by Susie Gayle
“Well then. Nice work. I’ll get my checkbook.” She heads into the adjacent den, still holding Muffy in her arms.
“Thanks. You might want to take her to the vet soon. There were sedatives in the motel room; I’m betting that’s how he got her out of your yard without a sound.”
“I’ll be sure to do that, Will.”
“Ms. Strauss?” I call out. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” I hear her rummaging from somewhere in the den.
“Why did you give me forty-eight hours? I mean, would it have made a difference if it took me a week to find her? As long as I got her back, of course.”
I hear the scratching of a pen against paper. “You know I’m a judge, right?”
“I heard.”
“And us official types, we talk. I’ve heard about you.”
“What did you hear?” I ask.
“I heard that you tend not to listen when you’re told not to do something. I heard that you often appear to have no idea what you’re doing.” She suddenly appears in the doorway. “And I heard that despite all of that, you somehow always seem to get results.”
“That’s… flattering. I think.”
She smiles. “I gave you a deadline because I wanted to see if you could do it; if you would rise to my challenge or not. You did, and then some.” She hands the check out to me. “Thanks again, Will. I’ll be in touch.”
***
I get into my otherwise empty car, having dropped Dennis and Rowdy back at the Pet Shop Stop before bringing Muffy to Strauss, and play back that strange conversation in my head. What does she mean that she wanted to see if I could do it? And she’ll be in touch?
I shake my head and start the car. There’s been enough weirdness for one day. But then it dawns on me that I don’t know where to go next. Sure, I could go back to the shop, but… they don’t need me there. Patty doesn’t need me on the case, and I’m finished here.
I’m done with school. The business is doing fine without me. Call me dramatic, but I’m not entirely sure where I belong right now.
I don’t remember pulling away from Georgia Strauss’s house, but before I know it I’m parked outside of the Abernathy home. Anna lives up on the hill, not far from Strauss, in a large colonial that she used to share with her husband Jeff, now deceased. I can’t imagine she’s doing particularly well, considering what happened to Ben, so I decide to see for myself.
She answers the door and doesn’t seem the least bit surprised to see me, though I’m a bit surprised to see her. Ordinarily, Anna is well dressed and made up, even for something like a trip to the supermarket, but today she wears sweats with her hair in a messy bun and, without makeup, her complexion looks a bit paler than usual.
“Will, come in.” She steps aside for me to enter. I’m immediately greeted by her two dogs, Cheese and Crackers (though the latter’s name is actually Oliver, but that’s a whole other story). The two are a funny pair; Cheese is an eight-year-old schnauzer with a gray beard, and Crackers is a four-year-old German shepherd that dwarfs his older brother.
I greet them both in turn while Anna goes to the kitchen. “Would you like some coffee or something?” she calls to me.
“No, thank you. I’m fine. I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing.”
She scoffs a little. “I’d be much better if there was a man in my life that didn’t end up being murdered.”
I cock my head to one side a little. “What makes you say that?” As far as I’m aware, the poison theory wasn’t made public.
“People talk,” she says simply. Ah, I see. Sarah likely told Karen, Karen told Anna. “Besides, isn’t that why you’re here?”
“What do you mean?”
This time it’s her turn to look at me quizzically. “This is what you do, right? Like you did with Jeff.” Not only was I at this very home when Jeff was murdered, but I also sort of helped solve it.
“I’m sorry, Anna, I really am just here to see how you’re holding up. I was looking into it, but… Patty took me off the case.”
“I see. That’s a shame; I thought you were bringing news.”
“Sorry. But you still haven’t answered my question. Are you alright?”
She wraps both her hands around a coffee mug and sighs. “It was only a couple of months, me and Ben, but they were special. I really thought it would turn into something more. To answer your question, no, I’m not okay. Not really. But I suppose I will be. I… I just keep thinking, why him? Why Ben? Why couldn’t it have been any of those degenerates he defended every day in court? Why not that kidnapper, Bertrand?” She pauses and stares into the mug. “Sorry. I’m ranting.”
“It’s okay. Is there anything we can do for you?”
She smiles sadly. “Besides finding out who did this and sending them to jail?” She shakes her head. “No.”
CHAPTER 15
* * *
“Are you ready?” Sarah asks me before she opens the door.
“I’m ready.” I follow her into the animal shelter, Rowdy at my side. After leaving Anna Abernathy’s house, I decided to stop being dramatic and return to the Pet Shop Stop where Sarah, wanting to celebrate my first successful (official) case, suggested it was a good time to go meet the puggle like we’d talked about.
She leads us down a corridor lined with stalls of kennels on both sides, dogs of all shapes and sizes barking and yipping for attention. Rowdy’s tail goes between his legs as we walk; poor guy probably remembers his days in this place. I don’t come to the shelter often. It breaks my heart, all those pups without a home. We hold adoption events from time to time at the store, but I try not to step foot in a place like this if I don’t have to.
At the end of a corridor is a small room for families to meet and greet their potential pets. Sarah directs me and Rowdy inside and then says, “Wait here a sec.” She disappears for a minute or so, and when she returns she holds a blue leash, the other end of which is attached to Spark, the puggle.
