Ding dong.
“I’ll get it!” She disappeared into the hall.
“Just the one daughter?” asked Jerry.
“Yes.”
“How old?”
“Sixteen.”
“Is she artistic like her mother?”
Footsteps and voices in the hallway claimed half my attention. “If so, she’s hiding it well.”
Aggie entered the living room carrying a silver tray covered with rumaki and a shot glass filled with toothpicks.
She presented the tray to Aunt Sis who waved her away, then Gordon who helped himself. “I’ll take two.”
Aggie turned to Jerry, and the first inklings of a problem reached my ears. Claws on hardwood, advancing at a rapid (where’s the bacon?) rate.
Pansy burst into the living room and effortlessly launched herself over Gordon and Sis’s couch, a blonde streak with a singular focus.
She cleared the sofa and slammed into Aggie.
Aggie fell forward. To her knees. With her head half-buried in Jerry’s lap.
The tray flipped, covering both Aggie and Jerry in bits of bacon-wrapped water chestnut.
Pansy used Aggie’s back as a launch pad, and joined Jerry on the chair, hindering Aggie’s attempts to remove herself from between Jerry’s splayed legs.
“Pansy! Stop! Sit! Naughty dog!”
Pansy ignored me.
As for Max, he stood in the doorway. His doggy eyes wide with we’re-in-serious-trouble.
Pansy danced on Jerry’s lap and snapped up bacon as if she’d never get another chance.
“Get off!” Jerry, now a desperate soprano, shoved the at-least-sixty-five-pound dog.
Aggie thumped onto her hiney.
Pansy fell too, but she landed on her feet and noticed Aggie’s bread bowl on the coffee table. Not bacon but toothsome. She grabbed it in her teeth.
“No!” I wailed.
She swung her head my way, and the dill dip flew in a perfect white arc.
Dip splattered Gordon, Aunt Sis, and the needed-to-be-recovered-anyway couch. Jackson Pollock with a fully loaded paintbrush couldn’t have covered them more completely.
“Ellison!” Aunt Sis sounded remarkably like Mother. Get-that-damned-dog-under-control-this-instant like Mother.
Swallowing a hysterical giggle, I waded into the fray, grabbed Pansy’s collar, and pulled her away from my guests. “Bad dog!”
Pansy ignored my scolding and swallowed the empty bread bowl. Whole.
“Grace!” My next-door neighbor, Margaret Hamilton, probably heard me yell.
Grace and Hodge appeared in the living room door, and Grace’s eyes widened to saucers.
“You let the dogs in?”
“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry. I had no idea she’d—” she took in Gordon’s dill-dip-covered jacket, Aggie’s crab stance on the floor, and Jerry’s thoroughly rumpled suit “—I had no idea she’d do this.”
I yanked Pansy’s collar. “Put her in the back yard. Now.”
Hodge stepped forward, wrapped his fingers around Pansy’s collar, and hauled her away.
Max and Grace followed him.
I surveyed the wreckage of my living room and helped Aggie off the floor. “Are you hurt?”
“Just my pride.” She smoothed her dotted-with-bacon-grease, spotted-with-dip kaftan. “I’ll grab some towels.”
“Thank you. Jerry—” the man was covered in bits of bacon, dog slobber, and his spilled drink “—are you hurt? I’m so sorry about this.”
He shook his bald head, apparently too stunned to form words.
“Gordon?” I shifted my gaze to Aunt Sis’s beau.
He and my aunt rocked the couch with barely controlled laughter. “I’m fine,” he choked out. “Jerry, you okay?”
Jerry still didn’t reply.
Jerry, Gordon, and Sis needed fresh clothes, the dip covering the coffee table and couch needed wiping, and the toothpicks needed picking up. The carpet needed cleaning and the couch needed recovering. Oh, and Pansy needed to go home.
Ding dong.
An escape! “Would you please excuse me?”
I hurried into the front hall and yanked open the front door.
Prudence Davies stood on the other side, her eyes narrowed with barely contained malice. “I hear you kidnapped my dog. I want her back. Now.”
