Chained

by Eileen Brady

  “Good. I don’t need any more confusion in my life.” With the last scrub top folded and ready to be put away, I plopped down next to him on the sofa.

  “It isn’t that bad an idea, Kate. We can look at houses and interview him all at the same time.”

  A ball whizzed by as he and Buddy began an indoor fetch game. My ecstatic pet zipped past the sofa, focused on the chase.

  To prevent damage to my toes, I scooted my feet up out of danger.

  “So I’ve got it all planned out. I’ll tell him that Oak Falls is about an hour and forty-five minutes from my parents and I’ve been thinking about making a real estate investment. Something close to the city that I could rent out if necessary. The Hudson Valley area is perfect.” He moved closer and put his arm around me.

  “Well, don’t do this for me.”

  “Hey, I’m always looking at property. You can quiz him to your heart’s content about Flynn and I can evaluate the real estate market. I’ll handle all the arrangements.” He squeezed a little closer.

  “Okay. You’re on,” I told him.

  “That’s not the only thing I hope to be on.”

  We were interrupted by Buddy jumping on the sofa between us with the forgotten toy in his mouth. His dark brown spaniel eyes begged us to continue his game. His partner in crime gladly tossed it across the room.

  “So what’s been happening while I was gone? Any more news about Angelica’s murder?” Jeremy asked as he helped me carry the laundry over to the closet.

  “Nope. Looks like her husband did her in.”

  “No surprise there,” he said. “Sometimes we kill the ones we love.”

  Surprised by his statement, I frowned, puzzled by what he meant.

  “Metaphorically speaking, I mean,” he clarified to me. “Strictly metaphorically.”

  ***

  Since my only days off were on the weekends, Jeremy arranged to meet Denny on Sunday at nine o’clock in the morning to look at houses. To save time, instead of driving to his real estate office in Rhinebeck, we were meeting at the first of several properties he’d lined up.

  Bright and early, at fifteen minutes past eight, my doorbell rang.

  “Ready?” A big smile on Jeremy’s face promised a fun day, as did the chocolate croissant and coffee cup in his hand.

  “I am so ready now,” I told him after taking a big bite of the pastry. “You are shamelessly bribing me, you realize.”

  Careful not to get any crumbs in the car, I eased into passenger seat. As soon as I had settled in, the big car took off.

  “What kind of house did you tell him you wanted?” Once inside the car my attention became focused on directing some heat on my feet to keep them nice and toasty and drinking the coffee Jeremy had picked up for me. He’d put the address into the GPS before we left the animal hospital, so I wasn’t exactly paying attention to where we were headed.

  It was a beautiful day, clear but cold. The sun tried to warm things up a bit, but so far with no success. His Mercedes downshifted effortlessly as we climbed a hill, not rattling like the old truck I drove, making the drive very smooth.

  “I told him I wanted something dramatic, open floor plan, stone fireplace, a couple of acres—river view—the usual.”

  “The usual? This is a first for me.” Trees flashed by before we crested the hill and rounded a curve.

  Jeremy slowed down. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve never looked at houses before.” My confession embarrassed me a little. “Even in school I was always the one who answered the ad for a roommate. I’m only in this converted garage apartment because it came as part of the employment package.”

  “My little vagabond. Consider this a dry run.” The GPS indicated a turn in one quarter of a mile.

  “For you, maybe. I’ve got piles of student debt and no real credit rating to brag about.”

  “Hey, you’ve got your degree to bank on.” He put his signal light on.

  “Right. That’s what I keep telling myself. Kate, eventually you will make money.”

  “Well, stick with me, then. All this could be yours, too.” His tone was mocking but I wondered how much truth lay buried below the surface.

  As the Mercedes glided cleanly around the curves in the road, I realized how different our lives and futures were. Did my college buddy ever worry about money or have to count coins to fill the gas tank? No. That part of his world was as smooth as the ride.

