by Clea Simon
Still, it went against the grain to destroy a healthy animal. I poured my coffee and turned to find Wallis on the counter, eying me. “What?” I asked.
“You’re not going to do it, are you? ” I got a note of something. Amusement, maybe.
“I don’t know. I’m going to go see him. Maybe Frank will have a take on all of this.”
“Oh, she’s talking to the weasel again.” I smiled. We were back on familiar footing. “Maybe you should introduce that dog to the weasel.”
I thought, for a moment, she was making fun of me. Cats do have a very cool sense of humor.
“It couldn’t hurt.” She turned away, a little offended.
“What now?” I reached to pet her. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re clueless, Pru. You really don’t listen.” Her back arched slightly as I rubbed down her smooth fur. An involuntary reaction, I knew. “Sometimes, you know, I am serious. If you can’t understand what an animal tells you, you can ask another animal.”
I felt, rather than heard, a soft purr starting. She was beginning to forgive me my many sins. “You may bring that parrot back, you know. I did find him interesting to talk to, even if you didn’t get half of it.” I kept petting her, musing on our interaction. “But you’re not bringing that dog here, and that’s that.” With that she jumped off the counter and left the room.
***
Since the pan was dirty anyway, I made myself some eggs and ate them at the window, staring out at the tapestry of trees. Saturday. If the rain were over with, the tourists would be hitting us hard. That could add to my workload as they brought their inevitable troubles to Doc Sharpe at County. I should call him, let him know I was available. Whatever I was going through, he’d looked bad.
At least I had some resources. Wallis might have been serious about enlisting Frank. The slender mustelid had a keen insight, born out of his sense of smell and the acute instincts any small animal must develop to survive. I didn’t know what she’d meant about translating for Buster, though. I’d heard what the dog had said. It just hadn’t been that much.
Unless I was missing something. That would fit with Growler’s rude comments, too. Maybe there had been some other sign—some signal I wasn’t getting from scent or posture. All I’d heard were a few words, the key phrases of a well-trained service animal.
Or maybe Wallis was simply talking. For all her smugness, she hadn’t actually gotten that much out of Randolph for me. Just that he felt responsible for Polly’s death. Guility, even if she didn’t understand the word. I found it curious that Wallis would have communicated an emotion to me—she’d made it clear just how worthless she thought those were. Then again, she didn’t have much respect for Randolph either. Maybe his having an emotional response to Polly’s demise was part of it.
Unless I was the one who was misinterpreting everything. I drank more coffee, willing my tired brain cells to spark, when the phone rang again.
“Pru, where are you?” It was Creighton, his voice sounding strangely clipped.
“Jim, long time no see.” I didn’t like being interrupted in the middle of a thought.
“Pru, I’m sorry I haven’t been around.” He was talking fast, and I could hear the tension in his voice. “I’ve been busy, but, please, talk to me. Where are you right now?”
“I’m at home, Jim. I was just looking out the window.” It’s in my nature to tease him. “The trees are beautiful from here. There’s one maple—”
“Good.” He cut me off. “Do me a favor. Stay there for a few hours?”
“Are you placing me under house arrest?” I realized my error in suggesting that and kept talking before he could respond. “I’ve got things to do, Jim. I’ve got to get over to County and Albert’s office, and back to LiveWell, and—”
“Those are fine, Pru. Just, look—please listen to me for once.”
“Will I see you later?” The words slipped out before I knew what I was saying.
“If not tonight, tomorrow, I promise.” He was so focused, I doubted he’d even noticed that I was asking for him. Well, that was fine, because he’d also ended up telling me the one thing he didn’t want me to know: he didn’t want me to go someplace I’d been recently. It had to be Evergreen Hills.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Going to the condo development wouldn’t solve any of my problems. Not directly. Then again, if I could find out what was going on over at Evergreen Hills, maybe it would help me with the raccoon. Then I could continue on to Berkshire General, get my first shot, and I’d be in a better place to deal with Rose and Buster and Randolph.
