by N. C. Lewis
Lizzie put down the hose, her scrawny hands trembling as she listened with growing alarm as Mrs. Foreman told her lawyer she intended to change her will. Her stomach churned with sourness as the details became clear—Mrs. Foreman, without any family or relatives, now intended to leave all her assets to the Austin chapter of the Natural Mystic Order of the Organic Temple.
Lizzie felt betrayed. She'd slaved at minimum wage for four years helping to build Rumpus House. Hadn't she and Mrs. Foreman agreed the assets would go to the animal sanctuary? She remembered being excited when Mrs. Foreman had told her so at the interview. She had a right to a say in the matter, but the decision had been made without even a word from her boss.
There was little point, Lizzie thought, letting Mrs. Foreman know she knew about the secret. It would only cause alarm and make her suspicious of Lizzie's intentions. But Mrs. Foreman's meeting with the lawyer to change her will was only a few days away. What could she do to prevent it?
An idea formed in Lizzie's mind. Her breath quickened. Cold sweat crawled along her body. "If Mrs. Foreman were to die," she whispered, her nose twitching, eyes darting nervously around the room, "Rumpus House would go to the animal sanctuary, and I'd be doing my part to save the animals."
Lizzie's stomach rumbled. There was a vegetable lasagna in the fridge. She'd warm it up, after she'd decided how to kill Mrs. Foreman.
Chapter 4
Amy was busy preparing dinner when her son-in-law Zach strode into the kitchen. Married to her eldest daughter, Victoria, the couple had returned to Austin to visit Nick after his heart attack, and for a short vacation. Zach worked for a start-up biotechnology firm in London—Bacopa Holdings.
"Smells delicious," Zach said, slipping into a seat at the kitchen table. "What's on the menu tonight?"
"Irish stew, a dish I picked up from an old friend from the Emerald Isle. It goes down well in cold and foggy Ireland. Taste's pretty good in the sunshine of Austin, especially with a side salad of red bell peppers, cherry tomatoes, extra-virgin olive oil, and balsamic vinegar."
"If you need a taster, I'm your man."
She stirred the pot, replaced the lid, and turned to Zach. "Thank you for the offer, but you'll have to wait until it is ready. Any news?"
Amy left the question open to Zach's interpretation. She knew he worried about whether he'd have a job to go back to when he returned to London. Bacopa Holdings had gotten into difficulty after the failure of its flagship medical product. The company shares were suspended. And there was also the question of Victoria's pregnancy. Neither Zach nor her daughter had given any hint on whether the new baby was going to be a boy or girl.
Zach nodded enthusiastically. "Lots of news."
Amy held her breath, she wanted to hear about her grandchild most of all but was also interested in Zach's company.
Zach spread his hands on the table, leaned forward, and opened his mouth to speak.
The kitchen door opened, and Noel strode in. "Hello everyone," he said with a cheery wave.
Noel was the husband of Amy's younger daughter Ruby. After a string of unfortunate events, the couple was living at Amy and Nick's Gaston Avenue home.
"You're home early, Noel," Amy said. It was more of a statement than a question.
Noel worked at the Texas State History Museum. He'd had difficulty holding down a job since his marriage to Ruby. He'd worked in an investment firm, as an assistant to a psychologist and now as a docent in the museum. "The exhibits I cover were closed early for a visit by the governor and a group of politicians from the United Kingdom."
"Really?" Zach asked with interest.
"It's part of the governor's strategy to increase tourism. Did you know there's a direct flight to London from Bergstrom International Airport?"
Amy and Nick had already booked seats on the direct flight for a surprise visit to Victoria and Zack. "I hear it is a very popular flight," she said with a secret smile. Then she turned to Zach, eager to hear his news. "You were saying?"
Zach leaned back in his chair keeping his voice casual. "Noel, I was about to give Amy an update on my company and other news."
Noel sat down at the table, his eyes darting from Amy to Zach. He and Ruby had invested their meager savings in Bacopa Holdings stock. Zach had encouraged him to do so, convinced the company was on the verge of a major technological breakthrough. Zach and Victoria had also invested their life savings in the company. Unfortunately, when news broke of the failure of the company's flagship product, investors withdrew funding. The share price tumbled, and the stock was suspended.