  And the ride was smooth, indeed. Jeremy and the lifestyle he offered were a seductive package. The question was could I picture myself riding alongside him on a permanent basis?

  As we pulled into the first property on the list, Denny got out of his Lexus to greet us. Close up, he turned out to be an older more sophisticated version of the teenager in the picture. Well-groomed, hair slicked back in a vaguely euro look, he exuded confidence. When Jeremy climbed out of the car, I noticed the real estate agent’s eyes register the Rolex on his wrist, polished Italian leather boots, and of course, the Mercedes. After a brief glance at my Sears jacket, purchased on deep discount, and seven-year-old scuffed Frye boots, he focused his attention on the person with the money. Before showing us the house, though, he whipped out a broker representation agreement for Jeremy to sign. Once that was nailed down, Denny launched into his sales pitch.

  While the two men went over all the features this first house had to offer, I lagged behind until their conversation became only background noise. No doubt about it, the house was gorgeous. I’d zoned out the outrageous asking price. Each room’s high ceilings were defined by layers of thick crown molding. Elegant long windows at the front of the house framed strategically placed walkways and trees. As I caught up to Jeremy and Denny, I overheard snippets of sentences—former estate, small gatehouse, pool—until Jeremy gestured to me. Obediently, I took my place by his side, feigning interest in the wall colors.

  “I’ve saved the best for last. Take a look.” With a flourish Denny raised the floor-to-ceiling drapes in front of us to reveal an expansive bluestone patio with a slice of Hudson River-view.

  “Spectacular.” Jeremy opened the double French doors and we followed him outside to a welcome spot of unexpected sunshine. “Is there a survey that shows how far the property extends?”

  “Certainly. I’ve got it in the information packet.”

  Being outdoors reminded me of the real reason we were here—not to buy a house, but to talk about Flynn. I interrupted the guys in the middle of a spirited discussion of current interest rates.

  “Did you grow up around here, Mr. Alantonio?”

  He blinked for a moment. I think he’d forgotten I was here.

  “Please…call me Denny. Yes, indeed. Let’s see, I was born on the other side of the river in Oak Falls, kind of that way.” His finger pointed in a northwestern direction. “Lived along the river most of my life. Went away to college but came back because my roots are here.” He made a dramatic gesture with his hands. “Deep roots.”

  “Deep roots,” I repeated but without the hand movements. “When did you go off to college?”

  “You’re making me show my age.” He appeared amused at my questions. “Graduated Oak Falls High School in June 2007. Entered the State University at New Paltz that September.”

  “Those were the days.” Jeremy finally stopped running mortgage numbers and picked up the slack. “You can’t beat old high school memories.”

  “That’s true. Except when the deranged husband of one of your classmates kills his wife right in front of you,” he chuckled. “No joke.”

  Why did it sound to me like he was boasting about Angelica’s death?

  Jeremy kept going. “It’s been a bad couple of months for Oak Falls. You probably knew the fellow whose body was found in the woods.”

  For the first time, Denny didn’t have a quick comeback.

&
nbsp; “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to pry,” I fibbed.

  “Flynn Keegan was one of my closest friends.” Denny paused, lowered his head somewhat dramatically, and continued. “He called me at my uncle’s used car lot the day he disappeared to ask for a ride. I remember I was getting ready to test drive a Mustang convertible just brought in for a trade.” His eyes shone as he described the car. “Cherry red metallic paint, white leather seats, a 1999 GT convertible. That thing flew down the road.”

  His best friend’s death seemed to take a backseat to the memory of the Mustang.

  “So what happened then?” Denny’s alibi was the last one of the gang’s I needed and I was anxious to hear it.

  “Oh, yeah. I didn’t have time to drive him all the way to Kingston. My uncle kept pretty close tabs on me back then.”

  “Not to mention the Mustang.”

  “That too. I’m embarrassed to say I got really pissed at him.”

