A Last Goodbye

by J. A. Jance

  She disappeared into the kitchen. When she returned, she was carrying a coffee mug in one hand and a saucer in the other. The saucer, which matched the others, was full of tiny pieces of sausage. She passed the meat-laden saucer to Ali. “I’ve cut them up in little bitty pieces, just the way she likes them.”

  As soon as Ali offered the saucer to Bella, the dog dove right in, stopping between bites long enough to wag her tail and glance back and forth between Merle and Ali. It looked for all the world as though she were expressing her thanks, and it was easy to see that when Vienna sausages were on the menu, hand-feeding was no longer necessary.

  “What exactly happened to Harriet?” Ali asked. Bella was still eating, but Merle had settled into her recliner.

  “Well, like I said, the ambulance came and carted her off to the hospital—Sunrise,” she added. “You know where that is?”

  “No,” B. said. “But I’m sure we can find it.”

  “Don’t bother. She’s not there. This all happened six months or so ago. I tried calling her, but the nurse I talked to said she couldn’t speak. Something that happened to her because of her stroke.”

  “She suffered from aphasia?” Ali asked.

  Merle nodded emphatically. “Right. That’s it. I told the nurse to tell her I called and that, as far as I knew, Bella was okay. I knew she’d want to know that. I called several more times after that, just to check on her, but then one day when I called, the nurse told me she wasn’t there anymore. Said she’d been released. She may have been released, but she never came back here.”

  “What happened to her apartment?” B. asked.

  Merle shrugged. “Her son sent some movers in to empty it out. I heard he raised hell with the manager—a previous manager, not the one we have now—because before I could get in to take care of her, Bella had peed and crapped on the carpet in the bedroom and scratched hell out of the front door. What did that jackass expect her to do, hold it until he got his lazy ass around to coming to get her? I knew she had done her business—I could smell it, for Pete’s sake—but the mess was hidden under the bed. I was already feeding and walking the poor little thing. I didn’t figure it was my job to move the furniture to clean up after her.”

  “Did Harriet leave a forwarding address?”

  “She did, but it’s run out now. I tried sending her a Christmas card a couple of weeks ago. I mailed it to her address here, thinking the post office would send it along, but it came back marked as undeliverable. Here, I’ll show you.”

  Merle rose and went over to the buffet, where she pawed through a glass dish brimming with envelopes. Finding the one she wanted, she brought it back and showed it to B., who pulled out a pen and made a quick note on the same piece of paper that already held the information about Bella’s chip number. When he passed the envelope to Ali, she saw that the expired forwarding address on the yellow RETURN TO SENDER sticker listed a post office box somewhere in Summerlin, Nevada.

  “So, anyway,” Merle continued, “for a while Harriet’s place was listed for sale, but then the listing ran out. I think her son must have stopped paying the mortgage.”

  B. nodded. “It’s in foreclosure now.”

  Merle bit her lip and said nothing.

  “Tell us about Harriet’s son,” Ali suggested. “Does he by any chance smoke cigars?”

  “How on earth would you know that?” Merle demanded. “But yes, the man smoked like a fiend. He always had one of those thick old stogies stuck in his mouth. You know the kind I mean. They look like fence posts and smell worse. He didn’t bother going outside to smoke them, either. That’s one of the things I didn’t like about him. He’s a guy who doesn’t believe rules apply to him.”

  “Are you sure you don’t remember his name?”

  “Why would I bother? He’s a worthless piece of crap. Besides, he was mean to Bella.”

  “Mean?”

  “He kicked her once when Harriet was out in the kitchen. I saw him do it. Made her yelp.”

  “Did Harriet know about that?”

  “I don’t know,” Merle said. Then, after a pause, she added, “Probably. You know how mothers are. They make excuses for their kids or else just refuse to see what everybody else can see as plain as the nose on their face.”

  “You obviously care for Bella,” Ali observed. “I can see that she likes you, too. Why didn’t you take her?”

  It seemed like a reasonable enough question, but when Merle’s eyes filled with tears, Ali was sorry she’d asked.

