by Clea Simon
“Yeah, I bet she was.” I was getting off track. “And you were doing some work for her, too, weren’t you?”
“All volunteer. There isn’t much contracting work right now. The season hasn’t really picked up yet, so I was helping her at the shelter.
“Well, if you were around her at the shelter, you must have seen how things worked there. Were there any problems there? Any rivalries?”
“You’re reaching, you know.” He chuckled, but more softly. “I guess I don’t blame you. I don’t know if I can help you, though. I think the staff worshipped her. The volunteers, too. I mean, they had a lot of people in and out. The pay was lousy. Really, even the receptionists and vet techs aren’t much more than volunteers. But everyone wanted to be there. All the volunteers down there would kill for a staff job.”
We both stopped at that. “Piers?”
“I didn’t mean that,” he said quickly. “I mean, they’re crappy jobs. It’s just that everyone who works there is committed to the animals, one hundred percent. And so was Rachel. I think that’s why those stories made her so mad.”
“What stories?” I didn’t dare breathe.
“Oh, you know, about how the shelter was killing animals. That the big campaign was just to raise money. I wasn’t really up on that when it was happening last year, but I guess it’s a big deal? And Rach spent so much time setting up the fostering program and everything, so to have someone write about the shelter like it was a death camp was pretty low.”
“Who wrote the stories?” I couldn’t help remembering what Violet had said. She’d been worked up, too. And where there was money, or the hint of fraud, there might be some crazy with a motive.“And where did they get their info?”
“Can’t help you. To be honest, I didn’t read them. I mean, I’ve got them here, ’cause they were important to Rachel. It was a couple of weeks ago, something in the Wag. That guy who usually writes about music. You know who I mean. He’s around.”
“Lee Wellner?” I didn’t know he did reporting.
“That sounds right. Do you want to see them?”
“Yeah, I’d love to. Would you send me the links?”
He laughed. “You think I’m that wired? I’ll just give you the file. I told Bill I’d help out with the sound board problems today. Wanna meet at the club?”
I hesitated, just long enough. “Or we can meet at the Mug Shot. I could always use more coffee.”
“It’s a deal.” We agreed to meet in an hour, and I sat back wondering about this new writer who seemed to be dogging my steps. Writing about animals, poaching my column. Had he also been out to defame my friend? Could he also have written the angry letters? Reporters had done stranger things to make a story bigger. I looked over at my answering machine. I needed to talk to my fellow freelancer. But first, I needed more information.
Bunny wasn’t answering her phone, so I left a message telling her to look for an email. The modern age didn’t necessarily speed up communication, but at least it could be more thorough. Typing, I was able to explain what I wanted to find out, and why. If there had been anything in the mainstream press about Rachel’s shelter, no-kill campaigns, staffing problems or whatever, Bunny would find it.
What was it about Bunny? There was something on the edge of my memory, something we’d been talking about. Not her pregnancy, all was well there. Not the pet psychic idea. Not, I realized with a sick feeling, that job at the Mail. The pet food contamination! That was the last thing she’d looked into for me. She hadn’t found anything, but I had. That letter, from Violet’s files, that made it seem like the bad kibble had come from the city shelter. Rachel’s murder had all but driven thoughts of the earlier crime out of my mind, if that was even a crime and not just an accident. But if the bad cat food had come from the city shelter, maybe it and her death were somehow connected. When Piers showed up with the clippings, I’d have to see if he knew anything about the donation, and I’d definitely have to make sure Pilchard knew about it.
In the meantime, I really should write up some pitches. Editors always had a lag time, and if I wanted any income within the month, I needed to stir up some work. I poke around through my ideas file, but all I could think about was Rachel. Giving up, I pushed back from my desk and stared out the window. From the look of the passersby, the day had warmed up nicely. A walk would do me good.
***
“Ralph!” I couldn’t ever remember seeing my rotund colleague drinking anything besides beer. But there he was, at the counter of the Mug Shot, looking somewhat the worse for wear. I’d never called him back. He wasn’t stalking me, was he?
