To Sketch a Thief

by Sharon Pape

  When Rory emerged from the cleaner’s she found a young man in a brown UPS uniform standing at the rear window of her car. He was holding a package in one hand and scratching Hobo’s head with the other, while Hobo gave his cheek a thorough washing.

  “Great dog you’ve got here.” He grinned as Rory approached the car.

  “As long as you’re a fan of doggie saliva,” she said.

  “Hey”—he shrugged, wiping his face—“what’s a little drool between friends? I’ll tell you, it’s a nice break from the greeting I usually get from dogs. Even if they don’t take exception to the uniform or the packages, they’re really clear about not wanting me anywhere near their house or their car.”

  “Yeah, I guess Hobo wouldn’t make a great junkyard dog.”

  “That’s okay. The world could use a few more Hobos in it.” He wished Rory a great day and walked off to deliver his package.

  “I don’t know, Hobo, I leave you alone for two minutes, and I find you romancing someone else.” Rory laughed as she got back in the car. Hobo gave a sharp little woof as if to deny the accusation.

  “Tell it to the judge, pal; it’s not like this is your first offense.”

  They were halfway home when Rory realized what had been nagging at her ever since her parents’ visit. Not only did Hobo love every living soul at first sight, but he didn’t have a territorial bone in his big, furry body, regardless of what her dog book claimed. When her family had congregated around Hobo at the car that day, he hadn’t so much as chuffed at them although he’d never met them before. And he didn’t even issue a warning bark when the UPS guy approached her car. The only time she’d heard Hobo sound like one of the hounds of Hell was when she’d left him in the car at the Sugarmans’ house and Larry had come home. But Larry Sugarman wasn’t a stranger to him. In fact, he’d known Larry for years. What could have turned a sweet dog like Hobo into the snarling, vicious animal she’d heard from Marti’s kitchen that day? The answer made her pull over to the side of the road and stop.

  How on earth had she missed it before? Larry had murdered Brenda, and poor Hobo had been an eyewitness. Several different scenarios immediately occurred to her. Either Brenda had come home and caught him stealing Tootsie, which wasn’t likely since the evidence indicated she’d been sitting at the kitchen table paying bills, or Larry had come by unannounced, and she’d let him in because she knew him. This possibility also ended with Larry killing her so that he could take the dog. Rory didn’t put that one high on her list either. All the other dogs had been stolen when the owners were out. Why suddenly change MOs?

  In a third scenario, Larry was Brenda’s mystery man, and he’d killed her during a lovers’ quarrel. That was the one Rory was betting on; she still didn’t believe the crimes were related. The fact that Zeke thought they were had only hardened her to that view. If it turned out Zeke was right again, he was going to be difficult to live with. Make that more difficult to live with.

  Rory’s first instinct was to call Leah. She pulled the cell phone out of her pocket, intending to do just that, but she changed her mind before the call went through. How could she make such an outrageous claim based solely on a dog’s behavior? That kind of evidence was no evidence at all. Lawyers weren’t in the habit of putting dogs on the witness stand. She’d have to find a way to test her theory before she told Leah or anyone else. But even that would have to wait. For now she had an appointment to keep with the elusive Feeny sisters.

  Rory had a harder time pushing Larry Sugarman out of her mind than she’d imagined. Truth be told, she’d already decided it was unlikely that the Feeny sisters were involved in the dognappings. Still, now that Rory finally had the opportunity to speak to the women themselves, she felt she owed her client due diligence by following through.

  It turned out that the Feeny sisters lived in a grand house in the exclusive Lloyd Harbor area of Huntington, a locale that had known the likes of Billy Joel and Twisted Sister. The house stood on top of a sizeable hill that made it appear even grander. It resembled a fieldstone castle straight out of the Middle Ages, complete with turrets, balconies and a picturesque bridge that spanned a narrow moat. Rory found it both magical and disorienting, as if she’d made a wrong turn and crossed an invisible boundary into the past. As she drove over the bridge she half expected to see a giant crocodile’s head break the surface of the water.

