What if Goldie was onto something with her Orient Express comment? What if several people, all bubbling over with motives and emotions, had teamed up to do away with Charles Rasmussen and his belligerent, evil ways? I didn’t imagine some grand conspiracy, mind you, just a perfect storm of proximity, opportunity, and righteous anger.
“Come on, Jay,” I said, refilling my mug and padding off to the living room. My thick fluffy slipper socks made a satisfying whoop whoop on the carpet. I plumped a couple of pillows against one arm of the couch, stretch my legs out, and covered up with my old blue afghan. Jay didn’t need a second invitation to hop up and sprawl with his chest on my thigh and the rest of him stretched toward my feet. I wriggled us both around until I was comfortable and picked up my phone.
Tom answered on the third ring. “Hi you.”
“Hi yourself.”
“Are you okay?”
Aside from insane from trying to make myself ask what you’re up to and furious that I even have to? “What do you mean?”
“You sound like you’re stuffed up.”
“Oh.” He was right. I felt a bit stuffy. “Hang on.”
I tried to reach the box of tissues on the coffee table but they were just out of reach. “Jay, take it,” I said, pointing at the box with my vertically flattened hand. He leaped up, shoving a front foot into my gut for his launch off the couch and over the table. “Oww!” Jay took no notice of my pain. He was intent on the job at hand. He grabbed the new copy of Outdoor Photography from the table and brought it to me. “Thanks, Bubby, but that’s not it.” He grinned, wriggled, and cocked his head. I pointed at the tissues again and said, “Take it.”
Jay tried to grab the box from the side but it was too big for his mouth, and the harder he tried, the faster it slid until it fell off the table. He tried a couple more times, then looked at me for help. I knew he would figure it out, so I just waited while he stared at the box for a few seconds. Then he grabbed hold where the slit for tissues is and brought it to me. The black of his nose was pugged up against the edge of the cardboard slot and he sneezed when I took the box. “You want one, too?” I asked him as I pulled out a tissue and blew my nose. Jay hopped back onto the couch and curled himself around my feet.
“Okay, all clear,” I said into the phone.
“What was all that?” asked Tom.
“Jay had a little trouble with the tissue retrieve.”
Tom chuckled, then asked about my mother. I was just going to tell him about the vandalism of the feral cat colony when he said, “I’m in Indy.”
But we’re going to Indianapolis tomorrow. “You are?”
“Yeah, I tried to call you earlier to see if you could get away.” He seemed to be waiting, but I couldn’t think what to say. I was too busy trying to pick my heart up off the floor. “Tommy’s flying in tomorrow afternoon. It was a lot cheaper to Indy, and since I was headed there anyway …” You mean we were headed that way, I thought.
“Okay,” I said finally. “We can go see the puppies next week.” I grabbed another tissue as my nose started to run.
He cleared his throat. “I, uh …”
“You’re going to see them?” I worked at keeping my mixed emotions out of my voice. “That makes sense, I guess.” I blew my nose as quietly as possible.
“I already did. This evening. Are you catching cold?”
I’m not sure which was more disappointing, this awkwardness with Tom or missing the chance to play with a bunch of baby Labs. “No, I just got a little chilled out there this afternoon.”
He asked about both photo shoots, the woods and wetlands and the feral cats, and I gave him a very short synopsis, then asked, “So what did you think?”
Any other guy might think I was still talking about the afternoon’s outing, but not Tom. He sounded like he could still feel those roly-poly little bodies all around him. “They were great. Barely six weeks old, nine little yellow girls. And I really like the bitch.” Meaning the mother of the puppies.
“Who’s the breeder?” I know a lot of the active dog people in Indiana, so there was a good chance I knew this one.
“Jill Peabody. She just moved here from North Dakota. She doesn’t breed much, just a litter every three or four years so she can keep one for herself.” I knew Tom had walked away from a number of breeders for a variety of reasons, including some who he thought had too many litters. “You should have seen them, Janet.” I held the phone at arm’s length and mouthed seriously? I missed a little of his tale, but he never noticed. Puppy talk does that to people. “Is your computer on? You have mail.”
