Savage Summer

by Ruth Bainbridge

  The gray paint was the color Ruth wore on many occasions. While I thought she’d look good in more vibrant hues, pastels and somber tones were the ones she most often wore. On the bed were a pair of silken pajamas and a robe. Holding them up, they appeared to be the right size. I wondered if Hans had donated them to the cause.

  I showered and changed before I began the rummaging process. I opened a few drawers, finding nothing of any importance. The drawers and closet were emptied as well. It seemed that Ruthie’s clothing had been disposed of. Only utilitarian items remained, and a fountain pen didn’t lead me in any direction, and certainly didn’t identify the muse that Ruth had found so compelling. I began snapping photos, using my cell. My memory ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.

  A jewelry box caught my eye. Opening it, I discovered the gifts I bought her right next to some pretty exorbitantly priced stuff. I fingered the trinkets that I’d spent a few weeks’ salary on realizing how cheesy they were when put next to the real thing. I guessed that Ruthie really had loved me. What else but love could have prompted her to be so lavish in praise over the baubles? She’d only found them beautiful because of who gave them to her. That’s devotion.

  I debated about taking the chain holding half the heart. After all, I was the recipient of the matching hemisphere. It was a gift that Ruth had given me, but before I appropriated it, I figured I’d ask. The Warwicks deserved as much.

  I took a pad out of the drawer and started writing down what I saw. I figured I could key the items into a search engine and see what came up. Almost done, I realized I’d left Ruthie’s bookshelves alone. That was pretty lame, but I didn’t think a book was what Dr. Shadows was referring to. I thought it would be a bare-breasted statue of a woman riding a pig or something. Yeah, picture Ruthie keeping that around.

  I jotted down the titles as quickly as I could. I yanked out the first book on mythology that I came to, and put it on the top of a bureau. I made my way down the rows, finding only one more that was on the subject of Greek gods and goddesses. A glance of the clock told me to lay low for a while.

  Shutting off the lights, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The storm still howling outside, I was wondering why I wasn’t feeling Ruthie around me. I mean, if she were trying to make contact, wouldn’t her room be the perfect spot to do so? Lots of her energy in here, but there was nothing. Of course, the distorted branches of the trees swaying in the angry breeze was atmospheric as hell, and the moan of the wind was spooky, but it had nothing to do with the girl ripped from my arms. We would have been so happy. I just knew it.

  It wasn’t hard to stay awake. Maybe Ruth wasn’t revisiting me, but old memories sure were. I didn’t need her perfume to recall what it felt like to hold that girl. Dina had hit on something when she said I did everything to make her daughter happy. I think that’s how you can tell real love from that other thing that happens below the equator.

  With lust, it’s about fulfilling desire. With love, it’s about fulfilling someone else’s desires. Me? I just sort of melted away. What remained was my nobler self; the knight in shining armor ready to do battle for the woman whose colors I wore. With Ruthie, it was periwinkle all the way.

  I placed a throw rug under the door and turned on a light. I nestled on that incredibly comfortable mattress, which was like something found in four-star hotels. I pulled the silk duvet up to my chin and began leafing through the first book’s pages. I skimmed the text. I was more looking for a notation or crimped page than reading the text. Those personal markings would identify Ruthie’s favorite goddess. While I should have been concentrating on those, I not only read the chapter devoted to Demeter, but went through the entire pantheon. If nothing else, I was thorough.

  Both books held nothing except some wild stories that had me yawning in no time. If Ruthie found any of it entertaining, more power to her for being so cerebrally inclined. I’d much rather be reading Twain or Salinger. If they’re not intellectual enough for you, kiss my Mount Olympus.

  At three o’clock, I’d had it and decided to turn in. The bookshelves of Ruthie’s dad ran through my mind. Her collection looked miniscule compared to the walls of books downstairs. I was appreciative that Dr. Shadows hadn’t said that the clue was in one of the tomes lining his shelves. If he or she had, I’d be having to do rain dances for about ten years to get through all those pages.

