by Clea Simon
***
I took the mustelid’s words to heart as I drove over to the condos. Driving is one of the great pleasures of my life. The chief consolation for leaving behind the city and returning to the small town of my birth was trading in the subway for a ’74 GTO with a retro engine and a custom paint job. And while I’ve reconciled myself to the added expense that my baby blue baby costs in gas and maintenance, I have to constantly remind myself that my muscle car wasn’t made with modern safety features—or designed to handle the black ice that invariably followed a thaw. So, as much as I wanted to open her up, let that massive engine roar, I held back—at least on the shadowed streets—as I made my way over to meet Ronnie and his rats.
“Hey, Pru!” I found him in front of the development office. Tall and heavy, he complemented the build of an autumn bear with the personal style of the awkward teen he must have been some two decades before. As he looked up, I wondered once again how someone who spends so much of his time outdoors could have such an unhealthy complexion. Some of it seemed to be a blush. I’d startled him, as he was digging through the work box in the back of his pickup. Looking for cigs, most likely, or maybe something more potent, from the way he stood with a start. As long as he wasn’t feeding anything to an animal, I didn’t much care. “You’re early.”
“You’ve got rodents?” As I’ve said, Ronnie—like his buddy Albert—isn’t necessarily the brightest tool in the shed. And if I’ve learned one thing from working with animals, it’s that the closer you can keep on message, the better results you’ll get. Not that my professors in animal behavior could have guessed just what kind of beast I’d end up training.
“Yeah. I think so.” He was actually standing up straighter as he came toward me, wiping his hands on his flannel shirt as he did so. Training 101: Ignore the behavior you want to discourage, and reward the behavior you want with attention. I did so, shaking his outstretched palm. It was disconcertingly moist, but at least he was trying to act professional. “The tenant in number six complained.”
“And?” I looked at him, curious. Usually someone in Ronnie’s position would put down poison and hope to get the credit—and any reward—himself.
He shook his head. “And nothing.” A shrug. “I set some traps—the good kind, of course.” Humane ones, he meant. I doubted it, but I didn’t interrupt. “But I didn’t get anything. And then this morning he called me from the road, saying something had eaten through his wires.”
“Did you check?” What he was saying wasn’t completely impossible. A winter like we’d had was rough on wildlife. You think you have trouble driving to the store when the drifts top three feet? Try digging through the ice pack to get at the last of the acorns or the tender bark of a sapling. As I knew from the scat by my house, anything that can be gotten at is fair game by February, and although the weather had eased up on us with the opening of March, the recent melt hadn’t made edibles more accessible yet.
“Yeah, sure. I looked at where the wires come in and everything.” Another shrug. “He didn’t want to hear it.”
“Fine.” I was here. I was going to bill anyway. “So, is he here now?”
Ronnie swallowed, his wind-reddened cheeks going pale. “You don’t believe me?”
I sighed, audibly. Not that it would do any good. “If there’s a problem, I need to eliminate the obvious,” I explained. “Like that your tenant kicked the plug out or something.”
“Okay.” He didn’t sound happy. “Just—the guy has a temper.”
I followed him down the walk, which looked like it had been cleared barely enough to avoid complaints. On either side of the concrete, the crusty snow had been piled thigh-high, but that was lower than it had been a week ago, and dark, damp patches of earth could be seen in the sunnier spots. Soon, I hoped, the crocuses and snowdrops would be peeking through. I’m not sentimental about spring—I’m not sentimental about anything—but even I craved color after the endless, dreary freeze.
“Hello!” I was still examining the snowbank as he yelled into the mail slot. Inside, a small dog was yelping. “Anyone there?”
As he knocked, I crouched to examine the pitted side of the melting drift, a possibility suggesting itself. It was hard to tell from where I was looking, but what Ronnie’s tenant had suggested could happen. The larger animals—deer and rabbits—had been scrambling, but the smaller ones—moles and voles—made good use of the snow cover. They’d be burrowing under the drifts, safe for a time from many of the local predators. I’d heard of mice that had tunneled into storage sheds under cover of snow and made off with a season’s worth of feed, unseen by hawk or human.
