“Damn.”
“Excuse me?”
I hadn’t realized I’d voiced my frustration aloud. But I had. And now, thanks to my inability to censor myself, I was on the receiving end of what looked to be curiosity seeping through the widow’s caked-on mascara.
“Oh, don’t mind me. I was trying to figure out what got me coughing.” I marveled at my ability to lie as the words flowed from my mouth. “I’m allergic to maple trees. And sure enough, you’ve got a big one right there.”
I raised my hand to point at the gorgeous tree just outside the window and then peeked at Mitzi out of the corner of my eye to see if she’d taken the bait. Based on the way she nodded and tsked, I’d pulled it off. Point for me.
“Allergies are awful, aren’t they? They make your nose red and your eyes puffy.” Mitzi leaned toward me. “But you look okay.”
I gulped.
“I react differently. I just cough. A lot. Even sneeze sometimes. But I don’t get all red and puffy.” I made a mental note to visit the confessional the next time I was at church and then waited to see if Mitzi would accept my latest fib.
She took hold of my wrist and led me down the hallway and toward the back staircase. “I think I’ve got some over-the-counter antihisti-whatever upstairs in my bathroom. That should help, right?”
Now I’m not a fan of medicine. Never have been. The dislike (okay, hatred) of the stuff dates back to my childhood when I used to run from my mother every time she pulled out the Robitussin. I never understood why, when you felt lousy to begin with, you had to endure stuff that smelled so bad your eyes watered and tasted so bad you were sure you’d vomit. Even now, as an adult, I still balked at taking any medicine unless I had one of those infrequent (thank God) sledgehammer headaches.
But I’d walked myself into this situation. Or, rather, lied myself into it.
“Okay . . . sure. Thanks.” I hoped I sounded believable.
I followed Mitzi up the stairs, my throat tightening with each step. The thought of going in that room again was unsettling at best, and that was before Preston Hohlbrook’s eyes flashed through my mind. I wiped my palms down my slacks and forced myself to keep walking, to ignore the pounding in my chest.
Mitzi, on the other hand, seemed unfazed. She simply breezed into the room without hesitation and peeled off her sports bra as she headed toward the armoire on the other side of the bed.
Three distinct things struck me at that instant as I watched Mrs. Hohlbrook yank open a drawer: 1) she seemed oddly at ease in a room that had held her husband’s dead body just two days earlier; 2) she seemed perfectly content to strip down to nothing in front of a complete stranger; and 3) implants left a person rather, um, perky.
The workout queen-in-mourning uttered a few choice words. Nothing horrible, but enough to get my attention off the boob-building doctor that would soon be on speed dial at the office.
“The police cleared the room over an hour ago, but would you look around this place?” Mitzi groused. “Black dust everywhere! And is the overpriced maid cleaning it? Nooooo. She’s making muffins in the kitchen because that’s what Preston liked. Never mind the fact that Preston won’t be eating them anytime soon.”
I stood perfectly still. Afraid to move. Afraid to cough. Afraid to have Mitzi snap into reality and realize I was standing there, listening.
She continued, her ramblings growing more bizarre with each word. “I can’t tell you what a pain it was not being able to get in here the past few days. I had to use back-up clothes—back-up clothes from the guest room.” Mitzi pulled a black satin shirt over her head, the fabric clinging to her body like a second skin. “Of course, they were last year’s clothes.”
I tried not to take offense at the way she curled her lip in disgust at the travesty of wearing last year’s styles—after all, most everything I owned was either last year’s or somebody else’s or, in most cases, both. Instead, when I spoke, I opted to take the old buttering-up angle.
“You look great in whatever you wear, Mrs. Hohlbrook.”
It worked. Mitzi grinned from ear to ear, the antihistamine forgotten.
“Aren’t you sweet?” She pulled her hair into a low ponytail and swooped it upward with a clip. “I can’t wait to get my hands on this room. Get rid of all this mahogany stuff. I want modern and new. Not old and stuffy. It was always a sore point between Preston and me. He refused to change it. Because it was what Al-a-na liked. And God forbid her tastes be allowed to die with her.”
