by Clea Simon
“Well, maybe you might have a chance to return the favor.” It was an awkward transition, but I was feeling a bit lost.
“Oh?” Clearly, she’d been distracted, too, and with more reason. For a moment, I wondered about the legality of what I was about to do. Nora Harris was the legal beneficiary, but should I have gotten her consent before bringing over this particular bit of the estate?
Nothing for it now. I walked over to my car and opened the door. Lily still had her lead attached to her collar and jumped up when I said her name. In a moment, she was on alert, and I was struck again by the amount of muscle packed into that small body. Dig! Stick! She was quivering with excitement, her whip of a tail thumping against the door. Good, she wanted to play.
“You remember Lily, don’t you?” I wasn’t going to continue that “Tetris” nonsense. This was a fresh start for everyone. A chance to begin anew on the right foot. I held the lead close, but Lily was doing her best to impress. At attention, head up, she looked at the old woman with curiosity and sniffed, whining a bit to be petted. “She was Charles’ dog and she’s gotten a clean bill of health, so I thought—”
A soft thud made me look up. Nora Harris had collapsed on the grass.
***
“What the hell were you thinking?” A denim-clad sprite dashed out of the front door and over to the fallen woman. I was still frozen to the spot, holding the leash of the now audibly whining dog. “Put that animal away.”
“Come on, Lily.” With those words, the white pit jumped back into the car, the low, high whine contrasting with the tail that still wagged hopefully. “Delia, what happened?”
I’d recognized the younger woman after half a second and come over as she helped Nora Harris lie flat, with her knees up. She was awake, her eyelids fluttering, but seemed beyond speech.
“You don’t just spring something like that on someone.” Delia was whispering, a tight, angry whisper. I didn’t think Mrs. Harris could hear us, but what did I know? “A pit bull. Christ.”
“I’m sorry.” I was on my knees beside them, and I took Nora Harris’ hand automatically. It was cold and smooth, and made me think of my own mother’s before the end. “I wasn’t thinking. I just thought, well, the dog needed a home and it was her son’s. She’s a very gentle dog, you know. Very loyal. Gentle as—” I almost said “a kitten,” but caught myself. Another time.
Delia nodded anyway, her attention on the older woman. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry I snapped. Don’t worry, she’ll be okay.” She looked over at the prone woman. “Won’t you, Mrs. Harris?”
“If I could just get some water, dear?” The voice was weak and reedy, but those blue eyes were clear.
Delia gave me a look, and I got up. She’d left the front door open, and it was easy enough to find a glass and fill it. By the time I came back out, Nora Harris was sitting up, Delia beside her for support.
“Here you go.” I knelt in the grass beside them. “I’m so sorry.” I glanced over at my car. Lily had wedged her nose into the narrow window opening.
“It wasn’t you. It was just a shock.” Nora made to rise, and Delia supported her. “Seeing that animal again. Charles’ animal. Probably too long in the sun, as well.” She gave a small chuckle. “Would you come inside?”
“Sure, thank you.” I looked back at Lily, her broad snout quivering and quizzical. I’d confused her by bringing her here, and now, thanks to my lousy timing, the odds of finding a home for her here were nearly nil, but I’d make the case if I could. I turned to follow the older woman and her aide, very aware of the looks Delia continued to shoot at me.
***
“Have a seat, Mrs. H.” Delia hovered like a mother hen, and Nora accepted the attention without comment. I took the seat opposite and studied her. She hadn’t seemed particularly frail when she was digging in the dirt, but I remembered Delia’s comments about her “spells.” Maybe there was something I was missing. Delia filled a tumbler from a pitcher. Lemonade, by the looks of it. I nodded at her questioning glance, and it was probably just my imagination that she slammed it down on the formica table.
“Won’t you join us, dear?” Nora looked up at the younger woman. Did she see her as an employee, or as the daughter-in-law who would never be? I wasn’t to find out.
“If I don’t get that laundry folded, it’ll dry all wrinkly.” Delia wrinkled up her own pert nose in illustration and left us alone.