“Hello!” More yapping. To me it sounded like, “Rat! Rat! Rat!” I didn’t take it as evidence of a rodent infestation. The high, sharp bark sounded like toy of some sort, and they’re excitable. The doorbell and knocking were as likely to have set him off as a four-legged intruder.
I stood and turned toward Ronnie. “Should I send you my invoice, or…?”
“Hang on.” He fumbled at his belt, as I’d hoped. Sending Ronnie an invoice would be about as sensible as sending one to those mice, and that impressive ring of keys had to be more than cosmetic. Sure enough, a moment later, he had the front door of the condo open. “Hello?”
His voice was an odd mix of scared and hopeful. Me? I don’t work at the beck and call of wealthy vacationers. Pushing the door open slowly, I tried to calm the dog, forming the thought in my head: “friend, treats, friend.” Even from here, I could see evidence of Ronnie’s sloppy handiwork: one panel of the wainscoting had been replaced, a bent nail pounded flat. Out loud, I announced myself: “Pru Marlowe, animal behaviorist. I’m here about—”
And then I stopped. Because right inside the condo’s front door, sprawled across the glazed tile entranceway, lay the body of the man I’d seen the night before, his eyes already dull with death.
Chapter Three
“I can’t believe she did this.” Ronnie was hyperventilating by the time the cruisers arrived. The EMTs who followed were too busy to deal with Ronnie, but I’d found him a paper bag to breathe into and suddenly we were best friends. “I mean, she was so nice.”
“Oh?” I’d recognized the body, despite the damage. The mop of hair, an unnatural dark brown. It was the wealthy guy from the restaurant—the one who’d been so rude. Knowing that he wasn’t polite to the help—or to his date—didn’t mean he deserved to die. Didn’t take the edge off the shock of finding a body, either. But nasty surprises don’t make me go all soft. The opposite, actually. A trait Wallis, my tabby, approved of. “You mean his date?”
“Date? Girlfriend.” Ronnie took a hit from the bag so naturally I wondered if he was hoping to find some glue inside. “She came here with him. I mean, he was the renter but they were, like, a couple, at least.”
I nodded. That fit with the conversation I’d overheard. But even though that had grown heated, it was a long way from dinner table nastiness to murder. And murder it was. Of that I had no doubt. People die. That’s natural. But very few fall on knives, and the handle that had been sticking out of the tenant’s gut didn’t look like a fashion accessory. What I didn’t understand was why Ronnie had brought up the girlfriend—Cheryl, I remembered her name was.
“And you think she’s involved?”
He shrugged, his shoulders sinking heavily, his face downcast. The cops had told us not to go anywhere, but they were leaving us alone for now. We were sitting on the steps of unit five. Right next door but angled in such a way that we didn’t have a view of the action at number six, we were being left in relative peace. Except for the flashing lights glaring off the snow, and the slight green hue of Ronnie’s face, you’d never know we were feet away from a crime scene.
“Ronnie?”
“She—they fought,” he said finally. “A lot. I mean, I don’t blame her. Cute thing like her. What’s she doing with an old guy l
ike that?” I bit back my answer. If he didn’t know, he was dumber than I thought.
“People fight, Ronnie.” It had sounded like an old grievance to me. Him taking out his issues on someone weaker and more dependent. “That doesn’t mean she killed him.”
He shook his head, his mouth set. “I don’t know, Pru.” I looked at him, trying to size him up. Animals, I get. They have a thousand different ways of showing you who they are and what they want. They have no problem with letting you know where they stand—and where you stand in their universe. People, though. They can be difficult. I hadn’t thought Ronnie was that complicated.
“Ronnie?” Sometimes the simplest thing is to ask. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Well, for starters…” his voice dropped down low. Not that anyone was going to hear us. “I think he was married.”
