Well, that wasn't very nice, especially coming from Jack.
"I just can't imagine life without her!" Hadley wept. People were staring openly now.
"Who's Anna?" Emmaline murmured.
"Her cat," Jack said. "Anastasia."
Em blinked.
For crying out loud.
"Twenty-three, huh?" she said. "That's amazing." Those nachos weren't going to eat themselves, so Em took some more. Hadley wasn't exactly going for stoic here. Em noted that her mascara was waterproof. Of course it was.
"She wasn't even sick," Hadley said. "This is such a shock!"
"I don't know. Twenty-three sounds like a ripe old age to me," Emmaline said. "It was probably just her time."
"It wasn't! It was not her time!" Hadley gave her a tragic, wounded (and possibly triumphant) look, then resumed clutching Jack's shirt. "She was so healthy. Remember, Jack?"
"But twenty-three," Emmaline said. "Quite, quite old. This can't be that much of a surprise."
"It is!" Hadley said. "I'm shocked, I tell you! I wasn't prepared for this."
"No, why would you be? I mean, don't most pets live forever?"
Jack gave her a look. "I'm sorry about Anastasia," he said to his ex, trying to hold her at arm's length, but Teeny Tiny was apparently quite strong and she clutched him harder.
Em sighed, took another bite of her burger and wondered if it would be rude to check her phone to see the Rangers-Penguins score. In light of the fact that her date was being sobbed on by another woman, she didn't really care.
Several people had inched nearer--the vestry members making sympathetic clucks, Gerard Chartier, Victor and Lorena Iskin. "I had a cat who made it to nineteen," Lorena said in her booming voice. "It went under the radiator to die, and I didn't find him until the smell let me know where he was. Poor old Oscar."
Hadley cried harder.
"What's the life span of a cat, anyway?" Gerard Chartier asked.
"Maybe fifteen years," Victor Iskin said, who had many pets himself.
"Fifteen?" Em said, glancing up from her phone. (Rangers up by four, God bless 'em.) "Wow. Sounds like you got quite lucky there, Hadley."
"Well, I don't feel so lucky right now, do I?" the li'l ole bit of dandelion fluff snapped. There was a flinty look in her eye, and Emmaline squinted at her. Where was the steel magnolia thing when you needed it? Allison Whitaker would never sob in public like this.
"It's very sad," Victor said. "You could have her stuffed. I do taxidermy on the side, you know."
Teeny Tiny's sobbing escalated.
Em had had enough. "Okay, Jack, I'll see you around. My condolences, Hadley."
"If I'd've known she was near her time, I would've been there with her." Hadley wept. "Oh, Jack, she died without me! How could I have let that happen?"
"Calm down," he said. "Em, don't go."
"Thanks for the date. I had such a wonderful time." She made sure to give him a dead-eyed stare so he wouldn't miss the sarcasm.
"I'll come over later," he said.
"No, you won't," she said. "Stay here and comfort the grieving. I insist."
"Emmaline--"
She left.
To think she'd worn a thong for this.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THREE DAYS LATER, Jack woke up in a foul mood.
He'd walked Hadley home the other night, ignoring the fog of disapproval coming from his sisters and Mrs. J. as he left O'Rourke's. Between them, they'd texted him six times to weigh in.
Yeah, he was a sucker. But what else was he supposed to have done? Left Hadley there, sobbing her eyes out in a town where no one liked her? Driven an hour to Cornell and dumped her on Frankie's doorstep? Told her to just deal with it?
Princess Anastasia had been Hadley's beloved pet, no matter how satanic the cat's personality. Her seventh birthday present. And she truly was devastated. He knew that.
He left her apartment as soon as decently possible. Walked over to Emmaline's and stood there in front of her little house. There was a light on upstairs--her bedroom, maybe. The walls were painted green, and the ceiling slanted down. He could see some brick from the exposed chimney.
Bet her bed was messy and comfortable. Flannel sheets and soft old mattress, a couple of books on the night table. She seemed like the type to let the dog sleep with her.
He took out his phone and called her. It went right to voice mail. "Hey," he said. "I'm standing outside your house. I'm really sorry about tonight." He paused. "Give me a call, okay?"
