by Sofie Kelly
“That’s was nothing,” she said. “I have bread pudding in the oven.” She glanced back at the house. “I’ll bring some over in about half an hour.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Tom said, “but I confess I’m glad you did.” He turned to me and caught my good hand in both of his own. “Thank you so much, Sarah.”
“Anytime,” I said. Tom headed for his front door, and Rose and I started toward our place.
Rose looked back over her shoulder in the direction of Angie’s house. Her body tensed again, her shoulders hunching forward. “He did something,” she said, lowering her voice.
I knew she meant Jason. “Why do you say that?” I asked.
She folded an arm over her midsection. “He came outside right after you left. When he saw me standing at the bottom of Tom’s driveway, he walked over to me. I don’t think he realized that I already knew what was going on.” She took a breath and let it out slowly. “He said Matilda ate something and was dead.” She glanced back again before returning her eyes to meet mine again. “Why on earth would he say that unless he knew something—unless he’d done something? I think we should investigate.”
My stomach clenched. We meant The Angels, aka Charlotte’s Angels, the detective agency Rose, Liz, their friend Charlotte and Rose’s gentleman friend, Mr. P., had started after their friend Maddie Hamilton had been accused of murder. We also included me, because no matter how hard I tried to stay out of their cases, somehow I always managed to get pulled in.
“Jason has a mean streak,” I said. “But what you’re suggesting goes beyond that. The vet did some tests. I think we need to wait to see what they show before . . .” I pressed my lips together for a moment. I wanted to turn and look at Angie’s house, but some instinct told me that Jason was at the window watching us so I didn’t. “. . . before we do anything.”
Rose exhaled slowly. “All right,” she agreed.
“And it’s probably a good idea to stay away from Jason for now.”
She nodded. “I had the same thought,” she said. We’d reached the driveway. “I should go check that bread pudding.” She smiled at me. “You didn’t have any supper, dear. I put the lasagna in the fridge. It will only take a few minutes to warm that up.”
I leaned against her, resting my cheek on the top of her head. “I love you,” I said.
Rose reached up and patted my hair. “I love you, too, sweetie.”
I straightened up, and as I followed Rose up the steps to the front door, I finally glanced in the direction of Angie’s house. Jason was standing in his aunt’s driveway. I watched him look around, and when his gaze reached me, there was something smug in his expression that made my stomach hurt all over again.
I had an appointment with the hand therapist the next day. Katie offered to take Tom to pick up Matilda.
“What would I do without the two of you?” the old man said.
Katie smiled at him. “What would we do without you?”
“Did you find Molly’s ball?” Rose asked. “I checked all the flowerbeds and the front yard, but I didn’t see it.”
“Did Molly lose another ball?” Tom said.
Katie nodded. “The one with the pink and purple stripes. Now that we can’t find it, it’s suddenly become her favorite. Four-year-olds can be very stubborn.”
Tom patted her arm. “So can eighty-four-year-olds, my dear,” he said.
We all arrived back in the court at the same time. I couldn’t help smiling as Tom got out of Katie’s car and set Matilda down on the grass. The little corgi seemed like her old self. I walked over to say hello.
Molly was crouched in the grass talking to the dog.
“Say good-bye to Matilda,” Katie told her. Molly put her arms around the corgi and gave her a hug. “Gently,” her mother reminded the little girl.
“Thank you,” Tom said.
Katie smiled. “Anytime.”
I bent down to stroke the top of Matilda’s head. The little dog nuzzled my wrist. “What did the vet say?” I asked as I straightened up.
“He’s still waiting for the results of the blood tests,” Tom said, looking down at his furry companion. “But he thinks she may have eaten something toxic.” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have given her any of that duck.”
“You don’t know it was that,” I said. It was difficult not to look over at Angie’s small white house.
My cell phone rang as I was unlocking my apartment door. It was Abby Davenport.
“Was I right about the ball?” I asked, hoping that I wasn’t, while at the same time some gut instinct told me I was.
“You were,” the vet said. “The ball was coated with an insecticide.”
I leaned against the kitchen counter. Elvis watched me from his perch at the top of his cat tower. “I was hoping I was wrong,” I said.
“It’s good that you got her here when you did,” Abby continued.
“Tom’s not the one who exposed her to the insecticide,” I blurted out. It suddenly seemed very important that the veterinarian knew that. I didn’t want Tom to be blamed for something I knew he would never do.
“I believe you,” she said. “I talked to Ben Kessler. He told me how upset Mr. Harris was.” She cleared her throat. “In theory, it could have been spilled on the dog’s ball by accident.”
“But you don’t think that’s what happened.”
“It’s a bit of a stretch.”
“Tom doesn’t use anything like that in his yard because of Matilda and because there’s a four year-old across the street.”
Abby sighed and I imagined her in her blue scrubs sitting on the edge of her desk. “We still don’t have all of the dog’s blood work back, but depending on what it shows, I may have to call the police.”
“I understand,” I said.
Abby said she’d be in touch and we said good-bye. I looked at the phone. Now I was second-guessing my decision not to involve Michelle. Unfortunately, she’d gone to visit her mother for a couple of days.
