“We need to talk about a few things.” Uh oh. Here it comes. I looked at her bony hand folded over mine. She wants to go home. “I know what’s going on.”
My heart gave a little jump. Mom was prone to mildly paranoid notions these days. “You do?”
She laughed and squeezed my hand. “I do. Janet, I know I’m losing my marbles. That’s why I want to talk to you now. I’m having a good day, at least so far. So I want you to know a few things.” One more hand squeeze and then she let go and pulled a folded set of papers out of her smock’s huge pocket. She flattened the creased papers against the top of the table, put her reading glasses on, studied the top sheet briefly, and pushed it toward me.
“Read that.”
It was a series of directives of various kinds. What to do about the house. What to do with her property. With her money.
With her.
“As you see, I’ve signed it, had it witnessed and notarized. My doctor witnessed it.”
“Mom …”
“No, listen. We have to do this. When your dad died, he left a lot of loose ends, and I won’t do that to you and Bill.”
“Has Bill seen this?” My brother, Bill, was having even more difficulty dealing with Mom’s decline than I was.
“No, not yet.” She set her glasses on the table. “Bill isn’t as tough as you. Never was.”
“I’m not that tough, Mom.”
“Yes, you are. And that,” she waved toward the tear that was wriggling its way down my cheek, “doesn’t mean you aren’t. I know, because you’re a lot like me.” She smiled again. “That’s why we fought so much when you were younger.”
Sudden anger flared in my brain, snuffed immediately by guilt and a sense of futility. Was my mother opening a conversation about reconciling our long-standing conflicts? Why now, when I couldn’t be sure she’d still be with me mentally in ten minutes? Why not ten years ago when we could have enjoyed one another?
“Janet, I’ve signed a quit claim. It’s in there.” She waved at the papers in my hands. “The house is yours. Jack Schweyer knows about it.” Jack had been my parents’ attorney since I was in diapers, which put him at least in his seventies. According to his daughter Alex, who trained her Samoyed at Dog Dayz with me and Jay, he still worked a thirty-hour week. “Everything is yours. House. Furniture.” She paused and we sat quietly for a few moments.
“Mom, I don’t need the house. Bill should have it.”
“The car.”
Mom’s car was long gone. Bill had seen to that when it became clear that she shouldn’t be driving. I looked across the table. My mother was still looking at me, but she had worry lines between her eyebrows and her mouth hung slightly open.
“Mom, you should leave the house to Bill. He loves that house.”
She cocked her head. “Who?”
Oh crap.
“Where is the car? I need to go shopping.”
“You sold the car, Mom, remember? A few months ago.”
Something in the musculature of her cheeks shifted and my heart fell into my belly. “No, dear, your dad drove it to work today.”
I stayed another twenty minutes, but my mother had already left the building. We walked around the garden and she still addressed every plant by its Latin binomial, but had not a single lingering inkling of who I was. When I got to my car I grabbed my tote bag from the trunk and fished around among dried liver treats, a collar, and a lot of stuff I couldn’t identify by touch. I wanted to cancel my dinner with Neil and go curl up with a gallon of Edy’s chocolate mint instead, but when I emptied the contents onto the seat, my phone wasn’t there. Then I remembered. Pocket. But when I flipped the phone open, it was dead, and I bounced the back of my skull off the head rest a couple of times, berating myself for not charging the stupid thing. Again. I added charge phone and clean out tote bag to my mental to-do list and floored it out of the parking lot. As I whipped in behind an SUV on South Anthony, I realized that what I really wanted to curl up with was not a frozen milk product at all, but a very warm guy with a fondness for dogs and, I knew with terrifying certainty, for me.
seventeen
Neil hadn’t arrived at Chez Ma Père but on a hunch I told the maître d’ that I was with Dr. Young and I was immediately and unctuously escorted to a table in a quiet corner. I tried not to let on as he pushed my chair in that the hem of my skirt was in the grip of the velvet seat cushion, but as soon as he was gone I squirmed the fabric back down my thighs. The little devil in my mind smirked, that’ll teach you to dress like a girl.
