by Clea Simon
“Fancy meeting you here.” I couldn’t help it. I smiled.
“You, too. Hang on a minute.” Mack parked. I waited as he sauntered over, long legs making the most of his dirty jeans. As he leaned on the roof of my car, he smiled, and I felt myself begin to melt. “Creighton call you in?”
“How’d you guess?” From anyone else, this would have felt invasive. He just made a gesture toward the brick building.
“Hey, I’m here too. Seems the only lead the cops have got is our finances. Such as they were.”
“At least he let the dog go.”
Mack looked at me, a little too sharp. Behind those half-closed lids something was going on. I had to watch myself. “Yeah, he did that. Hey, how are you, Pru?”
I followed his gaze to my own bandaged hand. “I’m okay.” I flexed it and felt my palm throb. “Cut myself on some glass last night.”
“But, you’re okay, right?”
Sweet, but confusing. “Yeah, I’m fine, Mack. No biggie.”
“Good.” He stepped back, thumped on my car roof once. “I— Well, I want you to be okay.”
I looked up at him, but the morning sun obscured his face. “And you, Mack?”
He bent down and once again I could see that big, lazy grin. “I’m great, Pru. I’ll call you later.” Another thump on the roof of the car, and he walked away. With a little more care, I pulled into the road.
***
Halfway to Eleanor’s, I realized I was being inefficient. If the woman was home, I could swing back and get Floyd for her. If she wasn’t, well, why waste the gas?
I keyed in her number. Sure enough, three rings later, her voice mail picked up. As I waited for the recording to end, her perfectly modulated tones grating on me like sandpaper, I mulled over what to say. For all I knew, the coifed brunette might have a perfectly good reason to avoid me and my phone calls. And her cat, for that matter. Then again, she might simply be a prize bitch.
On that thought, the beep sounded. “Eleanor, Pru here.” With an effort, I kept my language neutral. My voice, she’d just have to deal with. “I have your cat. Call me.” Cell phones don’t give you the satisfaction of a good slamming hang-up, but I did what I could, jamming my thumb into the keypad. And with a sigh, I turned toward Raynbourne. At least, I could assume Nora Harris would be home.
Sure enough, as I pulled up to her house, I saw the older woman out front, kneeling on her pad and digging with a small spade, a net bag of bulbs by her side. As I got out of the car, the front door opened and Delia stepped out. Dressed in jeans and an ivory wool sweater, she didn’t look like she was about to get down in the dirt with her employer. Lily, I noticed, was nowhere to be seen.
“Pru.” Delia walked toward me, the question in her eyes rather than her voice. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Unlike yesterday, huh?” I looked around for the dog. “I realized it wasn’t fair to dump a young, active dog on you like that. I wanted to offer to help out.” Before Delia could say anything, I kept talking. “Continue the obedience training. Maybe lend a hand with walks and exercise.” I was digging myself in here. I wanted the best for Lily, but I really couldn’t afford to give my services away for free.
“That was Charles’ dog.” Nora’s voice startled me, and I looked over. The grey-haired woman was resting on her heels, having traded the spade for a fork-like cultivator. “I couldn’t stop her.”
Delia took me by the arm and shook her head ever so slightly. “Don’t mind her, Mrs. H,” she said, her voice pitched slightly too high. “We’re going to get something to drink. Would you like something, Mrs. H?”
“Damned dog.” The old woman turned away and started hacking at the earth with a vengeance. “This is my home.”
I followed Delia inside. “What’s up with that?”
She shook her head. “Turns out, the dog takes after Nora. She was in the garden, digging up some of the new bulbs.”
That was curious. Lily had some bad habits, but destructive behavior—digging or tearing at furniture—hadn’t been one of them.
“She’s just gotten a bit obsessive about that garden.” Delia reached for yet another pitcher of lemonade. She must spend half her day making it. “Nora, that is.” Setting out two glasses, she answered the unasked question. “I had to take the dog back inside.”
“How is she?” I paused, unsure how to ask. “Nora, I mean.”
