So now he was going to be in Missouri in a few weeks. With nothing more than a Texas postmark, no return address or other contact information, I had no way to tell him I was not in Missouri.
Well, so much for Mac MacPherson, I thought with mixed feelings of regret and relief that I wouldn’t be seeing him and having to muddle around in awkward “commitment issues.”
Thinking of Mac reminded me of another man back in Missouri. Jordan Kaine was a retired lawyer I’d met through mutual involvement in a vandalism situation at a rural cemetery. We’d had a brief but budding relationship that was cut short when I had to go into hiding before the murder trial, the trial that brought on the Braxtons’ thirst for vengeance.
The phone was ringing as I unlocked the door. I started to fumble with the security alarm panel, realized guiltily that I’d forgotten to set it again, and headed for the phone.
“Hi! May I speak to Sandy please?”
“I’m sorry, but Sandy is gone for the week. She won’t be home until Sunday evening.”
“Oh, I didn’t know! Skye didn’t mention it.”
She sounded dismayed, so I said, “Could I help with anything?” “Oh, I don’t suppose so. This is Tammi Ridenour.”
“Oh, I didn’t suppose so.This is Tammy Ridenour.”
“Skye’s …” I hesitated momentarily and then decided not to split hairs. “Skye’s mother?”
“Yes, that’s right!” Tammi sounded delighted with the identification, perhaps mistakenly concluding that Skye had referred to her as a mother. “Oh, you must be Aunt Ivy!”
Tammi apparently had an oversupply of exclamation points and intended to use all of them.
“Yes, that’s me. Ivy Malone.”
“Skye went in to Fayetteville with Brad this afternoon. He’s trying to interest her in TV as a career. I just now decided it would be great fun to run in and surprise them so we could all have dinner together after the early news! But I need someone to sit with Baby. That’s why I was calling Sandy.”
Maybe I was feeling adventurous. Maybe the evening ahead looked a little lonely. Maybe it was just that troublesome curiosity gene again. “I’d be happy to sit with Baby.”
“Would you? Oh, that would be marvelous! I need to leave in about an hour and a half, so …”
“Just give me directions to the house.”
She did that, and then I cautiously asked, “Is there, uh, anything special I need to know or should bring for … sitting with Baby?”
“Not that I know of.” She sounded mildly puzzled.
“I’ve never met Baby, you know,” I said, fishing.
“But you’ve heard all about him, I’m sure!” she said gaily and hung up before I could admit that I had no idea if Baby was animal, vegetable, or mineral.
I speculated, of course, as I followed Tammi’s directions to 422 Hickory an hour later. Something in the animal category, surely. But perhaps on the unusual side? A monkey, maybe? Parrot? Iguana?
The thought occurred to me that perhaps I should have pinned down this detail before blithely leaping into this.
9
The house on Hickory was low and rambling, an L-shape built around a big backyard with a high board fence. The height of the fence alarmed me. Perhaps Baby belonged in the giraffe or camel category? A coppery-colored Lincoln sat in the driveway.
I rang the bell, and a plump woman who had to be Tammi opened the door. But the woman was instantly eclipsed by the animal beside her. A dog? It did have the usual doggy attributes. Four legs, furry body, wagging tail, soulful brown eyes, and a damp nose instantly thrust into my hand.
Although this animal could almost as easily have thrust his nose into mine.
“This is Baby,” Tammi said with obvious pride. “And the first thing everyone wants to know, of course, is, how big is he? So I’ll tell you! He’s 31 inches tall at the shoulder and weighs 260 pounds! And if he stands on his hind feet, he’s taller than you or me!”
Here her oversupply of exclamation points almost seemed justified.
“He was only six weeks old when we got him. And he was such a soft, adorable little butterball that we just had to call him Baby. And then the name stuck.”
“He’s certainly … impressive. Is he … uh … some particular breed?” Or perhaps some mad-scientist combination of dog and pony? His tan hair was short but thick and rough rather than slick, his tail a darker bushy flag, his face and neck mottled with irregular splotches of brown.