  “I couldn’t afford it,” Merle admitted. “Long-term, I mean. I’ve got enough money to get by, as long as I’m careful about it. And I could certainly pay for her day-to-day upkeep. But she’s already eight, you know. That’s getting up there, even for a little dog. When I lost Wendy, my corgi, I did every single thing the vet said I should do—and then she died anyway. Cost me five thousand bucks. It took three years to pay off the vet bill alone—about as long as it used to take to pay off a car. I know myself too well, you see. If I took Bella in, when push came to shove, I would do it all over again for her: take her straight to the vet, and damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!”

  Finished with her treat, Bella was once again stretched out full-length between B. and Ali, lying like a little sphinx with her sides touching both their thighs and listening to the conversation.

  “So what’s going to happen to her?” Merle asked. “You won’t be taking her to the pound, will you?”

  “No,” Ali said quickly. “You can be sure we won’t be taking her there or back to Harriet’s son, either.”

  “Thank goodness for that.”

  “But we still want to find him,” B. said. “If Harriet is still alive, we need to find her and see if she wants her dog back.”

  “Well, when you locate that jerk, knock some sense into his head, won’t you?” Merle asked. “Do it for my sake and Bella’s.”

  A few minutes later, when Ali and B. took their leave, Merle insisted on sending along her remaining three cans of Vienna sausages. “I don’t really care for them,” she said. “I only kept them on hand to give to Bella.”

  When B. and Ali reached the elevator, Bella was once again determined to go straight past it, tugging for dear life on her end of the leash. “She wants to go home,” Ali murmured aloud over the lump that suddenly filled her throat.

  “I know,” B. agreed. “The problem is it’s not her home anymore.”

  With a sigh, Ali reached down, caught hold of the squirming dog, and bodily carried her into the elevator. When they left the building through the glass door, Ali put her down again. Bella immediately darted off to her right, making for the nearest patch of dead grass. Her obvious sense of purpose indicated that her dinnertime helping of Four Seasons hamburger had run its course. As the dog squatted to do her thing, Ali castigated herself for not having had the foresight to bring along one of Mrs. Hastings’s poop bags. Just then, to her surprise, B. pulled one out of his pants pocket.

  “Why so shocked?” he asked with an infectious grin. “I don’t expect you to do everything!”

  While he cleaned up after the dog, Ali located the tiny bottle of hand sanitizer in her purse and handed it over. “You get points for that one,” she said.

  By the time they got back in the car, it was already nine o’clock. “Okay,” B. said. “The rehearsal is at eleven. What time is your spa appointment?”

  “Nails at twelve, hair at one, makeup at one forty-five, wedding photos at two thirty, and wedding at four.”

  “We’d better grab some breakfast now, then,” B. suggested. “I don’t want you fainting dead away from hunger when it’s time to say ‘I do.’ ”

  “What about the dog? Mrs. Hastings isn’t due until eleven. Do we just leave her in the room?”

  “No,” B said. “What say we call the hotel now and order breakfast from room service. That w
ay the food will be ready and up in our room about the same time we get back to the hotel. We’ll be finished eating before Mrs. Hastings arrives.”

  They got back to the room and let Bella loose. Once in the room, Ali was suitably impressed when she discovered that B. had made arrangements with a local florist to have a tiny but fully decorated Christmas tree delivered and set up in the far corner of their room.

  “Colin and Colleen will be opening their stockings here bright and early tomorrow,” B. explained. “You can’t expect them to open Christmas stockings and presents in the morning without a proper Christmas tree.”

  Ali kissed him. “I can already tell that you’re going to make a great grandpa.”

  “Right,” he said, “and I’ve done this right. I get to have the good part—the grandkid part—without having to go through the trouble of actually raising kids of my own.”

  Their breakfast arrived a few moments later, and Mrs. Hastings arrived to take charge of Bella soon after that. When it was time to go down to the Fountain Terrace for the rehearsal, Mrs. Hastings came along with Bella walking demurely at her side. Colin and Colleen were thrilled to see the dog. While they fussed over her, Ali explained that she and B. had learned that the dog’s name was Bella. As soon as the kids tried out the name, Bella responded with pricked ears and enthusiastic tail wags that left the children absolutely agog.

