by Clea Simon
“Gotta run.” She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “Don’t worry about any of it. Everyone knows you’re in transition.” And with a jaunty wave she was off.
***
In transition? Was that the same as out on bail, or was it a phrase that Tess had picked up in rehab? I mulled that over as I finished my burger and called for the check, not even finishing my fries.
“These okay?” The heavyset waitress looked at my plate. Either she recognized me or she knew the quality of her chef’s hand-cut, skin-on fries. I nodded. “I’ll wrap them to go, then.” By the time she returned with my change and a brown paper bag, already turning dark from the grease, I had a plan. I’d stop by Violet’s. I needed to keep busy, and I wanted to look at her blue file again, anyway. And if I plied her with cold potatoes maybe she’d shed some light on Tess’ comments.
I found my buddy at her upstairs desk, the cow-spotted Sibley draped over her shoulders and a ledger opened in front of her.
“That doesn’t look like class work.” I placed the bag beside the ledger. Violet reached in without looking and grabbed a handful of the fries.
“Not today.” She made a pleased noise and glanced up to see what she’d been eating. “Rutley’s?” I nodded and she pulled the bag into her lap. Sibley leaned forward to see what his person was eating. “Caro’s on me about midterms, but I’ve got to focus on the real-life stuff first.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but she cut me off. “I know, I heard it all morning from Caro. Finishing my degree is real life. But I’m fine. I’m going to pass everything and this June, I’ll be out there, cap and gown, with the rest of the Extension crew.”
“But, your grades?” I didn’t want to push. Clearly Caro had already done that. “Have you totally given up the idea of veterinary school?”
She shrugged, mouth full, and Sibley jumped to the ground.
Caro hadn’t finished college, either. But she’d put herself through a rigorous apprenticeship at a small trade school, learning to restore the kind of woodwork that made old houses like this one beautiful. I’d seen how she glowed when Vi made the decision to return to school and finish her undergrad degree. I could only imagine what she thought about Vi dropping all plans to go onto veterinary school. But then, my two friends had managed a serious relationship. Maybe people who could manage to live with their lovers knew something I didn’t.
“Right now, I can’t see past the next week, Theda. We’re hurting.”
I pulled a chair up to the desk and looked over at the ledger. Maybe I just didn’t understand bookkeeping. “You’re going to do a fundraiser, right?”
She nodded again, mouth full, and made a mark with her pencil. I felt a cat twine around my ankles and reached down to pull the chocolate Siamese onto my lap. He stretched out as I stroked his tawny fur.
“Sunday.” Something on that page must have been fascinating, the way it held her gaze.
“Sunday? This Sunday?” I stopped in mid pet. “Isn’t that awfully quick ? I mean, you won’t get any publicity and, well, can it be all planned?”
“Oh, it’s all planned.” She finally looked up, shooting me a look I couldn’t read. “Don’t worry about it. I mean, you’ve had a pretty full plate.”
“I know.” I went back to stroking the Siamese’s smooth coat, as much to calm myself as to please him. Bill had said he’d be meeting with Francesca on Sunday to work on the benefit. But if it was already planned, why hadn’t he told me? “I just wish I could forget about everything, about yesterday, and help out with the benefit instead.” If Bill would want me to.
“I’m sorry.” She put down the pencil and motioned to the last fry. I shook my head. “I still can’t believe it. Rachel is gone, and all I’m thinking about is budgeting. I guess this is the one thing I can do anything about.” She finished the fry in two bites, a thoughtful look on her face as she chewed. “I’ve got something for you, though. We’re now thinking of a series of fund-raisers, in clubs all over town, and we’ll need you to write about the others. Sunday is just kind of our soft launch. Francesca and Tess threw it all together really fast.” That was cheering. “We don’t even have the bill yet. I mean, the Dividing Lines said they’ll play, and Tess is going to do a set, too. But Piers’ band was going to headline, too. Though now I don’t know. He’s pretty much out of commission.” We both fell silent, thinking about why.
“So, hey, what’s going on with all that?” I knew she meant with my arrest. “Did you talk to Patti’s guy?”
