There wasn’t a sound from the bad cat as I continued to berate him while I set the rooms back in some semblance of order. I decided then and there that I really did not like cats. I especially didn’t like cat puke. And cleaning a litter box had just moved to number one on my list of things I never, ever wanted to do again.
I mopped the floors and replenished the water dish, grudgingly adding a bowl of food. It was a good thing I was getting rid of the little monsters, because this was the last of the cat food I’d bought to trap them with.
I was still fuming when I finally stepped into my bedroom and closed the door so the two animals couldn’t join forces. I pulled off my clothes, piled them on the dresser and padded naked to the closet for my nightgown. I’d been in a hurry this morning and I hadn’t closed it tightly. That proved to be the worst mistake I’d made all day.
Clothes, many of which were stained in blood and ick, had been pulled from hangers, including my brand-new, never-worn formal for Lorna’s wedding. It lay on the floor beside the matching shoes. Curled in the middle of the skirt was Sam Two nursing six tiny, writhing, wormlike kittens.
“No. Oh, no. Not my dress!”
Sam Two gazed up at me with tired, watchful eyes.
This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. It had taken me weeks to find the perfect dress. And the shoes! The shoes had been even harder to find—shoes that were now stained with ick.
I backed out of the closet and reached for the telephone.
When they arrived, Aunt Lacy and Trudy were not the least bit sympathetic. They were much too busy oohing and aahing over the colorful array of kittens. They’d brought stuff. A whole lot of stuff, including a large, round cat bed.
“We’ll just clear this space in the corner of the closet and set the bed there,” Aunt Lacy said. “I’m sure Mama will move the kittens as soon as we let her alone.”
“But my dress,” I wailed.
“Toast,” Trudy declared.
“Maybe a good dry cleaner can get most of the stains out,” my aunt offered doubtfully.
“Most? What about my shoes?”
Aunt Lacy eyed them with a dubious shake of her head. “Perhaps if they were dyed?”
I groaned and sat on the edge of my bed.
“Good thing she has four sisters, so she didn’t need you to be a bridesmaid,” Trudy said. “If I were you, I’d buy myself a new outfit.”
“If you were me, you’d know I can’t afford a whole new outfit. Or new drapes, or a new vase—”
“Maybe we can help you,” Aunt Lacy said.
“Thanks, but I don’t want to take money from you.”
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking in terms of money, dear, but I do have some old drapes that should fit. And don’t you still have that dress you wore for your cousin’s wedding, Trudy?”
I eyed the older, chunky woman and shook my head. I was doomed. I had a date with the most gorgeous man in Ohio and nothing to wear. Not to mention eight cats in an apartment that didn’t allow pets.
“Doomed,” I muttered under my breath.
“Now dear, it’s not so bad. The kittens are adorable.”
“Take them home with you,” I begged.
“No, it’s best if we don’t move them right now. We got to the pet store right before it closed, and the young man was so helpful. I think we have everything you need.”
I’D NO IDEA THINGS THAT SMALL could be so much work. By morning Sam Two had indeed moved her kittens to the bed Trudy had set up. But by the time I cleaned two litter pans, fed and watered all the animals and wasted fifteen minutes trying to catch Sam One and put him in Mickey’s carrier to no avail, I was running late.
I stopped by the dry cleaner’s down the street from the shop. Mr. Choy was not hopeful when I showed him the stain I needed removed. As a result, it was quite late when I reached Flower World. Six people had called about the Found posters I’d put up. Mickey had come by, disappointed to learn I didn’t have Mr. Sam yet, but he wanted to know if he could come and see the kittens. And Brandon had called for me twice—which would have increased my heart rate if Mrs. Keene hadn’t arrived seconds after I did.
The widow Keene is my father’s worst nightmare. She lives next door to my dad and she’s decided in the past year and a half that it’s silly for the two of them to maintain separate households. To her consternation, my father doesn’t see it that way. In fact, he’d like to maintain separate houses in separate states, but she refuses to follow her children back to Michigan. I suspect she’s the reason they chose to move back there in the first place.
