by Eileen Brady
A wistful expression shone in Faith’s eyes when she gazed at the two pink polka-dot bows clipped behind the ears of her little Princess. “But I bought her a tutu for Christmas.”
“Is it pink?”
“Yes.”
“Well…” I thought for a moment. “I’m sure he will look beautiful in it.”
***
“Dr. Google strikes again.” Mari slammed the passenger side door and stowed away my bag. The truck engine roared to life. I set the heat on high and wiped off the film of humidity that had built up on the windows.
“Now, Mari, you can’t fault people for trying to understand a problem. The Internet is a great information source.” Finished with my lecture, I added, “However, at least in veterinary medicine, nothing beats experience and a hands-on exam.”
After waiting for a car to pass, we carefully pulled away from the curb and started back toward the animal hospital.
A minute later, though, I couldn’t help but laugh. “By the way, thanks.”
“For what?” Mari looked up from her keyboard.
“She’s a dude. When you said that, I thought I’d crack up.” Our much-needed laughter rang in the enclosed cab. “That was classic, Mari. Simply classic.”
***
Alone in the apartment after the staff had gone, I found myself staring once again at the picture of Flynn and his buddies. I’d now spoken to all three members of Flynn’s gang: Nate, Denny, and Rusty. In the quarry photograph, Rusty stood next to Flynn, same general build and height. However, as in my dream, one of them shone as bright as the sun while the other paled in comparison like the moon. Side by side, they stood. Red hair and faded blue eyes in an ordinary face contrasted with Flynn’s streaky blond hair and azure eyes in a movie-star face you couldn’t forget.
Rusty had stayed the course and become the third generation of Lieberman doctors, arguably the most successful of the group.
Nate had fared the worst—overweight, possibly alcoholic, he reminded me of someone who had given up. Did he see a lonely future of stocking shelves and hitting the bars stretching endlessly before him?
And what about real estate mogul Denny Alantonio? To all appearances, he was the least affected by his friend’s death. Flynn’s tragic tale was eagerly told to us to create sympathy in the buyer. Was he willing to use anything, however personal, as a sales ploy to ingratiate himself? Perhaps, but from what I saw, the anger he tried to hide appeared real.
The good old high school gang. If you asked them if they were happy, what would they say? Did they regret their life choices? Flynn was their catalyst. Without him, California had faded into the distance.
Only Flynn had shown the courage to throw everything aside and follow his dreams—and look what it got him.
Chapter Thirty-three
It was Friday afternoon at the Oak Falls Animal Hospital and the smell of hot cheese and tomato sauce overpowered all other odors. Massive quantities of free pizza served as the big incentive not to miss our once-a-month staff meeting.
Like everyone else, I’d hit the pizza and hit it hard. Our office meetings always managed to be a welcome diversion.
“Okay, everyone. Quiet down, please.” Cindy, our unflappable office manager, had an agenda in her hand and she was going to read it, whether we liked it or not.
“First, I’d like to remind all of you to park in the back parking lot, please, and leave the front parking for clients.” Cindy tried hard not to look at any one person when she made her pronouncement, but all eyes in the room became glued on Nick Pappadopolis. Our weekend tech was notorious for pulling his car as close to the main door as possible.
Nick responded by standing up and bowing to everyone. “Hey, sometimes I forget.”
I could attest to that since one Saturday I watched him tear into the parking lot only seconds before his shift started, looking like he’d been out partying all night. Our popular college student had an enviable and active social life yet still managed to stay in the top ten percent of his class.
Mr. Katt briefly jumped up on one of the chairs to sniff the pepperoni pizza. Every meeting he did the same thing and always ended up disappointed. Pepperoni was too spicy for his tastes. In a huff he sauntered across the floor, tail high, implying that he was the only true gourmet in the whole place.
Meanwhile, Cindy reported some esoteric problems she’d found in our veterinary software program that no one cared about. When she finished, Mari raised her hand.
