Repeating my amazement via another Wow (aloud this time), I pushed in my own chair and then watched as JoAnna swooped in and made its distance from the table match those of all the other chairs. “So she remained married, accepted a child that wasn’t hers, raised said child when the floozy died, and continued to be one of the powers-that-be behind the very same award show she so blindly supported while Shamus made a public mockery of their marriage? What a prince.”
“Hence the reason I hate seeing her having to deal with this latest mess now, too. It’s too much.” JoAnna stopped, brushed her hands against one another as if dislodging crumbs or freeing them of dirt, and then squared her shoulders with an audible inhale. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go off on such a tangent. Especially when you look as if you could eat a horse right now. Should I head across the street and grab you a sandwich, or would you rather I call something in? Like maybe a Stromboli or maybe some Chinese?”
“A sandwich sounds good.”
“Chips?”
“Nah, let’s go with pretzels, instead.” I trailed her out of the conference room and into the hallway, flicking off the overhead light as I did. “Can I see that list of Deidre’s campaigns?”
“It’s far from complete, let me tell you.”
I stepped around the corner and joined her by her desk as she retrieved her purse from its normal work-hours resting place. “I take it there were a lot of distractions while I was in my meeting with Eric Brogan?”
“No, it’s just that she was part of a lot more—”
My cell phone rang from inside my office, cutting our conversation short. “Hold on a second. I’ll be right back with my lunch money.”
I jogged into my office, recovered both my phone and my wallet from my purse, and took the call en route back to JoAnna’s desk. “Hey, Mary Fran. Is everything okay?”
It’s not the way I’d normally answer a call, but Mary Fran rarely called me during the work day. My radar was on alert.
“Actually no. Ms. Rapple called me in hysterics a few minutes ago and—”
A cold chill made its way down my spine. “Did something happen to my grandfather?”
“No! It’s Gertie.”
“Gertie?” Wedging the phone between my ear and my shoulder, I used my now-free hand to open my wallet, pluck out a twenty, and hand it to JoAnna, mouthing what I hoped was a clear get yourself something too, as I did. “Why, what’s wrong? Did our resident rat-dog rip a hole in one of her little sweaters while tearing through my shrubs or something?”
JoAnna’s disapproving eye wasn’t wasted on me, so I did the only thing I could at that moment: I turned away.
“She said Gertie hasn’t moved all morning. Hasn’t picked up her head, hasn’t left her little bed, hasn’t eaten a thing.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“So why did she call you? Shouldn’t she call a vet?”
“She’s on a fixed income, Tobi. You know that.”
“Snort! Snort! S-nort!”
Rudder.
I rolled my eyes at the bird’s never-ending association with my name and sunk onto the chair across from JoAnna’s desk. “I know, but she’s always so nasty to you.”
“Lately, she’s been nicer.”
“Lately?”
“Since…well…you know.”
I did know. And I didn’t like it, not one little bit. Still, JoAnna had made some valid points earlier and I didn’t like feeling as if I’d caused my grandfather any pain. “Do you know if my grandfather was with her when she called?”
“No, and I think that was only adding to the hysterics,” Mary Fran said. “You know how she is with that dog. He’s her whole world—or, was, until…well…you know.”
I closed my eyes, counted to ten in my head, and then slowly opened them to find JoAnna still standing by her desk with my twenty in her hand.
Aware of the hunger pains building to a crescendo at the thought of the sandwich that had yet to be ordered, I closed my eyes again in the hopes that would let me focus on Mary Fran for just a few more minutes. “So you want to go over and see what’s going on?”
“I do.”
“When?”
“Now. If you’re free and can maybe man the store for a few minutes? Say thirty at most? That’ll give me time to assess what’s going on and advise Ms. Rapple on what’s the best thing to do.”
Before I could respond one way or the other, Mary Fran continued. “Everyone has been fed—including Rudder, so it’s really just about being here if a customer comes. Maybe ringing up an order or two.”
“You want me to man the pet shop for thirty minutes.” I opened my eyes yet again, this time fixing them on JoAnna. “Mary Fran needs me at the—”
“Pet shop. I know. I got that part.”
“Do we have anything scheduled for the next little bit? Any meetings or phone calls?” I was virtually positive we didn’t, but I guess I was hoping JoAnna had dropped the ball on something and my sudden inquiry would niggle it back into place.
“Nope. Your afternoon is wiiiide open.” JoAnna folded my twenty in half and slipped it into the front pocket of her dress slacks, my stomach gurgling in protest.
Bye-bye sandwich…
Bye-bye pretzels…
I turned my attention on JoAnna’s candy jar and allowed myself a silent sigh. “Okay, Mary Fran, I’m on my way.”
“Ms. Rapple and I thank you.”
~Chapter Nine~
Mary Fran was gone less than half a second when Rudder started in, rocking back and forth on his little metal perch, letting loose a string of snorts designed to make me give him a kiwi in the interest of shutting him up.
I knew it.
Had lived it many times.
Yet unlike all those times before, I found myself opening the mini refrigerator, extracting the Tupperware of kiwi from inside, and carrying it over to the counter. No, I hadn’t forgotten the whole don’t-reward-bad-behavior mindset I religiously followed where my fine feathered nemesis was concerned.