“Mostly English mastiff, although he has smidgens of various other breeds. We think the brown may come from some St. Bernard blood. Although no one knows where that tail came from! His mother weighed only 175 pounds, and none of his littermates turned out nearly as big as he is.”
“I hope he’s good-natured?”
“Oh, he is! Baby loves to chase balls and wrestle on the floor and play with his teddy bear. And Baby loves everybody! Tell Aunt Ivy hello, Baby.”
Baby, very dignified, offered me a huge paw. With some reservations I shook it, although I noted that his nails were nicely manicured. Tammi stood back and motioned me inside the house. By now, after the initial shock of Baby’s size, I noted that Tammi was dressed for dinner. The tight, bright red dress complemented her fluffy dark hair, but … oh, dear … also emphasized every one of those plump pounds. Spike heels, apparently meant to slenderize her legs, unfortunately turned her feet into chubby stubs. But she also had a lovely, warm smile, a rose-petal complexion, dazzling white teeth, and, overall, was something of an adorable butterball herself.
“It’s so nice of you to do this!” She squeezed my arm. “Brad usually stays in Fayetteville between the early and late news shows, so we don’t often have dinner together. And it just seemed like a lovely idea to run in and join them, the three of us together!”
I wondered if Skye had perhaps been counting on dinner alone with her father, but I only murmured, “Yes, a lovely idea.”
“We didn’t talk about a sitting fee, but I always give—”
I waved a hand in dismissal. “That isn’t necessary. I’m glad to do it.” Although a thought occurred to me, now that I’d met Baby and he did seem like such a polite, well-mannered gentleman. “Why does Baby need a sitter?”
“Baby is very people sensitive.” She gave his big head an affectionate rough-housing. “If anyone is home, he’s quite happy to run and play in the backyard by himself. But if everyone leaves, he knows and immediately protests! Quite loudly, I’m afraid.”
Deep-chested Baby looked as if he could make enough noisy protest to start an earthquake.
“Which the neighbors object to, I suppose?”
“Very much so. As if their children don’t sometimes raise enough ruckus to—” She rolled her baby blue eyes and smiled. “Well, never mind. In any case, it’s better that Baby not be left outside when no one is home.”
“And inside?”
“Inside, he tends to … ummm … take out his frustration at being left behind on the furniture and carpet. He does love to go riding and stick his nose out the window.”
In what? I wondered. Did they keep a Hummer in reserve for dog entertainment?
“But Baby can smile.” She stretched her mouth, baring her teeth, and Baby did the same. I’m glad I knew it was a smile, because there seemed to be an extraordinary number of teeth in Baby’s oversized mouth.
“And he’s just the biggest, sweetest, friendliest baby ever! Show Aunt Ivy your caterpillar walk.”
I appreciated that, in spite of all the exclamation points, Tammi was not into baby talk. She moved back a few steps and trailed her hand—bright red polish, big diamond engagement and wedding rings a little tight on her plump hand— along the carpet. Baby immediately dropped his belly to the floor. With legs stretched out behind him, front paws digging into the carpet, he scooted toward her, along the way cheerfully wiggling across whatever got in his way, which included my feet and a ragged teddy bear that was apparently one of his toys.
“His fo
od is on the counter in the kitchen. You can give it to him about 8:00. He’ll let you know if he wants to go outside. Otherwise, just enjoy! There are people snacks on the counter and in the refrigerator. Help yourself to anything!”
“Thank you.”
“The TV remote is over there on the sofa. Baby will probably want to sit with you and put his head in your lap while you watch. Or there are magazines and books there on the coffee table if you’d rather read. I have tons of books, but they’re mostly on diet and exercise, and I can see you don’t need that!”
She bustled around gathering up purse, cell phone, and jacket. Baby watched her, tail swishing softly on the carpet. I wondered uneasily if the minute she was out the door he might turn into a rabid psycho-dog, a Woodston Cujo. But Sandy had Baby-sat him, apparently without disaster.