“Oh, hey, Theda, how’re ya doing?” Before I could answer, he went on. “I mean, I heard. About the column.”
Of course, he was the one who had told Lee. He must have known as soon as I did, if not earlier. “Thanks.” I couldn’t manage more. I stared at the door. Piers had to show soon. But I was being silly. All Ralph had done was pass along the news. “Hey, nothing’s settled yet. Maybe I’ll get it back when everything is cleared up.”
“I hope so. I always thought you did a good job with it.” I turned back toward him in surprise, but he was looking down at the floor. “I never meant otherwise.”
“Ralph, what are you talking about?”
He didn’t even pause. “It’s just that I’ve gotten some reports. You don’t know, you’re not on staff. But we get evaluated and my last few haven’t been great. So when I saw that posting and you were meeting with the editors and everything, I got scared.”
He wasn’t talking about my arrest. “The Infallible Mystics column! You were the one. You told Tim that I’d been fooling around with the band.”
Ralph continued to stare at the floor. I was very tempted to grab his ratty little ponytail and swing him around the room. If only he weren’t so fat. Besides, it might upset the other customers. “Ralph, you little…I can’t believe you said I was inappropriate. What was it, that I’d slept with one of them or gotten drunk? I mean, when I think of all the times I’ve seen you drinking with a band.” Or flirting, or hitting on anything female. “I can’t believe it.” But I could. It was only too likely that he’d been getting negative evaluations. Everyone at the paper was afraid of cutbacks, of drops in readership, of losing some ineffable edge, and Ralph had been plodding on as always for as long as I’d been reading the Mail. In the scene, his reviews were so predictable he was almost a joke. He was an institution among my crowd, and friendly enough. But to the bean counters, a jovial drinking buddy wouldn’t be considered an asset. I felt my anger melting away. It didn’t hurt that he looked crushed, his round face red with shame.
“That’s not why I lost the column, Ralph.”
“It isn’t?” He perked right up. But I wasn’t letting him off the hook, not yet.
“It’s a long story.” His color was fading to normal. “And what you did was underhanded and just plain nasty.” He nodded. “But you can do something for me. Something to make amends.” I was thinking fast. What Piers had said about Lee stuck in my mind. The Wag writer was showing up in too many places. “You know Lee Wellner?”
He opened his mouth to deny it, the old instincts coming back. “He told me that you told him about my column, Ralph.” I was stretching the truth, but my anger made me ruthless.
Ralph grunted, which I took for assent.
“Okay, then. I need you to do some things for me. Concerning Lee and what he’s been writing.”
“Theda, come on!” His voice took on a particularly unpleasant whining tone. “It’s bad enough I made up stories about you.”
“Yes, and now you’re going to help me get out of the jam you put me in.” I should’ve crossed my fingers behind my back. Hadn’t I just told him that he was off the hook? But I scared him. Women did. And so he shut his mouth and nodded. “I’m not asking you to lie again. I’m looking into what Lee was writing about the city animal shelter, particularly about the vet who was killed, Rachel Weingarten. I need to kn
ow what he didn’t print, and who his sources were.”
He looked taken aback. He’d expected me to ask him to slam my rival.
“Can you do that, Ralph?”
“Yeah, sure.” He sounded anything but. “I guess so, anyway. I’ll probably see him tonight at the Casbah.” I sighed. I’d forgotten that the Moral Imperatives had their CD release party tonight. If I wasn’t careful, it wouldn’t be long before I fell off the musical map entirely. Maybe, if Patti’s dinner didn’t go too late, I could make it.
“Good. I may be there, maybe not. But I’ll be calling you.” He nodded, his broad face twisted up. I could see that he was trying to figure out my angle. “Remember, Ralph. You owe me.”
Just then, the bells over the front door jingled. “Remember!” I left Ralph looking more confused than ever and walked over to meet Piers.
“Hey, Theda.” He handed me a folder and ordered a large regular to go. I leafed through a series of articles, neatly trimmed from a tabloid. Rachel’s work.