My mouth dropped open, my nostril flared. Mitzi Holbrook had been a widow for, what, a little over forty-eight hours and she already had plans to redecorate?
The woman pulled off her black spandex shorts and left them in a heap at her feet. “The only time that man ever let loose was in his ads. And that was thanks to me.”
“You?”
“That’s right. When his ad guy told him the camel idea, Preston nearly flipped a gasket. But I liked it. I thought it was fun and different. I encouraged him to try it, to let his hair down. And he got a lot of attention because of those spots.”
I considered trying to debunk the whole bad-attention-is-better-than-no-attention myth, but I let it go.
“Who was the rep on your husband’s account?” I asked instead as I shifted my weight onto my left leg and tried not to tug on the stray thread dangling down the side of the Hohlbrook’s bedspread.
“Originally it was the one partner. The one that starts with S.”
I stifled a laugh. Mike would be mortified. “You mean, Mike Stanley?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. Preston liked his ideas, said they were well-suited for him. But the head guy? John? He stepped in with the camel idea. The first guy—Mike, you said?—he wasn’t thrilled. Kept insisting it wasn’t the best choice. That Preston would be unhappy pretty quickly unless he took a classier, more refined approach. I mean, puh-leeze. Classy? Refined? Give me a break. I wasn’t going to sit by and watch my husband put the greater metropolitan St. Louis area to sleep every time his ad came on. So I spoke up and agreed with John on the camels. And naturally I won. Preston gave in to me a lot.”
Sounded like John and Mitzi were cut from the same cloth in a lot of ways. Their way or the highway . . . I sighed as I looked around the room. Grandpa Stu’s voice echoed in my head: Whatever you do in life, Tobi, make sure you enjoy it. Because no amount of money will bring you happiness. True happiness.
I made a mental note to call my grandfather when I got home. My life had gotten so out of hand that I found myself craving a dose of his wisdom.
Ba. Boo. Dad. Ee. PHhhhtttttt.
I gasped. I’d completely forgotten about Baboo amid my snooping and lying. My heart ached as I reached Baboo’s cage and saw the pile of feathers at the bottom.
“I swear, I am so done with that thing. I hate it. At least in the beginning, he was kind of pretty. But now he’s just plain ugly without his feathers.”
I didn’t turn to look at Mitzi. I simply couldn’t pull my attention from Baboo. It was hard to believe this obviously sick bird was the same breed as Rudder Malone. Rudder was always ready to kick some, well, you know. But not Baboo. Baboo looked as if he wasn’t too far off from meeting his little bird-maker in the sky.
“Let me take him home with me. I know a little bit about African greys. I think I can help.” I bent my index finger and pushed it between the bars of the cage while I waited for Mitzi’s reply, unable to take my eyes off Baboo.
“Would you? Oh, Tobi, you’re a lifesaver.” She clapped her hands together and giggled. “His lifesaver, that is.”
10
I never realized just how small a Miata was until I tried to cram a bird cage inside one. Baboo, though, didn’t seem to notice. Not that I was surprised. He was pretty out of it.
I tried to keep my eyes on the road as I darted in and out of traffic, but it was hard. My interest in Preston Hohlbrook’s murder was no longer about saving my agency. It was about finding the truth no matter where
it led. A lot of people had been hurt by what happened. I peered over at the passenger seat and the silent animal who had retreated into himself, as much a victim in all this madness as anyone else.
I’d been wrong. Preston Hohlbrook had been a good man. I could tell that by the things that Deserey had said, sense it in the emotion she struggled to keep in check, and feel it in his love for the birds that flocked to his backyard and his beloved Baboo beside me.
I reached behind my seat for my purse. In my haste to rescue Baboo from Mitzi’s clutches, I had overlooked one tiny fact. My landlord despised pets. All pets. No exceptions. Which meant I had to find another home for Baboo. Fast.
My hand closed around my cell phone and I pulled it onto my lap. The pet store was number five on my speed dial.
“To Know Them Is To Love Them Pet Shop. This is Sam; how can I help?”
“Shouldn’t you be in school?” I asked as I came to a crawl just west of the Brentwood exit.