“Charles’ death hit her pretty hard. They were everything to each other.” Delia handed me a glass and took a deep drink of her own. “Sometimes, I don’t know how much she’s going to come back. I’ve talked to her about going into Amherst or Springfield for cognitive testing, but…” Her voice trailed off.
“She doesn’t want to give up time in her garden?” It was a guess, but Delia nodded.
“It’s the only thing she cares about now. At least, she treated herself to some new tools and all those bulbs. That’s good, right?”
I shrugged. “So, where’s Lily now?” The house seemed quiet. “The dog?”
“In her crate in the back room.” Delia refilled her own glass and held the pitcher out to me. I wasn’t thirsty, but the social act seemed to loosen her up. “She seems to like it in there.”
“Yeah, it makes her feel secure.” I felt a twinge of guilt, as if I were giving away a confidence. But crating is behaviorist 101, and besides, Lily wasn’t my client. “Was she really digging?”
“It was the strangest thing.” Delia walked into the living room, and I followed. Together we looked out at Nora Harris and her bulbs. “When I let her out, she just went nuts, started churning up the earth. I don’t know. Maybe there was a rat or something?” She shrugged, but didn’t seem particularly concerned. Delia was, I was finally realizing, cool.
I needed to know how cool. “Delia, are you okay with Lily being here? Sounds like she’s taking a lot of work.”
“Yeah, I am.” Without turning away from the window, she pulled up a seat. Something told me she spent many of her days this way. “Charles really cared for that dog.”
There it was, just when I was getting to like her: another of Delia’s distant comments, as if Charles had been a polite acquaintance instead of her fiancé and, possibly, the father of her unborn child. I was full of questions, but for once I kept my mouth shut. Let the silence do the work.
“And, yeah, for his mom, too.” With her face toward the window, the afternoon sunlight falling full on her face, I could begin to see where lines were just beginning. Delia Cochrane was still beautiful, probably the most gorgeous woman in Beauville. But she’d had some wear and tear.
“Delia, why were you with Charles?” I kept my voice low and soft, but I wanted to hear it. Money, security. A baby before it was too late. “I mean, the dog, his mom…” She turned to face me, and I couldn’t help but look from her face down to her slim waist. “I know you’re pregnant.”
To my surprise, she laughed, a soft laugh, low and relaxed. “I should have known. Nothing stays a secret in Beauville.” She patted her abdomen. It still seemed pretty trim. “Charles really wanted a child. Nora really wanted a grandchild.”
I waited and, finally prompted her. “And you?”
“I’m a home health aide, Pru. It was my lucky day when Nora Harris introduced me to her son.”
“And he fell for you.” I said it as a fact, knowing my former client’s gentle nature. Even as I did, I saw the smile on her face. And I remembered what a little dog had told me. “He’s like me,” the bichon said, as he made his rounds, blithely ignoring a female in heat. It hit me like I’d walked into a wall. In a way, I had. A wall built by my own preconceptions.
“Charles was gay.”
The look she gave me made me feel as stupid as I sounded. “Well, yeah.”
“So, why the cover up?”
She shrugged. “It was for his mom, mostly. He tried to come out, but she never accepted it. She always thought that the right girl…and, recently, her temper has gotten really bad. She
blows up over little things. Charles and I liked each other. When she set us up, we figured we’d play along. And Charles always wanted a family.”
“So who—?” I nodded toward her belly, not sure how to phrase the question.
“He didn’t care.” She was looking back out the window again. “Charles really did want a child, you know.”
I waited.
“And I was another of his strays,” she said at last. “Charles took in everyone who needed him. Poor fool.” She put her glass down on the table and stood, still staring out the window. “Probably what got him killed.” She walked to the door. “Nora? Nora, I think it’s time to come in.”
She wasn’t getting away that easy. I had too many questions. “Was it Chris?” I called after her as she opened the door. “Mack?” My voice cracked. But even as she slipped out the door to help the frail older woman to her feet, she was saved by my phone.
“Yes?” I was in no mood. Especially if it was Mack on the line.
“Uh, Pru?” It was Albert. I must have scared him. Good work for a monosyllable.
