“Only things that you tell me I’m allowed to repeat,” I said. “Like what you told me tonight, since it’s going to be in the newspaper tomorrow anyway.”
Oliver nodded. “Handle your brother however you want, but here’s the thing. If I think you’re giving him information that you haven’t shared with me, or you’re telling him something that could potentially harm the case, there will be hell to pay. You will go to jail. Are we clear?”
I nodded. “Absolutely.” I knew we weren’t done yet, but Oliver didn’t know that because he was walking toward the door. “Um, Detective Oliver …” I couldn’t believe I’d said his name like that, but I got confused. In my head he’d become Oliver, but I recognized that he was the detective, and it all got jumbled up before it came out of my mouth. I could feel the blush spreading across my face, a rare occurrence for me, and I could only hope he didn’t notice.
“How about you just call me Detective Rialto?” he said. His face had no emotion, and his voice was not unkind. I didn’t know how to take that.
“Sure. Detective Rialto, just to keep you updated, I want you to know we have access to Ethel’s house Monday night,” I said.
His entire body grew still, which scared me. I wasn’t sure why it scared me, but it did. “Why are you going to Ethel’s house?”
Sometimes telling people things was like ripping off a Band Aid, you just had to do it quick and get it over with. “We’re doing a séance to see if Ethel’s ghost can tell us anything about her murder,” I said.
“You’re doing a séance,” he repeated.
I nodded.
“To talk to a ghost,” he said.
I nodded again.
“And you’ll probably call me and tell me what the ghost said.”
I hesitated. “Do you want me to?” I knew the question would drive him nuts, so I couldn’t help myself. I hoped he couldn’t tell that I was trying not to laugh.
“I am going to assume that you have permission to be there,” he said. When I nodded, he added, “I want you to call me as soon as you’re done with this thing and let me know you’re safe. I’m not interested in hearing about a ghost, but I am concerned for your and your brother’s personal safety. How many people know about this plan?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Honestly, Giuseppe put it together, so that probably means anyone who’d listen to him has heard about it.”
“You know this is not a good idea,” he said.
“I know.”
“But you’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you?”
The good detective was starting to know me. “Yes,” I said.
“Fine, go ahead.” I couldn’t believe what I’d heard. Did he just give me permission to do something?
“So you’re okay with us going in there and doing this?” I asked. I needed to hear it again.
“I’m okay with that,” he said, “but on one condition only. We’re going shopping. I don’t want you living alone without protection.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The next morning I stood clutching my box of bakery muffins in the express line at the local grocery, twelve items or less. I couldn’t stop myself and began counting the items in the cart in front of me. I think the woman had eleven items, but it was hard to tell, because she kept positioning her body in front of the food.
When Oliver had left last night, he’d told me to be ready for him at nine o’clock this morning. His tone made it clear there would be no arguing the point. At least I could fortify him with food before he took me to wherever it was he was going to take me.
Intellectually, I had no real objection to guns. I’d grown up in a house with guns, and my dad had shown Giuseppe how to shoot. My friend Charlie’s father used to hunt pheasant, which her mom cooked in one of the most delicious stews I’d ever tasted. I still believe the only reason our dads stopped hunting was because both Charlie and Giuseppe used to kick up such a fuss about killing that neither of our parents wanted to listen to it anymore. Of course, I took every opportunity I could to harass my brother about the bacon cheeseburgers he loved to eat.
The problem was that I wasn’t sure a gun was a good idea for me. Did I really want the responsibility of owning a firearm? What if something went horribly wrong? What if someone broke into my house and used it against me or, even worse, against my aunts?
There were ninety-two steps from the cash register to my car. I threw the grocery bag on the front seat, got in and lurched out of my parking space. I was home in three minutes and counted one hundred fifty-nine steps from my car to the inside of my apartment.
Like I said, I count things when I’m nervous.
At exactly nine o’clock, the knock sounded on my door. I can always say no, I don’t have to do what he says.
Ushering Oliver into my apartment for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, I opened my mouth to tell him what I thought of his plan.
“Detective, I appreciate your help, I really do. But the thing is, even though I’m pretty sure I can handle a gun just fine …”
“I’m not,” he said, glaring down at me.
“What?”
“This isn’t about a gun. This is about getting you protection.”
“I’m confused,” I said. To prove the point, my left eye started twitching. Just a little bit, but geez this guy knew how to throw me off. “If we’re not talking about a gun, what exactly are we talking about? Bow and arrow? Baseball bat?”
“Weapons will not protect you unless you know how to use them. No, I’m talking about something else, something that will change your life for the better, something that will help you and someone else,” he said.
I did not like the sound of this. Suddenly there was talk of a someone else, and that did not sound like something I wanted to deal with at the moment. Did he want me to be a foster parent or something to some teenage thug? I had enough trouble. I couldn’t be responsible for another person. Besides, what kind of self-respecting thug wants to live with a woman who has a degree in English Literature and sells aromatherapy products?
“Did you know that every year approximately five to seven million companion animals enter shelters in the United States?” Oliver asked. Without waiting for an answer, he kept talking. “Of those animals, around four million are euthanized. Killed. Slaughtered.”