I nodded. “This morning. He’s taken me on, I guess. He says our best bet is to find out who did it, that the cops won’t bother now that they, well, now that they have me.” I must have choked on those last words. The Siamese twisted around and nipped me on the hand. “Hey!”
“Don’t worry, Theda.” Violet reached out to take the cat. “Nobody can really think it was you.” The Siamese gave us both an aggrieved look and jumped to the ground.
“I don’t know.” I slumped in my chair. “Pilchard, Andy—that’s his name—really wants me to come up with an alternate theory, even if it doesn’t make sense. He was wondering if maybe Piers was involved, cause they were seeing each other.”
“No!” Violet sat back, her green eyes flashing. “How’d he find out about that?”
“I let something slip.” I sunk even lower. “I didn’t mean to; it just came out. So you knew about him and Rachel?”
“I’d heard something was up with Piers. But he’s a lover, not a killer.”
“That’s what I told the lawyer. But, well, the cat’s out of the bag. So now I’ve got to find out who really did it, not just let him set up some fall guy who’s as innocent as I am. Besides, I don’t want to get away because of reasonable doubt.” The words sounded strange to me. Unnatural. “I mean, Vi, Rachel was our friend.”
Vi settled back and began playing with her pencil. “Any ideas?”
“No, that’s the problem.” I felt the tears start to come and fought them back. The key was to keep busy. “I thought maybe I’d look through your blue file, those hate letters again. Pilchard will get copies of Rachel’s letters once everything is copied and logged in. But maybe there’s some nut out there, something we missed.”
“And you want to get started.” Violet knew me, knew I was grasping at straws.
“I can’t just sit around.” I looked around. Not even any of the shelter cats wanted to be near me.
“You can still help with the benefit. I bet Francesca and Tess haven’t done everything yet.”
I choked. Tess. “I don’t know, Vi. I feel like people are talking about me.”
She didn’t argue, which made my heart sink even more. But she did point her pencil at me. “Hey, weren’t you going to get Musetta’s teeth cleaned?”
I could have laughed, but at least I no longer thought I’d start crying. “That’s kind of lower priority right now, Vi. You see, our favorite vet…”
“I know, I know.” She started rummaging through a pile of magazines on an end table. “But I’m serious here. I’ve just been reading a really scary article on feline dental disease.” Aha! So she was still interested in veterinary school. “It’s not just cavities and bad breath, you know. There are all sorts of implications about infection, cardiac disease, you name it.”
I couldn’t hide my smile. “Still reading the journals, huh? I’m glad.” I took the proffered magazine. “I believe you. But seriously, Vi, I hadn’t thought about rescheduling. I’m not even sure who I would take her to.”
“Let me get on it.” Violet rooted around on the desk top, this time coming up with a phone book. “How about Dr. Massio? He does have a good rep, even if he does work at WellPet. Let me see if I can get an appointment for you. Meanwhile, if you want to grab that file, it’s down in Caro’s office.”
By the time I came back, flipping through letters, she was giving my name and number to someone. A moment later, she hung up and turned to me. “Well, this is sort of interest
ing. The city shelter is reopening next week, and Massio is filling in as interim head. Guess that’s his idea of community service, huh? He, well, to be honest, nobody there is crazy about having you come in. But I pointed out that this is about your cat, not you. And, well, Theda, I hope this is okay. I said I’d go in with you. We have an appointment for Monday.” She snorted, a sort of half laugh. “The up side of all this is that every vet in town has probably had her schedule cleared out.”
“Like murder’s contagious?” I looked up from the file.
“People are timid, Theda. You know that.” I shrugged. “Hey, do you want to come over for dinner tonight? I’ve got practice at eight, but Caro’s making lasagna.”
The thought was tempting. Caro could cook and the last forty-eight hours had taken their toll on me, but I shook my head. “I’m hoping to get together with Bill, to be honest.” Violet perked up and I felt my smile extending. “Despite everything, we’re trying to patch things up.” Thinking back on that morning’s conversation, I could only hope that was true.
