by Jess Lourey
She nodded, her face covered by a scarf, and hopped in the passenger seat. I figured I could get her in and out of the Tri-County Shelter in under twenty minutes and be home in time for supper. I was wrong. She treated every single animal she saw as if it were her own child. She petted each kitten, from the wheezy tortoiseshell with runny eyes to the super-fat tabby that had been found in the worst of the snowstorm two weeks earlier. She played with the dogs, offered to clean the hamster and rabbit cages, and even let the one boa constrictor sit on her shoulder. I was a great admirer of animals, but she made me look like puppy Hitler. I had no choice but to dig in and help her to attend to every living creature. We were finally kicked out at 7:00 p.m. so they could close up.
Peggy’s expression was beatific as she walked to the car. “That was amazing.”
I smiled back at her. “That was pretty cool. I keep forgetting how much help they need. I should volunteer more.”
“I’m starting tomorrow,” she said.
We got in the car. “That’s great! You got inspiration?”
“I meant I’m volunteering there, starting tomorrow. I don’t think it helped my mojo, but it sure helped my soul.”
I flicked on the fish house heater and cranked the engine. We shivered while the heat dispersed. “That’s a good thing, no doubt about it. But you’re sure you didn’t find any inspiration?”
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried a practice wail. Then silence. She squirmed in her seat and tried another warble. Nothing followed it. I was about to pull away when she held up her hand. “It’s here.”
“Your mojo?”
“Yes! It’s here!”
“That’s awesome,” I said. “What’s it got?”
She kept her hand in the air. “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Been done before.”
“A catechism has nine lives.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
She cleared her throat and began swaying. “You can teach an old dogma new tricks.”
I considered that one. “You know, that’s not half bad. Which means it’s only half good. But you’re on your way! I think.”
“Really?” She turned like she was going to hug me, and I pulled away.
“No need for physicality. It’s not my thing.” I put my hand over the back of her seat so I could see behind me as I pulled out. I made a little brushing motion over my mouth as I did so. “You have some dog fur on your lip, too.”
She immediately pulled her scarf over her nose. “Thanks.”
A suspicious thought knocked on my skull. I slammed on the brakes. “Peggy?”
“Yes?”
“Did you buy vitamins from Kennie?”
“The mayor? Yes, why?”
“How many did you buy?”
“Just one bottle. The one that’s supposed to bring you serenity, naturally. It worked so well that I bought two more. Why do you ask?”
“Those vitamins turn your skin orange and make you as hairy as a spider monkey. She didn’t tell you that, did she?”
Peggy gasped and covered her mouth. “Good heavens, no! Is that why I have this on my lip? I would have stopped taking them if I’d known.”
“Now’s a good time to stop.” I drove her back to her car, feeling more than a little self-righteous for all the good I’d done the world today. It was too late to go home and make supper, so I grabbed some turkey chili to go from the Turtle Stew and stopped by Jed’s to eat it. Fortunately, he was home, working in the back room with Monty. Monty was dipping a molten blob into gray crystals, and Jed was watching.
I was amazed by the glittering menagerie on the rear room’s worktable. The early works were apparent—poised horses with misshapen legs, apples the color of eggplant, globes with cracks in the side—but the evolution was also laid out, and at the end of the table was a series of glorious glass ballerinas, each perfectly delicate and balanced in various positions on a single, fragile toe.
“Monty, did you make these?” I set down my Styrofoam package of comfort food and reached for one of the dancers. “They’re amazing.”
Jed turned down the music and loped over to where I was standing. “The dude’s incredible, isn’t he? Go ahead and touch ’em. They won’t break. At least, not if you don’t drop them.”
I was already there. I held a dancer up to the light, amazed at the way her slippers appeared to be tied around her ankles, and the delicate depth of her frilled pink tutu. “Monty, you’re a real artist.”
