by Clea Simon
She shifted, a stalling technique that I recognized. “What about him?”
“Why the abrupt turnaround? He’d been grooming himself bare less than a week ago, and now, well, you saw him.”
“We didn’t exactly converse.” I remembered the hiss. Maybe this wasn’t a good topic, but Wallis didn’t let it drop. “He was lonely. I got that. Someone had broken his heart. You know the type: always ready to fall again. A real lap cat.”
I looked over at the tabby and realized again how alike we were. “Maybe that’s not a bad way to be.”
She tucked her nose into her tail, giving me one last green-eyed glance. “It’s a sucker’s life.”
I had no answer to that one. “Well, he’s bunking down with us until I can get him home.” I didn’t mention that I’d closed the bedroom door behind me. She’d find out soon enough. Perhaps she already knew, because she turned away and went to sleep.
Me, I went back to work. An hour later, Eleanor still had not called, and I was still clueless. I rang her again, kicking myself for not asking whether this was a landline or a cell number.
“Eleanor, it’s Pru again. Would you call me? Anytime.” I hung up, wishing I could’ve worked some more warmth into my voice. I both wanted her and didn’t want her to claim the big old boy I had upstairs. If she would give us both the time, I thought I could make it work. He deserved a home. Hell, he deserved better than to be abandoned.
With that in mind, I went up to check him out. He was still sleeping, though he’d shifted around some, and so I left him to it and returned downstairs to scrounge around. Although I sensed Wallis watching me, I grabbed one of her cans and a couple of bowls. Food, water, a makeshift litterbox. It was the least I could do, seeing as how I’d sprung the black Persian from the shelter without making any other plans.
Without waking the big cat, I opened the latch on the carrier door. For a moment, I considered reaching in. Perhaps with a touch I could get something. Listen in on a dream. But just then the feline shifted and sighed. He’d been through enough. He deserved some privacy. Instead, I returned to my office and those financial files. Why had Charles put this on Lily’s collar, and had it gotten him killed?
A few clicks and I found my way back to that first spreadsheet, the one that seemed to function as Charles’ checkbook. Now that I knew my way around, I was able to make sense of more of the expenses. Monthly deductions—I was guessing heat and hot water—showed up in red, as did the odd twenty or forty dollar withdrawal. The running averages were to the right. Once I got the hang of that, I clicked over to the next file. The numbers were definitely bigger here. Some of them, quite large—and most of them in black or a glowing green that made me think of speculation. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have wondered if these were projections, the kind of puffed-up estimates that entrepreneurs mock up to show investors. “In the first year, we expect one hundred and thirty percent return,” and all that. This kind of hard sell didn’t fit with the Charles I’d worked with, the Charles who wanted to stay small—stay in control—and that made me think of Mack. Were these numbers that he had thrown out? Pie in the sky plans designed to entice Charles to go public or seek out venture capital? Pitches for cash that Charles didn’t want, but that Mack might have waited for like payday?
What was Mack’s role in all of this anyway? Beauville was a small town, but I still had trouble seeing the smooth-talking townie with the geek.
As if on cue, the phone rang. Wallis woke and jumped off the table. I grabbed the phone. It was Mack.
“Hey, babe.”
When did I become his babe? “Hello, yourself.” I scrolled down the spreadsheet. If I could get him talking, maybe more of this would make sense. Then again, I’d tried that the other night and ended up with a hangover.
“You doing anything?”
“No,” I lied. Nothing I wanted to tell him about.
“Wanna come out and play?”
Wallis woke up. We made eye contact. “Play,” we both knew, was synonymous with the hunt. “Happy’s again?”
“Nah, I’ve got someplace classy in mind. Why don’t I pick you up?”
“You know where I live?” Wallis lashed her tail.
“This is a small town, babe. Everyone knows everything here.”
***
Two hours later, Wallis butted up against me to alert me to a car pulling up outside. I’d painted my face, as much as I ever do. I refused to change out of my jeans, despite the look Wallis gave me.