“Hi, Albert.” I didn’t like the man, but he wasn’t the author of my latest problems. At least, I didn’t think he was likely to be the father of Delia’s baby. “What’s up?
“You like Bandit, my ferret, right? Uh, could you come by? We’re having a problem.” He paused. “A police problem.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Considering Albert’s usual level of articulation, it seemed like getting over there quickly made more sense than lingering on the phone. During the drive, however, I couldn’t help wondering what he’d meant. Had Frank dug up some more evidence? Had the small mustalid somehow gotten involved in a crime? He did like his shiny things.
What I didn’t expect, when I walked into the pound, was to see Officer Creighton with one hand crudely bandaged in what looked like a handkerchief, the other holding his service revolver. Albert, with Frank clutched to his plaid breast, cowered against the wall behind his desk.
“Okay, what seems to be the problem here, Officer?” I figured levity might be useful, but Creighton turned to me with a face like thunder.
“This isn’t funny. That’s a dangerous animal, and I want it put down.”
“What did you do to him?” Albert had started to protest, but I raised my hand for silence as I stepped in front of Creighton. In the back of my mind, I was hearing a panicked little voice. “Mine! Mine! Mine! Shiny. Mine!” “Shut up,” I said, barely turning my head.
“I didn’t say anything!” Albert was near tears.
I didn’t bother to explain. “Officer? Do you mind?” I pointed toward the gun. He lowered it but didn’t put it away.
“Sorry.”
I wasn’t taking my eyes off him. “Shall we sit?”
He nodded and took the guest chair, finally holstering the piece before sitting down. I pulled Albert’s chair around to the front of the desk and sat facing him. Behind me, Albert whimpered.
“Now Jim, why don’t you tell me what happened?” I was keeping my voice even, holding him with my eyes. He might have put the gun away, but there was more than a little here I didn’t like. Mack had been going in to talk to Creighton when I’d taken off, and I knew that man had depths I hadn’t begun to plumb.
“I was investigating a complaint.” He stopped. I waited. “Look, Pru, this is official police business.”
“Jim, you pulled a gun on Albert. And his ferret.”
He sighed, and I saw him relax. He was giving up more than the tension of the moment. “Okay, we heard that there might have been something left with that dog’s collar. I’m not at liberty to say more. But when we went out to talk to Mrs. Harris, it wasn’t there. So I thought, maybe, that I’d swing around here and check it out.”
“Thinking, what? That Albert had stolen it?” I knew damned well that he was talking about the disk drive. Given a few minutes to sort through things, so would Albert. I didn’t want to give him the chance.
“I was checking his lost and found. Like, maybe it had dropped off, and Albert had stowed it away. And then that rat-thing attacked me.”
“Mine, mine, mine. Thief!”
“Yes, I know,” I said absently. “I mean, I can believe it. Ferrets really love their little treasures, and that was his cache and you reached into it. Probably scared the little guy half to death. And he’s not a rat. He’s a masked ferret.”
“Is that thing even legal?” Creighton just looked sore now. From the way he was holding his hand, it was clear Frank had gotten him good.
“Ask your animal control officer.” I couldn’t resist a smile. Albert muttered something that we both ignored. “This is his office, you know. As well as the city pound.” “Thief.” Frank was getting distracting.
“Yeah, but shouldn’t he be muzzled or something?” The hunky cop raised his injured hand up to his mouth, and for just a moment, I saw the boy he had been. If I hadn’t been here, he’d be sucking on that cut, handkerchief and all.
“He’s a peaceful sort of creature. Unless—” Frank’s insistence finally got through to me. “Did you take something of his?”
“Of his?” There was something in his tone. Creighton was lying. I waited. This really was like training a puppy. And like any other young dog, he gave in. With his good hand, he reached into his pocket. When it came out he tossed something onto the desk. There, against the coffee-stained blotter, it shone like white fire. The diamond earring.
“Mine!” I could see Frank struggle. Albert, either out of some sense of self preservation or sheer panic, held him firmly.
