A Crazy Little Thing Called Death

by Nancy Martin

  At last she came back. “I’m so sorry, lamb. There’s a lot happening here.”

  “Oh, I don’t mean to bother—”

  “The truck carrying Penny’s things arrived this morning. They’re unloading now.”

  “Penny’s things?”

  “Yes, the lease on her house was up last week, and there’s no sense paying rent when we know she’s not going back, is there? So we had all her furniture and clothes and belongings shipped here.”

  “I see. Well, I won’t keep you. I was hoping Potty might—”

  “It’s a terrible mess. I’m a little overwhelmed.”

  “Can I help?”

  “As a matter of fact, some of it is supposed to go to you.”

  “What?”

  “Why not come over and have a look? See if you have enough space for it all?”

  “Heavens, I can’t imagine—”

  “Come now, if you like.” I heard a crash in the background, then more barking. Vivian said, “Oh, goodness. Someone just dropped Penny’s collection of exercise videos. They’re all over the floor. Must run!”

  And she hung up on me.

  I phoned Reed, grabbed my handbag and headed for the elevator. An invitation to Eagle Glen meant I’d be able to see Potty and return his envelope.

  The afternoon had warmed, although a few gray clouds still skimmed the sky as Reed drove me out to Eagle Glen.

  At the estate’s gate, I was surprised to see a cadre of television vans and SUVs marked with the logos of various radio and TV news stations. A paunchy rent-a-cop stood guard at the gate, refusing entry to all of the reporters. When Reed pulled up, however, the rent-a-cop saw a black man behind the wheel of a town car with a white woman in the backseat, and he waved us through.

  Reed muttered under his breath, and I didn’t dare say a word.

  The driveway split, and we headed for the house by making a wide circle around the polo field. From the high vantage point, we could see down into the lower field, where a team of workmen was disassembling the large party tent. We could also see up the slope to the mansion where Potty lived. I couldn’t help noticing that the grass of the front lawn had grown weedy and long. I wondered who was managing the estate for the Devines now that Juana Huckabee was gone. Whoever it was should be fired.

  An enormous moving van blocked the driveway behind the mansion. The truck’s rear door yawned wide, and we could see the shapes of furniture and large boxes inside. A steamer trunk and a rack of fur coats sat in the sunshine, the first things unloaded. Two men backed down the truck’s ramp carrying a pink velvet fainting couch. As if it weighed no more than a table lamp, they briskly carried it into the open door of the carriage house, not into the mansion.

  Reed and I got out and stood on the lawn beneath the gently whispering trees, which rained down a fine snow of blossoms.

  “I won’t be long,” I promised.

  Reed nodded. Normally, he would have gotten back into the car to study, but since the episode after brunch, Reed had clearly decided to be extra vigilant. He put on his sunglasses and leaned against the hood of the town car.

  I intended to follow the movers into the carriage house, but I heard Vivian’s quavery voice coming from behind a badly neglected hedge, so I followed the sound and discovered a ragged garden out back. It was surrounded by a corroded chain-link fence. A large, rusted mobile home was parked inside and looked extraordinarily out of place beside the estate’s original Georgian mansion.

  The Brittany spaniel that had followed Vivian around the polo grounds lay in the dirt of the garden, watching me. He barked once, warning me not to come closer. But I said his name, and Toby changed his mind. His short, wispy tail began to wiggle as I approached. I rubbed his velvety soft ears, and he rolled over on his back. But a swarm of fleas roamed in the thin white hair of his tummy, and I pulled my hand back hastily.

  “Poor puppy,” I said.

  He leaped up and followed me to the mobile home, oblivious to the many cats that populated the garden. Some sunned themselves in the grass, while others crept among the bushes. A sign printed with the likeness of a smiling cat and the words KITTY KROSSING tilted crookedly in the dirt. Two black toms chased a calico kitten under the mobile home, and I could hear them screeching at one another there.

  About ten yards from the door, the dog sat down and waited for me.