“Too late now.” I reached down to stroke her sleek head as the doorbell rang. Then, remembering to close the laptop, I went off to greet my date.
***
“You look scrumptious.” I’d opened the door to find Mack moving in. I stepped back automatically and kicked myself for it.
“Let’s get some dinner, I’m starved.” The man didn’t understand subtle.
“Not going to show me around?”
I’ll confess the high wattage smile started to thaw my resolve. But when I heard a thump coming from my office, I came back to my senses.
“I have a cat. You don’t like cats.” I nodded toward the door.
“Whatever made you think that?” He looked down, and I followed his eyes to see Wallis approaching. “They like me well enough.”
“Wallis!” I scooped her up before she could reach him and got a quick flash. Put me down, fool. Let me do my work.
I almost dropped her after that, startling Mack who, finally, backed up toward the door.
“Whoa, watch it.” He stepped away as Wallis, her dignity affronted, began to groom. “Well, shall we?”
“Sure.” I motioned for him to lead the way and reached back to lock the door. He didn’t pet me, did you notice? I nodded once to her. “Later,” I said.
***
We made the kind of small talk people do, when they’ve nearly had drunken sex behind a bar but don’t really know each other.
“Nice place you got.” He was driving into town, and I wondered if he’d changed his mind about Happy’s.
“Thanks. I grew up there.” This was very small talk. I was really thinking about the significance of what Wallis had said.
“Yeah, I remember you.” That got my attention. “You were a few years younger, but you had a reputation.”
“Oh?” Wallis had nothing on me when I wanted to freeze someone out, but Mack only laughed.
“Relax. I’m talking kid stuff.” We drove through the night. “Still, it got my attention. I guess that’s why I decided to look you up when you came back to town.”
I turned toward at him. This was news. “You decided to look me up?”
“Yeah, babe.” He turned toward me, smile at full power. “You think I always hang out at Happy’s?”
We rode in silence after that, and at some point, Mack flipped on the radio. There was a college station in the area, and he tuned in some blues, low and mournful. I liked it; it helped me think. We parked in front of a glass storefront that had held a hardware store when I was growing up. By then, I was ready to start again—with our conversation if not with my queries—but Mack walked me up to the glass door, and I realized that in place of tools and sundries, the storefront had turned bistro, its plate-glass window blocked halfway up with thick curtains and its fluorescent aisles now occupied by small, candle-lit tables. We stepped inside and a young waiter, apron wrapped around his waist butcher style, came up and escorted us to a deuce. We’d just given him drink orders—red wine for me, a beer for Mack—when Mack excused himself. I contented myself with reading the menu. A free meal is a free meal, and I liked the look of this place. The menu convinced me that Beauville hadn’t changed that much. The steaks and chops might come with pedigrees, but this was meat and potatoes, fancy trimmings or not.
Don’t get me wrong. I love a good burger, and I used to be able to put away a steak that would scare a full-grown man. But ever since I’ve started being able to hear what animals say, I’ve had problems with the obv
ious cuts of meat. Wallis would laugh at me, for sure, if she knew. She was one of the reasons I still cooked with ground meat and brought home the occasional chicken. On my own, however, I preferred to avoid the issue. I scanned the menu. An eggplant lasagna seemed to be the one vegetarian offering, a sop to former city folk like me. I resigned myself to something thick and tasteless and closed the menu to wait for Mack’s return. As if on cue, Officer Creighton appeared and took the seat opposite me.
“Good evening, Officer. Are you going to be our sommelier tonight?” Maybe it wasn’t witty, but it was the best I could do.
“Don’t get mouthy with me, Pru. I’ve been trying to talk with you.” He leaned forward and I fought the urge to pull back.
“I said I’d come in tomorrow, Officer.” I emphasized my words. He wasn’t going to see me quake. “Now, if you don’t mind?”
“I do, actually. I heard that one of the activities that was keeping you busy was scaring poor Mrs. Harris half to death.”