"Good news, I hope," Noel said, his voice lighthearted but anxiety filled his eyes.
"The stock is still suspended," Zach said trying to dampen expectations. "I spoke with the chief executive officer earlier today. He is very optimistic about attracting new investors. If that happens, there's a chance the company will be relisted on the London stock market."
"That's the good news!" Noel said, somewhat disappointed.
Zach looked at Noel, hesitated, then spoke. "The chief executive officer also mentioned that employees are entitled to a severance package."
"Severance package, what's that?" Amy asked.
"If the company folds, I'll receive six months' pay," Zach explained. "That's long enough to find another job."
Noel exhaled in annoyance. "Good for you! But it doesn't help me and Ruby one bit." He drummed his fingers on the table. "We're flat broke; everything's gone!"
Zach was on the edge of his chair now, as if planning to run. "Same here, and the baby is on the way. Not sure how things will shake out financially." Then he blinked, dropped his eyes and cleared his throat. "I'm really sorry about what happened." His voice was thin and ragged. "I regret encouraging you and Ruby to invest. It's been difficult to sleep at night with the regret I feel."
Several seconds of silence followed.
"It's not your fault," Noel said at last in a hushed whisper. "The breath-based glucose monitoring system sounded like a great investment opportunity. Who wants to prick their finger for blood when all they need to do is blow in a plastic tube?"
"Thank you," Zach said, his voice trembling. "I appreciate your words."
Noel shook his head. "I'll admit it left a bitter taste when the clinical trial results showed the product wasn't effective." He paused momentarily, then continued, "I think we were all blinded by the rewards and forgot about the risks."
Zach touched by his brother-in-law’s words placed a hand on his cheek. "They say your first million is the hardest, guess that's true." Then, his voice clearing, added, "but I still have confidence the senior management team can turn things around. It was their brilliance that attracted me to the company in the first place." The last sentence echoed around the kitchen and there was scarcely another sound for several minutes as they pondered the possibility that all was not lost.
At last Amy lifted the lid from the bubbling pot of Irish stew, sniffed, and stirred. She turned to Zach with an engaging smile. "How confident are you management can turn things around?"
"I'd bet on it with my own money if I had any," Zach laughed ruefully. The tone of his voice told Amy he believed it.
Chapter 5
Marcus Inglenook, waiting in the upscale apartment doorway, gazed down at the aged dachshund and cursed. He thought about his ailing dog-walking business and cursed again. Then he remembered Mrs. Foreman and Rumpus House and let loose an explosive volley of expletives.
He'd opened Inglenook Happy Dog Stroller a year earlier to escape the wretched late-night routine as a barman in a sleazy, downtown tavern. A drunken customer mentioned dog walking was easy money. "All ya gotta do is walk the mutt and take their cash. Some people have more dough than sense."
At two hundred and fifty-five pounds, potbellied, unnaturally skinny arms with plump legs and flatfooted, walking wasn't one of Marcus Inglenook's favorite activities, neither did he like dogs, but the idea of easy money lodged in his mind. He attracted customers by cha
rging rock-bottom rates and soon found his wealthy clients tipped unlike the seedy boozers at the tavern.
Inglenook Happy Dog Stroller took off, and Marcus soon cut his hours at the bar. But handling dogs requires a positive attitude and patience. Marcus Inglenook had neither. His attitude was negative and temper short.
"Marcus, did you say something?" inquired Mrs. Nudel hurrying along the hallway to the front door of her ritzy apartment with a leash in her hand. She was a middle-aged woman somewhat overweight, with long gray hair swept up into an untidy bun and a pair of spectacles with thick lenses perched at the end of her nose. "Now, what were you saying?"
Marcus, tanned with a black T-shirt scattered with dandruff, stepped back from the open door. He never entered the apartments, always waited patiently in the entranceway for the owner and pet to appear. After all, he was a dog walker, barely one up from the pizza delivery boy. "I'm sorry madame; you must be mistaken," he replied in his high-pitched, almost feminine voice. He hastily stooped forward and with a bony hand, patted the dachshund on the head. "I didn't say anything."
The old dachshund growled.
"Now, now, Mr. Lightfoot," Mrs. Nudel said, wagging a finger. "Marcus is taking you for walkies while I make my list of things to prepare for tonight's dinner party." She leaned forward, attached the leash and lowered her voice, talking to the dog as if he was a confidant. "The Zwelishes are coming for dinner, and you know how persnickety Doris can be."
