Any Meat In That Soup? (Sam Darling Mystery #2)

by Jerilyn Dufresne

  She probably knew I was lying. Actually I wanted to make the dinner date last as long as possible. I didn’t talk to her much more. We both enjoyed the rest of the walk through the beautiful neighborhood I lived in, courtesy of Gus and Georgianne’s carriage house.

  Our walk took us past extravagant mansions built by river barons in the 1800s. I noticed a few of the dogwood trees were losing their blossoms even before the date of the annual Dogwood Parade. Not a good sign, but most were still lovely and fragrant. We also passed the empty Burns’ house. I shivered and so did Clancy. The location where I was nearly killed was located in my neighborhood, and there was nothing I could do about it. But I didn’t have to like it.

  “Thanks for helping to save me, Clancy. I love you.”

  She replied in her doggie growl-talk and I knew I was forgiven for leaving her yet again.

  “You know, I ought to get you certified as a therapy dog. That way you could come to work with me. I know you’d be a big help.”

  That did it. She turned around and jumped up to give me a big sloppy kiss.

  “Guess you like the idea.” By this time we were almost home. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. That way you could help people and you wouldn’t have to be alone so much.”

  We were at the front of the mansion where Georgianne and Gus lived. And as usual our movements did not go unnoticed. This time she caught us by the front porch. “Sam, stop a moment, please.”

  How could I not? She said please.

  “What’s up, Georgianne? I’m in a hurry.”

  Before she could tell me, Clancy pulled away from my loose grip and went up the stairs to betray me yet again.

  Georgianne petted Clancy’s belly and in between “Good doggie” and “What a cute little girl you are,” she finally told me what she wanted. “There were more dogs found to be poisoned. Most of them didn’t die, but they got very ill. Please take care of this sweet girl.”

  Once again I assured her I would do so, “And I’m going out to dinner, but you won’t need to send Gus to check on Clancy. She’ll be fine.”

  I swear Georgianne “harrumphed” a bit, but her quasi-silence gave me the chance to grab Clancy’s leash again, say good-bye, and rush back to my little corner of the neighborhood.

  My home. The carriage house. It was absolutely perfect for Clancy and me. The main floor had a compact living room, a small dining room I used as an office, a decent kitchen, and a nice-sized master bedroom and bath. Upstairs were two more bedrooms and a bathroom. I kept the upstairs closed off now that Adam and Sarah were away at the University of Illinois. But it was easily opened when they were home on break.

  As I got ready for my date, I called George and put him on speakerphone as I changed. After he answered I asked, “Have you heard about dogs being poisoned in town?”

  He answered, “Not just dogs. Cats too. And squirrels, rabbits, small animals.”

  “What are you doing about it?” I asked as I struggled mightily to get a straight skirt over my hips.

  “Sam, you sound like you’re running a marathon. What in the hell are you doing?”

  I stopped long enough to catch my breath, “None of your business. Answer my question.”

  “Same old Sam. Anyway, animals aren’t normally a priority with the police. Tell Clancy I’m sorry about that.”

  Was he teasing me? Or did he really care about Clancy’s feelings? I must have made a noise, because George repeated himself.

  “As I said, animals aren’t normally a priority with the police. But this has gotten to be a big deal, and we are dealing with it. That’s all you need to know.”

  “For now. That’s all I need to know for now. If you don’t get this taken care of, you’ll hear from me again. ’Bye.”

  I hung up before he could say anything else. What in the hell was going on? Quincy was a calm, safe city, number eight on Forbes’ best mid-size places to live. Had I brought violence with me when I moved home from Chicago? Animals being poisoned and people dropping dead in the ER. Were they connected or just horrible things happening at the same time?

  Michael arrived just as I held my breath to pull up the zipper to the skirt. When I answered the door, instead of saying hi, he said, “Omigod, your face is red. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Come in.” I hastily changed the subject. “Clancy’s already been walked, so we can leave right away. I’’ll just get my purse.”

  Thirty seconds later I walked back into the living room to see Michael on the floor playing with Clancy. That’s something else I liked about him. My dog thinks he’s fun. I looked at Michael and appreciated what I saw. He was in jeans and a button down shirt, and the view was nice.

  We left soon after, and as I got in the car I did two things at the same time—I breathed in his aftershave and I asked him where we were going. He replied, “I thought we’d go back to the Rectory. You said it’s one of your favorite places, and I enjoyed the last time we ate there.”

  “And this time I won’t get sick,” I promised. But the promise was broken when I felt those same dizzy symptoms I’d felt the last time we went to dinner.

  FOUR

  I get these psychic vibes when I’m around evil or guilt. And apparently I get them around Michael too. I had confessed to him a while ago that I think it’s because I’m scared. He’d replied that I should be. I still don’t know what he meant.

  So once again I’m in a romantic situation and once again I’m dizzy. Not my favorite way to show Michael I liked him.

  We arrived at the Rectory, one of the popular eateries, a few blocks from St. Francis University. Another beautiful old home converted into a business. This one wasn’t a former mansion, but two working class homes joined to form the restaurant. Owner Anthony Lasorda greeted us as we walked in. I got my usual hug, “Sam, it’s good to see you so soon.” He turned to my companion, “And I believe your name is Michael. Welcome back. Let me show you to your table.”