“Tobi? Is that you?”
“Yup. Sorry.”
“It’s four-fifteen. School’s been out for almost two hours.”
I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Crap. So much for having JoAnna’s car back by three.
“You okay, Tobi? You sound funny.”
I pressed down on the accelerator as traffic finally began to open up again, anxious to get my copilot on the road to recovery. If it wasn’t too late. “It’s Baboo.”
“Is he okay?” The concern in Sam’s voice was unmistakable. An emotion I knew would be matched by his mom as well.
“No, Sam, he’s not. And we’re no longer just talking about a few plucked feathers, either. He’s almost bald. And, other than three quick words an hour ago, he hasn’t said a thing. Nada. Zip. I think he’s in really bad shape.”
“Let me talk to Mom, see if we can call Mrs. Hohlbrook and offer some tips.”
“No, Sam.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have Baboo.” I looked over at the African grey as he hunched over in a corner of his travel cage. His mouth was moving, but no sound came out. He reminded me of a person in shock, unable to cope with a tragedy.
A horn blared and I looked up, my gaze coming to rest on the car in my rearview mirror.
“What do you mean, you have Baboo? Have him how? Where?”
“In my car—I mean, JoAnna’s car.” I hurried to explain. “I was at the Hohlbrooks’ today to try and dig up . . . well, that’s not important. What matters is that I was there and Baboo was in bad shape. Mitzi was droning on about how much she hated him, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I offered to take him under the guise of helping get him back to normal. She, of course, was elated at the prospect of getting rid of him.”
Sam released a sigh in my ear. I smiled. The kid got it.
“Anyway, I’m heading back now and it hit me. My landlord would have a cow if I brought Baboo into the house. So that leaves only one option.”
“I’ll give Mom a heads-up, and we’ll be waiting.”
It was my turn to sigh. And did I ever. Getting Baboo out of that house and into the loving care of Mary Fran was the first truly right thing to happen all day.
“You’re the best. Thank your mom for me, and I’ll be there soon. Just need to call JoAnna and explain why I’m late.”
I flipped the phone shut and waited a second. Yeah, I know there’s a button on the phone somewhere that will end a call, but I can’t seem to find it. So I flip it shut instead. End result is the same, right?
JoAnna was number six on my speed dial. Though, I really should think about moving her up to number one. She’s kinda like my own personal little angel.
“Are you okay, Tobi?”
“Sorta.” I slid into the right-hand lane as I approached the Kingshighway exit. “Look, I’m so sorry that I’ve been gone longer than I said. But things got interesting and sad and—”
“It’s okay, sweetie. I’ve got nowhere to go tonight. Take all the time you need.”
I stopped at the top of the ramp and waited for the light to change. Baboo sat wordlessly in his cage. I wondered if he was listening to my conversation. “I’m almost back. I just need to stop at the pet shop for a few minutes. Then I’ll be back and can fill you in on everything.”
“Okay. Fair enough.” JoAnna’s voice, calm and cool, always made me feel as if I could get through anything.
And I could. So, too, could Baboo.
“Thanks, JoAnna. For—well, for everything you do. And for being you. I’m truly blessed.” I pressed on the gas as the light changed, turned left, and headed toward the Central West End—my home in more ways than one.
“As am I, Tobi.”
I flipped the phone shut and blinked against the tears that stung my eyes. My world was topsy-turvy right now in so many ways. I still hadn’t gotten to a place where I was ready to share my heart with another man. Not sure that day would ever come, thanks to Nick. And the career I was supposed to be able to throw myself into? That wasn’t going any better.
In the grand scheme of things, though, it didn’t matter. None of it did. Sure, losing the agency would be hard. When is the death of a dream not? But there was one thing I had that made the heartache more bearable and the lifelong dream less of a be-all and end-all: Friends. True friends.
I found a parking spot half a block from the shop and did my best to back into it with no more than two corrections. I succeeded. Mostly.
Grabbing my purse from the floor behind my seat, I got out of the car. Sam appeared like magic beside the passenger door, opening it and reaching for the cage before I made it around the car.
“Hey there, Baboo. How was the ride, big guy?”