Monty only grunted. He grasped a second set of tongs and was pulling the blob apart like taffy. What I’d thought was a sprinkling of gray powder was warping and melting and transforming into a jeweled green as deep as a pine forest. I watched, and he pulled and yanked and prodded until the blob became a beautiful little swan, its long neck as graceful as a curtsy. He set it down on a sheet of metal on the table.
The process took my breath away. “Are you learning how to do that, Jed?”
He scratched his head ruefully. “Trying. Most of the leroys on the end are my handiwork,” he said, pointing to a pile of warped and misshapen figures. “But I’m getting really good at beads! Check it out.”
He led me to the table nearest the back door. It was half the size of the front table and covered in beads of all colors and shapes. Some were long, some were short, some had patterns, and others were navy, plum, lemon, and garnet red. “These rock! It looks like a pirate’s treasure. You two are doing great work.”
Jed wagged his head happily. “I love it. Tomorrow’s our grand opening. Can you come?”
“I can sure try. Will you have enough to sell?”
Monty pulled off his gloves and used a dental-pick type tool to texture the swan’s wings. “We’ve got this much and more downstairs. The trick’ll be to get it all out front before tomorrow night.”
“I can help.”
Jed smiled. “Thanks, Mir, but we got it. Johnny’s coming over tonight, along with some other friends. You’re welcome to stay, though, if you want.”
The mention of Johnny’s name sent a jolt through me, half shame as I remembered my odor production and half pure hot tension. I hadn’t been vitamin-free long enough to risk an encounter. “I can’t, not tonight. I’ll definitely be back for the grand opening, though.”
“OK, Mir. Hey, before you go, Monty mentioned you might want to buy some pot.”
I glanced over at Monty. He was intent on his work. “Not exactly. I was just asking about Clive. He’s my neighbor, you know.”
Jed smiled his puppy smile. “He’s a good guy. Just ask Monty. They go way back, don’t you guys, Monty?”
“Sure, I suppose.”
I tilted my head. “You didn’t mention that.”
Monty shrugged without interrupting the motion of his work. “Clive grew up here and so did I. Besides, you didn’t mention anything about investigating him for Hallie Kicker.”
I made an involuntary noise. “Who told you that?”
Jed looked abashed. “I might have. Everybody’s talking about it at Battle Sacks.”
“How do they know?”
He held up his hands. “It’s like a small town within a small town there. People know what you’re doing before you do.”
“Well, that blows pretty hard.”
Monty put down his tool. “I wouldn’t worry about it. By all accounts, no one’s taking Hallie’s concerns seriously. You should know, however, that although Clive isn’t a choir boy, he’s no Charles Manson, either. He was dealt some bad cards in high school, got shot up in Vietnam, and came back home to do the best he can with it. You should meet him before you judge him.”
“I have met him.”
“I mean make an overture. You said he’s your neighbor. You ever stop by?”
“I’m not a ‘stop by’ kinda gal.”
“You stopped by here.”
“You ever give up?” I asked.
He shot me a smile. “Probably bef
ore you do, but not by much.”
“Fine, I’ll stop by and say hi to my neighbor. Anything else?”
That was all Monty had to offer, so I said my goodbyes and crossed the street to grab a dozen sugar cookies from the Fortune Café and took those and my cold chili back toward home. It was pushing 9:00 when I pulled into Clive’s place. His yard light was on, and the barn leaked slivers of grow light, but his house was dark. Just to be sure, I climbed out and knocked on his door. Chuck started barking and came to the window to pretend like he was fierce, but as soon as he saw me, he melted into a wiggle. I tapped the glass and left. I’d tried.
Tiger Pop and Luna were happy to see me. I shoved the chili in the fridge, fed them, and then ate six sugar cookies while I checked my messages.
Hi, this is Catherine Kicker, returning your call. Call me when you get a chance.
How about that. She was alive. I was beginning to wonder. I saved the message and played the next.
Mira, it’s Johnny. Hope you’re feeling better. I’m playing at Bonnie & Clyde’s on Friday and am hoping you can stop by. Only if you’re free. Take care.