That was what I told myself as I grabbed my jacket and keys. Wallis, however, was staring at me with a look I knew well. “You don’t really believe that, do you? ”
I smiled back. “Not necessarily, Wallis. But wouldn’t you be curious?”
She flicked her tail, which I took for agreement, and I left.
The day had turned clear and bright, one of those New England days that make the postcards look faded. That meant traffic as the weekend tourists filled our roads to gawk at nature’s finest. If they hadn’t been in my way, I’d have felt a bit of pride, actually, though my role in the loss of chlorophyll was about on a par with theirs.
As it was, the fact that I couldn’t let my GTO flex her muscles pissed me off. What was the point of driving if you couldn’t feel it? And so I leaned back, revved my engine, and took off, weaving between the out-of-towners like a hawk through a flock of pigeons. They didn’t scatter, not exactly, but my baby’s got enough of a growl so that they started pulling over as they saw me coming. It was cruel, about as fair as anything else in nature, but it was fun. And when I saw the shadow on the road—a redtail taking stock overhead—I began to remember what I’d liked about this old town, small as it could feel.
I was so caught up in the flow of the road, passing with a roar and easing back in, that I almost missed it. Jerry’s truck, its noxious green and yellow standing out among the sedate sedans. It didn’t cut me off this time—we were heading in opposite directions. And instead of pulling onto the highway, it was turning onto that cutoff. But the driver—Jerry or one of his brain-dead cousins—had no respect for traffic patterns, and had braked abruptly enough so that someone honked. I saw a raised middle finger poke out of the driver’s side window as the truck cut the sharp right, disappearing down what looked like a dirt track.
Interesting. I let myself glide along, thinking. That was the second time I’d seen the company truck this far from the condo development. It was Saturday. Jerry could be taking some time off: that track could lead to his favorite fishing hole or, more likely, the beer cooler at a buddy’s cabin. I didn’t see Jerry Gaffney as having an incurably strong work ethic. But unless he had free use of that logo’d truck, there was an off chance that his errands were business related. If the brains behind Evergreen Hills were planning another development, they would be looking for more investors. I didn’t envy Jane Larkin’s chances at the next family get-together.
Or, I realized as I pulled off for Evergreen Hills, Jerry could simply have been hiding out. The road to the development was as empty as always, but once I turned the last scenic curve, I was greeted by more activity than a bear-raided beehive. Cop cars from all over the county lined the road. Dun-colored uniforms, some holding flashlights, patrolled the grounds. I braked as quickly as possible, but one thing about a baby blue vintage Pontiac: it isn’t inconspicuous. With all the stern looks I was getting, I figured smiling and staying put was the thing to do. Luckily, someone who looked vaguely familiar talked into some kind of handheld device, and a minute later, I saw Jim Creighton walking up the drive.
I rolled down the window as he got near. He leaned in, but I knew better than to expect a kiss.
“Didn’t I tell you not to come here?” He sounded tired rather than angry, which piqued my curiosity.
“You asked if I was going anywhere. At the time, I didn’t think so.” I smiled. Batting my ey
elashes would have been too much. “But once you mentioned it, I remembered an errand that I needed to do.”
“Pru?” He’d pulled back to get a better look at me. His voice was level, but there was strain behind it. “Why are you here?”
“I told you, I had an errand.” A smile wasn’t going to work. “I needed to see someone.”
“Who?” He wasn’t going to give me anything.
“Whoever’s in charge.” That sounded weak, even to me. “I need to speak to the head of the board of overseers, or whatever he’s called.” I figured it was a he. “He’s never around during the week, so I thought I’d try this afternoon.”
Creighton wasn’t buying it. “It seems to me like Jerry Gaffney runs things here.”
“Jerry Gaffney is a tool.” I realized I had something to trade. “Besides, I passed his truck on the way here.” Creighton nodded, waiting. “He pulled off onto a dirt road about a quarter mile south. The truck’s pretty unmissable. Bright green and yellow.”