Quite the contrary, in fact.
Instead, I set the container on the counter, popped open the lid, and tossed back a half dozen pieces of kiwi, much to Rudder’s vocal displeasure.
“Snort! Snort! S-nort!”
“Keep snorting, buddy and I’ll eat it all. I swear I will.” I rooted through the container, found another five or six big and juicy pieces and inhaled those as well. “Wow. I. Am. Absolutely. Positively. Starving. With a capital S.”
“Snort! Snort! S-nort!”
I knew I was being a stinker, but really, I couldn’t help myself. Something about imagining a sandwich (and pretzels) and then having to put it on hold for an undetermined amount of time had driven me to the brink of insanity. Rudder just had a way of pushing me all the way over at times.
Piece by piece I ate my way through the container until there were just two bites left. I considered eating them as well, but when I looked back at Rudder and noted that his rage had transitioned to something that looked a lot more like heartbreak, I brought them over to him and stuck them between the slats of his cage. “Peace offering?”
He gobbled up the fruit and then turned his back to me.
“I’m sorry!” I protested. “You have no idea how hungry I am.”
My pleas fell on deaf ears.
“The second Mary Fran gets back, I’ll head over to that fruit stand across from Fletcher’s and get you some fresh kiwi. I promise.”
He kept his back to me but I was pretty sure I saw his posture soften a smidge.
“And when I get back from doing that, I’ll give you a great big piece of kiwi before I put it in the fridge, okay?”
“Snort! Snort! S-nort!”
Not the response I wanted, but I’d take it.
&n
bsp; I moved on to Baboo’s cage, told him he looked handsome today, and then made my way back to the counter and my purse. While not the ideal place to conduct business, I didn’t see any harm in utilizing the lack of customers to return Ben’s phone call.
He picked up on the second ring. “This is Ben.”
“Hey, Ben, it’s Tobi—Tobi Tobias.”
“Snort! Snort! S-nort!”
I shot Rudder a glare to end all glares and hoped he got the message to pipe down. Just in case he didn’t, which was more likely than not, I did my best to shield the lower half of the phone with my free hand. “You left a message on my agency’s voicemail yesterday and we just—”
“We need to talk,” he whispered, his tone showing signs of…nervousness?
Knowing what I knew about the living hell it was being in the employ of John Beckler, I felt my intended arm’s-length demeanor falling by the wayside. “Look, if you need a reference, I think I saw enough of your work ethic during our overlap time to be able to write something up for you if that’ll help.”
Instead of the relief and appreciation I would have expected to hear in response to my offer, I heard only silence. But before I could fully switch gears from empathetic to resolute, his whispered voice returned in my ear. “It’s not that.”
“Okay…” Wedging the phone between my shoulder and my cheek once again, I braced my hands atop the counter and pulled myself up until I was sitting in the same spot Sam favored whenever he was in the store and not busy with tasks. “So what do you want to talk about?”
“Not now. Not here.”
“Are you okay?” I asked while the part of me that hated surprises began sifting through the possibilities.
He’d caught John Beckler, one of my former bosses, doing something unethical, stupid, illegal, or all of the above and wanted me to be the first to know.
He was considering staging a coup to overthrow said former boss and needed to pick my brain.
He got an inside line on a client Beckler was wooing and wanted to give me a heads-up so I could throw my hat in the ring.
I took advantage of the continued silence to really consider my thoughts and realized they made no sense. While our time at Beckler had overlapped for only about six months, Ben and I really hadn’t traveled in the same circles. He’d been John’s handpicked intern and, as a result, I’d kept a wary distance.
“Could we meet somewhere after work?” he finally said, his voice still hushed and difficult to hear against the various pet store sounds that never fully ever went away. “Preferably somewhere away from here.”
Hmmm… The plot thickens.
“Can I at least know what this is regarding?”
“Saturday night.”
I felt the inexplicable chill start at the base of my neck and spread down my spine. “You mean the award show and what happened to Deidre?”
“Will five-thirty work for you?” he asked.
“Uhhh…yeah…sure.” I took a moment to slow my breath and, hopefully, my heartbeat. “Where?”
“There’s a little Italian place off Brentwood Boulevard, north of the mall. Red and white awning.”
I opened my mouth to suggest something closer and less out of the way, but before I could even utter the first word, he was gone. I pulled the phone from my cheek and checked the screen.
Yup: Call Ended.
“Huh. Weird.”
“Huh! Huh-Weird! Huh! Huh-Weird!”
It was on the tip of my tongue to lecture Rudder on the rudeness of listening in on a person’s phone call, but when I really thought about what he’d said (and, more importantly what he hadn’t said), I couldn’t help but smile. “It is, isn’t it, big guy?”
“Biggg! Biggg-guy!”
The string of bells mounted above the front door jingled, stealing my attention from Rudder and sending it to the front of the store.
“I’m back, Tobi!”
“Snort! Snort! S-nort!”
So much for progress.
I stuck my tongue out at Rudder and then jumped off the counter and onto my feet. “How’d it go? How’s Gertie?”