I considered trying to call Anderson from the restaurant’s land line, but his number was locked up in my dead cell phone and I hadn’t brought my big bag with my class roster and other sporadically useful things.
I ordered the house white and checked out my fellow diners. All were my age—fifties—or older, well dressed and well coiffed. A local newscaster was holding forth about something on the far side of the room. His face was cloaked in the gloom of what I supposed was ambiance, but there was no mistaking his voice. Since no other voice could compete and the lighting was so bad, I didn’t recognize anyone else and decided to preview the menu. I was trying to find my breath, which I’d lost at sight of the prices on the page before me, when a new voice tickled my ears.
“Good evening.”
Neil stood beside my chair and laid a hand on my shoulder, the tips of his fingers warm against the bare skin over my clavicle. They stayed just a tad longer than seemed right. I wasn’t sure why that bothered me so much and chalked it up to my own nervousness as I watched Neil shed his jacket and drape it over the back of his chair.
“Hi, Neil.”
The oily maître d’ appeared with wine for monsieur. Neil greeted him but kept his focus on me, and I saw a twitch at the corner of his mouth when the man spoke. “Eet ees so lovely to see you once more, monsieur. Eet has been too long.”
It was all I could do to keep my eyes from rolling, and as soon as we were alone Neil leaned forward and said, “So, what part of France
do you think François is from?”
“I’m thinking New Haven.” Meaning the small town outside Fort Wayne, not the haven of higher education in Connecticut.
Neil raised his glass, smiled, and said, “Here’s to old friends.”
“Speak for yourself,” I said, laughing a little too loudly. “I’m not that old.” At least I assumed I didn’t look all that ancient in the dimly lit restaurant.
“Touché.” He smiled, but the hardness I had noticed before never quite left his eyes. I searched old memories and was surprised to realize that I just couldn’t remember that much about Neil except his high-school heartthrob status. Not that I was in his crowd. I’m sure he thought the smile that curled my lips was a response to his charms, but really I was tickled to realize that the thrill seemed to be well and truly gone. I glanced at my watch.
“I hope you’re not in a rush, Janet.” He released the stem of his glass, leaned forward, reached across the table, and took my hand away from my menu. I looked up and found him gazing intently at me. “This is a night to savor.”
Night? It’s not even seven-thirty! I retrieved my hand and took a sip of wine. “Yes, it’s a lovely evening. So nice to see you again after all these years. So, Neil, what have you been up to besides doctoring?”
Smarmy François was back. “May I breeng you some hors d’oeuvres?”
Without consulting me Neil ordered escargot for two. I started to tell him that I don’t like escargot, but his high-handedness ticked me off so I decided instead that I would be paying for my own dinner sans escargot, merci. I had intended to anyway, but hadn’t been so determined until that moment. A quick scan of the menu told me I’d be having a cup of soup and the free bread, and as we indulged in a bit of small talk, I had a sudden longing for pizza in the backyard with a certain guy in sweatshirt.
François was back with the mollusks. “Would you like to order, monsieur?”
“Not now.
We’re in no rush.” Neil leaned back, wine glass in hand.
“Yes, I would like to order.” I spoke to the waiter, not Neil. “And these are separate, please. I’d li—”
“No, Janet,” Neil interrupted me. “This is my treat. For old time’s sake.”
“I’ll have a bowl of French onion, please. That’s all. I’m not very hungry.” I was starving, but I could pick up a bag of tortilla chips on the way home. “And the checks are separate, please.”
I thought I saw a little twinkle in François’s eyes, but he kept control. “And for monsieur?”
Silence. I knew Neil was staring at me but I worked at closing my menu and smoothing my napkin. He finally ordered, then turned back to me.
“Janet …” There was an edge very like anger in his voice, but I had a little snit of my own going so I ignored it.
