Catwalk

by Sheila Webster Boneham

  “Looks like boys’ afternoon out was a success,” I said.

  Tom grinned at me from the kitchen doorway.

  “We had a great time.” Tom peeled off his faded navy University of Michigan sweatshirt and ran a hand through his graying hair. “Nothing like a good game of fetch and a bracing dip in the lake when it’s forty degrees out.” He mock shivered.

  “It’s not! I was out in just this,” I said, indicating my long-sleeved T, “and wasn’t cold.”

  “Sorry I missed that,” said Tom.

  “Funny guy.”

  “Temp has dropped a bit, and the wind is coming up,” he said, then glanced at his watch. “I need to go home and get some dry clothes. Can I interest you in some dinner in, say, two hours?”

  “Hmm. Depends. What do you have to offer?”

  He raised his eyebrows and grinned at me. “Well …” He dragged the word out. “But first, for dinner, how about linguini with clam sauce?”

  “Sold.”

  “Boy, this commuter relationship is complicated,” he said.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d broached the subject, and if I were honest about it, the idea of consolidating our resources had more than a little appeal. But giving up my autonomy scared me. I didn’t want to get into it right then, so I ignored his comment.

  “I’ll bring the salad.” Meaning I would stop at the Scott’s salad bar on my way there. “Should I bring Leo?” I didn’t like to leave Leo home alone, so if I was staying away for the night, the orange guy either came along or stayed next door with Goldie.

  When Tom and Drake had gone, I took Jay to his grooming table in the garage. I pulled a few burrs from his fur, worked rinse-free shampoo into his coat, and blew him dry. I’ll never win a housekeeper-of-the-year award, but even I don’t want my bed, couch, and carpet to reek of wet, muddy dog. When Jay was cleaned up, I took a quick shower, pulled on clean jeans and a light-weight sweater, and sat down to read emails for a few minutes. Tom and the promise of a quiet, cozy evening with him and Leo and the dogs kept creeping into my thoughts, though, and I decided it was time to hit the road.

  Tom was right, it had cooled down a few degrees since the last time I was outdoors. I loaded the boys into the van and went back in to grab a warmer jacket. My laptop screen caught my eye as I scurried past the kitchen. I’d forgotten to shut it down. My inbox was open and before I closed my email program, I cast a quick eye over the new messages. Several newsletters, a couple of ads that should have gone to the spam file, and a couple of emails from actual people. The most recent was from Giselle Swann and carried her usual subject line—“i need to talk to you, giselle.” She never capitalized her name or pronoun, which was right in line with her level of self-esteem. Now, now, whispered Good Janet. She’s working on it and she has come a long way.

  It was true. Giselle had responded to major emotional trauma by losing weight and gaining a sense of personal hygiene and style. She had also enrolled in the nursing program at the IPFW campus, and that seemed to suit her. On the other hand, she was still putting pastel bows in her male dog’s topknot, and making him look like a Shih-tzu instead of a Maltese. Like you’re so perfect, I thought, glimpsing my wild hair in the screen reflection.

  Right below Giselle’s email was another with no subject line. I knew the screen name. AltaWelshies. That was Alberta, invoking herself and her Welsh Terriers. I thought about opening it, but closed the program and shut down my computer instead. They both could wait.

  thirteen

  A pickup truck I didn’t recognize sat in front of Tom’s driveway. My headlights revealed that someone was behind the wheel. Probably checking directions or something, I thought as I pulled in behind it. I got Jay out of his crate, slung my purse over my shoulder, picked up Leo’s carrier and the bag with the salad, and struck out across the grass toward the front door. A car door slammed behind us and Jay and I whirled around.

  “Janet MacPhail?” The voice had a Southern edge to it. Its owner had an edge of her own. She was nearly six feet tall, boney thin, and a tad stooped, as if she had carried one too many heavy loads.

  That article about predators popped into my head again, and I almost said no, not me as she strode toward us. Even as I fessed up, the obvious question skittered through my mind—how does she know who I am, and more to the point, where to find me? She wasn’t exactly threatening, but she didn’t smile, either. Still, Jay seemed alert but unconcerned, so I figured I wasn’t in immediate danger. As soon as I confirmed my identity, the woman reached into her fringed buckskin jacket and withdrew an envelope from the inside pocket, pushed it into my hand, and said, “You’ve been served.”

  The truck pulled away, and Tom stepped through the front door to find me gaping at the letter in my hand. I could just read it by the street light and felt a stew of nausea and anger bubble up in my belly.

  “Come on, let’s do this inside.” Tom picked up Leo’s carrier, draped his other arm around my shoulders, and steered me toward the house.

  When everyone was settled inside, Tom handed me a glass of wine and looked the question at me. I was too angry to say anything suitable for polite company, so I emptied the glass and handed it back to him. When the refill was in my hand, Tom said, “So, what’s that all about?”

  I was being sued for civil trespass, vandalism, and a few other violations of Charles Rasmussen’s property and person. I set the glass down and said, “Next time I see that guy, I’m inclined to commit a few more violations on his person.”

