by Clea Simon
***
As I walked into the packed church, I had to admire the soundness of Wallis’ fashion sense. I’d been thinking of graveyards and grassy knolls, but the clump of my boots caused every face to turn toward me as I walked through the tall doors. The white clapboard outside opened onto a light interior, the high windows letting sun beam down on the white walls and pale wood of the pews. This was a classic New England church, a design that sent tourists into spasms.
“Too bad I don’t do quaint,” I muttered under my breath, and looked for an opening that I could slip into. Up front, I could see Delia’s golden hair. She was leaning over a shorter, grey head—Charles’ mom, Nora, I figured. I remembered what Mack had said about Delia helping her out and determined to keep an eye on her. After the service, I’d try to get her alone. I had to find out why she’d been to the pound. If she had an honest interest in Lily, I’d eat Alpo. Speaking of mouth watering, Mack himself sat a few seats away, his dark hair unruly despite a heroic amount of product.
I slipped into a pew about halfway up, muttering something that I hoped sounded sympathetic to the wiry couple who squeezed in to make room for me, and went back to work examining the chief mourners. Maybe because of our encounter at Happy’s, I found myself staring at Mack, at the curls that just wouldn’t stay down. Delia’s sleek golden coif would have made a perfect counterpoint, I couldn’t help noticing. But, hey, she seemed to have made her choice. Between them, Chris Moore, his back as straight as a poker, separated them as completely as a brick wall. About as flexible, too: the former athlete’s eyes were fixed straight ahead. A coffin, draped in a white cloth, held the place of honor at the front of the church, an oversized framed photo of Charles on an easel nearby.
I was staring at the portrait when I heard a familiar voice mutter my name. Startled, I jerked back. Albert, his customary flannel covered by a dark blue pullover, was blinking down at me expectantly. The wiry couple to my left had already moved down the few remaining inches.
“Sorry.” I shifted over, and waited for Albert to squeeze in beside me.
“Didn’t know you’d be here.” He kept his voice low, but the crowd was quieting down. The minister had appeared at the podium. “I was gonna call you.”
The woman in front of us, with steel-colored hair and a face to match, turned to give him a pointed look. I followed with one of my own, and he gave a sheepish shrug. “It’s just, I found something.”
“What?” Impatience made me careless of volume and earned me a loud, reproving “shush.”
“Tell you later.” Albert mouthed the words, and I slumped down in the pew. This kind of suspense I didn’t need. Nor did I need Albert’s thigh pressed quite so close against mine. Up close he smelled like warm bologna.
Still, anxiety and growing fury kept me awake as the service started. The minister, a nice-enough looking man with a birthmark to rival Gorbachev’s, didn’t sound like he’d known Charles, but then after a while funerals all tend to sound alike. Commitment to his community, friends, family. Someone must have given him a tip sheet at least, because he mentioned kindness to animals. That brought a small cry from up front, and I saw Delia patting his mother’s back. Lily wouldn’t get any such consolation. Nor that kitten, either.
I was thinking about the kitten, about where it might have come from—and what it might have heard or seen—when a commotion in the back caused the dozers to wake and the more attentive to turn. Jim Creighton, alone, and dressed in civies had come in. He seemed younger in his blue suit, a recent haircut giving him the big-eared awkwardness of the boy he must have been not that long ago. But there was nothing boyish about the look he gave the crowd, who all quickly turned back toward the minister. Just how small a town was this? Was Jim the only cop on the case, or had he really been a friend of the deceased? I turned away before he could catch my eye, but I sensed that he was watching me throughout the short service.
As soon as the final prayer was over, I grabbed Albert’s arm. “What is it?”
“Cool it, Pru.” He pulled his hand back as if I had insulted him. “You don’t have to get bent out of shape. I mean, he can’t help it.”
“Albert.” I took a breathe. “Would you please tell me what you’re talking about?”