“Neil, we don’t have ‘old times.’ We barely knew each other in high school, and we know each other even less now. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.”
“Wow. I see you haven’t changed much.”
“What?”
“You always had a mouth on you.” He laughed. “And I always liked that about you. I was too dumb as a kid to let you know, but I did.”
“You weren’t dumb. You were just wrapped up with being cool.”
“Right. Dumb. Have some escargot.”
“All yours. I don’t like snails.”
He raised his left eyebrow. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“Why didn’t you ask?”
He shrugged, popped one into his mouth, and rolled his eyes. “Mmmm.”
François appeared. “To your sateesfaction, monsieur?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to me, “Would you like your soup with monsieur’s entrée?”
Suddenly his act was unbearable. Maybe it was the wine. I grinned at him and said, “No, I’d like it all by itself. But you may serve them at the same time, please.” The smile and bow I got in reply made me sure the man took his cue from David Suchet as Poirot on Masterpiece Mystery, so I took a chance and stage whispered, “He’s not French, you know. He’s a Brit playing a Belgian.” I’m pretty sure François winked at me as he turned away.
Neil didn’t seem to notice. “Nice dog you had there at the restaurant.”
“Thanks. He is a lovely dog.”
“Lot of hair.”
“Yep.”
“I have a bird,” he said.
“Really? What kind?” I’ve photographed pet birds occasionally and find them fascinating.
“Parrot.” I started to ask what kind of parrot, but he changed course. “My wife, well, ex-wife, had a dog in the house, but I insisted on no hair.”
“So she had, what, laser treatments?”
He looked blank.
“I thought you insisted your wife have no hair.”
That seemed to break some of the tension and we spent the next half hour catching up and eating. Neil showed me photos of his son and daughter, both in graduate school.
“Do you have children, Janet?”
The inevitable question. I understand it, but don’t like to answer, because so many people make assumptions about other people based on their parental status. Or they follow up with more questions. Or both.
“No, no kids.”
Neil surprised me. Maybe life as a doctor had made him a bit more aware than the average bear about the multitude of possible reasons, but he asked, softly, “By choice?”
“Two miscarriages.”
“I’m sorry.” He paused, then said, “But you have pets. Show me your pets.”
Forgetting that it was dead, I pulled out my cell phone to reciprocate, then said, “Another time.”
“Do you have a website?” asked Neil. When I said I did, he typed the url into his smart phone and let me pull up an album of recent shots I had taken at various dog-training sessions. He stopped me at one of a Golden Retriever leaping into the water at Heron Acres. The island where Drake found the canvas bag was clearly in view.
“I know this place.”
“You do?”
“Behind Treasures on Earth Spiritual Renewal Center, right? Off Cedar Canyons Road?”
“Right. You’ve been there?”
“Uh huh. Treasures, I mean.”
“But this isn’t part of their spread.”
“No, I know.” He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “I walked over during a reception. Too lovely an evening to spend all of it hobnobbing.”
That made no sense. The spot where I stood to take the photo was across the water from Treasures on Earth, and from the other side the island wouldn’t look the same. “But …” I stopped myself.
“But what?”
“Nothing. Never mind.” Something clicked in my memory. Neil’s lapel pin. That’s why it had looked familiar. I picked up my wine glass to give myself a moment to think. The cross with half hearts hanging from it was the same logo that Mrs. Willard had been wearing, but a smaller version. So Neil was involved with that group, too? I was trying to get a grasp on the coincidences that were piling onto one another when he broke in.
“So who bit you?”
It took all my self-control not to spew my wine.
“Oh, shit.” My cheeks felt like someone had slapped them with heating pads.
“Aww, she’s blushing.” And he was grinning and chuckling.
“A kid.”
“Clearly. Too small to be your lover.”
“I don’t think I can tell you who it was. But I think she goes to your church. Or her parents do, anyway.”
“Church? Oh, you mean Treasures? Really?”
