Kalico turned and hugged his mother, then shook his father’s hand, pulling him into a bear hug. “When did you do all of this? How did you know…?”
“Just contingencies, Son.”
It was agreed that Kalico would move in at the end of the month.
“Let’s have dessert. Sara Lee and I have made a marvelous turtle cheesecake!” Katherine Kalico led the way back upstairs. She served generous slices to her husband and son, cutting out a sliver of the rich cake for herself. “I’m trying to stop eating sweets,” she explained.
They discussed ways of marketing the detective agency, the possibility of bringing on a business partner, possible contacts….
Later as Kalico prepared to leave, Katherine suggested, “Why don’t you try out your new pad? I’m making waffles in the morning.”
“I will, but only if you stop calling it my ‘pad.’” He grinned. “I prefer ‘den’ or even ‘lair.’”
“So why don’t you stay in your lair tonight?” Then, becoming more serious, she said, “Why not invite Lynn over for Friday’s movie night? Your sisters are coming home….” She watched her son’s face close. “Now, Benjy—Ben—don’t look like that! I know what you’re thinking, but Lynn did not strike me as a young woman who expects to be wined and dined every night.”
“I’m in no position to date or to get involved with someone.”
“Your dad and I didn’t have two nickels to rub together when we started dating. We enjoyed long walks, and watching television in my parents’ den, and just being together.”
“Girls today are different, Mom.”
“Shouldn’t you let Lynn make that decision? She did not strike me as the kind of young woman who cares about material things. She told me that finding Stanley had been the most fun she’d had in a long time.”
Kalico just shook his head, kissed her on the cheek, and went downstairs to his new place. Perhaps, he would call Lynn. After all, he still owed her a dinner. He slept well that night, pleased that he had settled again on a definitive direction. He would make a go of it as a private investigator—even if it meant taking on infidelity cases. As he fell asleep, Susan’s voice echoed at the edge of his consciousness. Something that she had said was important. But he lost it as he sank into a deep and untroubled sleep.
Chapter Eighteen
Kalico awoke to the smell of bacon and coffee. He stretched, enjoying the soft blue down comforter his mother had placed on the new bed.
“Ben? Are you awake?” Katie peeked at him from over the stair railing, backlit by the open door.
“No.”
Taking the reply as an invitation, she ran down the stairs and jumped on the bed. “Wake up! I want to discuss Ghost and M’s and a plan.”
Kalico groaned, but sat up. “Can’t we have breakfast first? Or at least coffee?”
“Your stomach can wait. We have a plan to find Ghost.” She rustled his covers. “Think of the big reward.”
“Okay. I’m awake. What’s your plan? A séance?” He frowned. “And since when have you become interested in my cases?”
“Since working to find Ghost is a safe way to connect with M’s. She’s almost her old self when we talk about the dog.”
“Fair enough. What have you come up with?”
Katie, relieved that her brother was taking her seriously, hugged a pillow and began to speak rapidly. Last night the girls had gone over all of the reports and notes and sightings of the beautiful husky—with several breaks for hot fudge sundaes, of course. “We decided that the facts of this case are not getting us anywhere. We know that Ghost got spooked during a storm, somehow broke free from his kennel, and escaped through a small hole in the fence. We think that the important question is not ‘Where is Ghost?’ but ‘Why?’ Why does a well-trained and pampered dog keep running?”
“Perhaps he’s heard the call of the wild,” offered Kalico mid-yawn.
“How very Jack London of you.”
“How English-nerdy of you to get the reference.”
Katie stuck out her tongue at him. “M’s has mapped the Ghost sightings, and,” she paused for effect, “we found a pattern.”
“No one has reported seeing him in thirteen days,” Kalico reminded her.
“Look.” Katie pulled up a map on her phone. She traced small red x’s with her finger. “Ghost moved steadily east from Dripping Springs, until he got to Austin. Here he zigs and zags, but then heads south from Travis Country. We think he’s traveling with purpose.”
“Maybe. But where? It’s almost impossible to find a dog after this much time. And his trail goes cold at Dick Nichols.”