I made an effort not to roll my eyes. Beauville is exactly the kind of backwater you take your little chickie. And these condos? “That’s reason for his wife to go after them, Ronnie.” He was staring straight ahead, his mouth set in a grim line. “You honestly think she could have done it?”
I wasn’t going to be swayed. I was curious about his reasoning, though. Besides, I was stuck here, for a while anyway.
“You don’t know.” He gave me a baleful glance. “You didn’t see her.”
“Ah.” I got it. Women are evil. Especially the pretty ones. He and Albert would have explained away every crime in New England on the females who had spurned their advances, if the law let them.
“No, honest, Pru, you don’t understand.” I fixed him with a cool stare. Living with Wallis has taught me the advantages of not blinking. “She’s been planning it. Planning on getting rid of him. She’s been meeting with another guy.”
“You’ve been watching her?”
He had the decency to blush, but still, I didn’t buy it. Not that he hadn’t been spying on the girl. I knew Ronnie. I only hope she kept her shades drawn. What I didn’t see was why.
“Come on, Ronnie. You said it yourself, he’s married. What does she get if he dies? More likely it was the wife.” I was talking to fill the time. I had no dog in this fight, but I do prefer logic in my conversations.
“But I’ve seen her. More than once.”
It was my turn to shrug. Maybe the girl was in on it. Bait to trap a cheating husband for one final time. Maybe—but before I could speculate further, the cop in charge interrupted our relative privacy. Ronnie was ushered off by one of the uniforms, but I was taken to the front seat of an unmarked car for some heavy duty questioning.
I told the detective in charge all I knew. The call, the bunnies, the locked door. There wasn’t much to it, but I know better than to hold back anything in a criminal investigation. Yes, I’d been the one to suggest opening the door. No, I had no reason to suspect anything unusual.
He looked at me as I’d looked at Ronnie, as if I were hiding something. Granted, he might have had some reason for this, usually. But not today, and I bristled. Some would say I bristled easily. Finding a dead body hadn’t been great for my mood, however, and the tone this cop was taking with me wasn’t making me feel much better.
“What?” I could hear the snark in my voice. At that point, I didn’t care. On top of everything, I’d been left sitting outside for close to an hour, and despite my parka and the car’s heater, I was still cold. I was also hungry, and I had other mouths to feed before I could settle in for my own evening. “You going to cuff me?” It was uncalled for. I didn’t care. “Tie me up?”
“Tie you down, more likely,” growled the detective, in a low voice intended for only my ears.
I had to grin. Officer Jim Creighton was not only the top cop in town, he was also its most attractive male human, despite a buzz cut that made him look like a superannuated boy scout. I’m not monogamous by nature—another trait I shared with Wallis—but it was more than the lack of viable alternatives that had kept us pretty constant through the winter.
“Hey, you’re my alibi,” I replied. It wasn’t a non sequitur, not with the way he was questioning me. “Or don’t you remember?”
He smiled for real, then. But it didn’t last. “No, Pru. I’m not.”
“Ah.” I nodded. I got it. “So he wasn’t killed until this morning?” That’s right—he’d called Ronnie. And Creighton had left my place before dawn. This is a small town. Everybody knew we were what my mother would have called “keeping company.” But Jim likes to keep up appearances.
“Pru.” That growl again, warning me off.
“Do you have a time of death?” Now the brows came down, glowering. “Hey, you know Ronnie thinks the girlfriend did it. Can’t say as I—” I was about to say “blame her.” Make a joke out of it. But I’d seen the damage and the words stuck in my throat. “Where is she, anyway?” I could hear my voice tightening as I thought of that blood. We hadn’t gone in to explore. “She’s not…”
“She’s not in there.” He reached out. Only then did I realize my hand was on the door. I’d wanted to bolt, to race back to the condo to look for her. “She’s probably off skiing. That’s why they were here, supposedly.”
I sat back, recalling something from the night before. “Skiing? Her, I could see. But him?”
Creighton shook his head. “I gather he spent his time in the lodge, playing cards. She was some kind of expert—tried out for the Olympics supposedly. And he liked to watch.”