“Thanks, Piers. I don’t know if I’ll find anything here, but it can’t hurt.” When I looked up, Ralph was still staring. More grist for the rumor mill, but it couldn’t be helped. “Hey, I wanted to ask you about the work you were doing on Rachel’s store room.”
“Uh huh?” He paid for the coffee and slipped the plastic lid off to sip it, wincing at the heat.
“What had been in that store room, you know, the one you renovated? And what did you do with it?”
He shrugged as he pocketed his change. “I helped Rachel move a bunch of stuff. Cases of litter and pet food. Some bags. I think she managed to fit most of it in the other storage areas.”
“Would she have gotten rid of some of the food, specifically dry cat food?”
“You’re thinking of the poisoned food, aren’t you?” I must have looked surprised. “Everyone knows what happened at Violet’s, that’s why we’re doing the benefit. You’re thinking that food could have come from Rachel’s?”
“Maybe.” Between his surfer boy looks and his casual manner, it was easy to underestimate Piers’ mind. I could see why Rachel had liked him. “Did you ever see any bags of the KittyLuv brand?”
He sipped his coffee again, more carefully. “I could have. I’m sorry, Theda, I just don’t remember. But I’ll tell you one thing. Rachel was really worried about money.”
“So why would she give away a full sack of cat food?” I finished the thought.
He shrugged. “Rachel said that one of the volunteers had been trying to get her to go all natural, but I don’t think Rach was into that. I do know one thing for sure.” He was looking out the door again. “Rach would never have passed along anything she’d thought would have hurt animals.” We both sat in silence for a moment. Finally, he shook himself and turned toward me. “Hey, wanna walk over to the Last Stand with me?”
I was tempted. I did need to pin Bill down about dinner. But was walking in with Piers the best way to approach him? “Why not?” I tucked the folder into my bag and motioned for Piers to lead the way. Behind us, I could feel Ralph staring.
***
It was easy to talk to Piers, and I found myself relaxing as we made our way down Mass Ave toward the club. The weather helped; if it wasn’t sixty, it was getting close and I didn’t even bother to zip my jacket as we kept to the sunny side of the street. By some kind of silent consent, we’d left discussion of heavier topics back at the Mug Shot and moved onto music. He had a load of funny stories about gigs gone bad. We were right in the middle of a true tale of woe—a road trip to Pittsburgh, complete with engine trouble and a carsick dog—when we got to the Last Stand.
“I told Johnny, no more petsitting. Nothing on four legs unless it can drum or pull the van!”
Which is why I was laughing as we walked into the club, and for a moment, in the dim interior, I didn’t see Bill. He was sitting at the bar, a ledger in front of him. When I did register his blank look, I walked over and gave him a resounding kiss.
“Hey, I didn’t know if you’d gotten my message.” He looked over at Piers, who motioned to the back room.
“I’ll get started, boss.”
“What’s wrong, Bill?” I took the stool next to him, in front of his ledger.
He was silent for a moment. “Sorry. There’s just some oddities. Little things aren’t adding up.”
“I meant between us, Bill. And as far as accounting, I can’t believe you’re doing this longhand.”
He put his pencil down. “Hey, these are the books I inherited.”
“Yeah, and Tess or Bunny or any of a half dozen people we know could have this all on your computer in under an hour. But what about us, Bill?”
Suddenly, the shelved bottles behind the bar seemed to be of intense interest to him. “Bill.” I reached out take his hand. “You know I love you and that I’m the faithful type, don’t you.”
“Yeah.” That Grand Marnier must have been fascinating. “It’s just that you looked so happy just now. Maybe that would be better.”
“Crap.” That got his attention. “Piers tells funny stories. He’s a nice guy. Now would you cut this out? I’ve got some serious news for you.”
“Oh?” He didn’t look totally convinced, but I filled him in, explaining about how the bad cat food might have come from Rachel’s store and how there had been some controversy about her shelter, too.
“So you’re saying that someone tried to kill her cats and then gave up and killed her instead?” One eyebrow raised, he was almost grinning. “Theda, I love you and I believe you’re innocent. But I think maybe you better leave the investigation to Homicide. I know what you think, but I’m sure they’re on the case. Meanwhile, try to get on with your life.”