“Miss?” I was blocking the exit from the pew, and so I followed Albert out to the aisle and then through those tall doors into the fresh air. The sun was high, the day wonderfully warm with just a hint of autumn cool in the light breeze. An apple of a day, crisp and fresh.
The portly pound keeper didn’t seem to be enjoying the fine weather though. He hung his head and mumbled. “I can’t help it. It’s what he does.”
“Who, Albert?” I was losing patience and had to remind myself of the rules of training. Calm voice. Steady persistence. “Tell me what you are talking about, please.” For me, these played out in stilted diction. It’s just easier with animals.
“Bandit. He likes things.”
I nodded.
“Shiny things, most of the time. I don’t know.” Bit by bit, I got the story out of him. Albert claimed he was cleaning out his desk drawer. I suspected he was looking for that last bit of gum the ferret had found, or something even older and gamier. Whatever the initial goal, his search had turned up a small cache of personal items. A long, glittery earring. Albert called it diamond, but I’d bet rhinestones. The caps to a half dozen pens. The earpiece to a set of headphones, and something else. “One of those computer doodads,” said Albert, outlining a shape about the size and width of his thumb in the air. “You know, that you carry around?”
“A keychain drive?”
He shrugged. “Anyway, I reckoned I should ask people. I don’t remember you wearing earrings like that, but the computer thing, I thought.”
“Yeah, thanks.” I barely had to think about this one. “Yeah, I did lose a USB drive right off my keychain. I was wondering what happened to it.” People keep info on those things, and information was just what I was lacking. It wasn’t rocket science, but it might be a clue. “Did you happen to look at what’s on it?”
“Nah, I reckoned it was private.” Of course, I translated, he didn’t understand how to use it.
I did. “Can I come by and pick it up later?” The crowd was milling around the sidewalk, overwhelmingly overdressed for the day.
“You’re not going to the grave?” I shrugged. Even my light dress was sticking to my back now. “Well, I didn’t plan on opening the office up today.” He gazed off into space, and I played my last card.
“What about the animals? I could go over, feed and water them.” Get that drive.
But Albert shook his head. “I had Jeremy come in. I think working today would be, I don’t know, disrespectful.” He was going fishing. Either that, or he’d start drinking early.
“I’ll come by tomorrow then.” I turned toward the street when a last thought struck me. “Hey, Albert.” He turned back, a worried expression on his round face. “What about that earring? Any ideas whose it might be?”
Now it was his turn to shrug. “Who knows? It’s too pretty for someone to wear to the pound.” He paused as a rare thought made his face go blank. “Unless maybe someone is sweet on me.” He looked up. “You think?”
***
I watched him walk off, biting the inside of my cheek to keep my response to myself. I had questions, but none that Albert could answer. Frank—Bandit—would know where he’d gotten the tiny drive. The earring, too, if that were important. Even if either object had been kicked around the floor before he’d found it, the little hunter’s keen sense of smell could probably answer a lot of my questions for me. But how could I ask to interview a ferret? No, I’d just have to hope that Albert brought his covetous pet in again. Or that whatever was on that drive would make things clear.
True, the drive might have nothing to do with anything. I might boot it up to find the Mayor’s tax records or an unfinished novel. Beauville could be a bit of a backwater, but the summer people�
��and their money—had brought us into the new century and such things were not unheard of, at least by folks with a little more on the ball than Albert.
The earring was another matter, one that might not count for anything but gossip. A long glittering dangler? That was evening wear. Someone had either not gone home before dropping by the animal control office, or had found a lost jewel and was carrying it around, probably planning on returning it. If it were evidence of some late-night tryst, that earring might have potential. But I had a feeling about that drive. Someone had broken into Charles’ house looking for something the same night I had, and whatever he—or she—was seeking, it wasn’t the folder with Lily’s veterinary records. And the log at the pound had shown Delia there. She might be taking care of Charles’ mom, but I didn’t put her down as an animal lover. No, my money was on Delia, hunting for that drive. I looked around for her golden hair.