I hold my breath as Sarah closes the door to the room and unclips Spark’s collar from the leash. He and Rowdy immediately begin their doggie dance of sniffing each other’s rears as they walk in a circle.
Spark is the smaller of the two, no more than twenty pounds, I’d guess. He’s entirely beige with a curled tail and two huge brown almond-shaped eyes. He has the floppy ears of a Jack Russell and the short, dark snout of a pug.
“Wow,” I say in almost a whisper. “He looks just like Bailey did.” The resemblance between Spark and my childhood dog is remarkable.
“Well, what are you just standing there for?” Sarah asks. “Say hi.”
“Hang on, let them do their thing.” Rowdy and Spark finish up their butt-sniffing ritual and, much to my relief, Rowdy’s tail curls toward the ceiling and wags—a good sign, since if Rowdy didn’t like him, it would be an instant no.
I kneel beside the smaller pup and put my hand out for him to sniff. “Hey, buddy. How are you? I bet it feels good to get out of that kennel, huh?” Spark sniffs my hand curiously, and then inches a little closer. I pet him on the head; he seems to like that and pushes further toward me.
“Do you know any tricks? Can you sit?” Spark sits obediently and puts a paw in the air. “Good boy!” Petting his head, I ask Sarah, “Where’d he come from?”
“They don’t know. He was a stray; no collar. But he was neutered, and he knows a thing or two, so he came from somewhere. They’re estimating he’s around two years old.”
Sarah kneels also, petting an only-mildly-jealous Rowdy while I take a look at Spark. “So… what do you think?”
I glance over at her and smile. “Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Great! I knew you’d love him. We’ll have to fill out some paperwork, and there’s a two-day waiting period. But other than that… he’s yours.”
“Ours,” I correct.
“Yeah.” She s
miles. “Ours.”
***
About thirty minutes later we get back into the car, me and Sarah and Rowdy, to leave the shelter. I don’t really want to leave just yet, and I certainly don’t want to leave Spark there for another two days, but rules are rules and we’ve filled out all the necessary papers.
Before I start the car, Sarah puts her hand on mine and asks, “You okay?”
“Yeah. He’s great. Why do you ask?”
She smiles a little and says, “Before we left, you called him Bailey.”
“I did?” I don’t remember doing that.
“You did.”
“Oh. Well, like I said, he looks exactly like him.”
“I think there’s more to the story,” she says quietly. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“It might help,” she says, singsong.
“I don’t think so, Sarah.” I put the car in reverse and start backing out of the parking space, but then I think the better of it and shift back into park.
I sit there quietly for a while, both hands on the wheel, before I tell her, “It was my fault.”
“What was?”
“What happened to Bailey.”
“Will, I’m sure it wasn’t…”
“No, it was.” I sigh. “I was just a dumb kid at the time. I didn’t know better… I used to take him for walks in the park. But this one day, for whatever reason, I thought it would be a good idea if we walked through the woods instead. Bailey started sniffing at some flower, so I let him. I wasn’t watching, and before I knew it, he’d eaten half a dozen berries right off the stem. I was only nine; I didn’t think anything of it. So we went home. About an hour, hour and a half later… my mom found him.” I shake my head. “It didn’t look like he suffered. But he was alone when it happened. I wasn’t there.”
Sarah puts her hand on mine. “That doesn’t sound like it’s your fault, Will. You didn’t know any better. Dogs, they get into things. You couldn’t have known it was poisonous.”
“That’s what I tell myself. But I could have stopped him from eating them, if I’d…” I trail off. “Oh.”
“Oh what?”
“Oh!” I turn to Sarah, my eyes wide. “That’s it. That’s the last piece!”
“The last piece of what?”
“The puzzle. I think I know what happened to Ben Simms.”
CHAPTER 16
* * *
“Switch seats with me. You drive,” I tell Sarah as I jump out of the car.
“What? Where? Will, what are you talking about?”
“Slide over.” Sarah shifts into the driver’s seat while I jump in the passenger side.
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know yet. Just drive towards town.” I rummage through Sarah’s purse for her cell phone.
“What are you doing with my phone?”
“I don’t have Anna Abernathy’s number, but you do.” I scroll through her contacts and make the call. “Come on, pick up… Anna!”
“Hello? Sarah? Who is this?”
“Anna, it’s Will. Listen… Ben’s deposition, the one he had on the day of the party, was it for the Raymond Bertrand case?”
“What?”
I repeat the question slower.
“Uh, yeah. It was.”
“Great. Thanks. We’ll talk soon.” I hang up on her. I say to Sarah, “Ben told me he was tardy to the party because a deposition ran late. And depositions aren’t normally held in courtrooms; they’re usually held in the attorney’s office. Which means it would have been here, in Seaview Rock… which means that the alleged kidnapper, Bertrand, came here to town.”
“So?”
“So, I’m betting there was food involved at some point during the deposition. And earlier today, Anna asked me something. She said, ‘Why Ben?’ This whole time I’ve been thinking that the target wasn’t Ben at all—”
“You thought it was me,” she notes.
