“Was she okay?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah, she was fine. It was just a nip, really.” He pointed at Zach. “However, if I bring him home, divorce is imminent. I don’t have time to go through a messy divorce.”
“What are you saying?” My stomach churned.
“Why don’t you dog-sit Zacchaeus for me while this legal battle is going on?”
“I have no legal right to the dog.”
He waved my concern away. “And that’s why you should have him instead of one of those yahoos. It’s only temporary. You’ll be serving in the capacity of a doggie foster care.”
“You said this could go on for months. I can’t keep a dog for months.”
“Fine, fine, can you just keep him for the next couple of days until I find a good kennel for him? Lord knows, he can afford the best.”
I looked down at Zach, who was still fast asleep on my tennis shoes.
“I . . . I don’t know. Ina might not be happy if I had a dog in my apartment.”
“Please, you know as well as I do Ina will be thrilled.”
“I have a cat.”
“They’ll be best buds in no time.”
Yeah, right, I thought. I still had scars from the last time I’d tried to introduce a new animal into Templeton’s domain.
He scribbled on a piece of computer paper. “Here. I have written a permission slip for you with the date and my signature in case you run into any naysayers.” He signed the page with a flourish and handed it to me. Dumbly, I took it.
The note read, “India Hayes will be caring for Zacchaeus Lepcheck, dog of the late Victor Lepcheck, while Victor Lepcheck’s estate is under dispute. Sincerely, Lewis S. Clive, Esq.”
I doubted the legality of the note, but Lew knew better than I.
Lew straightened stacks of files on his desk and rose from his chair with a tired groan. “Well, you’d better be going if you want to get Zacchaeus’s walk in before dinner.”
I left the office with Zach on leash and a large cardboard box containing his favorite dog food, toys, and a pooper scooper.
Chapter Eleven
On the way home, Zach sat in the front seat of my car with his head outside the window, tongue flapping in the wind. I glanced over at him. How did I get myself into these things? I wondered. Oh, right. No backbone. The truth be told, I felt bad for Zach. Poor dog alone in the world without his master, and the only reason anyone wanted him was for his money. I hoped Templeton would understand.
I parked in my gravel driveway and let Zacchaeus out of the passenger seat. I thought the best recourse was to break Templeton in slowly. It was dark when I let Zach loose in the fenced backyard. I turned on my back porch light, got a couple of old dishes from the garage, and filled one bowl with water and another with kibble. Zach ate and drank hungrily, and then he was off barking at an unsuspecting cardinal who had perched on the fence. I glanced at Ina’s back window, expecting to see her elfin face peering through the curtains. It wasn’t there. I wondered if she was out with her crony Juliet.
I went inside my apartment through the sliding glass door. Templeton stood on the back of the couch. His eyes were narrowed, and his fangs peeked out from under his upper lip like sharp white toothpicks.
“Sweetie,” I said tentatively. “I’m home. We are going to have a visitor for a couple of days.”
Templeton growled deep in his throat. There was going to be heck to pay. I stroked his back, but he ran away from me to the bedroom. Absently, I wondered which pair of shoes would be graced with the regurgitated hairball this time.
I popped a French bread pizza in the oven and dug out my Summit County phonebook. I flipped to the Ws. There was only one Wagtail listed, “Wagtail, D. & D.” While I still had momentum, I dialed her number. The call went directly to voicemail. I hung up without leaving a message.
The timer went off, and I was about to sit on the couch to scarf down my pizza when someone knocked at the door. Templeton, who had returned to the living room with the promise of pizza crumbs, bolted down the short hallway to my bedroom.
I recognized the knock. It was a relentless rata-tat-tat. It could be the knock of only one person.
I put my pizza down after taking a quick bite, chewing and swallowing as I made my way to the door.
Ina pushed her way in, heading straight for my rocking chair, her favorite seat in my apartment. I closed the door and followed her back to the living room with as much excitement as a pacifist heading off to war.