“Mrs. Harris,” I began again, “I really am sorry to have barged in like that.” Even as I apologized, trying to work my way around to making my case, I was thinking about rescue groups. Who would take a two-time loser like Lily?
“Young lady, you’re not listening. I won’t have that.”
I stopped. She was right, and for a moment I saw the steel that had kept her going. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Harris. What did you say?”
“I said, I would try to take the dog. If you think it would be happy with me. Charles loved it, you see, and, well, I feel so bad.” She started to mist up, and I froze. I didn’t want her to collapse—or to back down. “Excuse me.” She left the room, and I sat there more than a little stunned.
I was still sitting there when Delia walked back in a few minutes later and poured herself a glass of the lemonade
“Hey, I really mean it. I’m sorry.” I was in apology mode. “I didn’t mean to make your job harder.”
Delia took a healthy swig of the sweet-tart drink and leaned against the wall, giving me her first real smile of the day. “Don’t sweat it. Nora’s pretty easy lifting. She had a minor stroke about a year ago, and the agency sent me over to help with the heavy stuff. She fades in and out, occasionally. She forgets things, and it frustrates the hell out of her. To be honest, I think I’m company more than anything else most days. I mean, I keep an eye on her and do the errands, but she keeps saying she wants to drive again. Gets pretty pissed when I tell her she shouldn’t,” Delia shrugged. “What the hell, she’s got the healthiest perennials in the Berkshires.”
“So, the dog?” I didn’t know how to phrase it.
“Yeah, I’ll end up taking care of her. But that’s cool, I love animals.”
Despite myself, I was beginning to like this woman. And then I realized, if I was ever going to confess, now was the time. “Speaking of animals, Delia, I think I have your kitten.”
“Tulip?” Delia set her glass on the window ledge. “How—”
I raised my hands to cut her off. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize she was yours. You see, I found her at Charles’, and I thought, well, she had been left there.” How could I explain being there after the murder? Maybe I didn’t have to. “Alone. Anyway, I took her home and then I heard from the city pound that you had lost a kitten, and it all came together.”
Delia pulled out one of the spindle-back kitchen chairs and sat down with a thud. “Oh, thank God. I thought she’d gotten out. Or, maybe even, Charles’ dog…” She swallowed hard.
“No. No way.” She didn’t have to finish. Some trainers bring out the killer instincts in fighting dogs by giving them cats. Any other dog, I’d worry. But Lily, I knew, would never willingly hurt another animal, never again. Delia couldn’t know how I knew that, which raised another question. “But if you were scared, then how—” I paused to collect my thoughts. “Why was your kitten at Charles’ place?”
She shook her head, the relief still sinking in. I felt guilty for having kept the truth—and her pet—from her so long. I still wanted an answer.
“I couldn’t—” She stopped herself. “I had a friend, who—” She tried again. “It was Charles, you see. He was such a softie, and he needed a pet more than I did. Needed something to hold, and that dog…” She looked toward the front window. She was talking at least, so I kept my questions to myself. “That dog was always in her crate. Charles needed a real pet.”
“But Charles loved Lily.” And Lily was only crated at night, or for training purposes. Wouldn’t Delia have known that? More important was what she’d s
tarted to say. “Never mind, you were saying, something about a friend?”
“Oh, here you go.” Nora Harris had shuffled back in and was blinking at both of us in a slightly unfocused way. Delia jumped up to help her to a chair. “Why don’t you sit down, Mrs. H, and I’ll go with Pru to see about the dog.”
She settled the older woman in with a fresh glass of lemonade and waited for me to proceed, but I had my doubts. The day had clearly worn on Nora Harris, and Lily was a young and active dog. Still, as we stepped outside Delia seemed genuinely pleased to see the white pit bull. Lily, in turn, heeled on command, only pausing to sniff at the newly turned earth, and I, trying to be generous, swallowed my questions.
“Look at her,” said Delia, taking the leash as Lily’s stumpy tail thwacked on the ground. “Have you ever seen anything like that?”
“Only with every good dog who gets a second chance.” She smiled at that, but I couldn’t help glancing back up at the house.
“Don’t worry,” Delia spoke softly as she held the front door open. “I want to. You know, because of Charles. And I can handle her.”