I needed to talk to her, see if she’d lose any of her cool. Sometimes, when working with certain animals, trainers try to get them off their guard. They’ll pinch the ears of a dog until it retrieves. Shock a competitor till it takes an agility course faster and then faster still. It’s not a technique I’ve ever liked, not even before my change. I’d rather not take advantage of anyone’s vulnerability. But humans could look after themselves, and I had no sympathy for murderers. If Delia had lost a keychain drive—or an earring—she might be getting a little frantic. I’d use it, if I could.
The sun was high in the sky by now, and the crowd thinning out. “I’m sorry for your loss.” I practiced the phrase as I drew up to Charles’ mother, trying to ignore the insistent call of a wood thrush: “I’m here! I’m here! I’m here!”
“Pru, glad you made it.” Mack came up behind me, putting his hand on the small of my back as if it were the most natural move in the world.
“I respected Charles.” I stepped back. The man was a looker, but like most handsome men, he knew it. I thought of the earring. He’d be the kind of man who’d notice a trinket like that, left on a nightstand or tangled in a pillow. Women probably left their belongings at his place all the time, marking their territory.
“Are you going to the graveside?” His voice showed that he’d taken the hint, and raised it as a challenge.
“Why not?” It was a Sunday. If Albert wasn’t going to cooperate, what else did I have to do? Besides, even if she was attending Charles’ mother, I might manage to get a word alone with Delia.
“Great, we’re all leaving.” Mack turned away. “You can follow.”
“Sensitive, isn’t he?” I was talking to myself, another bad habit I’d picked up out here. At least with Wallis around, I didn’t feel quite so desperate.
“I think he’s hurting more than he lets on.” I turned in surprise. Delia had come up behind me.
“Delia, I’m so sorry.” I could feel the flush grow in my cheeks. If only I hadn’t let that damned thrush distract me.
She waved my concern away. “It’s just odd, you know? You expect someone to be there and then suddenly, he’s not.” I knew what she meant, but took the opportunity to check out her turquoise eyes anyway. There was some smudging of her makeup, but not much. “It’s worse for Nora.”
I nodded. “I can believe it. How’s she doing?”
“A little more confused than usual, but she’ll be okay. There’s just been so much going on.” Delia smiled, a small, sad smile. “She’s been gardening like mad. I guess that’s her outlet.” As she spoke, she brushed back a stray hair and I noticed her perfect French-tipped nails. Whatever help she gave the old woman, it didn’t involve digging in the dirt.
“Isn’t it a little late in the season?”
Delia’s smile grew until it reached her eyes. “You’d be surprised. I was. There’s all kinds of transplanting and fertilizing, not to mention putting in bulbs. Our soil out here is tough, full of roots and rocks. But she loves it. Charles had been making plans to move her into his place, and she’d been working a lot there. But now, well, she won’t be giving up her own garden. I guess she wants to whip it into shape.”
I pictured the old woman, on her knees. I could see the satisfaction, for a certain type. Me, I preferred other recreational activities. Delia must have read my mind, because she looked behind me. I turned, too. Mack was standing over by the church door. From his posture, I’d bet he’d been up late, and I wondered if he’d had company. As we watched, he rubbed one large hand over his face and through those black curls.
“So, are you a friend of Mack’s?” Her voice was soft, and I couldn’t read it.
“We just met the other night at Happy’s.” Let her make of that what she would. Besides, I had questions for her. “Was he close to Charles?” From her expression, that wasn’t the question she was expecting.
“I guess so.” She shrugged her pretty shoulders, and I noticed that she’d removed the jacket. The September sun had gotten warm. Her skin was tan and smooth. “He looks like a mess, doesn’t he? To be honest, I bet it’s more about the money than out of friendship.”
“That’s pretty harsh.”
She shrugged. Another realist.
“You mean, because of the launch?” I still didn’t know what their product was, but I threw out the words like bait.
“The launch.” She threw it right back as if it had a bitter taste. “I don’t know—” But before she could finish her sentence, Chris was by her side.