I inhaled deeply. I should try to be free that night. I really should. But I couldn’t commit yet. I also couldn’t call Catherine to set up a meeting or Hallie to let her know I’d been ratted out, because it was too late in the evening. I deleted Johnny’s message and played the last one on the machine. I was popular today, I was thinking, as the unfamiliar voice came on. Then, as I listened to the growled warning, all thoughts fled:
If you don’t stop asking questions, you’ll be next.
Twenty
My heart thudded in my chest. Suddenly, I felt like someone else was in the house with me, hiding, watching me, waiting until I fell asleep to slip his hand over my mouth and neck.
I didn’t want to, but I had to play the message again. There was no preamble, no background noise, just nine nasty words, uttered in a baritone. The voice sounded a little altered, as if someone had deliberately lowered his tone, but only slightly. On the third play, I thought I heard the sound of a dog bark once as the speaker said “next,” but I couldn’t be sure. When I began to play it a fourth time, Luna whined at my feet.
“You’re probably right,” I told her. The more I played it, the more scared I was, but I didn’t learn anything new. “Think we should tell the police?”
She whined again, but when it comes to strategy, it’s better to consult a cat. I looked over at Tiger Pop, who was stretching on the kitchen floor. She gave me a bored glance and stalked away. “I don’t think so, either. Wohnt will use it as proof that he was right about me looking into this case. Hell, it might have been him who left the message.”
I didn’t believe it, but it gave me cold comfort as I tried to stay awake in front of the TV, too tired to concentrate and too scared to doze off.
———
The next morning, Catherine answered her phone on the second ring. Her voice was cheerful and smoky, a marked contrast to my grumpy rumble. I’d stayed awake until 3:00 a.m., when I fell into a fitful sleep peppered with dreams of hunting dogs chasing me through a dense forest, their angry jaws snapping at my heels. Four hours later, I dragged myself off the couch and to the coffee maker. This day called for a strong black shot of caffeine. Fortunately, in the light of day with a mug of dark roast in my hand, the message didn’t sound as frightening. The call was most likely made by a friend of Mitchell’s. He struck me as the kind of guy who didn’t know when to quit.
“Hi, this is Mira James. Is this Catherine?”
It was, and when I explained why I was calling, she said she’d be happy to stop by the library the next day to talk about Tom. She said she’d been meaning to pick up some new books anyway, since she’d just returned from visiting relatives in Florida and needed something new to read. That piece of business resolved, I voted for visiting Hallie at the hospital instead of calling her to deliver the bad news about our mole. Peggy was on my calendar to “seek inspiration” that morning, anyhow. I’d dump her in the pediatrics wing while I touched base with Hallie.
Although I didn’t comment, Peggy’s face looked clean-shaven when I picked her up. Thankfully, my hair growth had confined itself to my head, though I’d gotten in the habit of feeling for a beard. Peggy spent the ride to Alexandria worrying about how she was sure she had recently contracted strep throat and a foot fungus, but she’d packed two Nut Goodies for each of us, so I let her talk. The hospital now seemed easier to visit. Immersion therapy. Inside the main doors, I directed Peggy to the second floor maternity wing and marched toward Hallie’s room. I passed by the gift shop and bought a happy, silly bunch of brightly colored gerbera daisies to cheer her room.
My mind was on my visit with the mechanic after work. What answers would he provide? Would he treat my Toyota well? I almost walked right past her room. I backed up, and peeked in.
“Knock knock.”
A curtain hid the bed. Over it, another Golden Girls rerun was playing. I tiptoed toward her, in case she was sleeping, and peeked around the corner of the curtain. “Hello?”
An elderly woman looked up from the bed, a pleasant but confused expression on her face. “Are you the nurse?”
“I’m so sorry! I thought I was in my friend Hallie’s room.”
The woman’s face drooped. “Oh, that poor dear from Battle Lake. She’s not with us any more.”