“Ohmagosh,” I said. Each one was cuter than the next.
What I wanted to ask next was Do you really think this is a good time to get a puppy, with your big sabbatical plans and all, but what came out was, “I thought you were going to wait for a black male in the spring?” When he didn’t say anything, I started to laugh.
“What?” he asked.
“About that list of possible names.” Tom had been throwing out potential names for a month or so. Names like Jim and Gander and the like.
“Yeah,” he said, and I could hear the smile that I knew was curling around the corners of his eyes. “Better start a new list.”
forty-nine
My throat felt like there was a butterfly trapped in it. It wasn’t sore, not yet, but the tickle spread from behind my tongue up into my ears. I got up and started to make coffee, then opted for tea with honey instead. Sunrise was an hour and a half off, but I wanted to be in place by first light. I just needed to pry my eyes open first. Between blowing my nose, trying to breathe, and wrestling with a crazy mélange of thoughts, I hadn’t slept much. I let Jay out the back door, fed Leo, and had a sneezing fit. Great, just what I need. Jay came in and inhaled his kibble, and I gave him a big fat carrot to complete his breakfast.
“Looks like you’re going to have a new little sister in a couple of weeks,” I told him. I meant Tom’s yellow puppy girl, but the image my mind latched onto was Gypsy’s tabby daughter. Oh, no, I thought, pushing it away. Where did that come from? Jay rolled his eyes at me, wriggled, and bit off a hunk of carrot.
As I dressed, I went back over the previous night’s conversations. I would check in with Norm at a decent hour and be sure he knew that Giselle was a friend. I made a mental note to ask him what kind of retainer she was looking at for a murder defense, if it really came to that. Tom and I had talked about Giselle’s situation, and he didn’t think it would go that far. I wasn’t so sure. Maybe I could organize a crowd-sourced legal fund for her, I thought. If everyone who despised Rasmussen chipped in a few bucks, she should be in good shape.
Tom had also thought Goldie’s Orient Express theory was hilarious. The creepy stalker was another matter. “Next time, take his picture and have them do something about it.”
“I took a couple, but you can’t see the face,” I said. “I don’t even know for sure that it’s a guy.”
“Just don’t take any chances,” he said. “Maybe you shouldn’t go out there alone in the morning.”
“That red-headed kid—what’s his name? Jason? He’s going to be there. Besides, stalkers don’t stalk at dawn.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said.
I hoped I was right, too. I stuffed a bundle of tissues into my jeans and checked the weather app on my phone. Thirty degrees, clear this morning, high in the mid-forties, then a cold front coming in. Rain, possible flurries late. Perfect, I thought. I drank my tea standing by the sink and watched Jay mark the fence line at the back of the yard. I sneezed. Again. Once more. Terrific. I resisted taking anything that might dull my senses, but I couldn’t be out there with gloves, camera, and a snotty nose, so I rummaged around the drug stash in the cupboard. Heartworm prevention for Jay. Ibuprofen for me. I shook the bottle, and heard a lone pill rattling around. Two out-of-date prescriptions, on
e for each of us. A couple of packets of anti-flu drink mix with don’t drive warnings. A packet of Benadryl, left over from last summer when Jay’s face swelled up from some kind of bug bite. That would dry me up, but put me to sleep. I decided I’d just stuff wads of tissue up my nose if necessary.
Lights were on in quite a few homes in The Rapids of Aspen Grove, including Alberta’s. As I trudged across her lawn toward the woods, I glanced at her kitchen window and there she was, waving. I held up my camera and gestured toward the pond and woods, then went on. The sun had not appeared yet over the horizon, but the eastern sky was streaked in rainbow-sherbet colors. I sniffed, and felt ice crystals pinch my nostrils.