Mr. Lightfoot's tail wagged.
Mrs. Nudel straightened, folded her arms, and glared through thick lenses. "I'm positively certain I heard voices. Nasty, foulmouthed voices which sounded very much like you, Mr. Inglenook!"
Marcus half closed his sagging eyelids, trying to think of something to say. It didn't take long for owners to realize their dogs didn't much like the newest dog walker on the block. As he stood there thinking, his mind went back to one of his earliest lost clients, an Siberian Husky called Sally with eyes the color of the Caribbean Sea. The beast would cower and shake uncontrollably when he appeared at the door. "I'm sorry, Mr. Inglenook," the owner had said with a sigh, "I'll have to look for another walker."
Marcus's mouth had gone dry at the memory. The prospect of losing Mrs. Nudel tipped him back on his heels. His rent was overdue, and he was out of money. Walking Mr. Lightfoot this morning would generate enough cash to quell his landlord's threat of eviction and give him time to work an extra shift or two at the bar.
He refocused on Mrs. Nudel but found it difficult to speak, and when he did, it was almost a whisper. "Oh no, madame. There was no one here but me and Mr. Lightfoot, and he is such a nice doggy, hardly ever barks." He bowed as he spoke as if he was greeting a Japanese dignitary. "Nothing but the best for Inglenook Happy Dog Stroller clients."
Mrs. Nudel stared at him perplexed, her dark bright eyes and precise features fixed firm as if made of stone.
Again, Marcus stooped to pat Mr. Lightfoot's head.
Again, the old dachshund growled.
"These modern apartments," he continued, avoiding her eyes, "play all sorts of tricks on the ears."
Mrs. Nudel stared at Marcus through hard, piercing eyes. "Well, I don't think Mr. Lightfoot wants to—"
"I was just telling Mr. Lightfoot how much I look forward to our morning walks," interrupted Marcus. It didn't do to interrupt clients, but he needed the cash now, and the only way to get it was to walk Mr. Lightfoot this morning. "You're a busy woman, what with all your social events. How will you get the time if Mr. Lightfoot stays at home with you? You know how much he enjoys his morning trot along our city's beautiful riverside trail."
There was an almost imperceptible change in Mrs. Nudel's stern face. Marcus noticed a slight easing of tension in her jaw and a sudden softening of her brow. "Yes… I am rather busy today," she confided, half laughing and half sighing with relief. "Now, don't walk too far. Mr. Lightfoot's not a young puppy anymore."
Marcus bowed slightly. "We'll rest in the shade by the MoPac Expressway," he cooed soothingly.
Mr. Lightfoot looked soberly from Mrs. Nudel to Marcus as if he was following along with the conversation.
Mrs. Nudel stepped toward Marcus, he could smell her faint but unmistakably doggy odor. "Be sure to give him a dog biscuit," she said handing him the leash.
The apartment door closed.
Marcus tugged Mr. Lightfoot behind as he hurried away. Inside the dimly lit elevator, he reached into his jacket pocket pulling out a dog treat. "Mr. Lightfoot want a cookie?"
The dog's mouth opened, tongue hanging lazily out.
Marcus dropped the treat to the floor and crushed it to dust under his running shoe, then he gave Mr. Lightfoot a swift kick. "That'll teach ya to growl at me, you flea-bitten mutt."
Outside in the summer sun, Marcus settled himself on a metal bench under a large oak tree beside the trail. "Sit, beast," he snarled. "Or you'll feel the leather of my boot again."
Mr. Lightfoot whimpered.
Marcus could barely tell the difference between a Jack Russell terrier and a Boston terrier, and he didn't much care to, either. To him, smaller dogs were beasts and bigger dogs, hounds. "Either way, a good kick will keep 'em quiet."
For a while Marcus sat watching walkers and joggers as Mr. Lightfoot, leash extended to the fullest, watched the dog walker with a wary eye. Eventually, Marcus let out a sigh, reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes, lit one with tender concentration and inhaled blissfully. Mrs. Nudel wasn’t a big tipper, but at least she paid cash.