She hadn't. Nope. He had the feeling she wasn't going to.
Which was too bad, because he liked being with her. She was an odd combination of tough chick and gooey caramel center. She scowled fiercely but wore a thong. Slapped on handcuffs but nuzzled a tulip. A hip check that could castrate a bull, but surprisingly soft and silky skin.
Well. His coffee was finished, and it was time to go to work. But first, he clicked on his computer, brought up the local newspaper's website and checked for news of Josh Deiner's death.
Not today. Not yet, anyway.
Lazarus gave his "feed me" screech, and Jack obeyed. Mrs. Johnson had chastised him for never coming over for breakfast anymore, and she had bribed him with an offer of a chocolate cake made just for him. It paid to be her favorite.
He grabbed his keys, mentally reviewing what had to be done today. Cask cleaning, which was good--mindless, hard work. Check the new Riesling vines with Pru, who was concerned that the heavier-than-average snowfall had hurt them. Talk to Dad about trying a new varietal of oak for their chard barrels.
Stop by the hospital and maybe run into the Deiners coming or going. Maybe they'd tell him how Josh was. Let him see the kid, just for a minute.
The one who needed you most, and you left him for last.
Jack left the house, his movements deliberately exact. Locked the door and stopped for a minute.
The one who needed you most.
He stood there a minute, pushing away the memories of that night. Took a slow, deep breath of the cool, damp air. Fog hung heavy over Crooked Lake today, but up here, the pale March sunshine streamed in slices of gold. A crow called from the oak tree, then flew down and landed on a cedar post at the end of a row of vines.
Another breath, slower this time. There was the stone wall one of his ancestors had built and which Jack kept up, rambling alongside the field.
He opened the truck door, started to get in and froze.
There was a dead possum on the dashboard.
Possums under any circumstances are not attractive animals. But dead...and in Jack's truck...it was even uglier, its bald tail dangling, its mouth open in a too-wide rictus. Its neck was broken, judging from the sick angle.
There was no way a possum could've gotten into his truck. It didn't wander in through an open window, because there was no open window; it was early March, for the love of God, and it had been seventeen degrees last night.
Someone had put it there.
*
LATER THAT DAY, Jack drove over to the police station and went inside. "Hi, Jack!" Carol said, hopping up for a hug. He obliged. "Are you here to see Emmaline? I heard your date didn't go so well."
"Is she here?"
"No," Carol answered. "She's taking a class for hostage negotiation. Not that we have many hostages around here."
The disappointment he felt was surprising. "Is Levi available?" he asked.
"Yes, he's in his office on the phone. Levi!" she yelled. "Jack's here and wants to talk to you when you're off the phone!"
"You're a great secretary," Jack observed.
"I'm an administrative assistant, smart-ass," she said. "And don't talk fresh to me. I changed your diapers when you were a baby."
"You say that to all the guys," he said.
"Come on in, Jack," Levi said from his office. "And, Carol, please try to master the intercom instead of yelling, okay?"
Carol rolled her eyes and sat back down, and Jack winked. He'd always loved
Mrs. Robinson.
"What can I do for you?" Levi asked.
"This is...well, it's police business. Maybe. I don't know."
Levi sat behind his desk, and Jack sat down, too. "Go ahead," he said, picking up a pen.
"I don't know if I want to file a report or anything official," Jack said. "I found a dead possum in my truck this morning. Its neck was broken."
"Shit. What time?"
"About seven."
"And why didn't you call me right away?"
Jack shrugged. "It was dead. Its biting days were over."
"People don't usually find dead animals in their vehicles, Jack."
He ran a hand through his hair. "I know."
"What did you do with it?"
"I put on rubber gloves and put it in a garbage bag. It's in the back of my truck."
"And I bet you scrubbed that truck down, didn't you? And erased lots of fingerprints we might've been able to lift."
"You can check the door, but, yeah, I did. I don't want to make a big deal out of this. It's probably just kids." Poor "kids." They were blamed for so much.
Levi was quiet for a minute, doodling on a pad. "Anything else happen recently?"
"Someone left a note on my windshield. It said, 'You better watch yourself.'"