My eyebrow went up at that, and Creighton’s grin came back. But another question soon knocked the innuendo from my mind.
“If she was such a great skier, why come here?” He tilted his head, not understanding. “I mean, nothing against the Berkshires, but if she’s the real deal, why didn’t she push for something in the Rockies or Europe? Somewhere they have real mountains and real snow.”
“Who knows?” Creighton stared off into the distance as he spoke, his voice going soft. The afternoon light was fading. The EMTs had taken the body away, their taillights glowing in the dusk, and it looked like even the forensics people were beginning to clean up. “Maybe she wasn’t after the big slopes. Maybe she had other goals.”
“Or maybe he was too cheap to take her someplace nice.” In other circumstances, Creighton might have argued with me. He grew up here, too. Unlike me, he never tried to get away. “Maybe she didn’t have any say in the matter.”
“Now, now,” my beau responded. “What would Wallis think of that?”
I froze. His tone had been joking, his words light. But there are some things he doesn’t—can’t—know about me. It’s not that I want to maintain my mystery. I’ve got plenty enough feminine allure for Jim Creighton. At the very least, he appreciates my appetites, which extend far beyond that steak he stood me for. But I have secrets nobody else can know. At least, no other human.
“I only meant you were being catty, Pru.” He sounded wounded. “I know it’s been a rough day, but the guy’s dead. And he was a human being.”
“Speaking of.” I forced a lightness into my voice that I didn’t feel. “I’ve got a cat to feed, and you know she’s not going to let me hear the end of it.” That was probably too much. But I looked outside and made sure he saw me looking. Dusk had gotten later, but it was kicking in, and all those damp spots on the pavement would be slick black ice soon. “Hey,” I turned toward him. “If your guys have let Ronnie go, I should still check the wiring. I mean, I can look around the outside. The snow’s receded enough.”
He was shaking his head. “No need, Pru.”
“But if something got through to one of the underground cables, chewed through the line from the transformer to the meter, it could be dangerous.”
He opened his door, with the clear intention of ushering me out. “It wasn’t the power, it was the phone line.”
“Welcome to Beauville, huh? No wonder that guy was annoyed. He’s probably not had to use a
land line for years.” I shrugged, the ghost of a thought tickling my brain. “But still, Jim, maybe I should check it out.”
He held his door open. He was waiting for me to do the same. “I said, you don’t have to.”
I stopped and looked at him, the import of his words finally sinking in.
“It wasn’t an animal, was it?” I studied his face. For all the intimacy we’d shared, he was still a cop. His face was as blank as wood. I watched for a twitch. For a blink. “Someone cut that jerk’s phone line, didn’t he? Someone didn’t want him calling for help.”
Chapter Four
“What did you expect? That he’d bring you what he knew like a dead vole?” I got home twenty minutes later, still stunned by what I’d managed to piece together. “He’s a hunter, same as I am. Only he’s not going to share.”
I was sitting at my kitchen table, a glass of Maker’s Mark in my hand. Somehow, the chill of the evening had followed me in. That and the memory of Teddy Rhinecrest’s body. The blood like the red wax that dripped down the bottle before me. The handle of the knife like the one stuck in my mother’s old butcher block over on the counter. So common, I no longer even saw it, until I reached for it. A kitchen knife, nothing more.
“So, are you going to make some dinner, or what?” I forced myself to look away from the counter and into the cool green eyes of my companion. Wallis was sitting on the table and staring at me. She’d been there since I came home and opened the bottle that was inches from her side. “Or shall I leave you to—this—” her ears flipped back briefly as she sniffed at the wax—at the air above my tumbler. “And fend for myself?”
“No, I’ll get dinner.” I pulled myself up, making myself leave the glass on the table as I stood and walked to the fridge. Wallis probably could find her own dinner. The field mice that had wintered over in my basement were still hanging on. But although she phrased her question in selfish terms, I knew she was worried about me as well. I was on my second bourbon on an empty stomach. While I regretted anything that would dull my good buzz, I knew I should balance out the liquid with something solid.