I blinked, not liking where this conversation was headed. I had to change the subject quickly. “That’s … sad. Do you need a license to carry in Connecticut?”
“And did you know that only ten percent of those animals received by the shelters have been spayed or neutered?” There was no stopping him. The man was on a mission to educate me. Who knew the hard-boiled detective had such a soft spot for animals?
“Do you have a pet?” I asked, hoping again to derail the conversation. Maybe if I could get him to talk about his German shepherd or something, he wouldn’t say what I thought he was going to say.
“Did you ever see the loyalty a dog has for its owner? Did you ever watch a police dog and a handler work together? Dogs were bred to co-exist with humans and help support our species.”
I tried to lighten the conversation. “Dogs, huh? I guess that would explain why I’ve never heard of an attack cat.”
“Cats are wonderful, too,” Oliver said, a little too enthusiastically for my liking.
“I don’t do that whole litter box thing,” I said. I had my limits, and he’d just reached one.
“No, a cat won’t do you any good right now,” he said.
“I’m not so sure a dog would either.”
“A dog will stay with you, be your alert system. A dog will be your friend and protector for as long as he lives.”
Oh, boy. “Listen, Detective, I have trouble committing to what I want to eat for lunch. I’m not sure bringing a dog into my home is such a good idea.”
“Ava, you’re putting yourself in the middle of a murder investigation. You’re putting yourself in danger. Frankly, your other choice is eith
er to have someone move in with you or get a gun, neither of which I see happening,” he said.
I wasn’t sure what to think of that statement. Did he mean I wasn’t a responsible citizen, or did he mean no one in their right mind would want to live with me?
“I don’t think I like what you just said,” I told him. “I know you mean well, but this is my life and my business, and as much as I adore dogs, I’m not sure I’m ready to commit to having one right now.”
Oliver looked at the floor, quiet. After a moment he looked back at me, and I swear it looked like he was ready to cry. “I understand,” he said.
“Good, because I don’t mean for you to take this personally, but a dog is a huge responsibility. You can’t just go get a dog on a whim, you’ve got to be ready to take care of it and pay for it and walk it and clean up after it.” He didn’t say anything, and I couldn’t read his face. “What?” I asked.
He shook his head. “It’s nothing really.”
I waited a moment, giving him a chance to explain. Clearly something was wrong. “Tell me,” I said. “I can tell something’s bothering you, and I can’t imagine it’s the fact that I don’t want a dog. That would be kind of weird, you know.”
“I know,” he said. “It’s just that I can’t help but wonder sometimes if my wife had had a dog with her, maybe she never would have been …”
This was so unfair. I didn’t even know the whole story, but I knew it was bad.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I used the same arguments with Jennie, my wife. We didn’t have the time, it was a big commitment, everything you just said. After she was kidnapped, I couldn’t help but wonder, what if we’d had a dog? Would that have helped her?” Looking me in the eye, I could see he was trying to force a smile.
“Sorry,” he said. “I guess I get a little passionate about protecting people after what happened. I go over and over it in my head and wonder what I could have done differently that would have saved her.”
It was a low blow, but he had a point. I’ve always wanted to get a pet, I just never got around to it. But I need to make sure I’m doing this for me, not for some crusading detective trying to save his past.
It’s difficult to make a life-changing decision on the spot, but sometimes that’s the only way to do it.
“Give me a minute to make a phone call,” I said.
“Who do you need to call?”
“The aunts,” I said. “I need to make sure it’s okay with them if I have a dog.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The aunts were thrilled with the idea of a dog in the building. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had one,” Aunt Maria said. “When we were growing up we always had a dog. We’ll help you take care of him.”
“Make sure he’s got a good temperament,” Aunt Estelle added. “Not too dominant, you know? I can’t wait to take him for walks.”
“Stay away from those purebreds,” Aunt Claudia said. “Nothing but trouble with that kind of inbreeding, just like the royals. I’ll go get some dog food.”
Suddenly I lived with the dog whisperers. Who knew they’d like the idea so much?
Oliver drove, and on the way he told me about the shelter. “It’s not really a dog shelter, it’s a rehab facility that happens to have dogs, too,” he said.
“Rehab facility? Does that mean the animals are in physical therapy, with walkers and wheelchairs and stuff?” I’d never heard of a place like that in Brewster Square.
Oliver smiled, his first real smile of the day. I was glad to see that. His dark good looks were accentuated when he smiled like that, and it was hard to remember why I’d been annoyed by him. My brother’s words from last night floated through my head, making me question myself. Did I really try to heal people who’d been wounded? I wasn’t sure that was such a bad thing, but I could see where my brother might want me to be careful. That would also explain some of the confusion I was feeling toward Oliver; it’s not that I wanted to have a relationship with him, but I did hate seeing the extraordinary level of pain he had shown when talking about his wife.
I felt sorry for him, but I could never let him know that. First of all, nobody wants people to feel sorry for them. Second, there was no doubt in my mind he’d take full advantage of it.