I worked late that evening, sanding a china cabinet that I was certain was in good shape under all the layers of paint on it. I got home to find a police car in the court. Tom and Jason were at the bottom of Angie’s driveway with a uniformed police officer. Tom was talking to the officer, gesturing with one hand. Jason stood there with his hands in his pockets, feet apart. There was something cocky about his stance.
When Tom noticed me, he beckoned me over. I squared my shoulders and made my way toward the men.
“Officer Sullivan, this is my neighbor, Sarah Grayson,” Tom said. He held himself stiffly and I noticed he avoided looking at Jason. Instead he fixed his gaze on me. “Sarah, will you please tell the officer about Matilda’s seizure and the ball you took to the vet.”
My surprise must have shown on my face because Tom added, “Dr. Kessler called me.”
I turned to the police officer. He looked to be just this side of forty, stocky with hair cropped close to his scalp and kind brown eyes. “Matilda is Tom’s corgi. She had a seizure yesterday. I drove them to the animal hospital. I grabbed the ball she had been playing with and took it with me. I, uh, I thought it had a funny smell.”
I could feel Jason’s eyes on me, and this time I shifted my gaze and met his full on. If he thought he could intimidate me, he was wasting his time. His expression was appropriately serious, but it seemed to me that there was a hint of a smug smile around his dark eyes.
“What did you do with the ball, Ms. Grayson?” Officer Sullivan asked.
“I gave it to one of the veterinarians at the clinic, Abby Davenport. It turned out that there was insecticide on the ball.”
“Which he put there,” Tom said.
His voice was calm and steady, which made me nervous.
“I didn’t touch your dog’s ball,” Jason said. “I’m sorry the thing
was sick, but I had nothing to do with that.”
He was good. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have believed him.
“There’s a bottle of insecticide over in the garage,” Tom said, inclining his head in the direction of Angie’s house. “Molly’s ball is there, too.”
“Who’s Molly?” Officer Sullivan asked, frowning.
“The little girl across the street,” I said.
“Look,” Jason said, holding out both hands. “The truth is I have no idea what’s in the garage because this is my aunt’s house. I’m just here for a few days to help her once she gets out of the hospital.”
“Mr. Harris, how do you know what’s in your neighbor’s garage?” the policeman asked Tom.
“Because I looked. Because he tried to kill my dog.” He gestured at Jason. “Because he tried to kill Angie. He’s after her money.”
I caught Tom’s arm. He’d said too much.
Jason turned to the police officer. “Like I said, this is my aunt’s house. I don’t want to make trouble, but I don’t feel right about people being on her property without permission.” He turned and pointed to the strip of lawn between the two driveways. Several four-by-four cedar posts were stacked on the grass. “I’m about to start on a fence to give my aunt a little more privacy.”
I tightened my grip on Tom’s arm but the older man didn’t speak. He just continued to glare at Jason and shake his head.
“Mr. Harris, I understand you’re upset about your dog,” Officer Sullivan said. “I get that. I have two dogs myself. They get sick and it’s almost like your kid getting sick.”
He’d fallen for Jason’s act.
“My two, they get into everything. I have to lock up the trash cans because otherwise they’re rooting around in the garbage.”
“Matilda doesn’t eat garbage,” Tom said through clenched teeth.
“Good for her,” the officer said. “But my point is you don’t know what your dog could’ve eaten that made her sick. You’ll probably never know. But you can’t go trespassing on someone else’s property.” He indicated Jason. “Mr. Bates here is a reasonable man so we’re just going to forget about everything—this time. But I want your promise that you’ll stay off his property.”
Tom nodded slowly. His eyes never left Jason’s face. “I promise you, Officer, I will stay off Mr. Bates’s property.”
I noticed his choice of words. Mr. Bates’s property. The policeman didn’t seem to catch the distinction.
He turned to Jason. “Thank you for your patience, Mr. Bates,” he said.
Jason smiled. “No problem,” he said with a shrug.
The officer wished us a good evening and got back in his cruiser. Jason started back to the house and then turned and looked over his shoulder at us. Once again there was a cocky smile on his face.
“I’d like to wipe that smirk of that little piker’s face,” Tom said. He was still clenching his teeth and his shoulders were rigid.
“Please don’t do anything he can use against you,” I said.
Tom finally turned his attention to me. “Why didn’t you tell me about the ball?”
I let go of his arm. “I’m sorry. I should have. I was waiting to be sure that what was on the ball was what had made Matilda sick.”
“It was him, Sarah,” he said. “I know it was.”
I nodded. There was no use pretending I hadn’t been thinking the same thing. “Wait for the results of the blood tests.”
“He’s going to get rid of that bottle.”
“If you get arrested for trespassing, no one is going to believe you,” I pointed out. “They’re going to dismiss you as a crazy old man. Please just stay off Angie’s property until I can figure out what to do.”
Tom’s mouth moved but he stayed silent.
“Please,” I begged.
Finally the old man nodded.