“Is that a dog in my backyard?” Ina asked in her baby-bird voice.
“I’m dog-sitting for a few days,” I said, hoping it really was only a few days. “If you don’t like it, I can take him back.”
Ina grinned. “Don’t even think about it. I love dogs. I would have one if I didn’t have to pick up its poop. I don’t do that. I hope you know that will be your job.”
I nodded. Oh, joy. I returned to my place on the couch.
Ina rocked. “Oh, you’re eating dinner. Kind of late, isn’t it? I read in a magazine you should never eat after seven at night. It slows down your metabolism. You might be thin now, but thirty is just around the corner and you’d better start watching your figure.”
I picked up my pizza and took a bite.
Ina shook her head sadly. “Juliet and I staked out the square today,” she remarked as if she spoke of a garden party, although it was difficult to imagine Ina at a garden party.
I almost choked on my pizza. I put the plate on the coffee table. “Did you say ‘staked out’?”
“I was on the lookout for more jaywalkers. I told Juliet what a rampant problem it was becoming and that the police weren’t doing anything about it. So this morning, we decided to go over there and take a count. We counted ten jaywalkers in eight hours.”
“You were on the square for eight hours?”
“There is no reason we shouldn’t be. It’s a public park, and we pay our taxes.”
As if that were my only concern.
“I think the jaywalking upturn can easily be blamed on the public school system in this town.”
Here we go.
“Children are no longer being taught jaywalking is a crime. And not only that, but they could put themselves or someone else in danger. They could be hit by a car, and what shame that would be.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe I should talk to your parents about this problem. They are good at mobilizing people.”
“Don’t even think about it.”
Ina shot me a reproachful look.
“I mean, I don’t think it’s a good idea to bother them right now. They’re so busy with the bell tower campaign. They wouldn’t be able to fully commit themselves to your cause.”
Ina shrugged and rocked back in her seat. Her moccasin-covered feet dangled several inches above the scarred hardwood floor. “I’ll talk to Juliet about it to see if she thinks it’s a good idea.”
Of course, Ina’s yes-woman would be all for the recruitment of my parents.
Ina reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Take a look at this. I made these fliers up this morning. Juliet and I made copies at the public library. We made fifty, and we already need more.”
I looked down at the white piece of copy paper. The original message had been handwritten in block letters. No doubt, it was Ina’s handiwork; she had yet to enter the wonderful world of word processing, let alone the Internet. The message read, “Jaywalking is a crime. Keep this up, and you’re going to the slammer.” As a final touch, Ina had drawn a stick figure locked behind bars. Persuasive.
“What do you think?” Ina asked.
“Are you sure you’re allowed to pass these out?”
“Allowed to pass these out? What do you think free speech is for?” She snatched the flier from my hand.
I picked up my pizza. “They might be perceived as threatening.”
Ina harrumphed.
I backpedaled for the sake of keeping the peace. “Don’t worry. My pa
rents have handed out more-damning leaflets in their day.”
Ina seemed pacified but remained in her seat. From years of experience I knew she had another bee in her bonnet, so to speak. “Was there anything else, Ina?”
She tilted her head, reminding me of Zach. “Juliet told me a terrible rumor today.”
“She did?” I shook my head, fearing I knew what the rumor was about.
“She told me you were the one who found Tess Ross’s body at the festival.”
Leave it to Ina to lead the conversation with jaywalking, and then finally get around to murder. I put my plate back on the table. “I did.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
Ina made a fake sniffling sound and buried her head in her sleeve for a moment. I rolled my eyes. When she looked up her eyes were clear. “Well, what are you going to do about it?” Ina swung her legs back and forth, using her momentum to rock the heavy wooden chair.
“What do you mean?”
“Aren’t you going to find the killer?”
“That’s Mains’s job, not mine.”
“Oh, yes, and he did so well last time. If it weren’t for you, he’d still have no idea who offed the Blocken girl.”