"Did you keep it?"
"No."
"You know, Jack, it's always frustrating when the taxpayers of Manningsport don't turn to their friendly neighborhood cop for help. Especially when that cop happens to be a member of their family."
"Yeah, yeah." He paused. "The notepaper was hot pink, if that helps."
"What would've really helped is if you didn't throw it away. Anything else you're not telling me?"
"There was another night when I came home and all the lights were on and the front door was open. I might've done that myself, though. I've been...forgetting things recently."
"That accident was bound to cause some stress. You doing all right otherwise? Any problems sleeping or anything?"
Nice to know Emmaline hadn't mentioned anything to her boss. For a second, he thought about telling Levi about the flashbacks and nightmares. But Levi was his brother-in-law, an expectant father, the police chief and combat veteran who probably had flashbacks of his own. Jack wasn't going to add to his load. "No, I'm good."
Levi stared at him. Jack stared back.
"Okay," Levi finally said. "Sounds to me like someone's mad at you, Jack. I'd like to talk to the Deiners."
"Absolutely not," Jack said. "No."
"Jack, they--"
"Their son is in a coma. I doubt very much that they have time to pick up roadkill and sneak it into my truck."
"Yeah. They haven't left his side, so I doubt it, too." Levi leaned back in his chair. "How about your ex-wife?"
The thought had crossed his mind. "The lights and the note on the windshield, maybe. But not the dead possum."
"You sure? Nothing makes people crazier than jealousy."
Jack paused. Hadley was a little...off; that was true. He couldn't see her doing this, though. "Doesn't seem like her style."
"I might ask her some questions just the same. Be smart, Jack. If something else happens, tell me. The dead animal in your truck--that ups the stakes a bit."
"Yeah." There was a picture of Faith on the bookcase behind Levi. "How's my sister?"
Levi's expression changed from stoic police chief to goofy-in-love. "She's great."
"Good. Can't wait to see my nephew." He stood up and shook Levi's hand. "Gotta go."
Emmaline still wasn't back.
Damn.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
"REMEMBER, THIS PERSON IS, for the time being, your friend," Jamie the badass instructor said. "Even if you hate what they're doing and wish you could kick them in the sac, for now, you empathize, you listen, you mirror." She tapped the whiteboard to emphasize the words she'd written there. "Don't tell them that what they're doing is crazy or stupid. Don't deny what they're feeling. That's creating an argument, and you want them to feel they can trust you. Okay? Emmaline and Butch, you're up. Em, you're the tormented woman with your parents held at gunpoint. And...action."
Butch cleared his throat. He and Em were sitting in chairs at the front of the class, facing away from each other while Shirley and Gale pretended to be the cowering parents.
"So what's going on with you and your parents?" Butch asked.
"I hate them," Em said, winking at Shirley, who was her best bud in the class.
"Well, yeah, everyone hates their parents. I hate mine, too," Butch said.
"No, Butch," Jamie interrupted. "This isn't about you. It's about Em and her shitty parents. Keep going."
"Okay," Butch said. "Uh...hate your parents, huh?"
"Yes," Em said. "They love my sister best." Might as well go for something close to home.
"Love your sister best, huh?"
"Yep."
"Why do you think that is?" Butch asked. Em could practically hear him sweating; he wasn't the best student in the group.
"Because she's just better. Prettier, smarter, nicer."
"She doesn't hold them hostage," Ingrid quipped.
"Keep going, Butch," Jamie said.
"So...uh...what should I say next?"
"How about some emotional labeling?" Jamie said. "Identify her feelings so she'll know you understand her situation."
"Right, right. Uh, so you're really pissed, right?"
Em tried not to smile. "Yeah, I'm pissed! That's why I tied up my parents and have this gun!" Role-playing was fun.
To be honest, there was a lot more psychological work in this field than Em had anticipated. Mirroring, empathy, active listening, behavioral change... For the first time in her life, she understood why her parents loved their jobs so much.
"Let me take over, Butch," Jamie said. She kicked Butch out of his chair and sat down. "So, Em, you're feeling like it's not fair that your parents favor your sister."
"Exactly," Em said.