As a result, she’ll do anything—enlist anyone—in her plots to trap my father into marriage. Dad’s learned the creative art of barricades. Recently he’s taken to pretending that he’s going deaf.
“Dee! Thank goodness you’re here.”
“Uh—” I looked around frantically. Aunt Lacy and Trudy had both vanished with a speed Houdini would have admired.
“I need to hire you.”
I blinked and stared foolishly at the wide-brimmed floppy denim hat she wore perched on top of her tightly permed head of steel gray. My mind was a complete blank.
“I’m being stalked.”
It took several tries before I could close my mouth to lock in the snicker of disbelief.
“Who—” I had to swallow a couple of times before I could finish “—who’s stalking you?”
“I’m not sure. I think it’s that terrible Mr. Farnim. You know, the man who runs the convenience store on the corner? He’s always leering at me when I go in to buy milk.”
Mr. Farnim doesn’t leer. He grimaces, like most people when they first catch sight of Mrs. Keene. Her taste in clothing tends to make small children point and stare and ask their mothers if she works for the circus and can they go see the other clowns.
Poor Mr. Farnim is a businessman. Since Mrs. Keene is a regular customer, he feels compelled to paste a phony smile over his grimace. I’ve seen him do it. I can see why she thinks he’s leering, I guess. Mrs. Keene has a vibrant imagination. Look how she chases after my father.
“Uh, Mrs. Keene, I don’t think you have to worry. I’m certain Mr. Farnim—”
“I’ll pay you a hundred dollars if you’ll make him stop.”
She opened her yellow-and-pink-plaid handbag and fished out a hundred-dollar bill.
“Mrs. Keene—”
“Maybe it’s not Mr. Farnim. It could be that Henry Palmer over at the post office. He’s always flirting with me when I go in.”
“Mr. Palmer flirts with everyone. That’s just his way.”
“I know. That’s why it could be him.”
I wasn’t about to argue with that logic.
“Someone has been sneaking around my house the past few nights. I want you to catch them and make them stop. Unless it’s your father. You don’t think—”
“No,” I said quickly. “My father wouldn’t sneak around your house at night. Why would he?”
“Well, someone has and they’ve been following me around. There’s a red car I’ve seen more than once. It’s got dark windows, so I can’t tell who’s driving.”
“What sort of a red car?” I asked.
I could see she was truly upset about this. I told myself I was not being sympathetic simply because she was waving a hundred-dollar bill under my nose when I desperately needed money to replace my shoes and maybe my dress, as well, but hey, I’m only human.
“A small one,” she answered proudly.
I swallowed a groan. “Right.”
“So, you’ll come over tonight? I’ll make lasagna. I know how much you love my lasagna.”
I hate her lasagna. My father keeps trying to palm it off on me every time she brings one over for him because she knows he doesn’t get enough to eat now that I’ve moved out.
“Uh, wait, Mrs. Keene. I’m not sure—”
“Such a good girl. And bring your gun.”
“Gun? No! No guns. I don’t use a gun.”
>
“But he might be armed. What if he’s—” she lowered her voice to a shrill whisper “—a rapist?”
“I’ll hit him with a baseball bat. No guns.”
“All right, Dee,” she said doubtfully. “You know best. I’ll see you tonight.”
My half-formed protest died as she laid the hundred-dollar bill down on the counter. I watched her leave with a sinking heart. What was I doing?
“What are you doing?” my aunt demanded.
“You’re not really going to take that wacko’s made-up case, are you?” Trudy asked. “Brenda Keene made up that story to use you to get to your father.”
That thought had occurred to me. I fingered the hundred-dollar bill. It was crisp and new.
“Look at it this way, If I go over there, dad will be safe for another night and I’ll make the easiest hundred dollars I’ll ever earn.”
Aunt Lacy gave me a look that shrank me down at least four inches.
“You are not going to keep her money, Dee.”
“I’m not?”