“You come here on an errand for him?”
“Jim, cut it out. Please.” I didn’t know where that last word came from. “I told you. I’ve got no involvement with Gaffney, and no desire for any. I really am looking for whoever is in charge. Legally, I mean.”
He had a stare, I’ll give him that. Those blue eyes were more metallic than my car. “It’s about an animal, Jim. A raccoon we removed from one of the buildings.”
He considered that for a moment. “What happened to your hand?” He nodded toward my bandage, and I remembered he hadn’t seen it.
I had to fight the urge to tuck it underneath me. Instead, I just opened it in a careless wave. “I got bit, Jim. Sometimes that happens, even to me.”
“Not by the raccoon I hope.” He was making conversation. I could hear a certain warmth creeping back into his voice. This was too close for comfort, however.
I forced a laugh. “No way. This was a regular. Crazy, huh?”
I’d gone too far. Those blue eyes narrowed again, trying to see the lie. “Pru, what’s going on here? Really?”
“Just what I told you, Jim.” I raised my bandaged hand. “Swear to god. We picked up a raccoon and I need to clear some things up before we release him. So, can you tell me who’s in charge around here? I mean, for real?”
“Sorry, Pru.” He stepped back and stood up. “No can do. But I’ll tell you one thing: whoever’s in charge has got bigger things to worry about than a raccoon.”
With that, he slapped the top of my car, and walked off. I took my cue and started up the engine. As quietly as I could—no way I could be inconspicuous—I drove back down the entrance road to the highway, wondering all the while just what the hell was going on.
The good news, I realized once I was back on a real road, was that Jim had given me as much information as I’d given him. Maybe more. For starters, he didn’t know who really ran the condo development either. I suspected that officially it was all set up that way, incorporated on paper with a million loopholes so none of the principle investors would ever have to take responsibility. He’d probably tracked down some of the board—Wachtell, for example, or Marc Larkin—but he seemed as in the dark about the real boss as I was. He’d also as good as told me that whoever it was had enough heat on him so that he’d never bother to follow up on that letter.
I’d given him Gaffney, maybe. I had no qualms about that. Whatever that thug was hiding, it would do him good to be hauled in by Creighton. In the meantime, I needed to act. I wasn’t sure yet what I’d say to Albert, but that didn’t worry me overmuch. I’d check out that raccoon. If he looked okay, I’d take him today—somewhere far beyond this rattrap development. If he didn’t, well, I’d deal with that then. I flexed my hand as I drove. The wound was still sore, the base of my thumb swollen and hot. I needed to take care of it—to take care of myself—while there was still time.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Heading toward the shelter, I really didn’t want to be bothered by anyone else. So when my phone rang the first time, I ignored it. I’d check my voicemail when I got to Albert’s, in case one of my regulars was having an emergency. When it rang again, almost immediately, I was a little curious. It was possible that Creighton wanted to apologize, after all. Or that he had something more fun in mind. But with any animal, consistency is the key to training, and the lesson I wanted to teach was that my time was my own, and so I let it go. The third time, I reached to turn it off. But the combination of bite and bandage had made my fingers clumsy, and before I knew it, I heard a familiar voice, calling frantically from inside my bag.
“Miss Marlowe? Pru? Are you there?” It was Genie, her accent making her voice more clipped. With a sigh, I raised the phone to my ear.
“I’m here, Genie. What’s up?” I didn’t slow down, but I heard the touch of guilt in my own voice. I should have left a note, when I left the dog and parrot in the room. She had no way of knowing I’d be back. “If this is about Buster—”
“You have to come. You have to come now.” She interrupted me. “They are going to take the dog away. They are going to call the police.”
“Good luck with that.” I murmured to myself. All the police in Beauville were down at Evergreen Hills, and any call about an animal would be routed to Albert anyway. Still, I had left her—and the animals—in the lurch. “Don’t worry, Genie. I’m on my way.”