  “How did you do that?” Colin asked. “Did you read her mind or something?”

  “No,” B. answered in Ali’s stead. “Your grandma’s just smarter than the average bear.”

  About that time the man chosen to officiate at the ceremony appeared, striding toward them across the terrace. Ali had worried a little about how all the pieces would sort themselves out. She needn’t have.

  Even for the rehearsal, the patio with its roaring waterfall was already in perfect order. A small altar with an open Bible and two tall taper candles and one larger wedding candle had been set up in front of the rushing water. White baskets filled with bright red roses interspersed with holly were arranged on either side of the altar. A small electric organ had been brought in and placed discreetly to one side, while cloth-covered chairs for guests were arranged on either side of a narrow strip of scarlet carpet.

  Ali was relieved to learn that the on-call pastor, Reverend Peter McCann, was a consummate professional who was also a retired U.S. Marine Corps chaplain. He was a tall, rangy, hawk-nosed guy with a gunmetal-gray crew cut. It soon became clear that he was accustomed to issuing orders and having them obeyed.

  Athena had already warned the kids twice to stay away from the waterfall, but it wasn’t until Peter barked a similar order that they actually paid attention and hopped to it. Having a nun for a matron of honor may not have been an everyday occurrence for Peter, but he and Sister Anselm hit it off right away, and when Peter realized that the best man, Leland Brooks, had been a Royal Marine during the Korean War, the two of them got along like gangbusters, too.

  The last to arrive was Stuart, who showed up on the terrace a few minutes late and more than a little nervous. To Ali’s immense relief, Peter quickly assessed the situation, took Stu in hand, and talked him down out of his tree without missing so much as a beat. When it came time to start, Stuart played the “Wedding March” flawlessly and without benefit of sheet music. Later he delivered his solo rendition of the “Wedding Song” in a resounding but incredibly sweet tenor.

  Once the rehearsal was over, the womenfolk, Colleen included, headed down to the spa for their various beauty treatments, leaving the menfolk to do whatever they chose in their absence.

  It was two thirty on the dot when Ali, dressed in her ivory sheath and leading Colleen by the hand, stepped out onto the terrace. The rest of the party, wearing their tuxes and matching cummerbunds, were already on hand. The photo session was quick and utterly professional.

  The wedding itself started right on time as well, at four on the dot. Colin, carefully carrying the ring on a tiny silk pillow, walked down the aisle with measured steps as stiff and erect as one of his toy soldiers. Colleen followed him, scattering white rose petals on the red carpet. It wasn’t until Sister Anselm started down the aisle that Ali’s nerves got the best of her.

  Chris noticed. He took her free hand, placed it on his arm, and then kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Mom,” he said. “You got yourself a good one this time around.”

  Then, suddenly, it was Ali’s turn. She walked down the aisle, clinging to Chris’s arm and smiling back at B., who stood by the altar, grinning from ear to ear. Ali realized then that Chris was right, of course. This time she had found herself a good one.

  There were no hitches or hiccups in the ceremony. If anyone expected a Las Vegas wedding ceremony to be on the tacky side, they were in for a surprise. Reverend McCann conducted the service in a dignified, heartfelt way that left Edie Larson sniffling quietly in her second-row pew. When Reverend McCann asked, “Do you take this woman . . .” he did so in a way that showed he meant it, and Ali heard the catch in B.’s throat as he whispered his response, “I do.”

  When the ceremony was over and after B. had kissed the bride, they started back down the aisle and discovered that Colleen had held on to a few rose petals, which she flung at them on their way past. Standing in the receiving line, Ali noticed that the reception room had a baby grand piano in it, but since she hadn’t ordered music, she was surprised a short time later when she heard the tinkling of piano keys. Looking in that direction, she saw Stuart Ramey with a fascinated Colleen sitting beside him on the piano bench as he played an eclectic collection of music—everything from Sinatra to Elvis to the Beatles. Later, when it came time for another round of toasts and speeches, Stuart raised a glass to B. and Ali and said, “I always dreamed of playing Vegas. Thanks to you, I’ve got that one off my bucket list.”