I winced. “He would’ve figured it out eventually.”
Ina snorted. “So you’re going to go about your day like nothing happened?”
Templeton walked back into the room, jumped onto the couch, and curled up in my lap. I stroked his silky black fur and felt calmer. He always knew when I needed his feline support, even with a dog in the backyard.
Ina narrowed her eyes. “It’s Victor Lepcheck’s dog, isn’t it?”
“How do you know that?”
“Please, everybody knows about Zacchaeus after the settlement of Victor’s will. There was a three-page article about it in the Stripling Dispatch when the story was released. The question is, why do you have the dog?”
I opened my mouth to answer.
“I’ll tell you why. Zacchaeus and his trust were willed to Tess and now that Tess is dead no one knows who should get the dog and his money.” She rocked back in her chair with a smug expression on her face.
I never said Ina wasn’t sharp.
“He prefers Zach.”
“Who gave you the dog?”
“Lew. His wife’s not a dog person.”
Ina smiled. “This is just grand, a key witness right here in our midst. That’s going to make it easier for us to solve the case.”
I let the us slide. “It’s just a favor for Lew. You know how many times he’s gotten my parents out of a jam.”
“I guess if you really are just dog-sitting, you wouldn’t be interested in talking to a key suspect.”
I couldn’t help myself. “Who?”
“Debra Wagtail.”
“Tess’s sister. I was just trying to call her.”
“Ah-ha!” Ina raised her fist in triumph.
“Okay, okay, you got me. Do you know Debra?”
“I most certainly do. We both volunteer for the city’s garden club.”
Secretly, I hoped Debra’s work for the garden club was more productive than Ina’s, which mainly focused on placing as many leprechauns as possible on the city’s public lands. Once she even placed a leprechaun-inspired topiary in front of the public library. The library’s director let it sit out there for all of five minutes after Ina left.
“Weren’t you kicked out of the garden club?” I asked.
“Those monkeys have no concept of yard art. Maybe I should talk to your parents about building a case around that issue, too,” she added thoughtfully.
I shivered at the very idea.
“Anyway, Debra was one of the few goofballs in the club who was nice to me. She said my leprechauns were cute.”
I picked up my pizza again took a big bite. I figured if my mouth was full, I wouldn’t say anything to get her going. The pizza was cold. I swallowed. “I need to talk to Debra as soon as possible.”
Ina snapped her fingers. “Who do you think did it? Who are your suspects? Who have you talked to? Why are you doing it?” She jumped off the rocking chair and hopped up and down with each question.
The pizza was gone.
“Calm down. You’re going to give yourself a heart attack, and I’m not in the mood to give you CPR.” Ina didn’t sit, but she stopped hopping.
“Derek Welch, Tess’s son, works at the library. He asked me to look into the murder for him, and I said I would as a favor.”
Ina plopped down on the rocking chair, sending it careening back and forth. She regained her balance. “You did?”
“Yes.” I said, not feeling the need to elaborate. “And I need your help. Do you think you can call Debra and set up a meeting for me?”
“No problemo.” Ina’s eyes sparkled, then narrowed. “I’m coming along.”
“Uhhh.”
“She doesn’t know you. She won’t open up to you like she will to me. If you want me to call her, I’m going.”
“Well . . .”
“And if you say no, I will call her and tell her not to talk to you,” she said with triumph, folding her arms across her green sweater–setted chest.
What choice did I have? “Ina, do you want to come along with me to interview Debra?”
“Why, yes, India, I do. Thank you for asking.”
Chapter Twelve
It was already after eight in the evening when Zach and I arrived at my mother’s big brick Presbyterian church on the town square. As was tradition the Friday before Halloween, the church held its annual Fall Family Fling. The party was set to end at nine, and I debated skipping it altogether, but I decided in the long run it would require more energy to explain myself to my mother for not showing than to go.