"That must be really frustrating. Note, class, that I'm labeling her feelings, not just echoing them, like Butchie was--no offense, Butch. But when I put a label on them, Em can see that I get it, and that I understand her. We're creating empathy here. Okay, Em, back to you. That must be frustrating."
"It is." Em felt a pang of guilt. "But I was no picnic, and my sister really is pretty great." Speaking of Flawless Angela...Em should give her a call.
"Sounds like you guys are close."
"Yeah. Pretty much. She's nice."
"What do you think she'd say about this situation?"
"She'd tell me not to do it." Jamie didn't respond, so Em kept talking. "She'd be upset. Devastated, really. She loves them a lot."
"See how I paused there, people?" Jamie said. "This isn't a rapid-fire police interrogation where you're trying to keep someone off balance to get them to tell the truth. Sometimes the pauses let your bad guy do some thinking, and their situation starts to sink in." She stood up. "And that, my friends, is all the time we have. Good job today."
On the way home, Levi radioed in and asked her to check on Alice McPhales, a sweet old lady struggling with dementia. She still lived on her own, but it was a matter of time before her son had to make some changes. She called the police at least three times a week, convinced she saw people creeping around her property, which was a farmhouse on the outskirts of town. Today she'd reported that someone had broken into her house. She called with this complaint a few times a month, so Em wasn't really worried.
Everett pulled up in his cruiser just as she did. "Slow day?" Em asked.
"I'll check the perimeter for intruders," Everett said, reaching for his gun.
"Keep that in the holster, dumbass," Emmaline said.
"Well, what am I supposed to do?" he asked. "I don't like going in there. It's too crowded."
"Everett...never mind. Knock yourself out and check the perimeter, but if you pull that gun out for anything less than an alien attack, I'm telling Levi."
Everett muttered and kicked some grass.
"Mrs. McPhales?" Emmaline called as she knocked.
The old lady opened the door a crack. "Where's Levi?" she asked.
"He's at the station. He asked me to come instead. I'm Emmaline Neal. Luanne Macomb's granddaughter. Remember? I'm a police officer, too."
"Oh, yes. Luanne. She's lovely! Such a good knitter! Tell her I said hello, won't you?"
"I'll do that, Mrs. McPhales." No point in reminding the old lady her friend was gone. "Can I come in and check things out?"
Mrs. McPhales's house was typical for an old person--too cluttered, too many little rugs that would make tripping easy. It was dark, too, since she had all the curtains drawn. "What seems to be missing, Mrs. McPhales?" she asked as she turned on a light.
"The gravy boat my grandmother gave me! I can't believe they took it!" The old lady began to cry. "It was so beautiful, and now it's gone. They must've come in when I was sleeping. I'll never feel safe here again, and my husband built this house. They've ruined it! They've soiled it!"
Em put her arm around her. "Why don't I make you a cup of tea?" she asked.
"I prefer coffee. But the...the...black box in the kitchen is broken."
"The coffeemaker?"
"Yes."
Em went into the kitchen. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink. The coffeemaker was unplugged. She plugged it back in and made coffee, and, while that was brewing, she filled the sink with hot water.
"You don't have to do that," Mrs. McPhales said.
"Oh, I don't mind. I like doing dishes. You can tell me where they go."
"Perimeter is clear," came Everett's voice over the radio.
"Imagine that," Em muttered. "Roger," she said back. "Why don't you head back, Ev?"
"Roger that, heading back to the station."
The cupboards were a mess--cereal boxes in with the glassware, an open jar of peanut butter in a colander. Em straightened up as best she could, then poured Alice some coffee. "So what does this gravy boat look like?" She took out her notebook so Mrs. McPhales wouldn't feel like Em was merely tolerating her.
Mrs. McPhales took a sip of her coffee. "What gravy boat?"
"The one your grandmother gave you."
"Oh, yes. It was white with pink flowers. It was very old. She brought it from England, and when I was little, she'd put it out at Christmas. I just loved seeing it on her table. It was so fancy and beautiful." She started to cry noiselessly, and Em's heart gave a tug. Her father's parents had died when she was little, Nana of a massive stroke or heart attack that took her while she was sleeping.
In Your Dreams Page 25