Chapter Fifteen
The relief that swelled in my breast was not my usual reaction to Prudence. Normally my lips drew back from my teeth. Instead, I smiled at her.
She regarded that smile with justifiable suspicion.
“You’re Pansy’s owner?”
“I am. And I want her back.”
“Absolutely!” Did I welcome Prudence into my home while I fetched her dog or leave her on the stoop? Good manners won. “Please, come in.”
Prudence crossed my threshold and her gaze took in the foyer. Unable to find fault, she scowled at me. “Where’s my dog?”
“I’ll get her for you.” I hurried to the kitchen, opened the back door, and spotted Pansy on the patio. “Your owner is here.”
The dog hunched her shoulders and shrank.
Max regarded me with liquid eyes. What did I mean, her owner? Pansy was part of our family now.
“I’m sorry.” I avoided his gaze, stepped onto the patio, and snapped a leash onto Pansy’s collar. “She belongs to Prudence.”
Pansy’s answering whine pricked my conscience.
What would happen if I refused to return Prudence’s dog? Nothing good. “Come on, girl.” I led her to the front hall.
When she spotted Prudence, Pansy sat and refused to budge.
Prudence stepped forward and took the leash from my hand. “Come.”
Pansy didn’t move.
“Where should I send the bills?” I asked.
“The bills?”
“Pansy dug up my annuals. Twice. She also dug up Marian’s and Margaret’s. I’m sure they saved the receipts for the replacement flowers.”
“You can’t prove Pansy dug up your annuals.”
“Actually, I can.”
Something like panic flashed across Prudence’s face.
“You do know there are leash laws?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “Mother doesn’t have a fence and she—” Prudence scowled at the miserable dog “—escapes in the darkness.”
“You’re lucky I picked her up and not the pound. She’s not licensed.”
“I. Know. That.” Snap, snap, snap.
“I called five vets trying to find her owner.”
“Very admirable.” Bitter sarcasm ran down the sides of Prudence’s words.
Woof! You can’t let that awful woman take Pansy. Woof! Do something.
Prudence eyed Max. “Is your dog dangerous?”
Given that her dog had single-pawedly destroyed my living room, I merely smiled.
“Come, Pansy.” Prudence tugged on the leash, hard enough to drag Pansy across the floor.
“I don’t think she wants to go with you.” I kept my voice mild.
“She’s a dog. Her opinions don’t count.”
“Have you considered obedience training?” Now my voice was sweet.
Prudence glared at me and tugged on the leash. Hard.
Could I let her take Pansy? Did I have a choice? “Why do you have a dog?”
“What?”
“You don’t like each other.”
Prudence’s eyes narrowed, and she opened her hand, bent, and slapped Pansy’s hiney.
Pansy yelped and stood.
Max growled.
I gaped. “You hit her.”
“Get over it, Ellison.” Prudence tugged. A vicious tug.
Anger and years of dislike bubbled in my chest. “If Pansy comes back, I’m keeping her.”
Someone gasped.
I looked over my shoulder.
Aunt Sis stood in the doorway to the living room with her mouth hanging open.
“Come!” Prudence pulled poor Pansy out t
he door.
Max followed them, but I caught his collar.
He stared at me with how-could-you eyes.
“If I were her, I’d let the dog loose on purpose,” said Aunt Sis.
“Pansy’s not that bad,” I replied.
“Have you seen your living room? Jerry’s still non-verbal.”
Aunt Sis was right. What had I done?
I returned to my destroyed living room. Jerry hadn’t moved, but Gordon had blotted away the worst of the dill dip off his shirt with cocktail napkins. “I’m so sorry about this.”
“Don’t give it another thought,” said Gordon. “It wasn’t your fault. No one was hurt, and Jerry will dine out on this story for a year.”
In that moment, I liked Gordon. A lot.
“You can’t go out to dinner.” Not in their current state. “Let me order pizza. Aggie can whip up a salad.”
“What do you say, Jerry?”
Jerry said nothing.
“Did the dog break him?” asked Aunt Sis.
I had the same question.
“He’ll be fine,” Gordon replied.
I wasn’t so sure.
