Scoop to Kill

by Wendy Lyn Watson

  Finn shifted stacks of Grandma Peachy’s old bank statements aside so we could sit at the kitchen table.

  “I know better than to look a gift cake in the mouth, but I have to think you’re here for a reason.”

  Finn looked up at me through his sinfully long lashes as he tucked in to his cake. “Guilty,” he mumbled around a mouthful of silky cream cheese frosting. He swallowed, took a sip of his coffee, and then got down to business.

  “I want to talk to you about Emily. What do you think of her?”

  I think she’s got more cool in her little finger than I have in my whole pudgy body. I think she’s led a more exciting life than I have and is ten times smarter. I think I’m wildly envious of her, and I also think that I don’t trust her even a tiny bit.

  “She’s nice,” I offered. Sherbet leaped up onto the table, and I shooed him off before he could get his teeth into my cake.

  “Nice? Em?” Finn laughed. “Emily Clowper is many things, but she sure as heck isn’t nice. In fact, she’s quite a pill.”

  “But you like her,” I insisted.

  “Sure. She’s smart and honest and passionate.” I felt the heat rising in my face, and Finn chuckled. “I mean she lives with a sort of intensity. Like everything she does, she does it with her whole self. She’s just real.”

  “Oh.”

  Finn’s lips twisted in a rueful smile. “In that sense, she reminds me of you.”

  “Oh?” I couldn’t imagine someone seeing a common thread between me and Dr. Emily Clowper.

  “Yeah. But I’m getting a weird vibe from her now.” Finn took a turn at batting away Sherbet. “She’s jumpy and more moody than usual and there’s this restless energy to her, like she wants to do something or say something and is trying to physically hold herself back.”

  “Like she’s got a secret?” I offered.

  “Exactly. Maybe she’s just being freaked out.”

  “She has a right to be,” I said. “It sounds like her job’s in jeopardy, and whether she liked Bryan or not, she worked closely with him. He died violently and she saw the aftermath. I know it’s been eating away at Alice, and I have to think Emily is equally distraught.”

  “Mmm-hmmm.”

  “But you think it’s something more,” I said.

  He nodded somberly. Silence stretched between us, and we both watched Sherbet turn his attention away from our cake and begin to rummage through the grocery bags full of Peachy’s old craft supplies. After rooting his nose around in a half-dozen bags, he emerged triumphant with the tangled remains of a skein of green yarn.

  He dropped the yarn on the floor, crouched down low, and pounced on it. Soon he captured a good-sized knot between his front paws and buried his back legs deep in the snarl of wool, kicking frantically, trying to disembowel his imaginary prey.

  “I can’t even imagine what she’s hiding, though,” Finn finally said. “I realize you don’t know Em as well as I do, but I wanted to see what kind of read you’re getting from her.”

  “Why me? I’m not exactly the best judge of character. I mean, I spent seventeen years married to Wayne Jones while he was running around like an ill-mannered alley cat and I didn’t have a clue.”

  Finn smiled. “I still trust you, Tally. Right now I trust you more than I trust myself. Emily and I haven’t been romantically involved in years and years, but we parted on good terms. I still consider her a friend, and I might be biased.”

  And I wasn’t? Really? Did he really think I could look at Emily Clowper, Finn’s ex, without green-tinted glasses? Or that her relationship with my niece didn’t set my teeth on edge?

  “I don’t know, Finn . . .”

  “Come on, Tally. Give it to me straight.”

  As I marshaled my thoughts, I watched the cat. He paused, mid-freak-out, and looked up at me with bloodlust in his eyes, his needly fangs showing beneath his velvety whisker biscuits. My sweet kitten would gladly rip a bunny in two if given the chance. Bottom line, we’re all just animals, slaves to our instincts: to protect our children, to protect ourselves, and sometimes to kill.

  “There’s something hinky about her,” I finally said. “I know you think she couldn’t possibly have sexually harassed Bryan, but I get the sense she’s hiding something. And I just can’t imagine a guy making allegations like that—publicly—and going to the extent of hiring a lawyer just because a teacher failed him on a test.”