“Right! But I’m wrong. The target wasn’t you or Ben. The target was the kidnapper.”
“Why?”
“Ben was confident that he’d win the case. He said the prosecution only had the testimony of a single victim linking Bertrand, and that it was weak; no hard evidence.”
“Okay… so what’s the connection?” Sarah asks. “And where am I going?”
“Tell you in a second.” I make another call.
“Hello?”
“Karen, it’s Will. Listen, the other night, at the party, you told us a story about a guy that was picking wildflowers in the yard of an open house, right?”
“Right…”
“What was the address?”
“Why on earth would you want to know that?” Karen asks.
“Please, it’s important.”
She sighs. “I don’t remember the house number, but it’s on the six hundred block of Seafoam Lane.”
“Seafoam Lane,” I tell Sarah. “Six hundred block. Thanks, Karen.” I hang up on her, too.
There’s only one house for sale in the area that Karen directs us, so I tell Sarah to park in the driveway and I jump out. There’s no fence, so I circle to the backyard. Sarah puts the car in park and hurries after me.
“Will, what are we doing here?”
“We’re looking for something…” Dusk is setting in, so I take out my phone and turn on the flashlight app so I can see better. “We’re looking for… this.”
Growing along the rear edge of the home is a green-stemmed plant with purple bell-shaped flowers and…
“Berries.” Sarah leans in.
“Don’t touch it,” I warn her.
“What is it?”
I’d recognize it anywhere… the same plant that killed my pup when I was nine. “It’s belladonna. Or, as some people call it, nightshade.”
Sarah looks up at me, one hand on her chin. “So it wasn’t the olives at all…”
“No. It was a slower poison, one that took an hour or two to affect him. It had nothing to do with the caterers, or the delivery guys, or you.”
I make one more call, this time to Patty Mayhew. “I think I know what happened to Ben Simms,” I tell her. “Find out what he ate during the deposition and where it came from. And while you’re at it, look into anyone who might be related to Raymond Bertrand’s victims—sorry, alleged victims—in Seaview Rock. I’m betting they’ll both lead to the same place.”
I also give her the address of the house, and the suspected poison. After I hang up with Patty, Sarah and I head back to the car and Rowdy.
“You know what all this means if you’re right?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say glumly. It means that she owes me a big, fat “I told you so.”
“You know what? I’m going to save this one. I’m going to stick it in the bank for now. Never know when it might come in handy.” She winks as we get in the car.
CHAPTER 17
* * *
Two weeks later
“Sign there.”
“Okay…”
And there.”
“Okay…”
“And one more here. Then initial here.”
“Are we almost done?” I ask. “My hand is cramping up.”
“Hush, Will. It’s a process,” Sarah scolds me. We’ve already been preapproved and our offer was accepted, so as long as this mortgage application goes through, we’ll be the proud owners of a new home.
Good thing, too; our rented house on Saltwater Drive is getting pretty crowded. Spark is settling in well. He and Rowdy get along fine, though Basket is none too happy with now being outnumbered by dogs and has taken to sitting on the dining room table, out of reach of their wandering snouts.
Speaking of, I’m not the kind of guy that always needs to be right, and I can readily admit when I’m wrong. We weren’t wrong to suspect food delivery guys; we just didn’t have the right one. It turns out that Ben’s office fre
quently ordered food from Wok This Way, the Chinese place downtown—and their delivery guy is the cousin of one of Raymond Bertrand’s alleged victims. As Karen attested, he was the one picking belladonna at her open house. Ben’s coworkers confirmed that he brought the food to their office the day of the deposition. He’d delivered to them enough times to know their preferences—or so he thought—and he slipped the poison into the meal that he assumed was for Raymond Bertrand.
He assumed incorrectly.
Eventually he cracked under the pressure of Patty’s interrogation and admitted to the whole thing. The guilt of killing the wrong person must have weighed on him, especially since he thought he was doing the right thing by targeting the suspected kidnapper.
“Last one,” Sarah tells me. “You sure you still want to do this?”
I shrug. “It’s a nice house. I mean, sure, someone died in our soon-to-be bathroom, but Karen insists that it won’t affect resale value—”
“That’s not what I meant.”
I smile. “Yeah, I’m sure.” I sign the last page and set the pen down. “Done.”
Sarah beams. “Alright. We’ll put this in, and with a little luck, we’ll be closing by…” She trails off as my cell phone rings.
“Sorry, hold that thought one second,” I tell her as I answer.
“Hello, Will. It’s Georgia Strauss.”
“Hi, Georgia,” I say, throwing a glance at Sarah. She arches an eyebrow back at me.
“I have a new case for you. That is, if you want it.”
“Yeah? What is it?”
“Let’s talk. Can you meet me for lunch tomorrow?”
***
That night, Sarah and I go to the Runside, Seaview Rock’s seaside bar and grill. Ordinarily this is where we’d all gather after a particularly trying day to blow off some steam and enjoy their house brew, a Whale of an Ale, but tonight we decide to just go the two of us to celebrate—not just the house, but all of the changes that have come and are coming.