“My cell phone number is over there on the end table by the phone. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.” She patted her purse where she’d tucked the cell phone. “I won’t stay in town for the late news, so I should be home by 10:00 or so. Bye, Baby.” She leaned over and nuzzled the big dog’s face. Not many women, I suspected, would be so agreeable to a slurp of doggy tongue across fresh makeup.
At the door she turned and gave me a little wave, looking as excited as a teenager going out on a date. “You know, we just love Sandy! She’s such a good influence on Skye.”
I watched the Lincoln pull out of the driveway, and then Baby and I regarded each other gravely. He offered his paw again, and I shook it. No, no psycho-dog here, just a big sweetie.
We watched TV together. I hadn’t realized that when Tammi said he’d sit with me, she meant exactly that. Draped right beside me on the wildly flowered sofa with his head and one big paw in my lap. I suspected sofa cushions had to be replaced regularly here, but if Tammi and husband didn’t mind, I certainly didn’t.
After a while Baby wanted to go out in the backyard. Stacked lumber and concrete blocks suggested some ongoing building project. Perhaps an oversized doghouse for Baby? He brought me a ball to throw, and he romped and played with surprising agility for his size. Later I fed him the dog chow Tammi had put out, and while he ate I snacked on cheesecake squares.
I flipped through several of Tammi’s diet and exercise books piled on the coffee table. Everything from Pilates to the Atkins diet, with a bizarre offshoot into Weight Loss Secrets from Atlantis: Amazing Discoveries from a Lost Continent with a svelte mermaid on the cover. The book that looked as if it might be the most effective at weight reduction, however, was the heavyweight one Sandy had mentioned. It featured a cover model of a sleek cat and weighed, if not the ten pounds Sandy had claimed, at least six or seven. If Tammi lifted that book overhead enough times a day, she’d surely change some fat into muscle.
Tammi was home at 9:50, coming in like a tornado of bubbles to first greet Baby as if she hadn’t seen him in a month and then to give me a hug.
“Oh, we had a marvelous time! I’m afraid I may have overdone it just a wee bit on the shrimp pasta.” She touched her tummy and rolled her eyes. “But I’ll make up for it with a zillion stomach crunches next week. Thank you so much. I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate this!”
“My pleasure,” I said. And it really was. Even at 260 pounds, Baby was still an adorable butterball. “Maybe I’ll have to fight Sandy for the privilege of sitting with Baby next time.”
Sandy returned home Sunday evening, bubbling with news of all they’d accomplished at the orphanage, plus their adventures with a blown transmission on the van, a bout of something called Montezuma’s Revenge, and her encounter with a scorpion. In which she was, blessedly, the victor. She now had a smattering of Spanish tucked in to her chatter. She also had a black and blue thumbnail courtesy of an encounter with a stray hammer, a glowing tan, and the email addresses of half a dozen new friends.
I had my news too, and she stared at me open-mouthed when I told her I was working for Leslie Marcone.
“She really seems quite nice.” That sounded a little lame, since Sandy’s expression said I may as well have started housekeeping for the creepy woman in that Misery movie “And she pays well. And promptly!”
“Yeah. Well, uh, that’s nice. I didn’t know you wanted a job.”
“I didn’t either. But then she offered, and I thought, why not? And then Tammi called and I also Baby-sat.”
Sandy’s faint scowl brightened. This met with her approval. “Oh, don’t you just love Baby?”
“Yes, and Tammi’s nice too. It’s too bad she and Skye aren’t closer.”
“Oh, that reminds me. I want to call Skye.”
Sandy dashed off to make the call, and I picked up the oblong of paper that blew off the counter as she rushed by. Mac’s postcard. I felt an unexpected twinge of regret. Okay, so he might have a skewed view of my intentions toward him, but it really would have been nice to see him again. We’d had fun at the Meteor Daze over in Clancy last summer.
At 9:00 on Monday, I was back at work. On this day a gardener came and industriously clipped and mowed on the grounds between house and lake. Leslie apparently liked the manicured look there rather than the tangle of au naturel jungle between house and road. Today I used my fifteen-minute break to stroll out on the dock, where I hadn’t ventured before.