“What?” I was pissed now. “She’s a tough lady. She was out digging in her garden before I left.” Not exactly true, but close enough. Another thought struck me. “Who’s been telling you these things?”
“Delia Cochrane.” As he spoke, I saw Mack come up behind him. He heard enough to suss out what was going on.
“Ah, Delia.” I forced myself to smile. This was beginning to make sense. “And you and Delia are close?” Behind Creighton, Mack smiled for real.
“Delia’s a good girl, Pru. She’s not out to cause any trouble.”
I raised my eyebrows at that one, but Mack took his cue. “Delia’s a real sweetheart, Jim. But if you’ll take my advice, you’ll stay clear of that particular honeypot. Now, if you’ll excuse me?” Only Mack could be menacing with such charm. Whether it was the bigger man leaning over him or his own sense of propriety, I couldn’t tell. Creighton stood up and nodded to me. “My office, first thing.”
“Good night, officer.” I waggled my fingers at him.
“Can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I?” Mack took his chair back. “Now, where are our drinks?”
***
An hour later, I was warm, full, and mildly astounded. The lasagna had proved a treat, with good cheese and a zingy tomato sauce that played off the eggplant nicely. More to the point, Mack had proved to be better company than I’d expected. I’d learned the hard way that sexy men who are fun in bars don’t often clean up so well. But here he was, acting charming and like he was very interested in me. That, in fact, was the big sticking point. I’d been hoping to get some more out of him, but he’d managed to turn it all around. I was a bit of a legend, the way he saw it. The wild child. The joyrider who busted up her mom’s car and still managed to graduate top of the class. With a free pass to college and the city, I’d gotten away clean, and yet here I was, back in town. He gave me a look when I pulled out my mom’s final illness as my excuse. He sensed something else had driven me from the city. By the time coffee came around, he was probing, both at our shared slice of pie and my defenses.
“So you were this close to your degree, and you came here?”
“I needed a change anyway.” I shook my head, turning down a forkful of spiced apples.
He ate it, chewing more thoughtfully than the filling merited. “Who was he?”
I nearly laughed with relief. “There was no ‘he.’”
His eyebrows went up. “She?”
“No, I mean, I’m no nun. But, honestly, that’s not why I left.”
“Cause I have noticed a certain reticence about intimacy.” I must have made a face. “And yes, we do use words like ‘reticence’ out here. Or was it ‘intimacy’ that got you?”
I was chuckling out loud by then. He was charming. And we’d drunk a fair amount of wine. “It was my cat.” Maybe I wanted to tell someone. I didn’t think he’d get it.
“Great, another—”
“Don’t say it.” I held up my hand to stop him. “Yeah, I know, I’m becoming a stereotype. But, that’s the truth and—”
I was about to say something else. Something about sticking to my story that would allow me to be ever so slightly honest and yet give me deniability later, if I ever could tell him the truth. But just then something caught my eye. The restaurant was small; two rooms, maybe thirty tables tops. We were seated in the second room, away from the front door, but some movement, some flash of color, had caught my eye.
“What?” Mack turned around, but she was gone.
“Excuse me.” I pushed back my chair, suddenly aware of just how much I had drunk. “I’ve got to go talk to a woman about a cat.”
I threw down my napkin and stormed into the front room. Eleanor Shrift might blow me off, but she’d adopted an animal. She was responsible for that black Persian, and I was going to call her on her it. Only thing was, I no longer saw her.
“Excuse me.” I reached out to the young maitre’d. “Did a woman just come in here? Dark hair, a little older?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t see anyone.”
I turned around, searching for another sight of Eleanor. She wasn’t among the diners. “Could she have gone back there?” I glanced toward the kitchen.
“Not if she doesn’t work here, and your description doesn’t sound like any of our staff.”
“Well, maybe she’s waiting outside.”
The maitre’d looked past me, and I had a nasty feeling that he was about ready to call for Mack. “That’s not likely, ma’am. We seated our last party forty minutes ago.”