  As we walked, Michael glanced at me behind Anthony’s back. I could tell he was impressed.

  We ordered right away. I’d long ago memorized the menu, and Michael remembered it from last time. My symptoms subsided, and we sat in comfortable silence as we waited for our wine to be served. Anthony himself brought it, giving us a bottle instead of the two glasses we ordered.

  A few moments later we were finally alone. I loved Anthony, but he was a talker, and I was desperate to find out what Michael wanted to tell me. I did something very uncharacteristic of me. I waited for him to talk.

  And waited.

  The server brought our pasta, Michael’s with meat in it and mine without.

  Finally the compulsion was too difficult to resist. “Michael, you wanted to talk to me about something.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he took another slug of wine and bite of pasta before he continued. “The hospital is concerned because of the recent deaths in the ER and ICU. Not the normal kind of deaths from accidents or serious illness.” Bite, chew, slurp, but ever so handsomely, “No, these are people who were pretty healthy. We haven’t found any connections between the patients, and that will be my first chore.”

  I was disappointed that what he had to tell me wasn’t a profession of love. In fact it wasn’t about me at all. But he looked so good as he talked, it was okay with me.

  Someone came, cleared the plates, and refilled our glasses.

  “Was Pluto the first patient in the series?”

  “Yes, the hospital didn’t think too much of it until it happened two more times. And now there are four dead. Which brings me to you…”

  To me? Finally.

  “I’d like you to work for me for a while. Only part-time. I know you have another job.”

  Before he could tell me what he wanted me to do I blurted out, “YES!” Yes, I’ll work for you. Yes, I’ll marry you. Yes, I’ll live happily every after with you. My fantasy was interrupted when I noticed he’d begun talking again.

  “So what I’d l
ike you to do is to work part-time at the hospital, in the ER…”

  “Oh, not with you then.” I hoped my disappointment wasn’t as evident as I’m sure it was.

  “Well, you’re working for me, but not with me. The hospital has agreed to hire you as a crisis intervention specialist in the ER. All the patients who’ve died have come through there. What do you think?”

  He wants me to snoop, and I’ll get paid for it. What do I think? I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.

  FIVE

  The evening ended the same way as the others I’d spent with Michael. A chaste kiss on the cheek and off he rode to save the world. Or something like that.

  I took Clancy on a short walk, and spent half of it apologizing for leaving her so much and the other half telling her about the new job. She stopped and raised her eyebrows quizzically. I explained that it wouldn’t take time away from her. Once I got info about getting her certified as a therapy dog there would be a good chance she could go to work at the Clinic with me, although I was pretty confident she’d be persona non grata in the ER.

  Sleep came easily after the wine I’d consumed, and my dreams consisted of me working in the ER, solving the case, and Michael loving me. George kept interrupting every romantic interlude in the dream, and I wondered why. “Why are you here all the time?” I asked the dream George.

  “You know why,” was his only reply.

  I awoke to an alarm and to Clancy sitting on the floor next to my bed with her leash in her mouth. “Clancy, can you wait ten minutes?” She dropped the leash and gave me exactly ten minutes.

  I jumped in the shower, lathered up, and gave my short haircut a quick shampoo. I pulled on a tracksuit without benefit of underwear and took Clancy outside. “No time for a walk, Clancy. I have to get to work and talk to the boss about going part-time for a while.”

  Clancy was going to hear about everything going on at the hospital. As I began my explanation, I was interrupted by my least-favorite sleuth, “Hi ya, Sam.”

  I looked down to make sure he couldn’t tell I had on no underwear. I was overly-gifted on top, and didn’t want to give George a free peak. I squealed as I noticed the zipper on the old track jacket was halfway down to my navel.

  “Yikes,” I let go of Clancy’s leash.

  “Yikes? Who in the hell says that?”

  “Never mind, George. What do you want?” I quickly pulled up the zipper. Too late. George was smiling that smile of his that gets under my skin. “What do you want?”

  I half expected him to say, “You know.” But he didn’t. Instead he got rid of the smile and got to business. “I heard from O’Dear that you were going to be working for him.”

  “And…‌?”

  “And I wish you wouldn’t do it.” He ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “It might be dangerous. And remember the last time you did a job you weren’t qualified for. You almost died.”

  “But I didn’t.” Why did I let him get to me? As an afterthought, I added, “Why would Michael feel the need to tell you I’m working for him?”

  George’s grin told me the zipper had gone south again. “Stop it, George.”

  “What do ya mean, ‘stop it.’ I’m not doing anything. Maybe you ought to tell the zipper to ‘stop it.’”

  I ignored what he said as I zipped myself up and went back to my question, “Why would Michael feel the need to tell you anything about me?”

  George hesitated. “Apparently he saw me kiss you after we all rescued you.”

  “First of all you didn’t rescue me. You got there in time to arrest the murderers. I didn’t need rescuing.”

  “Whatever you say, Sam.”

  He walked a little closer until I felt I had to move or we’d be breathing each other’s air.