***
With Violet’s permission, I took the blue folder and headed out. I might crave action as a way to avoid thinking, but the truth was that the last two days had wiped me out. As I let myself in, I was cheered to see a “present” awaiting me, Musetta’s favorite catnip mouse.
“Kitty, you there?” A peep and a thud answered me, and my cat appeared at the end of the hall. “Musetta.” I scooped her up and buried my face in her fur. This close, her purr rumbled like thunder, but when she squirmed around to face me, I jerked my head back. Her breath was getting worse. “We’re going to try again, kitty,” I told her, recoiling as she reached to touch my nose with hers. “I don’t know this vet, but Violet vouches for him.”
Would this new vet be gentle with her? I put Musetta down and she immediately began to groom, sticking out one white leg like a drumstick. She looked so vulnerable. Maybe I should cancel. But what Violet had been saying about dental care in cats only reinforced what I already knew. What I really wanted was to see a vet I knew and trusted. I wanted to see Rachel, but I never would again.
On that cheering thought, I collapsed on the sofa, loudly enough to earn a startled look from my cat. But as I read through the letters for what felt like the twentieth time, she jumped up to join me, kneading at my thigh until I lifted the folder and let her onto my lap. Her soft weight made a nice contrast to what I was reading. We all have negative thoughts, angry flashes that fly through our minds. But to take the time and effort to put them down on paper hinted at something else. These people wanted to be heard. They wanted their anger to be felt. Would any of them have gone a step further? Would any of them have attacked a nice woman who happened to take care of the city’s unwanted animals?
Maybe I was just too tired. I couldn’t see it. Yes, they were nasty. But on the whole the threats were either against Vi and Caro specifically, as a couple, or against the cats. There was that one accusing Vi of witchcraft…I thought of showing that to Bunny. As a peace-loving Wiccan, she’d be outraged. But nothing that seemed to carry over to shelters at large, or unwanted pets. My head was hurting and I put the folder down. We’d get Rachel’s letters next week. Maybe something in one of them would reveal some specific threat, something deadly that we’d all missed.
My eyes closed, and just as suddenly jerked open. What we’d missed. That was it. Maybe it didn’t mean anything, but at least one of the letters in Rachel’s file had been a printout, as if it had been written on a computer. Violet’s file were more traditionally kooky, written by hand in ink or, yes, crayon. The neat printing in Rachel’s file had seemed better organized. But maybe it wasn’t any more sane, simply more serious.
I itched to see those letters again. I had to talk to Pilchard. He might take those threats more seriously than the police would, but he wouldn’t know about the difference, wouldn’t see that they were in any way unusual for hate mail. I reached for the phone, but the call went straight to voice mail. How far did privilege extend? I left my name and number and hung up.
Or maybe the murder had nothing to do with the shelter or with cats. Maybe it was personal. Had there been another man in Rachel’s life? I’d only found out about Piers by accident but she must have met hundreds of men in the course of her days. Other vets or techs. Clients or even the sales reps who came by pushing the latest medications. I tried to imagine her with a fellow professional, someone as clean cut as she was neat. Or was Piers her usual type, a long-haired rocker more sheep than show dog? Rachel had been a private person, always so busy and so caught up in her practice that she and I had never dished about guys or relationships or love. Had she confided in anyone else? Violet knew her well, before they’d fallen out. How long ago since we’d all hung out? Probably before Bill had taken over the Last Stand, I realized, my eyes growing heavy again. Before my own romance had hit its current rocky patch.
The phone woke me with a start and Musetta jumped to the floor.
“Krakow, where’ve you been?” Tim. I closed my eyes to gather my thoughts. How much did I want to tell him? How much did he need to know?
“Tim, I’m sorry. I’ve had a couple of appointments. It’s been crazy.” That was not untrue.
“Well get your priorities straight, Krakow. If you want this job, getting us this poison story would be a good start. At least you could keep me in the loop.” A hint of a whine crept into his voice. “I mean, you’re my candidate here, Krakow. Help me out.”