For a moment, I simply stood there and watched as this teenage boy, who had more confidence and poise and heart than men twice his age, focused all of his attention on the traumatized animal. It was beautiful to see.
When I felt my eyes beginning to burn, I made myself step forward.
“Hi, Sam.” I gave him a kiss on the side of his forehead. “We made it.”
Sam nodded, his eyes filled with worry.
“Sam? What’s wrong?”
He hoisted the cage onto his right forearm and made a beeline for his mom’s shop. “He’s not good, Tobi. Mom’s gonna freak.”
I didn’t say anything. Instead, I fell into step with Sam as we headed toward the shop.
Mary Fran was waiting. She pulled the door open as we approached and plucked the cage from Sam’s arms. Lovingly, she set it down on the counter and pulled her favorite stool beside it, her eyes never leaving the occupant inside. “Hi, Baboo. I’m so very sorry you lost your special friend.”
I accepted the tissue Sam held out for me and dabbed at the tear that ran down my cheek. Mary Fran had a heart bigger than the entire universe. She loved with every inch of it—which explained Sam.
When I found my voice, I spoke slowly so my choked-up words could be understood. “He called Preston his daddy.”
Mary Fran met my eye quickly and nodded. She looked back at the parrot. “Your daddy loved you very much, and he wants us to take good care of you.”
“Good-Good care.”
Rudder. I’d forgotten all about him.
I tugged at Sam’s sleeve and jerked my head toward the corner. He followed me there. “Is there gonna be a problem having two of these birds in the same place? Any weird domination thing?” The question was probably stupid, but I had to ask.
“Nah. Rudder’s cool. You know that.”
Yeah, I did. I squeezed Sam’s arm and made my way over to Rudder’s perch, careful to avoid Sadie’s empty cage. I simply couldn’t handle not having her right now. As wonderfully loving as Mary Fran and Sam were, as supportive as JoAnna was, as loyal as Carter was, there was just something powerful about my connection with Sadie. Odd, I know, to say that about a cat. But she knew my secrets. She knew my fears. She knew my heartache. She knew me.
And God help the guy who took her if he didn’t tre
at her right.
I stopped next to Rudder’s cage and poked my finger inside.
“I like your blue bandana, Rudder. It’s a good color on you.”
“Snort-Snort!”
Sam laughed from across the room.
I didn’t.
I wiggled my finger at Rudder. “Okay, wise guy. I get it. I snort a lot. And you stutter. But do I mock you? No, I don’t.”
“Snort-Snort!”
Sam and Mary Fran laughed. And, I swear, the hamster did too.
“You be nice, Rudder. If you can’t be nice to me, then be nice to Baboo. You got it, buster?”
“Nice-Nice to Baboo.”
“Thank you.”
I turned away from the cage and headed back toward the counter and Mary Fran. If there was a chance for Baboo to regain his strength, this was where he would do it. I was confident of that.
“Is it really okay if he stays here?” I meant to look at Mary Fran as I asked, I really did. But my visual attention was, once again, back on Baboo, his heartache palpable.
“I wouldn’t want him anywhere else.” Mary Fran pulled her gaze off Baboo and fixed it on me. She slid off her stool and gave me a big hug. “He’ll be okay. It’s gonna take some time. He’s suffered an awful loss and you know how loyal these birds can be. But I think we can turn him around.”
There was something uplifting about Mary Fran’s hug and I needed that desperately right now.
“It’ll be okay, Tobi,” she whispered in my ear.
I nodded as she stepped back and reclaimed her spot on the stool.
“I better return JoAnna’s car.” I tugged my backpack higher on my shoulder and pulled my keys from my jacket pocket. “How long will you be here tonight?”
“I think it will be best if I sleep in the back room tonight. Just so Baboo knows he hasn’t been abandoned in an unfamiliar place.” Mary Fran kept her voice quiet and calm as she spoke, every inflection of her voice carefully chosen to make Baboo feel safe.
“Then I’ll bring a pizza by when I’m done at the office.” I pulled the door open and looked over my shoulder. “Thanks Mary Fran, Sam. I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”
Death in Advertising Page 10