I went to the basement of the church where the fellowship hall was located. Zach nosed the floor on every third step. Outside the fellowship hall, a large easel stood by the open doors. Zach and I paused to take it in. It was a poster asking for recruits to bear arms as part of the bell tower crusade. An eight-by-ten photo of the tower was pasted to the middle of the poster board with the question, “Do you want to lose part of your heritage?” I looked down at Zach, and we shared an eye roll.
I peeked into the room. My mother was in middle of the activity. Her long gray ponytail swayed excitedly back and forth as she made the rounds, asking the sick about their health, the young about school, and the married about their families. She always knew the best angle necessary to connect with each person. She’d give the best baby-kissing politician a run for his money. In addition to the usual church members and families from the neighborhood, the fellowship hall also contained members of my parents’ bell-saving brigade. They were easy to pick out. Think “hippie meets hip replacement surgery.”
Even though she was in the middle of trying to save the Founders’ Festival from complete ruin, Carmen and her family were there. She and Chip, each with a baby daughter in their laps, sat with another couple from the church at one of the dozen or so round tables peppered throughout the room. A chrysanthemum sat in the middle of each table.
We stepped into the room. Instantly, the children, including my five-year-old nephew Nicholas, who was a mini version of his father, were at my feet petting Zach. “A dog!” they cried.
Across the hall, Mom folded her arms across her chest. As far as I knew there was no rule in the Presbyterian decrees that you couldn’t bring a dog into a church building, but the look on my mother’s face told me she thought there should be. A parishioner mercifully blocked her path for a chat as she made her way over to me.
I pulled on Zach’s leash, feeling a little bit like the Pied Piper as I led Zach’s fan club to a corner of the room, near the table of carved pumpkins. The pumpkins waited to be judged for the jack-o’-lantern-making contest, a contest I used to win every year until I was too old to enter. The age was capped at twelve. I tied Zach’s leash to one of the legs of the long c
afeteria-style table.
“Can you guys watch him for me?” I asked.
“Yeah,” was the proclamation, and the kids knelt next to Zach and continued their petting and hugging of him.
“Okay,” I said. “But whatever you do, don’t untie him.”
“We won’t,” they said.
I patted Nicholas’s head. “I’m putting you in charge, Nicko.”
He nodded solemnly. “I’ll take care of the doggie, Dia.”
“Good. His name is Zacchaeus.”
“I know that song!” a little girl exclaimed. “We learned it in Bible school.”
As if on cue, they began singing about the wee little man in the sycamore tree.
I was weaving my way to the dessert table—there was a piece of pumpkin pie with my name on it—when my mother grabbed my elbow. “India, I’m glad you could make it.” She made a show of looking at her watch.
I picked up the pie plate and a fork.
“Where did that dog come from? And why did you bring it to the church?”
I sat at the closest empty table. Dad, who was trying to untangle himself from a building-fund debate with an elder, wheeled in our direction. He parked his wheelchair next to me. Dad glanced over at the dog—or what he could see of him through the mass of children. “Sure is a nice-looking dog.”
Mom pursed her lips. Dad’d been hinting at wanting a dog for the last several months. He was big fan of animal rescue shows on cable television.
“Lew asked me to dog-sit. It was Tess Ross’s dog. Well, sort of. It’s complicated.” I said this hoping she wouldn’t ask me why I found it so complicated.
Mom’s eyebrows went up. “Carmen told us what happened. Your father and I knew Tess, although not well. Didn’t we, Alden?”
My father nodded. “Hey, is that Victor Lepcheck’s dog?”
I nodded.
“I thought I recognized him.”
“Did you know Victor?”
Dad shrugged. “He was an acquaintance, nothing more than that. Did you hear there was a kerfuffle about his estate after he died?”
Only my father could get away with saying “kerfuffle” in everyday speech.
“There was. There still is, in fact. Tess was the dog’s trustee, and now that she’s gone, it’s up in the air what will happen to him.”
Murder in a Basket (An India Hayes Mystery) Page 7