Something moved between me and the pond, and I stopped. It moved again, and I saw a shape in the advancing light. It was the size of a small dog. I stood very still, barely breathing, and waited, willing the sun to send more light into the world. The shape came closer, and I could hear, faintly, the crunch of paws on frozen grass. It stopped. The leading edge of the sun cut into the distant sky, and the edges of the animal seemed, for just a second, to glow.
Fox.
I smiled, waited, barely breathed. I could feel it watching me, deciding what to do. The light came on, and I could see more clearly. The animal’s fur seemed in that light to be on fire, and something about the attitude, the posture, said vixen. She stared at me, and I slowly bent my knees and sank down, making myself smaller. She had something in her mouth, but I couldn’t see what. Bird? Rodent, I thought. Slowly I brought my camera up. If she held for just another minute or two, I thought I could get the shot. She took a step to my right, looked over her shoulder at the woods, and back at me. I clicked the lens. She startled but didn’t run. I clicked a series of shots and lowered my camera. “Thank you,” I murmured. She turned away, stopped, and looked back at me. No doubt she wanted to be sure I wasn’t chasing her, but I like to think she was saying so long. I watched until she disappeared into the trees.
Jason emerged from the woods when I was about ten yards out. He waved with one hand, signaling me not to speak with the other. When I reached him, he turned and led me through a stretch that would be pure muck if not for the overnight freeze. We stopped beside an enormous sycamore and he pointed toward a stand of bittersweet that straddled the wood and swamp. “Wood ducks,” he whispered.
I could see movement, then the shapes of the ducks. My long lens, though, gave me a clear view, and I took one photo to test the birds’ reaction. They paid no attention. I took a series of shots, zooming in close for some and making sure that others showed distant features that identified our location. “This is good, right?” I said. “For protecting this area?”
“I think so,” said Jason. “I mean, they’re not exactly spotted owls, but they are critically endangered, and they need habitat in the migratory flyway.”
We left the birds in peace and walked deeper into the woods. Speaking softly, Jason said, “I saw a gorgeous fox a few minutes ago.”
I pulled up the array of photos on my camera and showed him.
“Oh, wow,” he said, a huge grin on his face.
My nose started to run and I felt a sneeze coming on. I ripped my glove off and pulled a tissue from my pocket and sneezed into it. And again. “Oh, boy,” I said.
“You want to go back?”
I lasted another twenty minutes, but my throat was getting seriously sore, my sinuses were pressing into my nerve centers, and my nose was running like a washerless faucet. I told Jason to stay if he wanted, but he started to lead the way out of the woods, saying, “Nah. I have a test at 10:30. I better go review.”
We left the woods and walked in their shadow. The back of Alberta’s house was visible, but the cattails along the far edge of the pond blocked our view of the street and my van. The wind wasn’t as bad as it had been the previous day, but it was still blowing down the grass slope toward us at a good clip.
Jason raised his nose into the air just as I caught an odd odor, at least odd for this time of day. “Do you smell something,” he asked.
“Barely,” I said. I blew my nose and tried again. “Charcoal starter?”
“Weird,” he said.
We passed the cattail barrier and had a clear view up the slope. The odor was stronger. “I wonder if someone spilled it or dumped …”
A loud whoosh interrupted me, and flames leaped toward the sky. Jason grabbed my arm and said, “What the …”
“Ohmygod,” I yelled, and started to run up the slope. Alberta ran out her front door as I reached her driveway. I wasn’t thinking, just running toward my van. The driver’s-side doors looked as if they had sprouted wild red hair that was dancing in the wind.
“Stop her,” yelled Alberta.
“Stop! Janet,” yelled Jason, and then he had his arms clinched around me. He whirled us around, held tight as we came to a stop.
“My van!”
Alberta ran from her front porch and screeched, “Jay! He isn’t with you, in the van?” She started to hobble-run along the far side of the vehicle toward the back hatch.