Up close, the imitation Southern plantation boathouse looked even more pretentious and ridiculous than it did from the house. A brass padlock on a chain guarded the door. I peeked through a crack around the door and saw only a small boat, no bigger than Mike and DeeAnn’s skiff, inside. It was suspended above the water in a kind of webbed cradle. Like the lone Mercedes in the huge garage, it looked undersized and lonesome.
The water got deeper much faster here than it did on the other side of the lake, I realized as I peered into the greenish depths at the end of the dock. From here, I could pick out DeeAnn’s house on the far side of the lake. Someone was standing on the tiny dock there. Could it be the man with binoculars again?
I doubted that. He hadn’t liked my catching him spying; he wouldn’t use the dock for such purposes again. But I was still thinking about him when I was Windexing a smudge on the living room window a little later. Then I was surprised to see binoculars on a small table by the window. Had Leslie also been watching something?
There were plenty of things to watch, of course. Boats. Birds. Deer. Trail walkers. It was one of the benefits of lakeside living. Maybe she’d even been curious about me over there at the house. But Leslie didn’t strike me as having much curiosity about such mundane objects. Especially me.
It occurred to me that she might, however, be interested in the fact that someone had been studying her place. I’d thought a time or two about mentioning this to her, but she hadn’t encouraged conversation of any kind. Now Leslie’s own binoculars seemed an appropriate lead-in. I waited until she finished her midday meal, then broached it with her just before she returned to her office.
“I noticed the binoculars in there.” I motioned toward the living room. “Before I started working here, I happened to see a man down on the little dock in front of the house where I’m living—” Another wave, this time toward the house across the lake.
“You live at the Harrington house?” she interrupted before I could finish the sentence. She sounded surprised.
“Actually, DeeAnn is my niece. I’m staying there temporarily.” I rushed on, not wanting to blunder into the fact that I’d never actually been a housekeeper for anyone but Harley. “Anyway, this man had binoculars and appeared to be looking at this house.”
She hadn’t been interested, but now she turned so sharply that her shoe squeaked on the bare floor. “What sort of man? What did he look like?”
The unexpected intensity of her interest startled me. “Medium height. A stocky build, but a very narrow face, with sharp features. He was wearing hayseedy looking clothes, pants too short, with suspenders and a plaid shirt. But he didn’t look hayseedy, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m not sure I do. Please explain.”
“He had a really dark tan, and he suddenly got out a pair of mirrored sunglasses, some expensive designer brand, I’m sure, and put them on. He just didn’t … look as if he was from around here,” I finished a little lamely, thinking I sounded all too much like Skye.
“A dark tan can come from anywhere. Mexico. Hawaii. The Caribbean. Even a tanning bed. The local health club has a couple of them.” She spoke sharply, as if she were trying to convince one of us that a dark tan could have many sources.
“Oh. I didn’t think about that kind of tan.”
“Or there are all those tanning lotions. They’re much safer than actual tans.”
Irrelevant chitchat, I thought. Very unlike Leslie.
“Did you talk to him?” she finally asked.
“I asked him if he was bird-watching. He kind of pretended he was, but I don’t think that’s what he was doing. I think he was looking at your house.”
“Lots of people are curious about the houses on this side of the lake. Sometimes people out on the water actually stop their boats to stare.”
“They’re all lovely homes.” Ivy Malone wins the gold star for vacuous remarks.
She turned and went into her office, and I thought that ended the subject, that she’d lost interest. But she didn’t close the door, and a minute later she returned. With a photograph.
10
She held the photograph out to me. “Does that look like the man you saw?”
I’d told Sgt. Yates I might not recognize the guy again, but I didn’t have to look twice to know this wasn’t him. This guy was too tall and husky, too square-jawed, a big-screen handsome guy with a smile that hinted at a daredevil recklessness.
But I certainly recognized the other person in the full-length photo. Leslie. In a white wedding gown and bridal veil.
“You’re married?” It came out in a surprised gasp.
“No. We’re divorced.” She dismissed the subject on a note of impatience as if annoyed that I chose to pick this detail out of the photograph.
In Plain Sight Page 7