The look intensified.
“Well, if I have to eat her lasagna, I’ll have earned at least fifty of it. It’ll cost that much to have my stomach pumped afterward.”
Trudy chuckled. Aunt Lacy pursed her lips and said no more, but I knew I wasn’t going to keep Mrs. Keene’s money. Going over there to humor the lonely woman would be my good deed for the week—maybe the month. I was definitely making it a year if I had to eat her lasagna.
Remembering my promise to Brandon, I quizzed my aunts about rumors on the Russos as we worked on table arrangements for a banquet at the Regal Hotel downtown. They were one of our regular clients, so we always gave their orders priority. Of course, Aunt Lacy demanded to know why I wanted the information, so I swore them to secrecy and told them what Brandon and I had discussed over dinner.
“You had dinner together?” Trudy said with an excited gleam in her eye.
“We had to eat,” I explained, trying not to sound defensive. “We just killed two birds with one meeting.”
“Uh-huh. Did he pay?”
“No! It wasn’t a date, Trudy. I insisted on paying for my own meal.”
“But he offered, right?” Trudy persisted.
“Are you going to stick that fern in or hold it there all night?” I looked to Aunt Lacy for help. She in turn gave Trudy one of her looks and Trudy subsided.
“Elaine Russo isn’t particularly well liked,” my aunt said thoughtfully. “Helen Brighton’s daughter does her hair every month. She works over at that fancy salon in Legacy Village. Do you know what they charge for a cut and blow-dry?”
It took me a while to redirect that conversation, but all I learned was that Elaine wasn’t the friendly sort and was a lousy tipper.
“Shameful, when everyone knows the Russos have scads of money.” Trudy put in. “And her pretending to do all that charity work. I hear it’s only for show so she can get her name in the paper and make everyone think her husband’s just a regular businessman.”
“What about affairs?” I asked, desperate not to let Trudy wander down that path.
“I don’t think so, dear,” Aunt Lacy said. “If she’s been having an affair with anyone, she’s been extremely discreet.”
“Albert, on the other hand, isn’t so careful,” Trudy put in. “Betty Sue’s mother said her neighbor’s son has seen him hanging around that actress—you know, the one who does those awful commercials for Jerry’s Cars?”
Jerry Striker is a local car dealer whose commercials are loud, stupid and annoying. I went to school with his son, Jerry Junior. I always turn the channel whenever one of the commercials airs, so I couldn’t picture the woman they were talking about, but I vaguely recalled seeing an attractive brunette sitting in one of the convertible commercials once.
Aunt Lacy paused, a daisy poised in the air over her arrangement. “Do you mean Nicole Wickley? Is she still doing those? I thought she was appearing in a local production of some Shakespearean play at The Palace downtown.”
“She is. They film those commercials months ahead of time. I heard she was trying to get a program on channel eight by sleeping with somebody important there. What was his name, Lacy?”
And they were off once more. But at least I had something to tell Brandon when he came striding through the front door unexpectedly a few minutes later. Or I would as soon as I could get my brain jump-started again.
What was it about seeing him that threw my synapses into neutral? It’s not like I’m some innocent who has never been kissed before. I’ve even let Ted grope me once or twice before calling a halt—which, of course, is one of the reasons we are on the outs again. Somehow I was pretty sure being groped by Brandon would be nothing at all like being groped by Ted Osher.
Only too aware of Trudy’s and my aunt’s interest in his arrival, I greeted Brandon lightly. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”
“I was in the neighborhood. Do you have time to talk?”
“Go ahead, dear. Trudy and I can finish up here. We’ll deliver them on our way home.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Go ahead.”
“Uh—”
My aunt smiled.
“We’ll swing by your place and feed the cats, as well.”
“You have cats?” Brandon asked, glancing at my hand.
“Don’t ask. Thanks, Aunt Lacy. And thank you both for the information.”
“Our pleasure,” Trudy piped up. “Good luck tonight.”
Brandon looked the question at me as I practically shoved him out the door. I don’t think he saw her wink.