  The door of the mobile home was closed. On either side of the doorway, however, two brackets were mounted as if the owner sometimes had occasion to bar the door from the outside with the stout piece of wood slightly larger than a baseball bat that lay on the ground beside the step. A cat sat on the step.

  I could hear Vivian talking inside—cooing, really, as if speaking to an animal.

  Suddenly I realized that the cat on the step was no ordinary house pet. It was a very large cat, and it watched me without blinking its large, oval eyes. My heart gave a thump when I realized it was not a pet at all. It had very long ears with black tips, and its long, graceful limbs were more the length of a medium-sized dog’s.

  The cat glared at me.

  It was some kind of wild animal, I realized, taking an instinctive step backward. Not as big as a bobcat or a mountain lion. A serval cat, perhaps. Its speckled coat was as distinctive as a leopard’s. The small head swiveled as it looked from me to the spaniel, clearly debating which one of us might make a tasty meal.

  “What are you doing in here?” Vivian asked sweetly as she opened the door. The serval cat leaped away and disappeared under the mobile home. Immediately, six other smaller cats bolted out and disappeared into the grass.

  “I—I thought I heard your voice, Vivian.”

  “Be careful!” she cried. “You’re stepping on Socrates!”

  I lifted my foot instinctively and found an ugly striped tom cunningly trying to snatch the heel of my shoe as if it were a mouse.

  Vivian came outside and closed the door firmly behind herself, cradling the same listless kitten she’d had at the polo match. By now, however, the little cat’s condition seemed much worse than before. It appeared to be barely conscious. Vivian’s adorable jumper was covered by an apron embla-zoned with the face of Garfield, the cartoon cat. But the fabric was spattered with a brownish substance that might have been blood.

  “I was making dinner for all my darlings.” Vivian came down the steps. “These are my rescue cats. People abandon them out here in the country, and what are the poor things to do? They can’t survive on their own. So I take them in. This is a sanctuary.”

  “But, Vivian, there are so many!”

  “I try to find homes for them.” She glanced sadly at the animals that waited in the grass for their meal. “But people don’t want full-grown cats. They want kittens like this little darling. So I give the rest love and affection. That’s all an animal really wants, you know.”

  Just one glance at the desperately thin cat in her arms told me that these animals needed food as well as love. And veterinary care. Yellow mucus ringed its half-closed eyes. I had never seen a more miserable creature.

  I said, “How do you manage by yourself?”

  “Oh,” she said vaguely, “Julie helps out now and then, but mostly, it’s me.” As one cat jumped out of her path and crouched in the grass, she added, “You’ll have to forgive their manners. They’re not accustomed to strangers.”

  “You must really love cats.”

  “I do,” she said with a beatific smile. “Any animal in need of affection—that’s my specialty.”

  With the kitten in her arms, she led the way out of the garden, through the fence gate and back to the carriage house. The spaniel followed us warily, keeping an eye on Vivian and staying a stealthy few yards behind me. The door to the carriage house stood open to the April air. Once large enough to house horses and several vehicles, it was now crowded with piles of old newspapers and heaps of trash bags. It looked like a dump site. Upstairs, I knew, was the apartment where Julie and her parents had once lived. Perhaps
she still lived there with her father.

  We arrived inside just as the movers carried the pink couch to a vacant corner.

  “No, no, not there! Put it in the other corner!”

  The whole garage was full of junk, however, and the movers hesitated in confusion. There wasn’t an open corner to put anything else.

  “On top of those boxes,” Vivian directed.

  With sighs, the men heaved the fainting couch near a heap of similarly colorful and feminine furniture. I caught a glimpse of a sunny yellow armchair, a tufted footstool, a curvy lavender headboard and a flowered love seat. The movers balanced the couch on top of the other stuff and headed back to the truck for more. If Vivian intended the entire truckload of furniture to fit into the remaining space in the carriage house, they had their work cut out for them.

  The spaniel came over and poked his nose against my leg.

  I couldn’t bring myself to pat the flea-bitten little fellow, but I gave him a kind word, and his tail shivered.