  “That’s my girl.” Tom took the letter out of my hand and went on. “Don’t get too worked up. This stuff won’t go anywhere. It’s too ridiculous. The police already refused to arrest you, right? That’s what Hutchinson said?”

  “More or less.”

  “Well, there you go.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Call Norm after dinner and make an appointment. He’ll know what to do.”

  “An appointment? He’s my brother-in-law.” I was still getting used to saying that, but it was true. My brother, Bill, had married Norm in New York, and even though Indiana doesn’t recognize the marriage legally, everyone who mattered to their lives does.

  “Exactly why you don’t clutter up his evening with business. But you’ll feel better if you let him know something’s up, and make the appointment. So do that much.”

  Smart man, that Tom. I took a deep breath and felt the oozy heat of the alcohol wind around me. I stared at the glass in my hand and sank into my own little emotional world. The last time I was served with legal papers, that simple act was the start of months of nastiness as my unemployed cheating soon-to-be-ex husband dragged me through a vicious property settlement over shockingly little property. And he didn’t have Rasmussen’s resources to play with.

  Suddenly I felt I was being watched and looked around. Tom was gazing at me from the edge of his recliner, his expression concerned but patient. Leo had assumed a Bast-like pose on top of the bookcase, tail wrapped around his front feet and half-closed eyes fixed on my face. Jay and Drake lay side-by-side, sphinx-like and focused, eyes wide and worried and kind.

  I sipped a little more wine and said, “Right. You’re right. Let’s eat.”

  Everyone jumped up at once. Tom let the dogs out and turned the heat up under the water and the clam sauce. I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face.

  “Do I have time to call Norm before we eat?” I asked when I came back to the kitchen.

  “If you can do it in under ten minutes.”

  I opened my phone to make the call and saw that I had three new messages. I debated for a moment, then called Norm and told him the basics. I declined his offer to look at the letter right away and suggested we meet for breakfast near his office the next day. I glanced again at the message notice. Good girl, whispered Janet Angel as I dropped my phone into my tote bag. It’s so hard these days to disconnect from
the e-world and i-world that I was trying very hard to wrest control of my time from all the gadgets in my life. It was a small victory, but I ignored the messages for the moment. I’d see what they were after dinner.

  Have I mentioned that Tom is a terrific cook? It’s true. I can barely boil water, mostly because I don’t care to do much more than that. If I can’t eat it as is or nuke it to readiness in a few minutes, I’ll go out for it, thank you. The salad I had assembled for us at the carry-out salad bar was about as creative as I get in the kitchen.

  Tom had also been right about my state of mind. I felt much calmer since I’d spoken to Norm.

  And then the phone rang. Not mine. Tom’s. But he held it toward me and said, “For you.”

  “What?”

  He waggled it at me. “I’ll make coffee.”

  I scowled at the phone but took it.

  “Janet, I guess you didn’t get my messages. It’s terrible! That man is a monster!” I heard a wheeze, then, “She’s here with me and I told her not to go back over there, but I don’t know that she’s really safe here either. Do you know who we can call?” Wheeze. “I thought maybe that cop, er, police officer friend of yours, the woman, you know a woman cop, don’t you? I think a woman would be better.”

  “Alberta, slow down. What are you talking about?” Of course, I already knew the answer to my next question. “Who are you talking about?”

  “Louise. Louise Rasmussen.” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “She’s going to have a shiner and she won’t show me but I think he hurt her arm, and she’s limping and her lip is split.” Alberta paused for a few seconds. “But this time I think she’s had enough. She’s been frightened and hurt before, but I think she’s finally angry.”

  The image of Louise after we tracked Gypsy and her kittens came to me. Something in her posture had changed as Alberta walked with her from the studio to the house. When she came back to the studio that night, she was like a different person. I wondered why she hadn’t left right then, before her husband hurt her again. Why didn’t she just leave, I wondered. But I knew it wasn’t that simple.

  “Oh, man.” I felt my fist double up. I did know a woman cop—Jo Stevens was Hutchinson’s former partner—and I thought about some of the domestic incidents she had told me about. “Alberta, are all your doors locked? And your alarm system on?”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Her voice was muffled as I heard her say, “I don’t think you should take a shower until after the police see you, dear,” and then, to me, “She said she fell down the stairs, but I got the truth out of her.” She wheezed and coughed. “Someone should shove him down the stairs.”

  “Alberta, I think you need to get her out of there. Get her to a safe place away from there.”

  “The police are on their way.”

  “Will she press charges?”

  There was a long silence, and then she said, “I don’t know. I hope so.” Alberta’s dogs started to bark, and she said, “They’re here.” And she was gone.

  fourteen

  “Is there a no-trespassing sign?” Norm had a legal pad and the document that had ruined my previous evening laid out on the table next to his huevos rancheros and was switching back and forth between his fork and his pen. I wondered how long it would be before he stuck the nib of his eight-hundred dollar Montegrappa into his eggs. That would be tragic. Norm loved that pen.

  “Where?” We had been talking about Thanksgiving plans, so the question caught me off guard.

  “Rasmussen’s place. You sure you don’t want to eat?”