  During the reception, Ali got a kick out of watching Colin follow the uniformed butlers as they delivered champagne flutes and canapés from trays that they held with one-handed dexterity. Shortly after that, she noticed that Colin had collected some sandwiches on a plate and was doing an admirable job of mimicking what he had seen earlier. When the plate came to grief a few minutes later, one of the butlers quickly grabbed up fallen sandwiches and broken pieces of pottery before sending Colin on his way with a smile.

  At some point in the festivities, Ali noticed that Mrs. Hastings was seated with her parents, sipping a glass of champagne and chatting away.

  “What’s the dog sitter doing here?” Ali asked Sister Anselm, who happened to be with her at the time. “I thought she was supposed to be up in the room.”

  “During the rehearsal I heard your mother telling her that she had to come down for the reception.”

  “Great,” Ali said. “Where’s Bella?”

  “Over there.” Sister Anselm gestured with her glass. It took a moment for Ali to spot the dog, contentedly sacked out on Leland Brooks’s tuxedoed lap.

  “Don’t worry,” the nun added. “Leland has her in hand, and Bella appears to be perfectly well behaved.”

  “I don’t care what anybody says,” Ali insisted. “That dog is not going to our dinner.”

  “Of course not,” Sister Anselm agreed calmly. “As matron of honor, I believe it’s my duty to see to it. I’ll have a word with Mrs. Hastings.”

  The reception was wonderful. The bride and groom cut the cake, with Colin watching from the sidelines and shaking his head in disappointment after the newlyweds each had their bite.

  “I thought you were going to smash it in each other’s face like they do on America’s Funniest Videos,” he complained to B. “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because your grandmother would have killed me,” B. answered.

  When they went down to dinner, Bella was nowhere in evidence. The food was great, the service was excellent, and everyone was in high spirits. Once dinner was over, it was sti
ll relatively early, but Ali was done. She and B. called it a night and went upstairs, where Mrs. Hastings assured them that she had just taken Bella out for one last walk and everything was shipshape.

  Athena had come up earlier and done her Santa Claus turn. With B’s help, Ali dug out their collection of Christmas presents and arranged them on the coffee table under and around the tree. Among them they found a small holiday gift bag with Bella’s name on it and with a tiny stuffed Christmas bear inside. The card claimed the bear was from Santa, but Ali knew it was really from Mrs. Hastings.

  In the bathroom, Ali found a silver box with a lush white ribbon on it. Inside was a beautiful nightgown and negligee, which she put on immediately. Out in the bedroom, she found B. sitting on the love seat with Bella dozing beside him. He whistled when Ali emerged.

  “That’s my girl,” he said. “Did anybody ever tell you you’re gorgeous.”

  She smiled back at him. “Thank you. Compliments like that might help you get lucky, especially on your wedding night, but what do we do about the dog?”

  “Ignore her?” B. suggested hopefully.

  That proved to be easier said than done, ­especially once they turned the lights out. The only solution that worked was for them to let Bella hide out under the covers while Ali and B. stayed on top.

  At five sixteen the next morning, they decoded another piece of Bella’s history when Colin and Colleen pounded on the door, ready to open their stockings. At the sound of their urgent knocking, Bella scrambled out from under the covers and shot off the bed, barking like crazy. By the time Ali had her robe on, B. had scooped up the dog and opened the door.

  “I just realized, Harriet didn’t have a doorbell,” he said sheepishly, holding on to the dog as Colin and Colleen bounded into the room, shouting “Merry Christmas” at the top of their lungs.

  “I’ll get dressed and take her for a walk,” Ali offered. When she and Bella left, B. was still standing guard in front of the mantel, telling the kids they couldn’t touch their stockings until after their parents appeared.