“Almost is the operative term, Ben. As I’ve heard you say, oh-brother-of-mine: when stumped, go back to the beginning. We need to interview Mr. Skifford and Ghost’s trainers. Perhaps, if we can get to know Ghost, if we can probe his personality, we can figure out where he’s heading.”
“We?” Kalico nodded thoughtfully. “My initial interview with Skifford was cursory. I’ll have M’s set up an appointment and go out to the ranch next week.”
“We want to come too. Finding Ghost is important to M’s and reconnecting with her is important to me.”
“As long as you don’t miss classes. I’ll text you the day and time. Now, let’s go up to breakfast.”
***
By 9 a.m. on Sunday morning, Emelia Winterjoy had accomplished more than most people achieved in a day. She’d eaten breakfast, walked the dogs, dusted and vacuumed the living room, reorganized the hall closet, watered the front flowerbeds, and pulled weeds in the back ones. Now she sat in a wrought iron chair on her deck, drinking her third cup of coffee and watching the yellow finches at her bird feeder. Grief over Susan’s passing reawakened sadness over her mother’s death, over the loss of friends, over the fatal shooting of a young man with laughing blue eyes.
The day was crisp and bright, but, if one could believe the meteorologists, a not so rare front would arrive later in the day bringing a chance of thunderstorms. She sighed.
“Snap out it!” she admonished herself. She knew better than to indulge grief. It was a heavy emotion that would stay with her for a long, long time. One just had to move through it until the burden gradually lightened. But her normal strategy of keeping busy and productive was not working. She felt “at sixes and sevens” as her mother would have said.
Nancy’s house next door was quiet and still. A subdued and inordinately accommodating Connor had escorted his grandmother to church. Emelia had observed the young man mowing the lawn and even cleaning the gutters. She had been bowled over when he offered to mow her yard. Still, a nagging suspicion made her wonder if he were diverting suspicion by his good behavior. She shook the thought away. She’d have to trust Nancy’s love for him or lose her friendship.
Catching commotion in her peripheral vision, she turned to see Trey and Snow busily digging in the mulch. “Gentlemen, leave it!” she commanded. Trey obediently raised a nose encrusted with dirt and trotted to her, tail wagging. Snow ignored the command. “Snow. I said leave it!” The little corgi begrudgingly left the flowerbed and walked to her, head down. She brushed dirt off their muzzles, tisk-tisking and not unkindly asking her boys what they were thinking. Encouraged, Snow grabbed a blue tennis ball and dropped it at her feet. She tossed the ball until the dogs were panting and her arm was tired.
Wandering back inside, she grabbed Atonement, read a few pages, lost the story’s thread, and closed it. She turned on the television, although she did not approve of watching shows during the day. She settled on a program about herb gardening. Perdita appeared and curled up on her lap. A few moments later she stood up, dumping the annoyed cat on the floor, and crossed over to her dining room table, where two leather-bound books rested beside Jane’s clean glass baking dish. Lizzie Jankowsky had dropped off the books before she left for the airport with her mother’s cat, Delilah, safely ensconced in her kitty carrier. The books were mementoes from Susan to be given to Margie and Jane. She�
��d selected a rare first edition of F. Scot Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby for Margie and a lovely three-volume edition of Jane Austen’s Persuasion for Jane. Nancy had received a beautifully illustrated copy of Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland. She bequeathed a fine, early edition of Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations bound in blue calf with a marbled front board to Emelia.
Miss Winterjoy decided to get out of the house. She’d deliver the books to Margie and Jane, then go to Central Market for fresh fruit and salmon for supper. Fifteen minutes later, she was behind the wheel, enjoying the gentle notes of Debussy’s Clair de Lune. When she pulled into the long circular driveway in front of the Davis’ ranch-style home in Shady Hollow, Margie, in worn blue jeans and a powder blue sweatshirt, was digging a new flowerbed around her mailbox. She exclaimed in delight at Susan’s gift, removing her gloves and touching the embossed lettering, then her eyes filled with tears, and the two friends hugged for a long moment.