  The whole lawsuit thing had made me queasy, and I shook my head. “Not that I noticed. It was dark. I’d be surprised if there was, though, in that neighborhood.”

  “Did Mrs. Rasmussen ask you to leave?”

  “No. In fact, she wanted to help us with the kittens.” I told him how Rasmussen the husband had reacted to that.

  Norm made a note and took a bite, all with the proper implements. “Okay, if she is joint owner of the property, you’re in the clear. I’ll check.” He switched implements and smiled at me. “How did you get into the shed?”

  “Studio.”

  “Whatever.”

  “It was open. Jay just nudged the door a bit wider. The window was open, too. That’s how Gypsy got in, I suppose.” I studied my mental snapshots of the place. “Something was weird, though. Have you ever seen a tidy artist’s space?”

  Norm caught the server’s eye and pointed at our coffee mugs. “Everett Bannister is pretty neat.”

  I knew the name and had seen Bannister’s paintings, but I’d never met him. “Is he? Still, this studio seemed like a prop. The only painting I remember was a finished one, framed and hung. There were no works-in-progress, no sketches or studies, none of the usual chaos my artsy friends all create when they work.”

  Norm raised an eyebrow at me.

  “Right. I don’t know what it means, either,” I said. After the server refilled our coffees and took the dirty dishes away, I asked, “What about his threat to report Jay as a vicious dog?”

  “I’ll check some cases, but I don’t think it will go anywhere.” He made another note. “Can you pull together copies of his certificates, therapy dog and whatever, and also get statements from experts

  who know him? Maybe the police in Indy from when he found that kid?”

  “Sure. I have the newspaper clipping from that.”

  “If Rasmussen put his hand on you uninvited and in a threatening manner, your dog has a right to growl.” Norm reached across the table and took my hand. “And, Janet, he didn’t bite the guy.”

  “So this is all just smoke and mirrors? He can’t really do anything?”

  “He can make you spend some money, but I can’t imagine the court ruling in his favor. And if he insists on proceeding, we’ll fight back.”

  “That odious man. I’d like to …”

  “Shhh.” Norm shook his head slightly. “I’d like to, too, but until this is settled, stifle yourself. Make no threats, call him no names, say nothing that you don’t want repeated in court, if it goes there.”

  “But I’m talking to you.”

  “In a public place.” He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “Janet, Charles Rasmussen has a lot of friends in high places, and a lot of money, so as your attorney, I advise discretion.” He leaned back and picked up his water glass, then said, “As your loving brother-in-law, I say a pox on him.”

  “That I’d like to see,” I said, and started to laugh as an image of Rasmussen covered in spots formed in my mind. Then I asked, “How?”

  “How what?”

  “How will we fight back?”

  “Ah. Well, for one thing, we can call Neighborhood Code Enforcement and see if they will cite him for leaving his building open to entice pet cats into danger.”

  That made me laugh, but not for long. “But what danger?”

  “Didn’t you say he threatened the kittens?” Norm shrugged and went on. “It was a trap. He would have grabbed them and killed them if you hadn’t stopped him. And I have friends in NCE. One thing, though. Alberta needs to be sure all her pet licenses are in order and all her pets are up to date on rabies vaccinations.” He paused. “I’d recommend that you and Tom do the same.”

  “Already done. Mine, anyway.” Oh, sure, maybe three years ago, whispered the prissy little angel on my shoulder. “The vaccinations, at least. I’ll check the licenses.” I would have, too, if I’d remembered.

  We spent another few minutes on more pleasant subjects. Norm and Bill had moved into my mother’s old house, the house Bill and I grew up in, and were putting the final touches on a complete kitchen update. “Bill is more relaxed since we moved than I’ve ever seen him. Sometimes I think he loves that old house more than he loves me.” I knew from the crinkles around his eyes that Norm knew better, and th
at he spoke from a place of deep happiness.

  “You guys should come to the agility trial this weekend. Come watch the boys,” which was Norm’s term for Jay and Drake and Leo. “Did I tell you we’re putting on a feline agility demonstration? So even Leo gets to go this time.”

  “I’ll be there. Bill leaves Friday for Europe.”

  My cell rang just as Norm was signing the credit card receipt and my heart did a little sidestep when I saw the number.

  “What’s wrong?” Norm was watching my face.

  “It’s Shadetree,” I said, meaning the retirement center. “Hello?”

  I expected to hear the calm contralto of Jade Templeton, the facility’s director, but the voice on the other end was pitched at frantic and the only words I could make out were die and love and next week.

  “Mom, slow down. I don’t know what you’re telling me.”

  Norm mouthed, “Okay?” and I signaled him to go. He had mentioned another appointment, and I figured if Mom was ambulatory and talking, I could manage whatever was going on. We left the café together and I got into my van while I tried to make sense of my mother’s hysteria.

  “Mom, are you sick?”

  The sobs that answered tore a hole in my heart.

  “Mom, please tell me what’s wrong. I’m on my way, but tell me …”

  The phone went quiet, and then Jade Templeton spoke. “Janet. It’s Jade. We have a bit of a situation here.”