“I have a job tonight,” I said by way of explanation for her parting remark.
“That’s too bad. I thought maybe we could grab a sandwich and compare notes.”
I thought about lasagna and antacids with Mrs. Keene versus a sandwich with Brandon. I admit it. I caved.
“Give me a minute, will you? I need to make a quick phone call.”
Brandon walked around the corner to stand beside his car. Wouldn’t you know it was parked only two spots from the front of the flower shop? Binky was in the farthest, darkest corner of the lot out back.
I called information, got the phone number for Mrs. Keene and prayed she was home. She was, but she was not happy that I wanted to come after dinner.
“I have the lasagna all ready to bake,” she protested.
I looked at Brandon leaning against his car. Tall, dark, sexy enough to be on television, he was the sort of man young women fantasize about and he wanted to have dinner with me. So I stretched the truth to the breaking point.
“Mrs. Keene, I have a lead on a small red car.” Well burgundy was sort of red wasn’t it? “I really think I should check it and the driver out before I come over. You said the prowler doesn’t come around until after dark anyhow. I’ll be there before then.”
“But what if he comes early this time?”
I knew I was going to live to regret this, but I gave her my cell phone number. “If you see or hear anything that upsets you, give me a call right away.”
“All right, Dee. I’ll make us some snickerdoodles for later.”
“That would be great. Thanks, Mrs. Keene.”
I hoped she remembered to put sugar in them this time. My conscience only pinched a little as I disconnected and walked to where Brandon lounged against his burgundy red car—which did not have dark-tinted windows. He straightened up as I approached and I took firm command of my hormones.
“Okay, I’ve got the situation covered. I don’t have to be there until dusk. My car’s out back. Where should I meet you?”
“Hop in. We’ll come back for your car after we eat. And, Dee, this is my treat since you’re helping me out.”
I could have protested. I should have protested. But when I cave, I go all the way. I got in the car, regretting the decision a few minutes later when we drove past the store window and Trudy waved to us, beaming broadly. By tomorrow
I’d be hearing what a terrific couple we made. I’d worry about that tomorrow.
Larry’s Place is an unpretentious restaurant with the best home-style meals you could ask for. They make all their breads, soups and desserts from scratch and they have a varied menu of entrées. I started salivating the minute we pulled into the parking lot.
“I hope this is okay,” he said.
“It’s fine.” Terrific. Better than terrific.
He grinned and I was sure he was reading my mind. I hoped it was that and that I wasn’t drooling.
“So, what did you learn?” I asked after we ordered. He watched me slather butter on a generous serving of corn bread, still warm from the oven.
“Russo’s story checks out,” he admitted, taking a cinnamon-apple muffin for himself. “There was quite a scene in his front office, according to the assistant I talked to. Elaine came storming in, furious over those pictures you took. Fortunately no one else actually saw the pictures, so the woman I spoke with didn’t know who I was.”
But that didn’t stop her from talking freely with a complete stranger. Not when he looked like Brandon.
“And she said Elaine admitted to having an affair with you?” I asked.
“Yes.”
His expression was as dark as his tone, the fire in those blue eyes banked tight. “I think you may be right about Elaine using me to cover for her real boyfriend.”
Over perfectly fried chicken, mashed potatoes and freshly grilled mixed vegetables I learned he’d spent a large portion of the day trying to track down Elaine Russo, without success.
“If she’s at the house, she isn’t answering her phone or the door,” he told me. “Her car’s not there and it isn’t in the parking lot where we left it the other night.”
“Maybe she went to stay with friends. I mean, if she made a big scene, it makes sense. And I know for a fact she has friends in the area. She met three women the other night before she went to meet you.”
“I don’t suppose you got any of their names?”
I scowled at him. “I told you, collecting names wasn’t part of what I was hired to do. All Russo wanted was photographs, locations and times. That’s what I gave him.” I knew I sounded defensive, but I couldn’t help it.
D.B. Hayes, Detective Page 8