“Did you order the new uniforms yet?”
An audible groan rose from the group. This was an ongoing discussion among the staff. Trying to decide what color to order had taken months. A fierce debate had broken out on whether part-time employee votes counted the same as full-time and the fight got down and dirty. I wondered if Dr. Rusty’s color-coordinated staff members were given any choice of uniform colors or if that decision went directly to management. Maybe I could ask Shiloh the next time I saw her.
As always, Cindy remained an oasis of calm. “Thank you, Mari, for bringing that up. It’s on today’s agenda. I’ve gotten the okay from Doc Anderson, who sends his greetings from Easter Island, by the way. He’s approved the expenditure. Now,” she looked down at her notes, “the majority of you chose the stone-gray color.”
Heads nodded. So far, so good.
“I just need to know if you want the poly blend or the new comfy cotton blend that breathes better but might wrinkle a little more.”
I groaned and put my hands over my face.
Fifteen minutes later, Cindy halted the heated argument that had erupted. “Sorry, everyone, but we don’t have time to discuss this further. I’ll get samples of both types in our chosen color and put them in the break room for you try on.”
A sort of huff of approval greeted her solution.
Mari raised her hand again. No surprise. Mari raised her hand at every meeting.
Cindy still managed a smile. “Yes, Mari?”
“Are we still trying to find a home for Spider-Guy?”
This was another ongoing issue. Our in-house tarantula and his gigantic wood-and-glass habitat needed to find a good home. When his owner moved out of state, the staff accepted him for adoption and assumed it would be easy to place him. That was nine months ago.
Feeling it was my duty, I offered some thoughts. “I was going to suggest we contact the local schools. Also, we could put something up in the waiting room for clients to see.”
“Already did that. No go.” Cindy seemed resigned to being foster mommy to a spider.
I tried again. “What about contacting the media and asking them to run a story about him?”
“Didn’t we do that six months ago?” Mari stopped, deep in thought. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try again.”
“Good job. I’ve some names in my public relations file.” Cindy beamed at all of us as though we were kindergarteners who had finally stopped wiggling around and were sitting up straight. “I think we got a lot done this time. Congratulations.”
Sensing the meeting was about to end, Nick hastened over to the stack of pizza boxes and piled three more pieces on his plate.
“Well, if that’s—” Cindy’s comment was interrupted by Eugene, our kennel helper, who raised his arm and pointed straight upwards.
All eyes lifted, including Mr. Katt’s wary cat eyes. Strolling on the ceiling in a leisurely tarantula style was Spider-Guy. This was the second time he’d escaped during a meeting. Captivated, we watched him crawl over the automatic sprinkler in the ceiling.
Nick began to snicker. Mari cast him a suspicious look.
I could see what struck Nick as funny. By some optical illusion it appeared Spider-Guy was giving the staff a rather rude gesture with three of his eight hairy legs.
Chapter Thirty-four
After another long and stressful workd
ay on Friday, Mari and I decided to run into town for brownies and hot chocolate. Jeremy was stuck in the city for the next few days so it was easy for me to justify a sugary frenzy. Since I needed to change clothes and walk Buddy, Mari left a few minutes before me. We’d decided the perfect rendezvous was at Judy’s Place in the village.
By the time I got there Mari, firmly ensconced at a table by the window, was busy people-watching.
“I’m so ready for this,” she told me.
“Me too,” I confessed.
After a few minutes, our server appeared. Mari decided to go crazy and opted for extra whipped cream and sprinkles on both her hot chocolate and brownie. “Thank goodness this week is over. I’m planning to sleep for the next two days. What are you doing this weekend?”
The waitress came with our drinks, which prevented me from answering her right away. One sip made everything all right. Sometimes a girl needs a bucketful of chocolate to smooth the way.
“Paperwork.” After another blissful sip, I explained, “Everyone wants me to wrap up this whole Flynn investigation and put it away. After talking to Luke and Gramps, I realize it was probably hopeless right from the get-go.”