  The tree-lined driveway led to a parking area large enough to accommodate a dozen cars, but presently holding only three. Most likely staff. Presumably Jill and Beth kept their own cars in a garage that could be accessed from inside. Rory parked and walked the twenty yards to the house. She passed an Atlas Oil van parked where the circular driveway wound past the front door. No service entrance for the Atlas Oil man.

  When Rory rang the doorbell she heard a trumpet’s clarion echo inside. No detail had been overlooked. She wondered if it would be a maid or a butler who came to answer the trumpet’s call. When the massive, arched door opened she was surprised to see one of the sisters standing there. She recognized her immediately from the photo on Brenda’s mantel. As the woman ushered Rory inside, she introduced herself as Jill, clearing up the question of which Feeny she was.

  As much as Beth and her deceased husband seemed to have enjoyed medieval architecture, they were also clearly fans of modern amenities. No cold stone and drafty corners inside their castle. Instead plush fabrics and warm tones gave the interior of the house a gracious, welcoming charm.

  Jill led Rory into a large study where built-in bookcases lined the walls. A stately desk, with a computer, anchored one end of the room. At the other end a robust fire crackled in the fireplace. A fine leather couch and two armchairs, showing exactly the right amount of genteel wear, were grouped in front of the fireplace. Beth was sitting in one of the chairs reading the newspaper when they walked in. She put the paper aside and rose to greet her guest.

  If Rory hadn’t known the women were identical twins, she would never have guessed it by their appearance. Leah had told her they were fifty-two, but Jill appeared to be at least a decade older than her sister. Her brown hair was liberally threaded with gray, while Beth’s was a flashy blond without a telltale root in sight. Jill wore no makeup, but Beth’s eyes were meticulously outlined and shadowed, and her cheeks glowed with a subtle blush. No one would have trouble telling the sisters apart, and perhaps that was exactly their aim.

  Beth invited Rory to make herself comfortable and asked if she’d like tea or coffee. Rory politely declined the refreshments. She took a seat on one end of the couch and withdrew a notepad and pen from her purse. Beth went back to her chair, while Jill settled herself in the other one so that they were both angled toward Rory.

  “You have an amazing home,” Rory said, both because it was true and because she wanted to put the two women at ease.

  “Actually I’m a guest here,” Jill said, “but it is an amazing place.”

  Beth frowned at her sister. “That’s ridiculous. You live here every bit as much as I do.”

  “Well, yes, but the house is certainly not mine. I don’t want to give Miss McCain any false impressions.”

  Beth was shaking her head. “Okay, full disclosure—technically my sister’s name is not on the deed. After my husband passed away, it seemed silly for her to keep paying for a condo when she was practically never home. And it was just as silly for me to be the only resident of this enormous place, since I’m not here very often either. In any case, since Charlie and I never had children, when I die Jill will inherit this house along with everything else I own.”

  “You’re not dying, so stop talking like that,” Jill said. She seemed genuinely distressed by the turn the conversation had taken. “We were born together and with any luck we’ll die together.”

  Rory couldn’t help thinking that Jill had a first-rate motive for murdering her sister, but not much of a motive for stealing dogs, since her livelihood depended on them.

  “Fine,” Beth said wearily
, as if they’d had this discussion numerous times before. “You be sure to let me know when you work out the details with fate.” She turned her attention back to Rory.

  “Forgive us for wasting your time, Ms. McCain. Detective Russell told us you were investigating the dognappings. How can we be of help?”

  Rory sent her a silent thank-you for sidetracking the Maudlin Express her sister had hopped on with a week’s worth of baggage. “I imagine you’ve heard that when Brenda was murdered, her Maltese went missing.”

  The sisters nodded in unison.

  “Now, Tootsie might have escaped through an open door, but if she was stolen, it was probably by the dognappers who’ve been operating around here. Did Brenda ever mention to either of you that she had a particular concern for Tootsie’s safety? Or that she’d noticed any strangers hanging around the neighborhood watching her comings and goings?”

