimidating appearance hid a soft nougat heart. Raised by his two college professor parents who taught at the local community college, he’d been sidetracked during his early twenties, joining a motorcycle gang, to the horror of his middle-class family. Now twenty years later, his mom and dad gone, anxiety had pushed him into therapy. When his therapist encouraged him to take up a relaxing hobby, he chose baking, and to everyone’s surprise, had turned it into a mini-cottage industry. Several local stores now carried his “Baking Biker” line of brownies and other baked goods.

  Mari beat me to the table. “So good,” she cooed after the first bite.

  Behind me, the younger cat, Junior, streaked past, put his paw brakes on and settled into the pounce position. “Do they play a lot?” I asked Henry, mid forkful of my homemade treat.

  “Until his dad, Dante, has had enough. Sometimes we old guys sit on the sofa and watch Junior tear around the room.” Henry’s normally chill expression softened watching his youngest cat leap on imaginary prey hiding under the rug.

  Junior continued to provide the amusement as we finished our sweet snack.

  “Sorry to eat and run,” I told Henry when I carried my empty plate over to the sink. “We’re slammed with appointments today.”

  “No problem. I’m glad you got over so soon. They’re some bats that hang out under the back eaves and I worried one of them might get into the house.” He quickly plunged my plate into a sink filled with soapy water.

  “That happens more than you might think. Sometimes bats can become trapped in the house or basement and bite pets or people. Where rabies is concerned you can never be too careful.”

  Mari rose and thumped her longtime friend Henry on the back. “Really good.”

  The practiced stoic look he’d cultivated cracked a little.

  “Hey, I forgot to ask. Are you really investigating Flynn’s murder or were you pulling my leg the other day? Because I might have something for you.” Serious now, he turned around.

  “Well, I’m more gathering facts at this point, but anything you can tell us would be appreciated by the family.” I took a quick look to make sure I’d stowed away all my equipment.

  Henry sort of shuffled his pans around, head down. “You guys know I have a bit of a rough past.” His voice sounded apologetic.

  “Yep. Pretty rough.” My assistant didn’t hesitate to agree.

  “Uh. A couple of months before Flynn left town one of the guys I hung out with got pissed at the kid. Seems he thought his girlfriend had cheated on him, and he suspected Flynn.”

  Another real clue, finally. “Do you have a name?”

  “Legal name? I’m not sure. We called him ‘D’ because of the real mean streak in him. One time he was high on meth and coke and he messed up a pal of mine—kicked him in the kidneys and crazy-laughed while doing it.”

  I took a scrap of paper out of my pocket and jotted down some notes. “Is this ‘D’ guy still in town?”

  “Don’t think so. As I recall he disappeared right around the time Flynn did. But don’t forget, that was a while ago—my memory could be wrong.”

  “What does ‘D’ stand for?” Mari asked. She signed off the hospital laptop and waited for it to shut down.

  The question hung in the air unanswered the entire time it took for Henry to lead us to the front door. I wondered how reluctant he felt talking about a fellow biker with us. Before I reached for the doorknob he made up his mind.

  “Wait.” He stuck both hands in his apron pockets. “That nickname sort of described him. ‘D’ was short for Diabolo, and believe me, that’s what he was. When you looked into his eyes you knew who you saw.”

  He’d confused me. “Who did you see?”

  His answer hung in the air, as ominous as a noose in a tree.

  “You saw the Devil.”

  Chapter Twelve

  That night I couldn’t sleep. Even though ten years had passed since the events Henry described, my imagination brought the evil Diabolo lurking back. Was it a coincidence that bikers showed up at Flynn’s memorial service? Maybe they knew something no one else knew.

  Something terrible they regretted.

  A make-believe video played in my head. In it Flynn lay on the forest floor being kicked over and over by a shadowy figure in leather.

  I sat up in bed. What if one of those guys at the memorial lunch had been “D” all along? The massive man with the boxer’s damaged face loomed in my memory, his black eyes devoid of feeling staring at me. In my mind he raised a thick finger to the bridge of his flattened nose in an unspoken threat.

  That did it. Now completely awake I padded around the bedroom trying to figure out the best way to track down Diabolo. Perhaps Henry or someone he knows could provide a last name. If I had to, I supposed I could get Luke or the Oak Falls Police Department involved.

  “What do you think, Buddy?”

  As usual my dog gave me sage advice by jumping onto the sofa and curling up. I sat down next to him and pulled my blanket tight.

  Like it or not, I faced a major task in trying to reconstruct the past, especially one I had no firsthand knowledge of. A difficult task, I acknowledged, and reached for a leftover glass of water on the coffee table. Flynn’s handsome and now familiar face stared up at me from the newspaper. Bikers, a lovestruck teacher, high school infighting—and that was only for starters.

  Flynn. Who the heck were you
?

  ***

  Morning light filtered in through the blinds. According to the clock, I’d gotten some sleep despite all the stress. Stretching out under the covers I allowed myself some downtime before getting up and out the door and over to work. Hopefully, I’d be able to juggle my hectic schedule, and investigate this cold case on the side without short-circuiting.

  I was pouring my first cup of coffee of the day when Cindy cornered me. “Aren’t you getting super excited? Jeremy will be coming to visit pretty soon. I can’t wait to meet him.” She practically jumped up and down.

  Definitely not a morning person like Cindy, I didn’t get super excited about anything until after my second cup of coffee. I’d noticed that the arrival of my Skype buddy and former boyfriend had taken on the scope of a national holiday in the eyes of my staff. They wanted all the juicy details.

  “Did you decide if he’s staying with you?” Cindy had the decency to turn away and pretend to clean the countertop after asking the jackpot question.

  Lifting the coffee to my lips I turned back toward my apartment to find the staff obviously expecting an answer. Complete disclosure appeared to be the only way out.

  “Okay, everyone. My friend, Jeremy, will be here this Monday, late afternoon or early evening, depending on traffic. He is not staying in there with me,” I pointed vaguely in the direction of the apartment, “because it is too small.” The next tidbit I lobbed at Cindy. “I have reserved a place for him at the Stanton Inn.” As much as I emphasized the word friend, I knew it was futile. The staff had cooked up a tearjerker romantic story starring myself, and a limited cast of characters. With Daffy and Cindy part of the Jeremy/Luke/Kate information loop, I was pretty sure most of the town of Oak Falls got regular updates too.

  “The Stanton Inn is lovely.” Mari must have been helping Cindy because she suddenly appeared behind her. “That reminds me. You should talk to Betsy Stanton, Dorothy’s daughter. I think she went to high school around the same time as Flynn.”