“Mmmmm.” My technician nodded in agreement and started in on the brownie.
As we ate, I gazed out the window. The village was moderately busy for a winter Friday, with scattered groups of tourists strolling past. Across from us, a few cars were stopped, waiting for a coveted parking space right on Main Street. Relaxed at last, I secretly felt relieved to put the investigation aside. Maybe Jeremy might want to go on a ski weekend when he got back.
Mari scooped the last bit of whipped cream off her drink. “You know, I had high hopes in the beginning, but now…now I guess I feel like you. But, Kate, don’t feel bad because I know you did your best.”
“Thanks.” I glanced out the window again. “Nobody likes to fail, although I’m coming to terms with it. Don’t think I’m crazy, Mari, but I got so desperate, I asked Flynn to help me.”
She looked up from her plate, a puffball of whipped cream on her upper lip. “Didn’t Mrs. Vandersmitt tell you she channeled Flynn’s spirit and his spirit didn’t care if the murderer ever was caught?”
“Yes.”
She drew a circle around the side of her head with her fork. “And you think you’re the crazy one?”
Feeling slightly guilty and a little nauseous after my chocolate indulgence, I waved good-bye to Mari and walked to the truck. On the way, I passed a group of teenagers huddled together laughing and smoking outside a mini-mart. It was easy to spot Fiona in her Goth get-up. When she saw me, I nodded and kept going. To my surprise, she called my name.
We walked together several feet away from her friends before she spoke.
“Bruce ordered us not to talk to you.” She kept her head down, mumbling, shuffling her feet back and forth.
“I thought he might do that. Don’t worry about it.” This kid had enough guilt to deal with. I wasn’t going to add to it.
“Right.” Anger came off her like heat waves, almost scorching me.
“Fiona…”
“Flynn was the brave one,” she suddenly cried out. “I’m not brave like him. He always watched out for me. When they teased me in school, he came to the rescue. I miss my big brother.” Tears, long held back, streaked down her face. “He at least tried to get away, but I can’t. I’m such a coward. A stupid coward,” she whispered.
I reached out to comfort her but she pulled away.
***
Pockets of mist hung over the road as I drove out of town and got thicker the closer I got to home. My heart ached for Fiona. I knew how it felt to be alone in the world.
By the time I got to the turn-in to the animal hospital parking lot, the truck was barely crawling. The beams from my headlights bounced right back at me. With visibility so limited, I missed seeing a late-night visitor until I opened the truck door and stepped onto the asphalt.
Startled, I stopped, before taking a step backwards, my keys tight in my hand.
Someone dressed in black waited in the mist near my apartment door. I noticed the glow of a cigarette and faint reflections from the chrome of a motorcycle.
“Can I help you?” I didn’t see any animal with him so I doubted this was a business call. Acrid smoke drifted over his head. I slipped my left hand into my jacket pocket. No pepper spray.
He tossed the cigarette down and stomped it out using the steel-tipped toe of his leather boot. “You the vet who’s been asking questions about Flynn?”
“Yes.” I moved slightly to the right to activate the automatic light mounted high on the hospital wall.
The sudden brightness made him squint.
For the first time I got a good look at him. The distinctive do-rag and his general appearance gave him away. “Weren’t you at Flynn’s memorial service?” This was the sickly older man who had been at our table talking to Flynn’s grandmother. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name that day.”
“People used to call me ‘D.’”
“Diablo?” The name slipped out. From the past, he’d materialized into the now. That story Henry James, my baking biker client, had told me of a monster named Diablo almost kicking his friend to death reverberated in my memory. Except this frail man was a far cry from any nightmare. Was I in danger? Should I jump back into my truck and take off?
His gruff voice, hoarse from decades of smoking, broke the silence. “Please don’t be afraid. I’ve got some information for you about Flynn Keegan.”
“Okay.” I kept my distance, still weighing my options.