Forty-five minutes later he got up and stretched. "Come on beast," he hissed. "Let's walk the bridge and then go home."
The footbridge ran directly under the MoPac Expressway and crossed a slow-moving river known by locals as Town Lake. Mr. Lightfoot plodded behind, head down, tail between his legs.
As they crossed onto the north shore, turning right on the dirt trail Mr. Lightfoot sat down.
"What is it now?" growled Marcus tugging at the leash. "Come on, you lazy mutt, let's go!"
But Mr. Lightfoot wouldn't budge. Marcus scratched his head and glanced in the direction of the dog's eyes. A woman, he recognized as Mrs. Foreman, strolled along the narrow concrete path that led to the front door of Rumpus House. She held a leash in her hand at the end of which trotting daintily, tail high in the air was an Siberian Husky. Momentarily, the dog turned its head in their direction. A glint of sunlight caught the eyes—the color of the Caribbean Sea.
"Come on, beautiful Sally," the woman called. "Let's get you inside for some pooch pampering."
Marcus's face flushed darkly, and his eyes glared with anger. He took a deep swallow, stared for a few more seconds at Mrs. Foreman and his former client, Sally, the Siberian Husky, then he cursed.
"Well, that's not right! It's a damn disgrace that I'm losing clients to that overpriced shampoo parlor. What the hell does that woman think she's doing stealing away my business, anyway? And now she's got the nerve to walk one of my former clients right in front of my face. It's about time someone taught Mrs. Foreman a lesson."
Mr. Lightfoot pointed his nose to the sky and in a hoarse, sorrowful tone, howled.
Marcus Inglenook turned, tugged at the leash and once again kicked the aged dachshund. "Shut up! Shut up!" he cried, his voice shrieking with fury like an out of control opera soprano. "Or else you'll get it just like Mrs. Foreman is going to. "
Chapter 6
On Wednesday evenings during the summer Amy and Nick liked to sit at a picnic table on the lawn of Mayfield House watching the resident peacocks. The friendly birds mingled with tourists and locals who came to explore the historic cottage and grounds.
After they had eaten, Nick would sip a beer recounting police department news, and Amy would drink iced tea half listening and half reading a novel. This Wednesday afternoon Ruby and Victoria joined the weekly outing with their husbands, Noel and Zach.
"Nothing like eating barbecue outdoors," Zach said, dabbing gravy with a sl
ice of bread. "Too cold and wet in London, most days, and when the sun shines, tourists overrun the parks."
"Zach, leave room for dessert," Amy said. "Blackberry cobbler with fresh cream."
"My favorite." Nick smiled at his wife. He had more than one favorite dessert, but cobbler made by Amy was up there with the best.
"That's why I baked it," Amy replied, leaning forward to give Nick a kiss on his cheek. "And the others like it too."
Nick placed his arms around Amy and gave her a hug, followed by a lingering kiss. "Might sample more dessert later," he said with a saucy grin.
"Dad & Mom!" cried Ruby and Victoria at the same time. "P-L-E-A-S-E!"
Amy glanced at her daughters and laughed. "Thought I told you girls all about the birds and the bees."
"Talking about birds and bees," Nick said, turning to Victoria and Zach. "How's my grandchild getting along?"
Victoria was three months pregnant. She and Zach had kept the news a secret until their visit. "Ask the mom-to-be," Zach said, popping the final piece of bread into his mouth.
Victoria laid a hand on top of her small mound and with a pained expression took little sips of air. "Mornings haven't been great, but you already know that."
"We don't want to hear about you," chided Ruby. "I want to hear about my niece or nephew."
Victoria elbowed Ruby. "Thanks for your sisterly support! Remind me not to ask about you when it's your turn."
"Boy or a girl?" Amy asked, eager to know the answer. She'd made two sets of plans for the spare bedroom. The color aqua reminded her of exotic seas and sandy, white beaches. That was the color she had chosen for a boy. If her grandchild were a girl, they would decorate the room in peach and cream, one of her favorite colors and reminiscent of one of the family's favorite desserts—peach cobbler and ice cream.
"I'm not sure," Victoria said hesitantly.
"Too early for the scan to tell, eh?" Amy concluded, a little disappointed.
Victoria chuckled. "The doctor said it could be both."
Amy's eyes grew wide with understanding. "Twins?"