I nodded. But as I drove away, I had to wonder which of her charges she meant.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Oh, please.” Wallis drew her head back in disgust. “Don’t you ever wash?”
I held up my hands. Guilty as charged. I’d been so distracted that I hadn’t thought of all the dog scent clinging to me after my time with Lily. Instead, I’d raced in, eager to hash over my latest discoveries with Wallis. She knew something was up and sat there, watching me, as I scrubbed my arms up to the elbow at the kitchen sink and filled her in on my morning. I concluded by asking her where the kitten was.
“So, I thought I’d pack her up, and then see what I can do about that poor Persian.” I checked the sofa and ran upstairs to my bedroom. Delia had said she’d swing by around five to pick up the kitten, and I was looking forward to asking her some questions when she did. But first things first: the little marmalade was conspicuously absent.
“You’re not handing the infant over to that woman, are you?” Wallis had followed me and stood silhouetted in my bedroom doorway. With the light behind her, I couldn’t see her eyes, but her tone was cool and her tail, always her “tell,” was twitching ominously.
I should have expected a grilling. I had to admit, I felt a certain reluctance, but I turned toward my cat and tried anyway. “But, Wallis, it’s her kitten.” Her tail began to lash. Animals have very strong opinions about the whole ownership question. “She misses her.” I tried again. “Delia loves that kitten.”
“Do you really believe that?” Her voice was low, but the tone of scorn unmistakable.
“I—” I couldn’t finish my answer and sat back on the bed. I didn’t know what I believed. In truth, I didn’t have any real sense of Delia. I could tell she wasn’t mourning Charles, not as I thought of mourning anyway. I was seeing her everywhere with Chris Moore, and according to what Wallis had sniffed out, she’d spent some time with the rakishly handsome Mack Danton, too. Either could have been the “friend” so enigmatically referred to. And yet when she spoke about the dead man, it was with respect and a certain affection. Had he been the father of her baby? Maybe she was one of those women who simply want to have a child? That seemed unlikely, but what were the other possibilities? That there had been another man in her life even while she was with Charles was the most likely. Had it been Chris—or Mack? Had either of them killed Charles?
One good thing about living with cats is that they assume victory graciously. Wallis leaped to the bed and tucked her feet under her, a self-satisfied expression curving her facial stripes ever so slightly upward. As her eyes closed, I started making preparations as quietly as possible. Wallis had a point, but Delia was going to come by. I didn’t see how I could avoid handing over the kitten.
I had my head under the bed when the phone rang. Of course, I smacked it trying to get up.
“Yeah?” I rubbed my head as I sat back on the bed. Wallis was watching me and, I swear, laughing. “What is it?”
“Oh, hi? Pru?” It took me a moment to place the girlish voice. The snap of gum brought me round.
“Hi, Pammy.” It was the shelter. I needed the work, but right now I didn’t want to hear about another animal in distress. “What’s up?”
“It’s that cat you were seeing?” I waited. “The black longhair?”
Hell. I stood up and started pacing. I knew I shouldn’t have left him there that long. “What’s wrong? What happened”
“Nothing, Pru. Sheesh. You’re a bundle of nerves.” I didn’t rise to the bait, and the girl kept talking. “It’s just that we need to decide something. Doc Sharp got a call. The owner says she doesn’t want the cat back unless it’s ‘fixed,’ and the doc didn’t know what to tell her.”
Damn Eleanor Shrift. “I’ll handle it, Pammy. I’ll come get the cat. I think it’s just an anxiety issue.”
“Cause she said, you know, we could put it up for adoption or get rid of it.”
“I said, I’d handle it.” I looked at my alarm clock. Half past three. If I moved fast, I could pick up the black Persian and be back before Delia dropped by for her kitten. What I’d do next, I didn’t know.
Absentmindedly rubbing my head, I turned back to the bed. Wallis’ eyes were slits, but I knew she’d been listening to every word.
“So, well, I guess I’m going to be bringing another cat over.” No response. “It’s just going to be temporary, Wallis. I swear it.”