Fifteen minutes later, having refused Margie’s invitation to stay for coffee, Miss Winterjoy studied Jane’s address, printed in clear block letters on the tiny notepad she kept in her purse. How odd that she had never been to Jane’s house. Perhaps she should call first, but as usual the phone Lynn had given her for Christmas was sitting by her bedside table. She directed her car north toward Riverside Drive. Jane would be pleased by Susan’s gift. Perhaps it would bring her some comfort. She had not seen her since that unseemly outburst at the funeral. She shook her head at the memory.
Miss Winterjoy turned right onto Eastside Road and began scanning mailboxes for 6213A. Small side-by-side duplexes in various states of disrepair were backed by towering apartment building that had grown up on the hill. Her body jerked as her left front tire hit a deep pothole. She slowed and maneuvered her car carefully down the deeply rutted road, pausing in consternation as a potbellied pig casually crossed in front of her. Finally, she pulled up beside Jane’s small brown and white house, noting the bedraggled pansies around the mailbox, the unmown St. Augustine lawn, more weeds than grass, and the tightly drawn blinds.
She picked up the baking dish and book, locked her car, and walked up to Jane’s front door. The beige paint was flaking. She knocked. Rustling emanated from behind the door, followed by the sound of a deadbolt being turned.
“Emelia! What a surprise.” Jane’s smile did not quite reach her eyes, which were red and puffy. She was still in pajamas covered by a dirty blue nubby robe. Her thin brown hair, unwashed, hung in limp strands around her face.
“Good morning, Jane. I hope I didn’t wake you. I was in the neighborhood and wanted to drop off your casserole dish and a gift from Susan.” She held out the items, prepared to turn and leave.
“Not at all. I’ve been awake for hours and hours.” Jane grabbed Emelia’s arm with surprising strength and pulled her into the house. “Come in and visit for a while. I’ll just put on some clothes and make us coffee.”
It took Emelia’s eyes several minutes to adjust to the deep gloom of the living room, but gradually she could make out a small gray sofa decorated with floral pillows and wads of Kleenex. A bookshelf filled with knickknacks, pictures, and paperbacks leaned against one wall and a television on a wooden cart fronted the sofa.
She placed Persuasion on Jane’s dinette and set her casserole on a kitchen countertop cluttered with dirty dishes, a purple stained wine glass, magazines, and mail. Her fingers itched to clean and straighten, but she resisted, not wanting to offend her hostess. She compensated by returning to the living room, straightening the pillows and throwing the used tissues into the wastebasket.
“I’ll be right with you,” Jane called from the bedroom.
Miss Winterjoy turned her attention to the bookshelves. She longed to dust. Three photographs held a prominent place. The first picture in a lovely sterling silver frame showed a group of four UT students posing proudly behind a mound of trash bags. A sign read: Plastic is the Scourge of the Oceans. Two young men and two young women smiled into the camera. One girl, whom Emelia recognized as a young Jane, gazed up at the boy in a green plaid shirt beside her. His face was partially turned away from the camera, but something about him seemed familiar. The other pictures showed Jane and Susan standing in front of an iconic, tree-like cactus; the last showed the friends posing with the Golden Gate Bridge in the background.
On two prominent shelves she observed books her group had read over the years: Gaudy Night by Dorothy Sayers, White Teeth by Zadie Smith, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society…. Each book, a dear friend. Had Jane been keeping up with the group all these year? Probably Susan had stayed in contact; had made time to discuss the books. Emelia swallowed an unaccustomed feeling of guilt. She should have reached out more to Jane. She should be more charitable and certainly, less judgmental.
Thus when Jane reentered the room, Emelia greeted her with unusual warmth. She’d never felt close to her; in fact, she reflected that this visit may be the only time that they had ever been alone together.
“Excuse the mess. I’ve been…” Jane swallowed hard. ‘I’ve been distracted.”
“Not at all, dear. Lizzie dropped off this gift for you from Susan, and I felt that it could be some comfort.”
Jane gently lifted the three lovely volumes in turn. “Persuasion. It’s my favorite book. Suse knew. She understood.” She moved into the kitchen and began to fill the coffee maker.