  “You turned down his request for a ride,” Jeremy said, unbuttoning his coat, “and you were pissed at him? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I got pissed because all four of us, our gang, made this stupid pact to leave town together. Set out for the adventure of our lives.” He laughed. “That’s what Flynn called it—the adventure of our lives. Only it didn’t turn out that way.”

  “What do you mean?” We sat down on the cold stone benches arranged in a semi-circle that looked out onto the river.

  Denny stared out at the sun-speckled water. “Flynn decided to fly solo.”

  “Did you fellows blame him?” I really had no idea what Denny’s answer would be.

  “You bet we did. After he left, we cussed him out left and right, especially Nate. It wasn’t just us, you know. He abandoned everyone—his family, his ex-girlfriend, the old ladies he did errands for. Everyone was furious that he didn’t care enough to say a proper good-bye.”

  Looking out at the peaceful garden, something occurred to me. “Maybe Flynn thought you’d all try to stop him.”

  Anger spilled out this time, spoiling the agent’s cool euro vibe.

  “He would have been right. If the three of us could have kidnapped him and chained him up until we talked some sense into him, we would have.” Suddenly he stopped and looked embarrassed at revealing so much to clients. Denny rose from the bench and made a big show of carefully brushing off his pants. “It’s strange how important it seemed back then.”

  “High school days. What can you say?” Jeremy took my arm and together we strolled to the end of the patio and lingered for one last look at the view.

  “Too bad the garden isn’t in bloom.” Denny gestured at a metal arbor walkway that led to a nearby fountain. “The flowers are gorgeous. By the end of the summer the arbor is covered with white roses.”

  Roses again, white roses for remembrance. Was the whole Hudson Valley full of roses?

  The benches must not have been cleaned recently because our coats were covered with debris.

  “So, Denny, how did you get into the real estate business?” Jeremy asked while I busied myself helping brush the dust off the back of his coat and trousers.

  “That’s a crazy story. The summer of my last year in college, I met a very pretty girl who was enrolled in real estate school, so I signed up for a six-week course to be near her. Long story short—I dumped the girl and landed a career.”

  “You’re obviously successful,” Jeremy commented. “What happened to the girl?”

  “Oh, she married a friend of mine. Now they’re living happily ever after. Not.” He smiled at his own joke before playfully tapping Jeremy on the shoulder. Mr. Real Estate was back in control. “Let me show you the six-car garage. It’s going to blow your mind.”

  The two guys started talking about cars. I followed behind again, thinking of what Denny had said.

  A red Mustang convertible may have cost Flynn his life.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  House-hunting with Jeremy had been an eye-opener into a luxurious lifestyle I could only imagine. After seeing several homes, he whisked me away to dinner at a five-star restaurant on the river followed by a romantic interlude at his suite in the Stanton Inn. For someone like me who counted each dollar, it was a heady experience—like two planets colliding.

  Predictably, on Monday morning I needed a jumpstart beginning with a strong cup of coffee. Jeremy begged off joining me on my house call appointments to get some additional sleep and catch up with his paperwork, so Mari and I again had the truck to ourselves. When my stethoscope, which was hanging off the rearview mirror hit me in the nose, I knew I was in for one of those days.

  “So how was your weekend?” Mari waited for all the details but I wasn’t playing that game.

  “Dreamy.” My off-the-top-of-my-head description surprised me because in so many ways that’s exactly what it seemed like. A warm fuzzy dream that you don’t want to end.

  By the end of our shift I could also describe my workday as dreamy—in a bad dream way. At three o’clock when we started back to the hospital we’d been spit at multiple times by an annoyed llama; Mari sported a long scratch courtesy of an angry cat; and a nervous dog had taken a pee on my leg. In addition, I’d been unsuccessful in convincing a new client to run some much-needed blood work on her dog, and the truck got a flat tire. Our hopes for a short day evaporated when Cindy called us with an emergency.