  The sisters took a moment to consider the question. Rory noted that they didn’t glance at one another, which she took to mean they weren’t worried about some shared secret.

  Beth was the first to speak. “I haven’t seen much of Brenda since I became a widow two years ago. When my Charlie died so young, I decided not to waste a moment of my life. I’ve made it my goal to see the world. I wish my sister would ditch her business and join me. Charlie certainly left me with enough money for two to live in high style.”

  “I could never do that,” Jill protested. “I’d feel like a total leech. You know you’d feel the same way if you were in my shoes.”

  “Jill, what about you?” Rory asked, trying to pull her back from the edge of another tangent. “Had you been in touch with Brenda?”

  “I hadn’t seen her in six months or more. We e-mailed each other maybe once a week, but I don’t recall her mentioning she was worried about anything like that. In fact, her last e-mail didn’t even mention her dogs. She was pretty consumed by the fact that her boyfriend had just broken it off with her.”

  “Did she ever mention who he was?” Rory asked. She knew she was crossing the line from the dognappings to Brenda’s murder again, but she told herself she was simply hoping for some corroboration of her new theory.

  “From what I understand nobody knew who he was. She refused to say anything beyond the fact that she was seeing someone.”

  “Excuse me, ladies,” a male voice said from the doorway of the study.

  Rory knew that voice. When she turned her head she saw that she was right. “Hi, Joe.”

  “Hey there.” He nodded, a smile pumping up his cheeks.

  “We keep bumping into each other,” Rory explained in answer to the question on the sisters’ faces.

  “With my job I get around a lot,” Joe said.

  “Did you find everything in working order?” Beth asked. The woman clearly liked getting right down to business.

  “Absolutely, Mrs. Blake.” He gave her a thumbs-up. “And I cleaned out the system, so you’re good to go for the winter. No need to get up, Ms. Feeny,” he said as Jill started to rise from her chair. “I can let myself out. Good to see you all.”

  Once Joe was gone, Rory picked up the conversation where they’d left off. “If Brenda was that upset about being dumped, I’m surprised she didn’t expose the guy, out of revenge if nothing else.”

  This time Jill looked across at her sister and raised her eyebrows in a silent question.

  Beth gave a little shrug, hitting the ball back into her court.

  “There’s something I didn’t tell Detective Russell when she interviewed us,” Jill said, picking absently at one of her cuticles. “It didn’t seem important, and it would have cast a shadow on poor Brenda, who can’t even defend herself. But it’s been bothering me. I don’t want to be accused of withholding information from the police.”

  Rory could hear the rising anxiety in her voice.

  “My sister has a conscience that works overtime,” Beth said lightly. “Detective Russell even gave us her card in case we thought of anything else that might be germane to the case. I told Jill to just call her and stop being such a worrywart. No one’s going to cart her off to jail because she ‘forgot’ to mention one thing. Am I right, Ms. McCain?”

  “If you come forward on your own, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Rory agreed. “And believe me, the information will be appreciated. You never know which detail might be the key to solving a case.”

  Jill nodded and managed a weak smile. “Okay. In her last e-mail, Brenda did mention that she had a plan to even the score with her boyfriend. I didn’t think too much of it at the time. People say all kinds of things when they’re hurting.”

  “What did you think she meant by that?” Rory asked.

  “That he was married, and she was going to tell his wife what was going on, but I’m just guessing.”

  “You should definitely call Detective Russell and tell her about this,” Rory said.

  “I will. I’ll call this afternoon.” Jill’s voice was stronger, more poised now that she wasn’t concerned about being locked up for her little lapse in judgment. “Is there anything else you wanted to ask about?”

  “Actually there is one more thing. I know you take care of dogs while their owners are away. Have any of your clients’ dogs been stolen?”

  “None of my regulars. I do sit for others that I only see once or twice a year, though. If I hear anything in the future I’d be happy to let you know.”