“Animal rehabbers are trained professionals who step in to help heal wounded animals brought to their facility,” Oliver said. “They’re supposed to be licensed by the state, and once the animals have recovered the rehabber releases them back into the wild. So birds with broken wings, foxes with broken legs, that’s the sort of thing you’re going to see at this place.”
Looks like I wasn’t the only one around who liked to heal things. “Are the dogs we’re going to look at injured?” I didn’t think I wanted a dog that needed special care. I’d finally adjusted to the fact that I was going to have a roommate, but I didn’t want to have to deal with medicines and therapy and whatever.
“No, apparently this woman just happens to have dogs that need a home. Nothing wrong with them as far as I know.”
He was being just a little bit evasive with his answer. “Have you been here before?” I asked.
“No,” he said. I waited, knowing there was more. Sure enough, after a solid three minutes of silence, Oliver spoke again. “I have a friend who works with the state regulatory agency. He told me about this place.”
“There’s more to this story that you’re not telling me, isn’t there?” I asked.
There was that smile again. “Maybe, but nothing that’s going to make a difference with you getting a dog. Remember, you’re doing a good thing for yourself and another living creature.”
Great, I was stuck in the car with James Herriot.
The place he was taking me to was located on the northeast side of town, completely opposite where my parents lived. The hills were very steep over there, and a big old granite quarry was somewhere in that area, where generations of local kids had snuck into at night to drink beer and make out.
As we turned into a rutted, unpaved driveway, I couldn’t help but notice the junk scattered around the yard. Rusted wheelbarrows, rolled up chicken wire and a school bus with flat tires dotted the landscape. Soon an old house came into view, with a front porch that had a sagging roof overhang.
That roof looks like it’s about to fall down any second now.
The house was in desperate need of a paint job, and I was willing to bet a month’s salary those single paned windows were useless at keeping the winter cold out.
This is almost as scary as the old McAlister house. I sincerely hoped the dogs weren’t kept in the basement.
Someone walked out from behind the house into the driveway as we pulled to a stop. I recognized the bright colors and the big gray hair immediately.
“Hi, there,” Oliver said, climbing out of the car. “I called earlier. I’m Oliver, and this is Ava. We’re here to see the dogs.”
She wasn’t a big woman, but she gave the appearance of being big simply because of her clothing. Shapeless and brightly colored, the clothes masked her body completely. Her hair, as big and as gray as ever, stood out in a halo effect around her head.
“I know you,” she said, pointing at me. “You found that body the other night.”
Looked as if I had a new reputation. “Yes, I remember seeing you at the house,” I answered.
“Great,” Oliver muttered. “She remembers you, but I’m invisible.” Speaking louder, he said to her, “So, you mentioned you have dogs for sale?”
She nodded at us, arms crossed. “Name’s Debbee, two b’s and three e’s.”
Two b’s and three e’s, what the heck is she talking about? As I scrambled to figure out what she meant, she kept talking.
“D – E – B – B – E – E. Debbee, except I changed the spelling to look like a honeybee. I love ‘em.”
Uh-oh, weirdo alert. I tried not to be judgmental, but some people, like Debbee-two-b’s-three-e’s, made that task difficult. Oliver and I ex
changed a look, and I was relieved to see his anxiety ratchet up a notch. Good, he’s the one who dragged me out here in the first place. Didn’t he interview her at the scene of the crime? He should have known better.
“You want some food, too?” Debbee asked.
I shook my head. “No, thanks, I ate breakfast already.” Based on what I’d seen of the outside of her house, I already knew there was no way I was eating anything here.
Exasperated, Debbee said, “Okay, then, did you want to buy some food? People love my bread, especially the rye bread I make. Homemade, organic. Good for ya.”
“No, thank you, we’re fine,” Oliver answered.
“You sell food?” I asked. Oliver shot me a look that told me to shut up, but I couldn’t help it. What kind of food did she sell, and who would buy something from a place like this?
Nodding, Debbee straightened. “Yep, it’s all organic, no chemicals. Breads, cakes, vegetables, all sorts of stuff. Usually I make my deliveries to locals, kind of old-timey like. You know, just like the milkman used to do.”
I smiled, hoping it masked the sick feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. She’d probably lose a whole lot of business if her customers came and picked up their food. One look at this place is all it would take.
Oliver cleared his throat. “Where do you keep the dogs?”
“In the basement, usually,” Debbee said.
Oh Lord, no, this can’t be happening.
“But I brought them outside for you to look at.”
Thank you, God. I’ll try to go to church again.
Turning, Debbee started walking around the back of her house. We followed, with me shooting burning dagger looks at Oliver in between watching where I stepped. Oliver carefully avoided looking at me.
“Did you interview her at the crime scene?” I hissed, trying not to let Debbee hear me.
“No, I somehow missed that pleasure,” he hissed back.
When we circled around the house I could see an enormous red barn and what looked like a huge chain link fence dog run to the side of the barn. The dog run was divided, and I counted a total of twelve small sections, with fencing on the top as well. The smell of feces and God knew what else was overpowering. I tried to breathe through my mouth and not think about it.
Madness in Brewster Square Page 14