  Finn sipped his coffee. “I’ve done a little digging about the whole thing with Bryan.” He shrugged sheepishly. “I know it’s not very loyal to snoop behind her back, but Emily really is legally precluded from talking about the situation.”

  “Well? Don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “Apparently there are two phases to getting a Ph.D. First, you take classes. Then, after two or three years of courses, you take a comprehensive exam. Which is exactly what it sounds like: you answer questions to demonstrate your mastery of your field. At Dickerson, your committee—the three professors who will oversee the writing of your dissertation—grades your exam. You need to get them all to pass you on this exam so you can move on and write your dissertation and, eventually, graduate.”

  “And that’s what Bryan failed?”

  “Exactly. Bryan’s committee included Jonas Landry—”

  “The department chair?”

  “Yep. It was Jonas Landry, George Gunderson, and Emily. I don’t know how Landry and Gunderson voted, but Emily failed Bryan. It was the second time Bryan had taken the test. If you fail twice, you get thrown out of the graduate program.”

  I whistled. “Wow. This was a big deal.”

  “Very. The school let Bryan stick around until his complaint against Emily was resolved, but he was living on borrowed time.” Finn winced. “Okay, poor choice of words. But you know what I mean. He was about to get the boot from the school.”

  I broke off a corner of my cake with my fingers and popped it into my mouth, chewed contemplatively, and then licked the frosting from my fingertips. “I guess Bryan, given what was at stake, did have a motive to lie about Emily. Of course, he might have had a motive to lie and still have been telling the truth.”

  “I just can’t see it,” Finn insisted.

  I held up a hand. “Let’s assume Bryan was lying about Emily coming on to him. That still put her job in danger. That still gave her a motive to kill him. Even more of a motive if he was lying, because he was persecuting an innocent woman.”

  “Oh, come on. You’ve met her. Can you even fathom her beating some guy’s head in with a stapler?”

  I had to admit it was hard to picture Emily doing something so messy. But whether Finn could see it or not, there was a quiet rage simmering just beneath that woman’s placid exterior. I looked at my cat, continuing to wage primal war on his yarn. I could absolutely imagine Emily doing whatever it took to protect her livelihood and her life from a malicious liar.

  “Look, you asked my opinion, and I gave it to you. I think just about anyone could commit murder if pushed hard enough.”

  “Fair enough,” Finn said. “But who else was Bryan pushing?”

  “Finn, I have no idea. And I’m not really sure I want to know.” I took another bite of cake. “At the funeral, Cal accused me of meddling in a murder investigation. I assured him I was doing no such thing. And I meant it. I didn’t much enjoy being in the middle of that investigation last year, and I hope to never be in that position again.”

  Finn smiled, a secret smile that brought to mind all the positions in which I’d found myself last year.

  “I get it,” he said. “I’ll leave you in peace. But can we still meet at the A-la-mode?”

  I shot him a glare, but with no real heat behind it. “It’s a free country.”

  He laughed. “Softy. Oh, and . . .” He paused, a sheepish look on his face. “This may be asking too much, but Emily could really use a distraction from her troubles and she doesn’t have many friends here yet.”

  Yet? The woman had bee
n in Dalliance for almost five years. How could she not have friends yet?

  Finn grimaced. “I was thinking it might be good to get her out of the house, so I thought we’d go to karaoke night at the Bar None on Wednesday.”

  If Emily Clowper sang karaoke, I’d swap suppers with Sherbet.

  “You don’t need my permission, Finn,” I said, embarrassed by the testy tone of my reply.

  “I know. But I thought maybe you and Bree would come along.” I never thought I’d see the day, but Finn Harper actually blushed a bit. “Underneath that tough-cookie exterior, Emily’s an emotional girl. I want to be there for her, but I don’t want her to get the wrong impression.”

  “Geez, Finn, we’re not in high school anymore.”

  “I know. Maybe it’s stupid, but I’d feel better if you came with us.”

  I sighed. “Oh, all right. Bree will be at karaoke night anyway, and I wouldn’t mind a night on the town before we get slammed with summer customers. As long as we go late. I want to get the A-la-mode locked up and Kyle and Alice safely home before I head out.”