  Rory tucked her notepad and pen back in her pocketbook and thanked the sisters for their time. Jill accompanied her to the front door. Answering the door and escorting guests in and out appeared to be her job, probably one of many she’d taken on so she could feel that she was earning her keep.

  Rory drove home thinking about her conversation with the twins. She was glad she hadn’t bailed on the interview. There was a good chance that Jill had just handed her the last piece in the puzzle of Brenda’s murder.

  Chapter 25

  By the time Rory arrived home, she’d made two important decisions. Decision one: she and Hobo were going to pay Larry Sugarman an impromptu visit. Her meeting with the Feeny sisters was instrumental in helping her reach that decision. According to Jill, Brenda intended to even the score with her boyfriend for leaving her. Then, out of the blue and after years of not speaking, she’d called Marti Sugarman and invited her over. If two plus two didn’t equal four in this situation, they never did. Marti may have thought Brenda called to apologize and revive their friendship over a cup of coffee, but what Brenda planned on serving her ex-friend was a mixed grill of betrayal, adultery and revenge. Unfortunately Brenda made one huge tactical error. Probably because she wanted to enjoy Larry’s misery, and because she didn’t think he was capable of violence, she’d told him what she planned to do. Afraid that his whole world was about to collapse around him, Larry had gone straight to Brenda’s house to talk, plead or threaten her into dropping that plan, and when she proved intractable, he’d killed her. As certain as Rory was about this scenario, she wanted some corroboration. If Hobo went for Larry’s throat, she’d have exactly that.

  Decision two: she wasn’t going to tell Zeke about her plan. He would either demand to accompany her or he’d preempt her by sending Leah an e-mail, prematurely spilling the proverbial beans. He might not be able to manage phone calls, but she’d seen for herself that he’d developed quite an aptitude for working the computer keyboard and mouse.

  When Leah called the next morning to let her know that a beagle puppy had been reported stolen from a pet shop in Bay Shore, Rory didn’t bother mentioning the plan to her either. Of course it would have been difficult to talk about, since Zeke was there with her. Who was she kidding? She’d had no intentions of telling Leah anyway.

  “The pet shop was able to give us a photo of the puppy,” Leah said. “They post photos of their inventory on their website.”

  “A photo—that should come in handy.”

  “It’ll definitely make it easier to prove that the thieves are trying to res
ell a stolen dog. I’ll e-mail it to you right now.”

  Then Leah had to run, and Rory was happy to end the conversation. She didn’t like deceiving her friend even by the sin of omission.

  “From your conversation, I take it that things are finally startin’ to percolate along,” Zeke said once she’d hung up the phone.

  You have no idea just how much, Rory thought, as she rummaged through the pantry. She came away with a cereal bar and resumed her seat at the table where she’d left her coffee when the phone had rung.

  “Do you ever eat food that requires cookin’?” Zeke asked, frowning at her.

  “Don’t knock what you haven’t tried,” she said, tearing off the wrapper and taking a bite.

  “Eggs or a hot bowl of oatmeal, now, that’s a breakfast that’ll stick with you.”

  Rory nodded and chewed, sure that any other response would have earned her a lecture on the merits of “honestto-goodness food” back in the day. She washed the bar down with a swallow of coffee and, before he could say anything else, launched into a report on her meeting with the Feeny sisters.

  Zeke agreed with her that Brenda’s killer was most likely her boyfriend. He went on to say that while that was interesting, the murder case was not the one they were investigating. Since he hadn’t posed a question, Rory didn’t bother commenting. Nor did she share her epiphany with regard to Hobo and Larry or the fact that she was convinced Larry was the boyfriend in question. With that much information there was a good chance the marshal would figure out what she planned to do next, and he’d never understand why she wanted to be more certain of her theory before she took it to the police.

  In the early afternoon, Zeke bid her good day, citing the need for further recuperation from his last traveling session. That worked for Rory. At five thirty she put her plan in motion. She grabbed Hobo’s leash from the bench, along with the jacket she’d left there when she’d planned their escape. They were out the door and into the car in seconds. Indy 500 pit crews had nothing on her.