“While I still have one, huh?” I wasn’t as confident as Bill that the police were still looking into Rachel’s murder, but I wasn’t going to convince him. It was time for a truce. “I love you, too, Bill, and we need a life. Would you to come to dinner with me tonight? Pilchard—I mean, Andy—and Patti have invited us over.” He opened his mouth to object. “Seriously, Bill, this isn’t just social. I don’t know if Pilchard is trying to make a big show about how much he trusts me or what, but he is my lawyer. Besides, he might be able to make something out of what I’ve found.”
“And you want to hear what he’s gotten in discovery, don’t you?”
He’d caught me out. “That had crossed my mind.”
“You know he probably doesn’t have anything yet.” He’d slipped into cop mode, vaguely paternalistic. For now, that was okay. “I mean, he’s probably still just beginning to file the paperwork.” I nodded. “Most defendants would still be waiting for their bail hearings. If you’d been anyone else, you might not even have gotten out, or not gotten out so fast.”
“I know, Bill. You keep telling me. But I have been a friend of the court. And you are my boyfriend. And that’s why I’d love you to come with me tonight. Please?”
“I’ll be there.” I was silent. “Okay, I’ll pick you up. But now, please, can I get back to work?” I leaned forward for another kiss, bigger this time, and left him in peace.
I’d just stepped outside, squinting in the unaccustomed sunlight, when I heard a familiar voice.
“Oh, hey!” Tess, still wearing her winter parka, looked as surprised as I was.
“Looking for Bill?” I was feeling generous, and confident. But she was staring past me, down the street.
“No, just doing errands. You know, the Saturday afternoon of a working girl.”
“That’s right.” I’d forgotten what it was like to have a nine-to-five. “But, hey, if you have a moment, Bill’s having trouble with his books and I bet most of it would clear up if they were put onto the computer. I was just telling him he should get Excel or something, and he got that deer in the headlights look.”
Tess didn’t react. Maybe I’d misspoken, assumed too much. “I mean, he might be able to pay you, and it would probably just be an hour’s work or so.�
�
“Okay, maybe. I’ll ask him.” I doubted she’d heard a thing I’d said, but I didn’t want to push. I smiled, feeling my face grow a little tight, and waited for her to continue the conversation. “I should run.”
I nodded, silenced by her distraction. Well, we were all busy. I had a file of stories I wanted to read, and Bunny would probably be sending over more. I gave her a quick hug, noting once again how thin she had gotten, and watched her walk quickly away, hunched in her jacket like it was still February.
Chapter Seventeen
“I still think this is a bad idea.” Bill was grumbling as we parked.
“The dinner or Patti’s boyfriend taking on my case?” I pointed to an opening just far enough from the corner to be legal.
“All of it.” He slid into the space without a question, a sure sign he was distracted. “I don’t like that he’s taken on your case pro bono. I don’t trust him, and I think you’d be better represented by somebody less flashy who was doing honest work for the money.”
“And I’d pay him with what?” He started to answer, but I knew what he was going to say. “Bill, you’ve already signed away your condo for my bail. You’re not putting the club up, too.” Too much of his retirement money had gone into the Last Stand. “Especially not if you’re having money problems there.”
“We’d be doing fine. Only, I’m thinking someone may be a little light fingered.” I looked over at him. “But I have some ideas.” Who would steal from an ex cop? “And quit trying to change the subject.”
“Too late now.” We rang the doorbell and adjusted our smiles.
“Theda, Bill.” Patti looked good, I had to admit. She was wearing her usual color coordinated outfit, knit slacks topped by a twin set. But her cheeks glowed with something other than makeup and she positively bounced as she led us in. “I’d like you to meet my friend, Andy Pilchard.”
“Charmed,” I said. Bill just stood there, so I took the lead. “And I hear you’re an attorney?”
Pilchard, to his credit, laughed as he leaned forward to kiss my cheek. “Good to see you again! Usually I tell my clients to go out, live your life. Be seen. But this is cheery, too, isn’t it.”