  Tension drained from Finn’s body and his slow grin spread across his face. “Deal,” he said. “So I’ll see you Wednesday?”

  “Guess so,” I replied, leading him to the front door.

  I swung open the door to let Finn out, and found Cal McCormack standing on my front porch, fist poised to knock.

  Cal’s military background showed in his dress: his dark green shirt was tucked evenly in his jeans, the tail of his belt had been slipped through the loops, and the toes of his boots shone with a fresh coat of polish. But that morning, there were signs of wear in his demeanor. His close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair stuck up all higgledy-piggledy on one side of his head, and dark circles around his cerulean eyes stood out in his drawn face.

  “Hey, Cal,” Finn drawled, amused.

  “Finn.” Cal’s expression betrayed no emotion at all.

  “I’ll see you later, Tally,” Finn called over his shoulder as he sauntered down the walk.

  “Come on in, Cal,” I said, stepping out of his way.

  He walked in, but stopped awkwardly just inside the door, like he wasn’t sure if he was really welcome. Sherbet, always interested in new visitors, came trotting into the front room with his yarn trophy clamped in his tiny jaws. Cal crouched down and scratched the cat behind the ears, then stood and faced me.

  “I stopped by the A-la-mode, but Bree said you were at home this morning.” His jaw tightened. “She didn’t mention you had company.”

  “She didn’t know,” I said.

  One dark eyebrow arched.

  “No, what I mean is Finn just stopped by. He brought banana cake. You want some?”

  Cal looked at me like I’d suggested he might want to streak naked through the courthouse square. “No. Thank you.”

  “So what can I do for you?”

  “I, uh . . .” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Thanks for coming to the, uh, the church yesterday.”

  Funeral. I’d never known Cal McCormack to show a lick of fear, but he couldn’t say that little word.

  “Of course, Cal. I hope you know how sorry I am. For you and for Marla.”

  “Yeah, well, it means a lot.” He studied his boots. “You know, when bad things happen, you know who your friends are. They’re the ones who call or drop you a note and say, ‘Hey, if there’s anything I can do, just holler.’ ”

  He paused again, and made a little sound in the back of his throat as though he were agreeing with himself. Then he looked up, and fixed me with the full power of that blistering blue gaze.

  “You also learn who’s more than a friend. Who’s family. They’re the ones who walk right up to you and hold out their hands without even waiting for you to ask.”

  I knew what it cost Cal to stand in the middle of my living room, a marmalade tabby winding between his feet, and let a little of the tenderness inside his hard cowboy heart show. And it did my own heart good to know that the bond we’d formed as children had survived our years of estrangement. I didn’t have much family, but what I had I held close. I’d gladly welcome Cal into that circle.

  On impulse, I closed the gap between us and wrapped my arms around him. Cal stood nearly a foot taller than me, and I thought he might have a gun somewhere on his person, so the best I could manage was an awkward hug. I felt him stiffen, but then his own hands fumbled across my back until he held me tight against him.

  I never saw a tear in his eyes or felt moisture against my cheek, but in his own way Cal McCormack cried that morning. Ripples of tension passed through his body, as though he were convulsing, heaving the pain from his body, and my hair muffled a raw sound that welled up from deep within him.

  We stood that way for a long time, neither of us speaking, just letting the years melt away and feeling the old bonds of deep friendship.

  Finally, Cal broke the silence. “Tally?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Where’s the yarn?”

  “What?” I asked, pulling away.

  Cal pointed at the ground behind me. “Where’s the yarn?”

  I turned and looked down at the floor. Sherbet crouched on the carpet, staring, slightly dazed, at the bare floor in front of him.

  He belched daintily.

  “Oh, crap,” I muttered, dropping to my haunches and searching the floor for the yarn. It didn’t seem possible that such a small cat, still little more than a kitten, could have consumed a whole ball of yarn in the blink of an eye. But the yarn had been there, and now it wasn’t. I lifted the edge of Grandma Peachy’s quilt from where I’d left it hanging off the couch, scattered the throw pillows, knocked over a stack of Alice’s schoolbooks. All in vain. The yarn was definitely gone.