He coughed in the dampness, the rattle coming from deep in his lungs. The spasm went on for at least a minute, with Diablo doubled over, a tissue pressed to his mouth. When he caught his breath, he explained. “Between the cancer and being on dialysis, I barely have the energy to get on my bike these days. Henry James told me where I could find you. Said you were good folks, said you’d listen to me, which is more than the cops would.”
Diablo’s eyes were tired and even in the dim light the whites glowed yellow with jaundice. Leather pants that appeared two or three sizes too big drooped on his thin frame. Bony wrists exposed by his jacket sleeves glistened as pale as my sheets.
Curiosity got the best of me. “Alright. But let’s make this quick.” I tried to sound business-like and hoped I wasn’t making a big mistake.
Too weak to take off his coat, Diablo sat at my kitchen table, a cup of coffee in one hand, the other hand stroking Buddy’s fur. As I poured myself some water, he told me his story.
“Back in 2007, I was raging at the world. Living on the loose, high on meth and pills and anything else I could get. I’d beat you up if you looked at me wrong.”
So far, so bad.
“Someone told me Flynn had messed with my girlfriend, so I got him alone one night in town after he left his shift at that Chinese restaurant.”
“Go on.”
“Funny thing, though. The kid wasn’t afraid of me—told me flat-out I was wrong about the woman, then asked me if I’d served in Afghanistan. Talked about his dad and how he died. Told me I needed to get my life back in shape for myself, my family, and all the troops who hadn’t made it home.”
He took a long sip from his mug.
“Reminded me of a buddy I served with.”
I noticed the hands that held the coffee trembled. While I watched, he reached into his pocket and pulled out an amber medication bottle. He shook out two pills before using the coffee to wash them down.
“When was this?”
He grimaced for a moment, like the pills tasted bitter. “Best I can remember, we talked back in late February, early March some time in 2007.”
That corresponded with Flynn’s senior year in high school. How did Diablo’s story fit in with the victim’s disappearance in A
ugust?
“What happened next?”
“I checked myself into the V.A. and got help. This time rehab worked but only because other medical stuff had caught up with me. The doctors diagnosed me with hepatitis C. My blood pressure also read crazy-high, and that had affected my kidneys. Anyway, I went home to Rhinebeck, cleaned up my act, and started working at a friend’s garage. I’ve been mostly straight ever since, except for a little weed.”
I nodded along, not sure what this confession had to do with Flynn.
“Last month I got diagnosed with liver cancer—already spread into my lungs and lymph nodes.” His face looked resigned, like he’d come to terms with his fate.
“I’m so sorry.” Socially correct words but always inadequate.
He cracked his knuckles, then continued. “Just want to live out what time I have in peace, which brings me to Flynn. After I got out of rehab, I decided to look him up and thank the kid. See if he needed anything. That was in August 2007. I was in Judy’s Place eating lunch when out of the corner of my eye I saw him get into a car.”
His words startled me. Had Diablo seen Flynn’s murderer?
“What kind of car was it?”
“Don’t remember. Something sporty, I think.”
Sporty? Denny was driving a red Mustang convertible that afternoon.
“Then I saw him again.”
That confused me. “What do you mean you saw him again?”
He shifted in his seat. “There was a big bike rally near Saugerties that weekend. On my way out of town, I passed someone on the side of the road by the traffic circle. He had a backpack on and looked like he was hitching.”
“So the first car must have dropped him off.”
“Must have. Didn’t realize it was the kid standing there until I passed by, so I doubled back, you know, to talk to him.”
My mind played the scene in my head.
“But before I got there, some guy with an SUV pulled up.”
All my senses went on high alert. “Can you describe him?”
“A white guy, maybe in his twenties or early thirties, with sunglasses and a baseball cap. He lifted the tailgate and put Flynn’s backpack next to a suitcase, then slammed it closed. I veered off since they were on the road toward Kingston and I needed to go in the other direction.”