  “Guys, this owner called and is pretty sure her dog has popped a hernia. The condo complex she’s in is on your way back. I’ll text you the info.”

  A hernia can be fairly benign or a big deal, depending on what’s inside it. Sometimes loops of intestines become trapped in the hernia pouch, requiring surgery. I wiped the thought of a nice hot bath out of my mind and told Cindy to call the client and tell her we were on our way. Mari entered the address in our GPS and pulled out a bag of potato chips to tide her over.

  The address turned out to be in one of the buildings closest to the road. Before we got out of the truck, a ground-floor unit door flung open and an expensively dressed young woman with a fluffy white dog ran frantically down the walkway.

  “Are you the vet?” As Mari and I gathered our equipment, I noticed she’d been in such a hurry, she hadn’t even put on a coat.

  “Yes, I’m Dr. Turner and this is my assistant, Mari. Come on, let’s get both of you inside.” We hustled out of the cold and stepped into a small entryway. The girl shut and locked the door, indicating for us to wipe our feet before gathering in the stylish living room. Our client definitely had modern tastes, evidenced by her choice of a sleek black leather sofa on stainless-steel legs paired with two pod-like armchairs. The semi-shag area rug sprouted like grass under our feet.

  “Do you have a table we can use for the exam, Ms.…?” I realized I didn’t know her name.

  “Faith Snyder. And this is my sweet little Princess.” The cute dog in her arms stuck a pink tongue out at us as it wiggled with excitement. Her loving owner covered her with kisses.

  Mari must have spied something to use because her question came right on the heels of Faith’s doggie introduction. “There’s a table in the next room. If you get a sheet or blanket, we can use that.”

  “Is it going to be messy?” The owner’s eyes darted back and forth between us.

  I tried to reassure her. “It shouldn’t be. This is only a preliminary exam. Princess looks quite comfortable at the moment.”

  The patient wagged her tail and entertained us with a series of sharp yips. “Alright, let me get something.” Faith and Princess disappeared for a short while and when they returned the dog was under one arm and a folded pad was under the other.

  “Will this do?” We had now moved into a small dining room with a glass-topped table and four Lucite chairs. A blue folder lay on one of the seats. “Here’s her shot record from when I adopted her.”

  I t
ook a quick look to make sure the dog was up-to-date on everything. “Great. We’ll enter all of this into our computer at the end of the exam.”

  Mari made room and placed the pad down to protect the table and give Princess a non-slip surface to stand on while I opened my veterinary bag. The general exam was unremarkable until I asked Faith where the hernia was.

  “On her tummy.”

  We gently turned Princess on her side and separated her long fluffy hair.

  “I Googled all her symptoms and Google said she had an umbilical hernia,” Faith’s voice rang out confidently. “Umbilical means where her belly button is.”

  Mari rolled her eyes.

  One quick glance confirmed my diagnosis. “Well, the good new is Princess doesn’t have a hernia.”

  “Are you sure?” This time her owner’s tone sounded more belligerent. With a beautifully manicured finger she pointed at her dog. “Then what’s that?”

  Mari’s eyes rolled again. Thankfully, Faith’s attention was focused elsewhere.

  “That,” I explained, “is completely normal. Princess is a boy.”

  “What?” Faith continued pointing at her now obviously excited pet.

  “Princess is a boy dog, not a girl dog.”

  “What?”

  “She’s a dude.” Mari’s blunt explanation didn’t help. “Definitely a dude.”

  We rolled Princess back on his four feet. Faith protectively scooped her baby back into her arms.

  “Someone made a mistake when Princess was a puppy and wrote down female in the records instead of male,” I explained, as gently as possible. “It happens more frequently than you might think. He was neutered before you adopted him so you never saw any testicles. What you think is a hernia is his penis coming out of the sheath.”

  Faith looked horrified. “But she can’t be a boy. She doesn’t lift her leg.”

  Mari busied cleaning up while I broke the news. “Some young male dogs don’t lift their legs right away.”