  Unless we had a ghost, the cat had eaten it. I’d never had a pet of any sort, much less a cat, but common sense told me that eating a yard of string couldn’t be good. I scooped up the cat, his body as sleek and firm as an otter in my grasp. “What do I do?” I said, looking frantically at Cal for guidance.

  His emergency-response training kicked into gear.

  “Where’s the cat carrier?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I wailed. “The house is such a freakin’ mess. I don’t know where anything is.”

  “Calm down, Tally. It’s okay. We don’t need the carrier.” He disappeared down my hallway and returned a moment later with a bath towel. He shook it out and laid it across the back of the couch.

  Gently, he pried Sherbet out of my hands, set the cat on the towel, and wrapped him up like a mummy. Just a blue terry-cloth football with a cat head sticking out of the top. Cal tucked the edge of the towel into a fold, so the bundle was secure, and handed the cat back to me.

  “Come on, Tally. Let’s go. I’m driving.”

  And just like that, our roles reversed. Strong, silent Cal had taken charge.

  chapter 7

  All Creatures Animal Hospital smelled like wet dog and fear. I cradled Sherbet, still cocooned in his periwinkle towel, close to my body while Cal did the admitting paperwork for me.

  A vet tech in hot pink scrubs directed us to the plastic chairs that ringed the waiting room and assured us a vet would be with us soon.

  I looked down at Sherbet in my lap. He stared up at me with eyes like yellow marbles. I know he’s a cat, and I know they have very small brains, but I felt like we connected in that moment. He opened his mouth in a silent meow, and my heart about broke.

  “I’m sorry, little man. I know you didn’t mean to do anything wrong. And I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  I scratched behind his ears, and a tear escaped my eye to fall on his silky little head.

  Cal’s big hand reached out and grasped mine, and he rested our twined fingers on Sherbet’s back.

  “He’ll be fine, Tally,” Cal whispered.

  “He’s a pretty cat.”

  I hadn’t even noticed there was another person in the room, so her compliment startled me. T
he woman had a little kick-dog on her lap, one of those dogs that looks like someone stuck a small fox in a clothes dryer and let it get all puffy. This one had fur the color of ground cinnamon, but with a silvery muzzle and a frosting of white along the edges of his ears.

  The woman herself looked like a shopping mall Mrs. Claus: an elfin woman with snow-white curls around peppermint-pink cheeks, a ring of delicate cream lace around the collar of her evergreen-colored blouse. She looked vaguely familiar, and I was pretty sure I’d seen her before. In real life, not just on a Norman Rockwell calendar.

  The woman smiled, dimpling cheeks as soft and powdery as unbaked biscuits, and the dog’s tongue lolled out in a matching doggy grin. That’s when I placed her—she’d been at Bryan’s funeral, sitting with the faculty and representatives from Dickerson.

  “Is your little friend sick?” the woman asked.

  “He ate yarn,” I said. A nervous laugh escaped me. “That sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?”

  “Oh, no,” she said. “I’m a dog person, aren’t I, Ginger?” The dog on her lap shuffled his tiny feet, the tags around his neck jingling merrily. The woman’s voice sounded curiously flat and nasal to me. I couldn’t place the accent, maybe something East Coast, but she definitely wasn’t a Texan. “But my niece Madeline has a cat. She’s had terrible trouble with that cat eating all manner of things—strings, ribbons, dental floss, rubber bands. He’s already had surgery six times to remove foreign bodies.”

  Six times?

  I met Sherbet’s terrified yellow gaze again. I tried to send him a telepathic message: let’s not make a habit of this, okay?

  “What about Ginger, there? Is she okay?” Cal asked. I should have inquired myself, but I was way too freaked out by the thought of my little buddy going under the knife to be polite.

  “He,” the woman corrected. “Ginger’s a boy. We’re here all the time, aren’t we, Ginger?” She lowered her face and the tiny dog licked the tip of her nose. She giggled girlishly. “Ginger’s getting up in years and has all the same problems his mommy has. Arthritis, diabetes, a heart murmur. Though thankfully he didn’t get the cancer.” She stroked a finger over the dog’s delicate throat, and he tipped back his head to give her better access. “I tell George, my husband, that he’ll probably have to have both me and Ginger put down at about the same time.”