  “He saw me kiss you, and he saw you not resisting,” George said, getting even closer.

  “Don’t you dare, George Lansing.”

  “You’re not moving, Sam.”

  “Good morning, Samantha. Detective Lansing.”

  Georgianne, saving the day. For once I was happy to see her.

  After we exchanged greetings and Georgianne had returned inside, I told George I needed to get ready for work and I’d talk to him later. His grin let me know he’d look forward to it.

  “Glad to hear you aren’t wearing that to work.”

  “Bye, George.”

  “Bye, Sam.”

  He exited, still grinning.

  SIX

  I hurried to work after promising Clancy I’d check into the therapy dog certification.

  My Bug was running again and I took it rather than walking. Even though work was only a few blocks away, I was in a hurry today.

  Clara Schmidt, the receptionist, broke the news that Mrs. Abernathy was my first appointment. And my second.

  “Sam, is that you?” Mrs. Abernathy was in my office waiting for me. As usual she greeted me enthusiastically. Mrs. Abernathy had a lot of erotic dreams and she used her therapy time to tell me all of the details.

  I told her I needed to get a cup of coffee first and went into the door next to mine, the kitchen. As I poured the delicious brew into a mug I pondered again why Mrs. Abernathy would need a professional to listen to these x-rated stories. But there was no insurance company involved—Mrs. Abernathy paid cash—and so it was quite legal to charge her for the privilege of regaling me with her dreams.

  Before returning to my office I gave myself a pep talk. “I know I shouldn’t say this, even to myself, but Mrs. Abernathy’s been passed around like the common cold. I’m not going to do what the other therapists did though. I’m going to keep her until she thinks she’s done. There. I feel better now.”

  Mustering up my courage, I opened the door to my office. It was the first one on the left after the reception desk, so my clients didn’t have to walk far to see me. Being located between the reception area and the kitchen was an ideal thing for me—I got to satisfy two of my needs, curiosity and food. I don’t think people realized it, but I could hear a lot of what went on by the front door. Ditto about what went on in the kitchen, since my office used to be the butler’s pantry. I had my own private door to the kitchen.

  I then listened to nearly two hours of Mrs. Abernathy’s erotic dreams, and did what I could to earn my keep. I commented when appropriate, tried to get her to talk about something else, then realized it was her money and her time. So I let her go on.

  At the end, I said something I’d been thinking about, “Mrs. Abernathy, your dreams are quite, um, interesting. Don’t you think they’d make good romance novels? Or erotica?” I had to explain what the last word meant. She might have erotic dreams, or make up erotic stories, but no one else would believe me if I were able to tell them. She was in her 70s, short, and overweight.

  “No, dear, I hadn’t thought of it, why?”

  “Well, you have such detail in each of your dreams.” Or made up stories. “I think there may be a market for them. You could use an alias if you don’t want people to know who you are.”

  “I don’t know why I’d do that. I don’t mind if everyone knows that they are my books.”

  I didn’t tell her that I thought the books would sell better if her picture wasn’t on the back cover, but hell, it was up to her.

  “So, I’m going to give you some homework this week. You are to write down one of your stories…”

  “Dreams.”

  “Yes, dreams. Write one of them down and bring it to your next session. Okay?”

  “Okay. Are you sure I don’t need to schedule more time with you?”

  “Mrs. Abernathy, I think if you start writing down your dreams, you’ll find you don’t need therapy. Just my opinion. I’ll let you decide.”

  “Okay, dear.”

  As she left I thought how nice a cold shower would feel. She really knew her way around erotica, whether she knew what the word meant or not.

  I needed a distraction, and quick. I got behind my desk and searched the Web for
“therapy dogs.” A long list appeared and I investigated several of them. Either they weren’t right for Clancy and me or the testing sites were too far away. Finally I found the right one—Therapy Dogs International. Clancy already met the qualifications, except for TDI’s own test. And the nearest site was only a 90 minute drive from Quincy. This could work.

  I quickly printed out the information, completed the forms, got Clancy’s vet to fax an inoculation verification to me, and put the form in the mail to the home office. Clancy would be thrilled to know that I had thought about her as promised.

  Just as I finished, Clara buzzed that my next client was here. Andrew Duesterhaus was 13 years old and, like many his age, didn’t trust adults. During our first session I had been able to earn his trust through my knowledge of video games. I knew my wasted time would become valuable some day.

  As Andy and I talked about his most recent behavior problems, I had a bright idea, and hoped it was ethical. As usual I didn’t think things through. “Andy, have you heard about all the animals being poisoned around town?” He grunted affirmatively. “I wonder if you have any ideas about what could be happening.”

  He finally looked up and made eye contact. “Well, I’ve been thinking about it. At first I thought it was just a few animals getting into some bad meat or something. But now it’s really spreading, so I don’t know. Why you askin’?”

  “I don’t really know. I’m curious and a little worried. You know I have a dog and even though she’s not outside without me, I thought what if there’s some bad dog food around or something.”

  “Want me to check around?”

  I thought long and hard before I answered. “How about this…‌you pass your two tests this week, and then I’ll ask you to help me investigate. However, I don’t want you to do anything until we speak again.” I emphasized the word “anything.”