This time, I made sure I turned off my phone. I couldn’t imagine what had prompted the panic in the aide’s voice, but it was an excuse to drive fast, traffic be damned.
I’ll admit, I swept into the lot with a bit more flourish than necessary. That might have been why the aides gathered outside for a smoke looked up as I walked up to LiveWell’s main entrance. There was no way Nancy could have heard my squealing tires, however, so it had to be something else that had her eyebrows raised to her bangs.
“Miss Marlowe!” She nearly jumped out of her seat.
“Reporting for duty.” I gave a mock salute. “I hear Buster’s been causing some trouble?”
“That dog’s gone crazy.” She leaned forward, her voice a hush. “Nobody knows what caused it, but it’s scaring all the residents. You’ve got to get rid of him.”
“I’m sure she’s fine.” As I’ve said, half my job is training humans. More than half. “With Rose in the hospital, Buster has had a shock, and I’m sure she’s just acting out.” Even as I said it, I wondered. A well-trained service dog does not simply go off without provocation. “I’m going up there now.”
She breathed, what might have been the first time since I walked in, and I realized that maybe my stop here would be useful. “Once I’ve seen Buster,” I turned. The elevator tended to take its time. “I’d love to talk to Dr. Wachtell again.” I really wanted to grill him on Evergreen Hills, but I’d let Nancy think it was about Rose, if that would help.
It didn’t. “He’s not on duty today.” She must have seen the surprise on my face. I’d seen him only that morning. “He handled the overnight,” she explained. “So he won’t be in again until tomorrow.”
“Ah well.” The chime announced the arrival of the elevator, so I got in line behind two walkers and wheel chair. “Maybe you can tell me how to reach him when I’m done upstairs?”
She nodded, but I wasn’t optimistic. The look on her face said that disturbing the doctor on his day off was not something in the LiveWell handbook.
***
As soon as I got off the elevator, I understood the urgency. LiveWell’s walls were probably more solid than those at Evergreen Hills. They only muted the loud, deep barks, however, the sound of a dog in distress. I panicked for a moment, remembering that I didn’t have keys, and then caught myself. Rose never locked her door. As far as I could tell, nobody here did. Which might, I thought, be part of the problem.
The scene that greeted me, though, was not what I had feared. In the few seconds it took me to reach Rose’s unit, I had visions of an intruder, lying dead. Or of Rose herself, returned
from Berkshire General, and once more lying unconscious. “Help! Help! ” was what I had heard in each round of barks. “Help! Help! Help! ” A cycle repeated long enough for Buster to grow hoarse.
“Buster.” As I stepped into the room, she shut up even before I could make the hands-down “silence” gesture. She’d been facing the door, standing, and now she sat. She even wagged that big flag of a tail, as I knelt in front of her, thumping it on the floor two or three times in greeting. “What is it?” I reached out to put my good hand on her head. “Tell me?”
“Help? ” she woofed softly, almost a sigh. And it hit me. “Randolph!” I jumped to my feet so fast that Buster scurried backward. Racing to the shelf, I ripped off the cage covering. And found myself face to face with the quizzical eyes of a perfectly healthy parrot.
“Randolph?” He whistled softly. “Are you okay?”
“Mind your own business!” He tilted his head, as if to get a better look at me. “Ignorant slut.”
I laughed with relief, a sound that started the parrot cursing again. “Bugger all! Shut up!” Buster even came up to lean against me, that big tail thwacking against my leg.
“You two gave me quite a scare. You know that?” Randolph whistled again, and I made for the armchair. Buster lay by my feet, undoubtedly exhausted by barking. “Either of you want to tell me what happened here?”
I was talking as much to myself as to them. I don’t have any kind of easy rapport with anyone but Wallis. I certainly didn’t expect a response. But even as I settled into the chair, I realized the dog before me had raised her head. She was looking at the parrot, and Randolph was looking back at her. The room was suddenly very silent.