I made my way back to my own house. Mr. P.—Alfred Peterson, Rose’s gentleman friend—was at the front door wearing Rose’s flowered apron over his brown trousers and long-sleeved navy golf shirt.
“I was coming to get you and I saw the police car go by,” he said, smoothing down the few tufts of gray hair he had left with one hand. “Is everything all right?”
I sighed. “For now.”
He patted my arm. “Rosie told me what’s been going on. Young Mr. Bates doesn’t sound like a stellar member of society.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s because he isn’t.”
“Come have supper,” Mr. P. urged. “I made shepherd’s pie.”
“Is that what smells so good?” I asked. Elvis had already disappeared into Rose’s apartment.
“Not to be immodest, but it is one of my best recipes,” Mr. P. said with a smile.
I followed him into the apartment.
Rose was setting the table. Elvis was sitting in the doorway to the living room washing his face. “Is Tom all right?” she asked.
I nodded. Rose gestured at a chair and I took a seat while Mr. P. bustled around getting me a cup of tea. Everything Rose and her cronies did was done with copious cups of tea. I brought the two of them up to date on the police officer’s visit.
“We have to do something.” Rose set the salt and pepper shakers on the table with a bang.
“Angie should be home in a day or two,” I said.
“I’m not convinced that’s going to make any difference.” I knew that determined glint in Rose’s gaze meant trouble.
Mr. P. set a cup of tea on the table in front of me. “Thank you,” I said.
He smiled. “You’re welcome, my dear.”
I took a sip from the cup and then turned my attention to Mr. P. “You said Rose has told you what’s been going on. What do you think?”
“I think that blood is thicker than water, Sarah,” he said. “Angelica Bates is a very nice person, but that young man is family, and if she has to take sides, I think that’s the one she’ll take. Wouldn’t you?”
I glanced at Rose over by the sink. She and Alfred and the rest of their merry band were family as far as I was concerned, and when push came to shove, I always took their side.
“We’ll come up with something,” Mr. P. said, his voice warm and reassuring. “We always do.”
Rose had moved to peek into the oven. “Alf, I think this is ready,” she said. She reached for the oven mitts. One of them slipped off the counter and skidded across the floor.
Before I could get up, Elvis had moved across the floor and picked up the quilted mitt in his mouth. He made his way over to Rose.
“Thank you, Elvis,” she said, bending down to take the oven mitt from him. Then she looked at Mr. P. and smiled.
I turned to him as well, narrowing my gaze. “Did you have anything to do with that?” I asked.
“Elvis is a very smart cat,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“Merow,” the subject of the conversation added.
“You taught him to pick things up,” I said.
Mr. P. nodded. “It took very little effort on my part. He’s extremely intelligent.”
I looked over at the cat, who looked rather pleased with himself, it seemed to me.
“Being a cat, he only does it when he feels like it, of course.”
“Of course,” I echoed.
Mr. P. got to his feet. “Are we ready to eat, Rosie?” he said.
Rose had been staring at the cat, a pensive expression on her face. She started and shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was wool-gathering. Yes, we’re ready to eat.”
Mr. P.’s shepherd’s pie, made with a sweet potato topping and a spicy ground beef base, was delicious. As much as I enjoyed the company, I couldn’t help yawning as I sat with a cup of tea and a dish of Rose’s leftover bread pudding.
She came up behind me and put her arms around m
y neck. “Go home, darling girl,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”
“I’ll just load the dishwasher before I go,” I said.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Mr. P. said. He got to his feet and hiked the waistband of his pants up a little higher than it already was. “That’s my job.”
I knew better than to argue. Rose sent me home with a dish of fruit salad and another of the pudding. I was putting the food in the fridge when my phone rang. It was Nick.
“Hi,” he said when I answered. “I’m just checking in to see how your wrist feels.”
“Let me guess,” I said, dropping onto the couch. “You talked to your mom and she thought I looked tired.”
Nick laughed. “Busted.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Between your mother, Liz and Rose, it’s not like I’m doing anything.”
“Good,” he said. “I think Mom still has that hammock in her garage. When I get back, I’m going to hang it in your backyard and you can go out there and just do nothing.”
“Because I’m so good at that,” I teased.
“Does Tom Harris still have that little dog?” Nick asked. “She could pull a wagon and bring you coffee and muffins from McNamara’s.”
I thought about the small corgi seizing on Tom’s lawn.
The silence went on a bit too long. “Did I say something wrong?” Nick said.
“No.” I leaned against the sofa pillows. “It’s just that Matilda—that’s the dog’s name—had a seizure a couple of days ago. She ingested some kind of insecticide.”
He exhaled loudly. “I’m sorry. People don’t seem to remember how dangerous that stuff can be.”
“No, they don’t,” I agreed. “But the good news is Matilda is okay.”
There wasn’t anything Nick could do. I had to figure out some way to deal with Jason Bates myself. Right now, I just wanted to think about something else.
“So how’s the class going?”
“Good, “Nick said. “We’ve done a couple of mock crime scenes. I got to play a guy with an ax stuck in his head.”
“Are there photos?” I asked. “Because it’s not too early to plan my Christmas card.”