“Really, Jane. I can’t stay.” Emelia felt an unreasonable desire to escape. She turned toward the front door.
“Suse knew. I was persuaded once. I stepped back. I lost him.”
“Really, Jane….”
“Stay.” Jane appeared suddenly in front of Emelia. Her dark brown eyes magnified behind her round glasses were commanding.
“May I help?”
“No. Take a seat on the back porch, and I’ll serve us.” The anger Emelia thought she had seen in her friend’s eyes had vanished. Her voice was high-pitched and almost cheery.
Miss Winterjoy breathed deeply as she observed Jane’s backyard. The wind had shifted to the north, lending crispness to the air. It was pleasant after the sense of suffocation she had felt in that cramped and messy house. So much for being charitable, she chided herself. The tiny backyard was largely unlandscaped, except for one terra cotta pot that held a large upright shrub with glossy green leaves. A few green berries darkening to an inky blue gleamed within the foliage. She leaned forward to look more closely at the fruit.
“Don’t touch. The fruit is poison.” Jane emerged from the house carrying a tray with coffee mugs, cream, sugar, and what looked like a lemon pound cake. A kitchen knife glinted in her right hand. “Cake?”
Slightly flustered, Emelia sat down at the small picnic table. “Yes, please.”
Jane cut a generous slice. “I brought that shrub with me from my garden in Arizona. It’s called Belladonna—Italian for beautiful lady. And she is.” She looked admiringly at the plant. “But she’s also deadly.”
“Oh my.” Emelia sipped the strong coffee and took a small bite of the pound cake. Her mind whirred as she sought something to say to Jane. The uncomfortable silence lengthened. She shivered and pulled in her cardigan. “It’s getting chilly. We’re expecting a cold front this afternoon. Should drop the temperature thirty or forty degrees.”
Jane did not comment.
“I do hope we get a soaking rain—so good for the garden.”
Jane sat still, her gaze on something beyond or behind Emelia. “And how is Nancy?” Her tone was oddly flat.
“Sad, of course. But she’s back at work…keeping busy.”
“Good for her.” Jane seemed to watch something just over Emelia’s shoulder. Her thin lips formed a slight smile.
“Lizzie asked me to say good-bye and to thank you for being such a special friend to her mother.”
Her eyes snapped to Emelia’s face and red blotches appeared on Jane’s neck. “You know, I expect the phone to ring any minute. Susan and I spoke every S
unday. Sometimes we just touched base; other times we chatted for hours about books, about her kids, about my real estate business. I just keep expecting the phone to ring.” Her voice broke and her hands formed into fists.
Impulsively, Emelia reached across the table to pat her shoulder. Jane flinched as though burned, rose quickly, and took the coffee cups. “More coffee?”
“No. No, thank you. I really need to go to the grocery store and get home to the dogs.” She rose and moved purposefully toward the door, willing herself not to run.
“Thank you for bringing the book and my dish. So thoughtful.”
“You’re welcome. We must help one another get through this dreadful time. Let’s have lunch soon.”
Relief flooded Miss Winterjoy as she pointed her car toward home. She opened the windows and let the cold air wash away the mold and clutter and grief and something else––something disturbing––that seemed to cling to her clothes. The energy in that house had been all wrong. Discomfort had deepened into fear. Afraid of stolid, rounded little Jane? Ridiculous. Emelia glanced at her reflection in the rear view mirror. Worry lines were etched deeply between her brows. It’s just her grief. I must stop judging her and befriend her as Susan would want me to do. She did her best to shake off her trepidation, skipped the grocery store, returned home to her dogs and her cat and her lovely, safe, well-kept home.
Later that night as she drifted into an uneasy sleep, her last thought was: I must call Benjamin Kalico.
Chapter Nineteen
Kalico picked up his phone, then set it down. He filled a box with loose papers, old mail, and books, sealed it, and placed it with the stack of boxes by the front door. He picked up his phone again, looked up Lynn’s number, then turned the phone off––again. She probably didn’t remember his promise to take her out to dinner. He was not in a position to date. Still…
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