“Del, everyone’s waiting,” he said, keeping his voice low. He turned toward me. “Do you mind?”
I didn’t budge, and he stepped between us, wrapping one meaty paw around my wrist. I fought the urge to pull away. This might be concern, but it was misguided. I looked up into a face as stolid as a tree and met his gaze with everything I had. He didn’t blink. We could both feel people staring at us, but he held on for another few seconds, making his point, before he released me with a nod and walked away. Delia followed.
I sighed and rubbed my arm. No way could I hitch a ride with that crowd. About twenty feet away, a uniformed driver was opening a door for Nora Harris. Jim Creighton was standing by her side, supporting her. Waiting for her assistant.
“I’m sorry.” Delia turned back toward me, her voice low but clear. “I don’t mean anything bad about Mack. It’s just that he was the money man, you know? He had a lot invested in this.”
I nodded. No, I didn’t know. The birds were at top volume now, declaring themselves and their territory. It was getting hard to focus.
“Coming?” I blinked. Mack was beside me, car keys in hand. How much had he heard?
“I’ll be there.” But as we headed toward the parking lot, a cry spun me back around. Nora Harris had fainted. The chauffeur and Jim Creighton were laying her on the ground. Delia was racing to her side. “Oh my God.” I surged toward them, but Mack grabbed my arm, holding me back.
“Let them be. She’s had these spells before, and that cop can get an ambulance here faster than any of us, if she needs one.”
I pulled away, annoyed at his presumption. But what he’d said made sense, and I only walked as far as the small crowd that had gathered, buzzing like a hive.
“Poor woman. The service, the shock.” Most of the congregation was waiting and watching, it seemed. “And she’s still driving?” “He was so young.” “Such a sadness!”
“That wasn’t grief.” Through the hum of vague sympathy, one voice sounded clear. The speaker was the wiry man who had moved in to make room for me. I looked at him, but he was speaking to his wife. “That was shock. I heard what the cop was saying to her. He just told Mrs. Harris that her son was murdered.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I was dying to barge right in. Murder? I’d known that from the start, but how did the cops? And why tell her now, at the funeral? Perhaps more to the point, if they were now considering this a homicide, that meant a human was responsible—and Lily should be off the hook.
It wasn’t graceful, but I confess I pushed the wiry man out of my way,
determined to get to Creighton and find out more. Before I could go three steps, a strong pair of hands grabbed me from behind, nearly swinging me around.
“Whoa, there, little lady.” It was Mack again, looking amused. “And where do you think you’re going?”
“I just heard.” I tried to pull away, but he was strong. “I’ve got to talk to that cop.”
“You do?” He wasn’t letting go. “Is that wise?”
He’d leaned in to ask that second question, and although his breath was warm on my ear, there was a note in his voice I didn’t like. A hiss, almost, like he knew something I didn’t want him to, and it acted on me like a slap, bringing me right back to earth. We were standing on the edge of the crowd and while most of the black-clad attendees were watching the opened limo, where the grieving mother now sat with her head bowed to her lap, a few stragglers had turned toward us. Animals know when to play dead, and I stood still, waiting for him to release me.
“Good girl.” He noticed, and let me go. “Now, tell old Mack what you’re up to.”
I opened my mouth to speak and drew a blank. I couldn’t exactly tell him about Lily, not and be believed. But I had to say something. “Look, that bombshell the cop just dropped? That’s not news,” I said, finally. “I knew that Charles wasn’t killed by his dog, and I need to find out what that cop knows.”
Mack looked like he was going to grab me again, so I kept on talking. “I’m more than a trainer,” I said. “I’m a behaviorist, or almost. I didn’t quite finish my training.”
I was explaining more than I had to, a sure sign of panic. To stop my own blabbering, I closed my mouth and swallowed hard. “I worked with Charles, and I worked with his dog,” I said, my voice back under control. “He rescued that dog that from a horrible fate, and the dog knew it.”