Mary Fran tossed her purse onto the counter next to mine and slumped back against the display of dog food. “Honestly? Not good.”
“Regular not good, or really not good?”
“My inclination is the latter, I’m afraid. But I brought them to the best vet in the area and told the secretary to call me and let me know what’s going on as soon as they know. If it’s bad, I’ll close the shop early and drive out so I’m there when they give her the bad news.”
“You mean…” I let the rest of my sentence trail off to that place where all stupid questions should go to die before they’re ever fully asked. Still, I couldn’t just let it go. “You think Gertie might…die?”
“Depending on what’s wrong, there’s a chance they might have to put her down, yes.”
“Wow. I just always assumed that dog would be around for years—digging up every bulb I try to plant, killing every bush with her high octane pee, and waking me up every Saturday morning with her obnoxious bark that I will swear to this day is intentional.” I looked across the store at Rudder and tried to imagine how I might feel if I walked into the store one day and his cage was suddenly empty.
The answering lump in my throat told me everything I needed to know.
“Does Rapple know? That it’s not looking good?”
“I’m not sure, but I didn’t feel right pressing her about it, either. You know how she is about that dog, and she’s already out of her mind with worry as it is. Why freak her out even more unless—or until—it’s necessary.” Mary Fran stopped, looked at me oddly, and then reached around me for the empty kiwi container. “Um, Tobi? This was full when I left.”
“Snort! Snort! S-nort!”
I snarled at Rudder and then batted my eyes as angelically as possible at my friend. “I know that.”
“I also told you he had his lunch before you got here.”
“I know that, too.”
Mary Fran’s brows furrowed with worry as she turned and made her way over to Rudder’s cage. “You know he can get sick if overfed.”
“He didn’t eat it.” I looked at the empty container now back on the counter and heard my stomach gurgle hungrily in response. “I did.”
“You ate all of the kiwi?” Mary Fran turned, hands on hips, and stared at me.
“Well, technically, I gave him the last piece. But I have to say, he was rather ungrateful when I did.”
Mary Fran nodding knowingly at Rudder before looking back at me. “I take it you didn’t have lunch?”
“JoAnna was getting ready to head out to the lunch place across the street for me when you called.”
Raking her hands through the ends of her ponytail, Mary Fran sank back against the counter to my left. “I’m sorry, Tobi, I—”
“Snort! Snort! S-nort!”
Mary Fran laughed.
I didn’t.
Fortunately she continued where she left off rather than at the start of her sentence because, if she had, I might have had to throttle a certain bird. “I didn’t know you hadn’t eaten. I just know what that dog means to Ms. Rapple and I didn’t want her to wait any longer than necessary. Think about it, until this thing with your grandfather started up, Gertie was all she had. It’s like her version of my Sam.”
“Your Sam and now your Drew,” I corrected.
Mary Fran’s face lit up. “Yeah… Drew is pretty incredible.”
“Said the woman who had sworn off men for the rest of her life.” I stuck out my chest, flat as it was, and added a ta-da in true Superman style, belting out the next few words in song-like fashion. “I…saved…the…day!”
“I’m not sure Rudder would agree,” Mary Fran responded, pointing at the empty kiwi container
.
I dropped my head, nodded, and then snatched my purse off the counter. “I know. I know. Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be back with some fresh kiwi for the king.”
“No. He can wait until after school. I’ll have Sam stop by the stand and restock my supply.” Mary Fran closed the gap between us and planted a kiss on my cheek. “Go get some lunch and enjoy the rest of your day.”
There was no denying the way my stomach responded to the word lunch, but there was also no ignoring the way that all stopped when I recalled the reason for my delayed lunch in the first place. “Hey, if things go bad with Gertie, and you need to go back to the vet to be with Rapple, call me, okay?”
“Am I picking up a note of concern in your voice?” Mary Fran teased.
I wished I could play it off, but we both knew I was full of hooey. So I switched gears and hoped for the best. “I guess an upside to my grandfather liking her so much is that she’ll have someone to help her through the grief should the unthinkable happen.”
“That’s assuming he’d actually return her calls so she could tell him.”
I stared at my friend. “Excuse me?”
“I told you. Grandpa Stu doesn’t know about Gertie yet.”
“Yeah, but that was when you first called. I assumed by now that…” I let the rest of my sentence go as Mary Fran shook her head.
“Maybe he went somewhere with Carter.”
“Carter is at work,” Mary Fran countered. “Ms. Rapple said so.”
“Maybe my grandfather went with him.”
Mary Fran dug at a nonexistent speck on the counter before dropping her hand to her side and sighing. “After I left Ms. Rapple and Gertie at the vet, I swung by your place on my way back here.”
“And?”
“I knocked. Three times, actually. But your grandfather didn’t come to the door.”
“It’s like I said. Maybe he’s with Carter… Or maybe, he’s yakking it up with Jack Fletcher down at the newsstand. I swear, when those two start trading jokes and riddles and other assorted fascinations, large chunks of time can just up and disappear. I’ve seen it. Many times.”
And Death Goes to . . . Page 8