  CHAPTER 23

  Ruthie caught up to me in my dreams. Her arm was wrapped around her friend Becca and there were tears in her eyes. She kept repeating that Becca “was her sister,” but it wasn’t anything I didn’t know. The two were close, but Ruthie looked so sad. Perhaps what Ruth was really expressing was how much she missed Becca.

  When the tribute to her friend ended, she whispered over and over that she loved me. The words caused my heart to feel such pain. I was forced to listen, and because I couldn’t respond, I felt I was again letting her down.

  The rush of sunlight woke me out of the peculiar torture. Birgita was adjusting the curtains. It was the Warwicks’ quaint way of saying, “Get the hell up.”

  “Hey, Birgita. Trust you slept well.”

  Meeting my half-closed eyes with a hard stare, she rubbed her hands together before clasping them in front of her. If a definitive portrait of her were to be painted, that was the pose she should be in.

  “Good morning, Mr. Savage. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  Yeah, sure. And mad squirrels don’t run up your pant legs if given half the chance.

  “I was just dozing, Been up for hours,” I responded. After all, one good falsehood deserves another. “Birgita, I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but you don’t seem to like me very much. You never have, so I doubt it has to do with Ruthie—”

  “On the contrary, Mr. Savage. It has everything to do with her.”

  I sat up, running my hand over my face. I needed to wake up a little more for this one.

  “And might I ask what that means. I loved Ruth. You must know that.”

  “I know nothing of the sort. Anybody can say that they love someone, Mr. Savage, but few live up to their promise.”

  “How do you figure I didn’t?”

  “You didn’t look hard enough.”

  Birgita rushed out of the room; the morning chat was ended in the rustle of a starched skirt. I never even got the chance to ask my follow-up question, which would have been, “What the hell makes you so squirrelly?”

  With the housekeeper’s cryptic words tunneling a passage in my ears, I showered and dressed for breakfast. It was a pleasant enough affair, made even more special by Graham treating us to the way an egg soufflé should be made. No more heavy talk about murder and dead fiancées ruined the gathering.

  After discussing the ferocity of the storm and how beautiful the weather was that followed, we were on to sports. Who knew Dina kept up with baseball?

  With a second cup of coffee under my belt, I asked if either minded me taking the half a heart necklace with me. I threw in those two books for good measure because it was possible that I had missed something. Both gave me their blessings.

  Piers saw me off. Pawing me on the shoulder, he presented me with a job offer—if I needed one. As he mumbled something about dog walking not being enough to pay my bills, I shook his hand and thanked him for the magnanimous gesture.

  I stretched out in the backseat. Thomas gave me the perfunctory hello as I settled in. I was knocked out from lack of sleep, but held a polite conversation for a few miles. The list of subjects that were safe to discuss was chewed and spit out. I napped for a while. At least until my ringtone sounded. Goddamned if it wasn’t a blocked call.

  “Hello?” I answered, not sure if was a friend, foe, or telemarketer.

  “I’m glad you took my advice.” Dr. Shadows was back.

  “So you know?”

  “I do now,” my antagonizer fired back. My, how the mind games were flowing this morning.

  “You’re not
clever, you know. And I still don’t know what I was supposed to find.”

  “How could you find anything? The room’s been changed. Did you really think Ruth had gray walls?”

  “Periwinkle?” I guessed.

  “Close enough.”

  “Then you do know the Warwicks.”

  “I knew Ruth. Better than you did, obviously. It’s the only way to really know someone’s parents.”

  “Look, as much as I’d love to trade sandwiches with no meat in them all day, you’re admitting you sent me on a wild goose chase?”

  “No,” the good doctor responded. “I wanted you there, but it was Piers Warwick’s office I wanted you to look in. You’ll find the clue there.”

  “But you told me to look in Ruth’s bedroom!” I complained a little too loudly. Straightening up, I smiled at Tom, who raised the glass partition. He was the master of discretion.

  “It was to test your levels of observation. If you want to know what happened, you’re going to have to pay attention to things you discount. Before you’re done, up will be down, and your faith will be shaken.”