She stretched. “You know what they say about women like you, single, a loner, taking in all sorts of cats.”
“Stow it, Wallis.” I reached for a heavier sweater. My car keys were still in my jacket pocket. “And while I’m out, if you could round up that kitten, I’d appreciate it.”
In response, she turned her back toward me, tucked her nose under her tail, and went to sleep.
***
I was almost out the door when the phone rang again.
“What is it now?” I really had no time for this.
“Whoa, there, girl.” It was Mack, laughing. “Catch you at a bad time?”
I relented, slightly. “Kind of, would you call me back?”
“Sure. Just wanted to see what you were doing tonight.” I opened my mouth to answer and then shut it. What did I want to say? He was attractive. I was lonely. But if he was involved with Delia, I really didn’t want to go there. Besides, I had my hands full.
“Look, I don’t know. Call me back, will you? I’ve got to go see a girl about a cat.”
He was still laughing as I hung up.
When the phone rang again, I should have ignored it. On the off chance that it was the shelter—or Delia—I picked up.
“Ms. Marlowe, Pru, glad I caught you.” It was Creighton. Shit. “I thought I’d tell you that our investigation has moved on, but I gather you’d already heard.”
“Yeah, look, I’m sorry. I’d just been working with that dog, and I wanted to spring her.”
“Commendable, Ms. Marlowe. And very quick. Our coroner only ruled on Saturday that the wounds were not canine.” His voice sounded a little too even. There was something going on. “But that’s not why I called.”
I had expected this, but that didn’t mean I had to help. I waited, turning his own technique back on him.
“Because our investigation has progressed, I’ve got a few more questions for you. I’d appreciate it if you could come down to the station this afternoon.”
“No, I can’t.” I was feeling pressured already, with too much to do in too short a time, and that always helped me build up a head of steam. “Believe it or not, some of us have to work for a living.”
This time it was the young detective’s turn to fall silent. I looked at the clock. Three forty-five. The shelter was a good half hour drive. “Look, Creighton, you know everything I know already.” An image of the keychain drive flashed through my mind. Those financial records. The cops m
ust have found copies. The info had to have been on Charles’ main computer. It wasn’t my job to help them, and anything I said would just make me look bad. But Creighton’s efforts had probably helped exonerate Lily—and somebody had done a very nasty job on her person. I sighed, and gave in. “From what I hear, Charles was in financial trouble. Maybe you should look into that. See who he owed money to.”
“Funny you should say that.” Creighton didn’t sound amused. “You see, we’ve been going over Charles Harris’ files and bank statements, and it seems like your invoices are some of the only ones he ever paid. Until recently, that is.”
Three forty-eight. “Look, I really have to be someplace. Can you come over here in about an hour?” Maybe he’d show up when Delia did. Maybe that would be interesting.
Instead of an answer, I heard a small bark of a laugh. “That’s got to be the first time anyone has invited me to her home during an investigation. Don’t get me wrong, Pru. I’d love to come by. But if you’re busy today, why don’t we say first thing tomorrow?”
I murmured something that I hoped sounded like agreement, but before I could hang up, he sprung the trap. “I’ll be very curious to hear how you know so much about the deceased’s finances, Ms. Marlowe. Extremely curious.”
***
I probably drove too fast over to the shelter, but I was peeved. Besides, after years in the city, I kind of enjoyed hitting the gas. Enjoyed the scenery as well, the slanting afternoon sun backlighting the leaves like some kind of stage set. The occasional sparkle—a bit of open space, or reflection from a mica-flecked rock—only made the colors glow more vividly, and I let myself fantasize that I was cruising through a gemstone kaleidoscope, all color and shape. Maybe that daydream blinded me, maybe it was that tricky, slanting light. It wasn’t until I neared the town line that I saw the cruiser behind me. I lifted my foot, ever so slightly, to let the car slow. No sense in getting pulled over. But as I studied my rearview mirror, that dappled light played me again. I couldn’t see who was in the driver’s seat. When it turned off, soon after I passed into Raynbourne, I was left wondering if the meet up had been accidental or if my speed had prompted it. Or if someone was checking to see where exactly I’d been headed.