Sure enough, most of the tables were empty. The radio in the kitchen had been turned up, signs of cleaning already beginning. I turned back toward Mack. He looked slightly puzzled. We were, I noticed finally, the only table still occupied in the second room.
“Sorry.” I slunk back to my seat. “I thought I saw someone. A client.”
“Not Charles, I hope?” He was smiling. Maybe it was the wine.
“No, Eleanor Shrift. I have her black cat over at my place.”
“She’s got a cat, too? Figures.”
I tried to read his face as he settled the bill. Was he having me on? If he was Eleanor’s secret lover, he not only knew about her cat, he’d basically broken its heart. I remembered the earring and wondered if I could get anything out of the big Persian when I got home.
“Hey, I should be getting on,” I said. I wasn’t getting anything out of him, and I had other business to take care of. “I’ve got a big day tomorrow.” For the second time, I stood up. This time, the wine didn’t make me sway. The maitre’d came over with our coats, the last two left.
“Jim Creighton?” Mack rose and reached for my arm as he helped me into my jacket. His arm lingered. “Don’t let him spoil our night.”
“Come on.” I pulled away, but softened the words with a smile. “You’ve already had your dessert.”
I couldn’t read his face after that, but put it up to disappointment. With only the barest thanks to the remaining restaurant staff, he ushered me out to the street.
“Well, that was delicious. Thanks for a great evening.” I knew we had a drive home, but I wanted to make my position clear.
“My pleasure.” His smile seemed forced now, his gaze distracted.
He was, in fact, looking over my shoulder. I turned and squinted. Down the street, someone was walking. A woman, with the clipped, sexy gait of high heels. It was Eleanor Shrift.
***
The college station had switched to jazz, and I cranked it. I was in no mood for conversation, and besides the DJ was playing Monk. Instead, I gazed out the window as the streets of our small town gave way to trees and hills. Beauville could be beautiful, especially this time of year. But there was too much that was strange going on, and in the headlights the foliage was all bleached to gray anyway.
“Penny for your thoughts?” He was trying, I gave him that.
“I was thinking about this dog I walk.” I was. That snippy little bichon hadn’t given me anything since he’
d told me that Delia was pregnant.
“Come on, Pru. Tell me what’s really going on.”
I wanted to confide in somebody. Would he believe me? “I’m just thinking of all the animals in this town, Mack. If they ever told all they know, everything they see…”
“You’re thinking of Charles, aren’t you?” He glanced at me, but then turned back to the road. His voice seemed level and calm.
“Yeah, I am.”
“If his dog could talk, huh?” He kept driving. I kept my eyes on him. “What happened to that dog anyway?”
“I took her over to Charles’ mother.”
He mulled that one over. “So that’s what Creighton was on about.”
“Well, you know she was cleared.”
“The dog, you mean?”
“Of course, the dog. The coroner’s report cleared her: the wounds weren’t consistent with dog bite.”
“But still, does Charles’ old mom want it?” He kept going before I could respond. “I mean, I know Charles loved that dog, but, hey, it’s a pit bull.”
“She’s going to give it a shot.” The more I thought about the old lady, the more I admired her. She was tough. “And, besides, they both loved Charles.”
He nodded a little thoughtful. “I guess it’s just as well that dog can’t talk then. If she could, she’d be a witness to murder. Someone might try to kill her, too.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
It wasn’t what Mack had said. I didn’t really think Lily was in danger. After all, nobody had believed her story except me. The combination of his casual reference and the sight of Eleanor Shrift had gotten to me. I didn’t know what was wrong with these people. But the animals were suffering for it, and that I wasn’t going to stand for.
By the time Mack pulled up to my place, I was steaming.
“Don’t bother,” I said, reaching for the door. I’d noticed he’d turned off his car engine, and I didn’t think he was only planning on walking me to my door. “I’m going out again.”
“Oh?” My declaration seemed to put him off balance. “Something I did? I mean, if you want to keep on drinking…”