“Her mom wears that same logo you wear, the cross and broken heart.”
“Not broken. It symbolizes …”
“I was hoping you didn’t know who you were working on.”
“I have a memory for tushies.”
“Great.”
“Besides, your name was on the chart. I just didn’t want to embarrass you.”
“Until now, you mean.”
He laughed. “You can trust me, I’m a doctor. So I’m guessing it was the little Willard darling.”
“I neither confirm nor deny. I think she’s possessed.”
“Why don’t you come to a meeting with me sometime?”
“Meeting?”
“Yes. You know, at Treasures.”
“I don’t think so.” I had to admit, strictly to myself, that I was curious, but the last thing I wanted was to be on the receiving end of some sort of cult recruiting session.
“Well, if you change your mind.”
We quietly sipped our wine for a moment. The curious little Janet demon in my head wrestled with mannerly good Janet, and of course curiosity won out. “Not saying I will come to any meetings, but I admit that I’m curious. What is that place? Church? Yoga center?”
Neil set his glass down, and although he smiled, his face took on an expression that I could only think of as zealous. “A little of each, I supposed. The Regis teaches …”
“‘The Regis’? You mean that’s not his name?”
“No, it’s an honorific.” Neil seemed to realize something for the first time. “I don’t know that I have ever heard his first name.” I found that pretty odd, but Neil shrugged it off and continued. “We honor the prophets of all faiths and each week our meeting emphasizes a teaching from one of them. We believe that our treasures are here on earth.”
I hadn’t been to Sunday school in several decades, but I did remember a few things. “But the major faiths don’t teach that.”
“Yes they do. The Regis has explained that they all teach kindness, generosity, honesty. If we follow those treasure paths, we are led to wealth here and in the afterlife.”
Rather than debate the validity of Regis Moneypenny’s reinterpretation of world religious teachings, I asked about Neil’s parrot, but he didn’t seem to know, or care, much about the bird. “Its not exactly mine. Not for good. I’m just taking care of it for a
while. Caring for Earth’s Creatures is part of the treasure path.”
I liked the idea, but the intensity of Neil’s delivery was starting to creep me out, so I steered the conversation back to high school memories. We spent a few more pleasant minutes on small talk, and then I insisted that I really needed to get going. “Early morning tomorrow,” I told him, and didn’t bother to add that it would be one of my rare early morning sleepins.
“Right. You photography types like to catch the early light, right?”
I left it at that.
eighteen
Sleeping in is apparently something I am no longer entitled to do, partly because my friends all “know” that I’m up early and it’s okay to call or show up at ungodly early hours. Why did I recharge that stupid thing? I asked myself as I stumbled from the bed to the bureau and grabbed my phone.
“Janet. I’m calling from Twisted Lake.”
“Uh, okay.” I detached the charger cord so I could walk around.
Detective Jo Stevens then startled the bleariness out of my head. “We have a body out here.” She paused. “You’re awake, aren’t you?”
“I am now.” Wide awake. “Who?” And why, I wondered, are you calling me? It took a millisecond for the implications of that question to sink in and I felt my knees go weak. Tom took Drake out there to train sometimes in the early mornings. Could he be there yet? I glanced at my wrist but didn’t have my watch. How early is it? I pulled the curtain open and saw that the sun was fully up. Tom sometimes was there by sunrise. “Jo, it’s not …” I couldn’t finish.
“Look, I’m calling to let you know just so you don’t hear it on the news.”
My face went cold and my head spun. I leaned against the wall and slid my back down until I was on the floor. Jay hopped off the bed and pushed against me and I whispered “Settle.” He lay down and rested his chin on my knee, a worried wrinkle between his eyes.
Jo had paused again, and I held my breath. “Janet, you there?”
My voice didn’t want to work, but after a failed try I managed to croak, “Who?”
“Don’t know yet. Young guy.”
The Money Bird (An Animals in Focus Mystery) Page 7