Twenty-one
I put my hand against the wall for support. “What happened to her?”
“Discharged, I believe. They moved me into here just as she was leaving. I was sharing a room with another woman, but she was too noisy. Jabber, jabber, jabber. Always talking. It gets on a person’s nerves. Do you know what I mean?”
I was pretty sure I did. “You know, the way you phrased that comment about Hallie made it seem like she was dead.”
The woman put her hand over her mouth. “I suppose it did. She’s not.”
“I’m just saying, ‘not with us anymore’ is a pretty common euphemism for ‘dead.’ You might want to update that portion of your vocabulary. You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“I’m sorry, dear. Were those flowers for Hallie?”
I looked at the bright vase of daisies in my hand and around at the impersonal, gray space. “Nope, they’re for the room. Should I just leave them here?”
She smiled from cheek to cheek, exposing brilliantly white artificial teeth. “You’re a sweetheart. I really am sorry about giving you a scare.”
“It’s all right.” I set the flowers on the table nearest her bed so she could admire their spring-like colors. “Will you be in here for long?”
“Not too. Just getting over a bad case of flu with a dash of pneumonia.”
“I hope you feel better soon.” I left the room and confirmed with the nurses that Hallie had been discharged before I tracked down Peggy.
I’d often thought a visit to the maternity wing of a hospital should be a mandatory part of sex ed, starting in sixth grade. Sure, the newborn babies in the big incubator room were cute in a red and vulnerable sort of way, but the primal screams of a woman giving birth were guaranteed to haunt your dreams. I always thought it was weird, too, how women had babies at all hours of the day. It seemed like it should be a nighttime thing, but at this very moment I could hear at least one poor soul cursing her partner’s existence, and another begging for an epidural, whatever that was.
“It’s a war zone in here,” I whispered to Peggy. She had her nose to the glass of the baby display case. As far as I could tell, it was a zoo room for humans, with two rows of six infants each, every one of them swaddled in pink or blue like bawling cocoons.
“I’m in love.”
“You met someone?”
“The babies. Aren’t they beautiful?”
I cocked my head and considered the evaluation. “They look like a lot of work.”
“Shush,” she said gently. “I can’t have a child, you know. I had so many cysts, the doctor
s decided it would be best to take out my uterus rather than put me through surgery after surgery to remove them. I’m too old now, anyway, but I love kids. They’re life itself. And they only get better. I just got to play with two brothers, four and six, over there in the waiting room while their dad visited with their mom and their new baby sister. The stories they told me.”
“Did they inspire you?”
Her eyes lit up. “I do feel close to God here.”
“Then let her rip.”
She clenched her fists, shut her eyes, and began vibrating and moaning. I glanced at the nurses in the baby zoo, but they were too intent on their gurgling bundles.
“I feel it,” Peggy sang. “I feel the power!”
“Should I have pen and paper handy?”
Her voice came out in an ethereal wave. “My savior has a first name, it’s J-E-S-U-S, my savior has a second name, it’s C-H-R-I-S-T, I love to praise him every day and if you ask me why I’ll say … Jesus Christ has a way with a C-R-A-Y-O-L-A.” She opened one eye and peeked at me hopefully.
“Did you color with those boys?”
“Maybe. Not so good?”
I shook my head. “You’ve got me thinking of bologna and God.”
“How’s this? ‘Incredible Hulk questioned. Heathen lent Christ hymn faith.’”
“Wow.”
“Good?”
“Yes. If it’s opposite day,” I said sarcastically. “I’m sorry. I think it’s back to the drawing board.”
Her shoulders sagged. “You’re right. I’m never going to get my mojo back, am I?”
Against my better judgment, I put my arm around her and led her out of the maternity wing. “Maybe we’re focusing on the wrong approach. Maybe we shouldn’t try for a product and instead you should just keep appreciating the experiences.”
“How will that help me to meet my deadline?”