  “People drop off puppies all the time out here, too,” Vivian said, noting my interest in the dog. “But not like the cats. I’m always rescuing cats.”

  “Have you always loved animals?”

  “Oh, yes. From the time my dear mother gave me my first kitten. I remember it clearly. She had packed her bags to move to California with Penny, but she took the time to give me a darling kitten. I called him Dandelion.” She took a worn lace hankie from one pocket and dabbed the corner of her eye. “Shall we take a look in the truck?”

  I followed Penny to the doorway of the carriage house.

  “It’s jammed to the ceiling with Penny’s things,” Vivian said. “Really, she had the most ridiculous furniture I’ve ever seen. Look at this—who’d buy a yellow chair? You’d spend all your time cleaning a thing like that, wouldn’t you?”

  I said, “It may be impractical, but Penny lived differently than the rest of us. A movie star of her era could hardly be expected to live simply.”

  Vivian shook her head and flicked imaginary dust from Penny’s furniture. “The silly fool.”

  I finally heard a tinge of sadness in her voice. “I’m sorry for your loss, Vivian.”

  Vivian’s face had turned pink. “Well, the only good thing that’s come out of this is that I can sell some of this junk to buy supplies for my darlings. Penny’s gone, and that’s that. No sense wasting time with the dead. Those television people are calling me all the time, wanting details about my sister—what a waste of energy. She didn’t exactly bring world peace, you know.”

  “Penny belonged to more than just her family. I suppose many people felt they knew her through her movies. They’re bound to wonder what happened to her.”

  “She died, that’s what happened.”

  “But how? I wonder. Vivian, you must admit, finding her hand like that was—well, gruesome, but also very troubling. Don’t you wonder what must have happened to her?”

  “I don’t wonder at all.” Vivian set her jaw to control her emotions. “How she died doesn’t matter. It’s best just to bury her, and forget about the circumstances.”

  The movers returned, this time lugging a large buffet with graceful legs and inlaid ivory. Still flushed, Vivian turned away from me to direct the men where to place it, and I decided that trying to penetrate Vivian’s refusal to discuss Penny’s death would only upset her further.

  One of the movers wiped his perspiring face with a bandanna. “Ma’am, we’ve got that big table to come inside next. I don’t know if it ought to be sitting out here in a garage. Is there a room we could put it in? Somewhere it won’t get damaged?”

  “What are you talking about? It’s perfectly dry in here.”

  “I don’t know much about antiques, ma’am, but the table looks valuable to me. Maybe it belongs someplace a little safer.”

  “What nonsense,” she said. “Let me have a look.”

  She led the way outside. The movers exchanged a glance, then followed her. I tagged along with Toby hugging my shadow.

  Outdoors, Vivian and the movers got into a heated discussion about the table. I eased away, and glanced around for Reed. He had disappeared, although the car hadn’t moved. Down the driveway, three of Vivian’s tom-cats chased the female in heat.

  I took a few more steps, and suddenly I could see around the moving van.

  Reed was there, roughly wrestling with a slender young girl. To free herself, she hit him across the shoulder and kicked his shins.

  I broke into a run. “Reed!”

  He managed to push the girl far enough away to avoid her kicks, but he kept a tight hold on her right arm. In it, she gripped a can of spray paint.

  “Let me go!” She tried to wrench away. “You’re hurting me!”

  “Stop it,” he said. “You can’t go around ruining other people’s stuff.”

  “Reed!”

  As I ran up, I realized the girl was Julie, standing beside the rack of fur coats. A splash of orange paint had been sprayed across the front of the first coat.

  I skidded to a stop at the moment Julie jammed her finger down on the can and sent a gush of orange down the sleeve of Reed’s blue Windbreaker. He dropped her at once.

  “Aw, damn,” he cried, “why’d you have to go and do that?”

  From behind her, I knocked the spray paint out of Julie’s grasp. It clattered onto the driveway and skittered underneath the moving van.

  Julie swung around, her face set with fury. “Leave me alone!”