“Hang on a minute,” I said more to the ferret than to anyone else, and reached for the earring. “I just want to look at it.” I heard another whimper, either from Albert or Frank I wasn’t sure. Yes, this was the pretty sparkler I’d seen before. Strange that nobody had claimed it. Unless Creighton was the one who’d dropped it. He was back and forth between this office and his own often enough. Was the young officer squiring some wealthy woman? Or, I turned the pricey bauble over in my hand, had he come by it some other way? “Was this reported stolen, Jim?”
“Why, no. I mean—” He stammered, and I smiled. This was getting interesting. While the young officer was trying to find the words, I turned toward Frank. His person was no longer holding him in a panicked death grip, but I recognized the resignation in those shiny black eyes. “Mine.” The tone was softer now. Plaintive. Frank knew he wasn’t getting this particular prize back.
“There you are!” We all looked up as a whirlwind of glossy hair and fur whirled through the door.
“Eleanor Shrift.” My mystery woman, here at last.
She glanced at me, speechless, but her focus was on Creighton. “They told me you were over here, and I’ve been looking for you.” This was getting so interesting that for a moment I forgot the pretty earring in my hand. But Eleanor had seen it.
“Where did you get that?” She would have grabbed it, but I moved my arm back.
“Officer Creighton ‘found’ it. Supposedly Albert’s ferret had it.” I sensed more muttering from the small animal, but did my best to ignore it. I wanted to keep my mind on the drama unfolding with the people here.
“Oh.” Eleanor seemed honestly confused, her dark-red lips pushed forward in an unflattering moue of confusion. “But, he didn’t…” Her voice trailed off.
“Yes?” Perhaps I should have waited, but I couldn’t resist.
“Never mind.” She pulled her face back together and reached again for the earring. “Anyway, that’s mine.”
Creighton interrupted, taking her hand. A little too gently, I thought. “You’re going to have to file a report, Ms. Shrift.” So they did know each other. Not that this meant much in Beauville. He stood up. “And you were looking for me?”
“Yes, I wanted to complain. That woman has been harassing me.” She was looking at me.
“I have your cat.” This was ridiculous.
“You see?” She turned toward Creig
hton. “Among other things, she took my beloved pet.”
I stood now, too, feeling the anger rise to redden my face. “She abandoned it at the shelter. I’ve been trying to reach her for days, to tell her that her ‘beloved pet’ is ready to come home.”
“And did you have authorization to remove the animal, Pru?” Creighton sounded tired. His hand probably ached.
“I’ve been working with him. He had some serious anxiety issues.” If looks could injure, my glare would have pierced even Eleanor Shrift’s rock-hard foundation by now. But Creighton was too smart for this particular cat fight.
“That doesn’t answer the question, Pru. And by the way,” he reached out, palm up. “The earring?”
“You’re going to leave the ferret alone, right?”
He nodded, and I dropped the sparkler into his hand.
“I’d love to know how your earring ended up at the pound.” I didn’t think she’d answer me, but I wanted to ask—just to see if she and Creighton exchanged looks. They didn’t, but that could have just meant they were being careful.
“Someone can’t keep her hands off others’ property.” Eleanor practically hissed.
“Me?” I was laughing. “Oh come on, Eleanor. I’ve been trying to get your cat back to you for days.”
“Speaking of cats,” Creighton stepped in between us. “Pru? It sounds like you were out of line there. But I’m sure that if you return the animal pronto, this can all be forgotten.”
I looked at Eleanor. She smiled, if something so cold could be called that. Now that it came to it, I didn’t want to give her the black Persian. Floyd might not be a brilliant cat, but he deserved better.
“I’d be happy to,” I lied. “Perhaps Ms. Shrift can come by and pick him up at her convenience?”
The smile sagged slightly. “I’ll be there later,” she said.
“I’ll try to be home.” And before Creighton could break in again, Eleanor turned on her three-inch heel and stormed out. Behind me, I caught a low, resigned whine.
“Thief.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
To say that something about Eleanor Shrift was still bothering me would be wrong. Everything about that woman was getting to me. Much as I loathed it, I sort of understood her attitude toward Floyd. The black Persian reminded her of the man who had left. Worse, she’d lost him to the cat before he had disappeared entirely. But what did she have against me? And what was the deal with that earring?