  “More gobbledy gook? Can you talk in complete, coherent sentences for a change? Perhaps I could find out that way?”

  “No, you’d never believe what I have to say. That’s why you have to find out for yourself.”

  “Great! Well, can you tell me exactly what I should be looking for in Piers’ office?”

  “No, but it’s hidden in plain sight. Everything is.”

  Another wiggy ending with no goodbye. Dr. Shadows was back to bad habits. I fingered the two books next to me, wondering why I’d even bothered. Maybe I could re-gift them for Christmas. With money tight, I made a mental note not to give them back to the Warwicks.

  The plane ride was uneventful, so I caught up on my beauty sleep. My car was waiting in the parking lot of the commuter train that started my journey. I drove at a moderate speed, but was home before noon. I found Mike passed out on my bed with Mooch cuddled in her arms.

  “What? Poppa Bear’s mattress too hard for you?”

  “Bright Eyes! Back so soon?”

  “I asked you to look after Mooch, not move in.”

  “I decided to do a sleepover. From what Marge said, Moochie hates to sleep alone, don’t you, Moochster?”

  Mike stuck out her chin, and the Pommie’s red tongue lapped at it like it was ice cream. That dog was friendly, all right. It made me wonder what the hell Hank did to provoke such a hostile reaction. After all, everybody and their mother knew that animals could tell when someone was up to no good.

  “Did Moochie go out yet?”

  “First thing this morning,” she said, rising out of bed and yawning. “Took a dump in the backyard. Didn’t get a chance to clean it up.”

  “Are those my pajamas?”

  “Sure, why? They’re a little long, but then, I’m not an orangutan.” She peeled off my top, and I saw that she wore a wife beater underneath. “I’m going to take a shower and then put on the caffeine. I like that percolator, dude. I’m going to get one, unless you give me yours.”

  “Get your own damn thingamajiggies and leave mine the hell alone,” I quipped, cuddling Moochie in my arms. “And thanks for leaving the mess on the lawn.”

  “No problem, dude,” she cheerily replied as she disappeared in the inner recesses of my private bath. At least, it used to be.

  With Moochie on one end of the plaid leash, and me on the other, we set out for Tullis. Sure enough, Hank was back. Janice was in front of her homestead, so I gave her a wave. Always helps to stay on good terms with people. Especially when they live in proximity of your person of interest.

  “Morning, Janice.”

  “Morning, Curt. Hey, Skipper!”

  Mooch stared at her blankly and so did I until I remembered that I’d given him an assumed identity. Kneeling, she started scratching him behind his ears and didn’t he just eat that up?

  “When did Wallace get back?”

  “Last night. Don’t know when. Must have been when I was sleeping. Say,” she said, squinting up at me. With the sun in her eyes, she used her hand as a visor. Slowly rising, her balance was good. I wondered how she’d do on a balance beam. “Are you sure this is about investments?”

  “You’re sharp, Janice. No, it’s not about investments, and this is not Skipper ….”

  “It’s Mooch!” she said, catching on.

  “Yes. You see, somebody tried to poison him, and I saw Mr. Wallace in Mrs. Danvers’ backyard,” I added, mixing in a little of this and a little of that.

  “And you think—“

  “Well, it was after midnight. Not many people wander around Marge’s backyard at that hour.”

  “I had heard that Mooch died, and you suspect Wallace.”

  “Yes, but please do not say anything. I mean, to anyone.”

  “No, not a word. My, this does change things.”

  I played a calculated risk. Wallace was pretty well ostracized from Janice’s circle of friends. Even if she did squeak, he wouldn’t hear. Or I hoped he wouldn’t. Then there was Janice, seeming so reliable. It was a police thing. I pegged her as someone that could keep her mouth shut. After all, Marge was like that also. If she wasn’t tightlipped, Janice would know about Mooch being alive. Besides, there was no better way to earn someone’s loyalty than by telling them a secret. Kitchen wisdom courtesy of my mom.