Aggie entered the living room with Max at her heels. Aggie wiped up dip. Max stared at me as if I’d broken his heart into a million tiny pieces.
“Aggie, I’ve invited everyone for dinner.”
Aggie didn’t blink. “There’s a lasagna in the fridge. It can be ready in an hour.”
“I planned on calling for pizza.”
“Absolutely not.”
Aggie’s lasagna trumped pizza. “How does lasagna sound?” I addressed Aunt Sis, Gordon, and Jerry.
“Sis told me Aggie’s the best cook in Kansas City,” said Gordon. “We’d love to stay.”
Jerry might not agree. He regarded Max with panic in his dark eyes.
“Max is my dog,” I told him. “He’s well-trained.” A small lie. “He won’t jump on you.” I crossed my fingers.
Jerry nodded. Slowly. “May I have another drink?”
“Of course.” I hurried to the bar cart. “What are you drinking?”
“Scotch.”
“Water? Soda?”
“Neat.”
I poured him three fingers.
“I’m going to change.” Aunt Sis waved at her soiled dress and disappeared.
I handed Jerry his scotch. “Again, I’m so sorry about this.”
He accepted the drink. “How sorry?”
I blinked.
“Sorry enough to design a fabric for me?”
I glanced at Gordon. He grinned his approval of Jerry’s new negotiating tactic.
How much of Jerry’s distress was for show? How much was real? “One fabric?”
“One,” Jerry replied.
“Okay.”
Grace peeked into the living room. “Mom?”
“What?”
“We’re going.”
I hadn’t yet spoken to Hodge. “Hold on, honey. Would you gentlemen please excuse me?”
I stepped into the front hall where Grace and Hodge waited.
Hodge was a good-looking kid. Clean cut. Smiling. I didn’t trust him.
He extended his hand. “Hi, Mrs. Russell. Please don’t blame Grace for what happened. It’s my fault. I wanted to see the new dog.”
Maybe I could trust him a little. Or maybe he was Eddie Haskell.
“I blame Prudence Davies for not teaching her dog any manners.”
“I feel so bad for Max,” said Grace.
“We’ll take him to the park tomorrow.”
“His heart is broken.”
“Pansy doesn’t belong to me. I couldn’t keep her.”
“Did you mean it when you’d said you’d keep her if she came back?”
I’d meant it when I said it. “Yes.”
“Maybe Max will get lucky.” Grace inched toward the door. “I’m sorry about the mess.”
Not sorry enough to stay and clean it up. Teenagers.
“Home by midnight.”
Hodge flashed a grin. “Absolutely, Mrs. Russell.”
I couldn’t fault Hodge’s manners. I reserved judgment on his character.
Before they escaped, the doorbell rang.
Grace opened the front door to Anarchy.
So tempting to introduce Hodge to Anarchy and point out Anarchy’s gun. Instead, I said, “Have fun.”
Grace and Hodge slipped outside, and Anarchy stepped into the foyer and gathered me into his arms. “You look as if you need a hug.”
Was I that easy to read?
“Pansy caused a kerfuffle.”
“A kerfuffle?”
Kerfuffle sounded better than bleeping disaster. “Come into the living room. I’ll introduce you to Jerry Sopkin.”
He tilted his head. “The man who planned to acquire Phyllis’s company?”
“One and the same.”
Anarchy loosened his hold on me, and I led him to the scene of the kerfuffle. He took a moment. His gaze traveled from the destroyed (no loss) couch to the grease stains on Jerry’s jacket to Gordon’s face.
“Anarchy, this is Gordon Thayer—”
“We’ve met,” said Gordon.
Of course they had. Gordon was a suspect.
“And Jerry Sopkin. Jerry, this is Anarchy Jones.”
“Unusual name,” said Jerry.
“My parents are unusual people.”
“Aggie put a lasagna in the oven. Do you have time for dinner?”
“I never say no to Aggie’s meals.”
“Drink?”
“I’d better not.”
“Jones is a homicide detective,” said Gordon. “He’s investigating Phyllis’s murder.”
Jerry’s bushy brows rose.