“Tim,” I sighed. “I’d rather focus on next week’s ‘Clubland’—”
He didn’t let me finish. “You need to step up here, Krakow. You pitched this story and some of the editors here smell blood. That’s good for you, and good for the paper.”
“Tim,” I started again. There was no way around it. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get you the pet poisoning story.”
“What? If this is because you’re too sentimental or it involves animal testing or something, I don’t want to hear it. This is your beat, Krakow. It’s your job to get us this story.”
Animal stories were my beat? Since when? But this wasn’t the time to argue details, like the fact that I didn’t exactly have a job, nor was I likely to get one. “No, Tim, that’s not what I meant. It’s more complicated.” I looked around for moral support, but Musetta had left the room. “You know that vet, the one who was killed yesterday?” God, I had trouble even saying it. Had it been only a little more than 24 hours?
“Yeah. Different shelter, right? And she was slashed. Pretty brutal, I hear.”
I choked back something bitter. “Different shelter, but there’s a connection. Rachel—the vet—she was doing the lab study on the poison and, well, it looks like the poisoned food might have come from her shelter.”
“That’s great, Krakow! Pure gold!”
How could I have forgotten the sensibility of the newsroom? Tragedy was our bread and butter. “Yeah, well, Tim, there’s a big complication. You see, I don’t think I can be the one to report this story any more. I’ve been arrested for Rachel’s murder, and I’m only talking to you now because I was able to get bail.”
I’d never heard my editor speechless before, but I couldn’t exactly savor the moment. Instead, I winced every time he sputtered and by the time he signed off, saying he’d get back to me, I think we were both relieved.
The call had focused me. Yes, I needed to talk with Pilchard, but with everything else going on, I’d neglected my one steady gig, “Clubland.” And so I grabbed the weekend section and started skimming upcoming club listings. The benefit for Helmhold House hadn’t even made it into the ad, and I found myself wishing that Violet had waited a week. Though she had said that this first show would be part of a series. Of course, I hadn’t followed up.
“You’ve reached the Helmhold Home for Wayward Cats.” I left a message, but knew I should keep looking. At the very least, I shouldn’t focus my entire column on a friend’s endeavors. Whom had I seen recently? The Allston
Onramps weren’t quite up to the level of a “Clubland” profile, though I had thought of writing about them before. I should at least talk to them, talk to Piers. See how he was doing. If something better came up, I’d use his band as a secondary item.
“Bill? It’s me.” Okay, my message wasn’t grammatically correct, but it was my usual.
“Hi, Me.” A wave of relief swept over me. Bill had not only picked up, he sounded like himself again. “What’s shaking?”
“Not much, I’m just trying to salvage my career.” I’d meant it as a joke, but as I said it, I could hear the quaver in my own voice.
“Oh?” Bother, he was on his guard again. “And you’d like my help?”
“Well, I was hoping for dinner.” I thought of my empty fridge. I could go shopping. “My place?”
“Want me to stop by Petruccio’s first?” I plopped onto the sofa. We were back to normal. “Mushrooms and olives?”
“That sounds like heaven. I’ll get some wine.” I found myself smiling into the phone. We’d get together and kick back. I’d help him go over blues night bookings. But I had called him for a specific reason. “And Bill?”
“Unh huh?” I could hear that he had the phone jammed under his chin. He’d be doing paperwork now, figuring out the week’s payroll.
“Would you have Piers’ number? I ended up catching his band the other night and I may try to fit them into ‘Clubland.’” Why was I explaining myself?
“Hang on.” He put the phone down and I realized I was holding my breath until he came back and read me the number. “I’m surprised you don’t have it.”
Was there an edge to his voice? Well, too late now. “Thanks, Bill. So, see you around seven?”
“Yeah, sure, Theda.” And he hung up.
When the phone rang again thirty seconds later, I jumped for it. But the voice that answered my breathless greeting wasn’t Bill’s.
“Krakow.” Just one word, that was it.
“Tim? What’s up? I’ve got some good possibilities for next week’s column.” I didn’t, not really, but some instinct was prompting me to cover.