The flames died as quickly as they had appeared. I tried to answer Alberta, but my voice wouldn’t work. I managed to rasp out, “Tell her no,” and Jason did. Alberta stopped, came back to us, wheezing. She patted my arm again and I realized she was wearing slippers and no coat. “Go inside. You’ll catch pneumodia.” Aaackkk, stuffy head talk.
She ran back to the house, and from the door she yelled, “I’m calling the police!”
fifty
“Take this,” said Alberta as she set a glass of orange juice and a bottle of pills in front of me.
Jason came into the room and placed a couple of bags on the far end of the table. They looked vaguely familiar but I couldn’t place them. I couldn’t think. I could barely breathe.
“They don’t seem to be damaged,” Jason said.
“What?”
“Your purse and camera bag.”
Oh, that’s why they look familiar.
“Thanks.” I reached for the orange juice, but my hand was shaking so much that I was afraid to pick it up. I pressed my arm to the top of the table to steady it and nudged the little bottle with my index finger. The name on the label was turned the other way, and it seemed like too much effort to turn the thing around. “What’s this?”
Alberta stuck a straw into the orange juice and held the glass for me to take a sip. She said, “Antihistamine, decongestant. Take one, you’ll feel better in a jiffy.”
The juice tasted like summer. I took another long mouthful and signaled enough for the moment. “Thanks.”
Alberta opened the little bottle and put a pill on the napkin in front of me.
“No, I can’t, I have to drive.”
Jason sat across from me and said, “I can take you home.” He looked at his watch.
“You have a test,” I said. The sugar in the juice was starting to work its magic. I could almost think.
“Not until ten-thirty,” he said.
Alberta set mugs of coffee in front of us both and said, “No, dear, you won’t have time. I’ll drive her home.”
“But my van is here. I don’t need a ride.”
Alberta and Jason exchanged a look, and another piece of my mind fell back into place. “How bad is it?”
“Most of the damage is outside,” said Jason. “But I don’t think you’ll be driving it.”
I sneezed into my elbow and excused myself. My legs felt unsteady but workable as I walked to the bathroom. I blew my nose and looked in the mirror. My hair stuck out like insanity itself, and my nose and eyes were clashing shades of red. Ohmygod. I thought about Jay, how he had begged to come with me, how I had considered bringing him for a walk after my photo shoot. For a moment I wasn’t sure whether to sit down on the toilet or kneel in front of it. The feeling passed.
My next thought was of th
e threats to both me and Alberta. The fire next time. Who writes such an odd threat, and who carries it out? I couldn’t even figure out how I earned the honor. Alberta, sure, that made sense. She had no doubt made enemies over the feral cats and her opposition to the condo development. But what had I done? All this over a few photos?
I splashed my face with cold water, patted it dry, and used some of Alberta’s rose-scented hand lotion to take the fire out of my desiccated cheeks. The fragrance felt as good as the cool moisture.
Jason’s voice brought me back into the kitchen. “… over by that gray house.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
No one spoke for a moment, and then Jason said, “I saw someone walking away, on the other side of the street, by the big gray colonial.”
Alberta got up and let her dogs in from the yard. Indy, whose photo I had taken many times, hopped into my lap and licked my chin, and I almost felt a layer of stress peel off and blow away. “Come on, you scalawags, off to your room.” She had her family room set up for the dogs, with beds and toys and chewies. With Gypsy and the kittens in the house, the terriers had been spending a little more time there than usual. Judging by the way they scampered off, though, I didn’t think they minded much.
Jason spoke again. “I’ve seen that guy before, when we were here for the teach-in.”
“Jeans and a hoody pulled up, no face?” I asked.
“That’s him.”
“Or her,” I said. “If it’s the person I’ve seen, it could be either.”
Jason seemed to consider his response. “I think it’s a guy. Young. Moves easily but bad posture.” He closed his eyes as if bringing up a memory. “Wide shoulders, big feet. Big hands when they’re out of his pockets.” He opened his eyes and found me staring at him. He shrugged, half smiled, and said, “Field biology. I’ve learned to see.”
Catwalk Page 22