  “Thanks, Janice. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

  “Yes, please do. Henry Wallace,” she muttered under her breath. “I should have known.

  CHAPTER 24

  Mike was in high spirits when I returned. She should have been. She was drinking out of that stein again.

  “Suppose you ate me out of house and home. Should I even bother to look in the fridge and see what you left? Or should I just burn rubber in the direction of the nearest grocery store?”

  “Savage, you are a funny guy. I’m talking, fun-nee.” Taking her feet out of my slippers, she propped her legs up on my table, crossing them at the ankle. “So what was the big rush to get away?”

  “Dr. Shadows suggested I visit the Warwicks.”

  “Your fiancée’s family? Why?”

  “The doctor said I’d find more about Ruthie’s muse if I looked in her room.”

  “Hence the books you brought home,” she remarked, taking a deep swallow. “Well, don’t give me that look! You left them out! I couldn’t help but notice the titles! Cheesh!” Returning to her coffee, I let her cool for a bit by starting a new brew. “Bright Eyes, don’t give me the silent treatment. Answer the damn question.”

  “Which was?”

  “Whether you found anything.”

  I joined her at the table. Mooch jumped into my lap, burrowing in.

  “When did wild goose chases get you anything but time you can’t get back?”

  “Too true, you yutz. Don’t know why you didn’t ask me.”

  “Don’t know why I didn’t either. And the good doctor let me know it was a mind game by calling me in my chauffeur-driven ride to the airport.”

  “Chauffeur-driven? That’s where I want to be.”

  Getting this filmy look on her face that’s usually only achieved by blurring the focus on a Pentax, the only thing that was missing was glitter raining down.

  “You’ll get there,” I assured her.

  “Thanks, Savage. So what did Doctor Yutz have to say?”

  “That I should have looked in Piers’ office and not her room.”

  “But that bastard told you to look in her room!” she boomed without aid of an amplifier.

  “Yup,” I concurred.

  “Well, that’s just messed up. Not right at all,” she mumbled, drinking in more of my coffee. “How the hell long does that stupid java machine take to finish perking?” she mumbled under her breath. I left the question alone. After all, she should have figured out that one by now.

  “What abo
ut you?” I queried. “How’s the Candy tape scandal going?”

  “I straightened that out.”

  The noise cessation signaled I could satisfy my caffeine habit. I pulled down a mug and filled it to the brim.

  “And how did you do that?” I asked.

  “By hacking into his computer.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Sure! I got all sorts of mad skills that you don’t know about. And since you were gone and since I had some time on my hands last night, I used your computer to—”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute! Back up that cart! You did what?” I yelled, feeling the anger getting the better of me.

  She met the hostile outburst with a look of total disdain, but it gradually morphed into a shit-eating grin. Laughing hysterically, she brought her legs down as she leaned over and pinched my ribs.

  “Got ya, Savage!” she sputtered.

  “You bitch,” I retorted, giving into a few chuckles myself. I still had a ways to go before I could read her. Mooch celebrated her victory by switching laps.

  “I hacked into it at my place. I have special programs and black hat stuff and … you don’t want to know.”

  Toasting her with my cup, I made gains on draining the hot beverage.

  “But I did take a look at what I downloaded from Lamprey’s outdated piece of shit that he calls a computer,” she continued. “And that firewall he uses? More of an oatmeal defense.”

  “You kept copies?”

  “Sure did. There was some weird stuff going on.”

  Her comment did not go by unnoticed—even to my sleep-deprived brain.

  “Like what?”

  “Here; I’ll show you.”

  With Mooch under one arm, and the trough in the other, we made our way into the living room.

  “It’ll take a minute to get the connection. There! Okay, so here’s some of the links. As you can see, they all specialize in adult entertainment.”

  “So he’s into porno? What else is new?”

  “Yeah, but he seems to be the administrator of a lot of these sites.”

  “So he’s a pornographer. Is it called that anymore? How about purveyor of hot sex? Adult entertainment is legal.”

  “Yes, it appears to be, but there’s something there.”