  “Julie!”

  As if I’d slapped the girl, her face went blank. Then she shoved her hands into the pockets of her long cardigan sweater. Her knee-high rubber boots and loose khakis looked as if she’d just come from an extended hike. Her hair was pinned tightly away from her face, emphasizing the sharp cut of her cheekbones and the hollow around her eyes.

  “Did you see what the crazy bitch did?” Reed held out his sleeve for me to see.

  “Watch your language, young man.”

  “But she—”

  “There’s no need for name-calling. Julie, I understand your cause, but this is the wrong way to go about it.”

  “Why?” she asked, lower lip poking out. “Fur coats should be destroyed to honor the animals who died so stupid women can parade around wearing death on their backs.”

  “Okay,” I said. “You have the right to your opinion. But you can’t destroy property.”

  “I don’t care what happens to me. Go ahead. Have me arrested!”

  I managed to keep my calm. “I’m sure that’s not necessary. But you owe Reed a new jacket, I think.”

  She sent a resentful glare at Reed, but I saw her expression soften when she saw his genuine dismay. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “You should be,” he grumbled back.

  They were close to the same age, I realized, both still awkward in their own skins. Standing next to Reed, Julie was more obviously biracial. I could see her Jamaican mother’s curly hair and golden skin quite clearly.

  “Really,” she said. “I’ll get you a new one.”

  “Damn straight.”

  I sent him a warning glance.

  “Darn right,” he corrected.

  “I get carried away,” she said. “I have a passion for creatures that can’t speak for themselves.”

  “That feeling is admirable,” I said. “But surely there are more creative and useful ways to protest. You should join an organization, maybe. Go on the Internet and do some research.”

  “I don’t have a computer. I don’t use the Internet.”

  Reed looked aghast. “What planet are you from?”

  “I’m from right here,” she said, indignant. “I prefer to commune with nature, not machines.”

  “You’re nuts,” he muttered.

  “Reed.”

  Vivian came around the side of the moving van. “What’s going on here?”

  Reed didn’t answer, and Julie didn’t speak, either. I said, “Julie registered a protest.”
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  Vivian took in the sight of the ruined furs, but appeared to be more offended by the coats than the damage done to them. “Killing animals for fur is disgusting. People might as well move back into caves. Except they could never live without their air conditioners and their plastic water bottles.”

  I was beginning to see where Julie had acquired her adamant views on animals and the environment. I glanced at the girl and saw her nodding vigorously.

  Vivian swung on Reed, eyeing the sleeve of his jacket as she held the cat in her arms. “And what happened to you?” she asked Reed, more forcefully than I’d ever seen.

  “There was a little accident with paint,” I explained.

  “I’ll pay for it,” Julie whispered.

  “Yes, you will,” Vivian replied, surprisingly cold. “I’ll take it out of your allowance, in fact, to make sure this young man doesn’t suffer.”

  Reed’s face hardened. “No way I want her in trouble.”

  “She got herself into trouble,” Vivian replied just as heartlessly as before. “So she’ll pay the consequences. I’ll see you are reimbursed for your coat immediately, and she can repay me. Is that arrangement satisfactory?”

  Reed glanced from Vivian to Julie, who stood with her head down now. Reed said, “This is between me and her, not anybody else.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Vivian said. “Do you want to walk around looking like a clown? Or do you want to have your jacket replaced?”

  “I don’t want her in trouble,” he insisted.

  “Must I repeat myself? I’ll pay for a new coat.”

  Reed closed his mouth and made his expression go blank, putting an end to the discussion. Julie looked down at the toes of her boots.

  “Very well.” Vivian gentled her tone at last. “Then the matter is closed, and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

  Julie trembled, but said nothing. Reed stared at the girl as a tear rolled down her cheek.

  Vivian seemed unaware of Julie’s distress. “Nora, this truck is full of my sister’s old clothes.”

  “Yes, I assumed the fur coats were Penny’s.”

  “Coats and a lot of other frilly things she bought in Paris and Italy. It’s yours.”