“He’s also Ellison’s boyfriend.”
We small-talked our way through the next forty minutes. Painting. Dogs. The best bagels in New York (Jerry had strong opinions). The best beaches in Europe (Aunt Sis was an expert). Finally Aggie appeared in the doorway. “Dinner is served.”
We trooped into the dining room where a wooden bowl filled with crisp salad sat in the center of a table set with casual linens. An open bottle of red wine breathed. The scent of sausage and cheese and pasta seduced us all.
“I hope you’re hungry.”
“Famished.” Gordon pulled out Aunt Sis’s chair then took the seat next to her.
I took my place at the head of the table where a stack of plates waited. “Family style tonight.” Aggie had cut the lasagna, and it was easy to serve the first piece. I passed the plate to my aunt. “Would you please start the salad?”
Jerry got the next slice. Then Gordon and Anarchy. Finally I served myself. “I know the circumstances aren’t ideal, but I’m so pleased you all joined me for dinner tonight.”
Anarchy glanced at his belt and frowned. “I need to make a call. The study?”
“Of course.” That dratted pager.
“Don’t wait on me.”
We took our first bites of Aggie’s lasagna and moaned. For a moment no one said a word, too intent on the delectable mix of flavors and textures to speak
“This is better than any restaurant in town,” said Gordon.
“I’ll be sure to tell Aggie.”
“She is a treasure,” said Aunt Sis.
“Believe me, I know.” My gaze strayed toward the door to the hall. What was taking Anarchy so long?
“How did you find her?” asked Aunt Sis.
“Hunter Tafft recommended her.”
“No wonder Frances backed him.”
Mother’s hopes that I’d fall in love with (or at least marry) Hunter had nothing to do with Aggie. She’d approved of a successful lawyer whose family enjoyed a long history in Kansas City. That I’d chosen Anarchy instead annoyed her no end.
“Ellison.” Anarchy stood in the doorway.
“What?” I rose from my chair.
“There’s been another murder.”
“Who?”
He shook hi
s head.
“Where?”
“A parking garage on the Plaza. I have to go.”
I sat in the family room and waited. For Grace. For Anarchy. For the destruction of my flower bed.
Max curled on the couch with his head in my lap. Occasionally he’d sigh. He pined for Pansy.
I stroked his ears. “I’m sorry she couldn’t stay.”
He stared at me with sad liquid eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I insisted.
Another sigh.
“You talk to that dog as if he understands everything you say,” Aunt Sis observed.
“He does.” Good thing she didn’t hear me talk to Mr. Coffee.
“Have you considered you might be better off talking to a man?”
“You mean Anarchy?”
“He adores you—” she paused “—and you adore him.”
I focused on the way the lamp on the side table cast Max’s ears in ten different shades of silver.
“What’s the problem?”
“My husband cheated on me.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I agree. Henry and Anarchy are nothing alike.”
“So?”
“Mother’s afraid of spiders.”
Aunt Sis chuckled. “I know. I dropped a spider down her back once. Frances had hysterics, and your grandmother nearly tanned my hide.”
“Mother is bigger than a spider. She has no reason to be afraid.”
“I hear you, Ellison. Fear isn’t rational, but—”
“If fear were rational, it wouldn’t be fear.”
“Frances can avoid spiders. Can you avoid a commitment for the rest of your life?”
I didn’t answer.
“Do you want to?”
“No,” I admitted.
“What will it take for you to overcome your phobia?”
“No idea.”
“Have you considered seeing a therapist?”
I stared at my aunt. Women in New York and California might see therapists, but in the Midwest, women spilled their guts to friends, drank too much wine, and soldiered on.
“So, no therapist?”
“No therapist,” I replied.
“Probably just as well. Imagine if Frances found out.”
I shuddered.
Max sighed.
Aunt Sis turned her attention to The Tonight Show. “Who’s singing?”
I glanced at the TV. “Stephanie Mills. She plays Dorothy in the The Wiz on Broadway.”
The song ended, and Aunt Sis sipped her coffee (decaf—Mr. Coffee had brewed it without complaint). “I wonder who died in the parking garage.”
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