The sheriff had come to tell him that he’d questioned Timothy Eckels, and believed that the mortician was telling the truth.
“I mean, who trusts morticians anyway? They’re the creepiest people on the planet,” the handsome forty-something vet declared.
“Now look, Dobbins, you know as well as I do that Julia Truman isn’t exactly what most folks would call a reliable source,” the sheriff raised an eyebrow.
“Come on, Arlen…Julia may tip the bottle on occasion, but she’s a hard-core animal lover. She’s got her Muffy at my office at least once a week to make sure that her cat is the healthiest cat in town.”
The sheriff, being a man who didn’t particularly see the appeal of living with animals in the home, regarded the vet with vague distaste. “And that’s entirely normal,” he snorted.
“Look, she’s not out to get the mortician, she’s just concerned about animals, and if my patients are being exterminated by this man, he should be prosecuted, that’s all I’m saying,” Bradley lifted his hands, palms up, in appeal.
“I think it’s a pretty big leap to go from a drunk woman’s report of seeing a dog going in to the mortuary to accusing a man of killing off your patients.”
“We don’t know that she was drunk,” Dobbins grumbled.
“I’ll keep an eye on him. He’s a bit off, but he doesn’t strike me as an animal killer,” the sheriff shrugged.
“I hope you’re right…cuz it seems to me that it’d be awfully embarrassing for you if something like that was happening right under your nose and you did nothing about it.”
The sheriff did his best not to glare at the vet, who was quite well-regarded in town.
“You have a good day, Dobbins,” he muttered, stalking away before he lost his temper.
**
“Timmy, do you think of what you do with the bodies as art?” Susannah asked, after they’d settled in under the covers.
“It seems to me to be more of a science. There are procedures involved,” he murmured sleepily, the conversation making him a bit uneasy.
“Well, yes, but…when you make people look like they’re still healthy and alive, don’t you think that requires a bit of artistry?” she persisted.
“I suppose,” he replied, just wanting the conversation to end so that he could go to sleep.
“Does it give you satisfaction to see the deceased looking so good?”
“Sure.”
“Wouldn’t you like to feel that way more often?” she asked, causing Tim’s eyes to snap open in the darkness.
“What do you mean? I can only work with whatever bodies are available,” the mortician commented, nervous about where this conversation might be going.
“Well, you know how you helped Rosa, and that Shelby girl…what if you could…” she began, reaching for him in the darkness.
He brushed her hand away, appalled.
“Absolutely not. Work my craft on animals? Particularly animals that didn’t die of natural causes? I think not,” he huffed, turning away from her and pulling the covers up around his neck.
“I mean…I would think that skin is skin, eyes are eyes, faces are faces…does it really matter whether they’re human or animal? What if the owners want you to preserve their pet so that they can remember them exactly as they were? You could make them happy…” Susannah murmured, running a hand up Tim’s back.
He didn’t bother to even try to repress the shudder that rippled through him, and didn’t dignify her question with a response. She sighed and took her hand away.
“Just think about it, Timmy. You might find it fun.”
“Don’t call me Timmy,” he whispered under his breath, wide awake.
CHAPTER 15
* * *
A Dish Best Served Cold
“You’ve outdone yourself this time,” Andre praised Susannah.
He’d given his Assistant Chef the freedom to create a new dish, and had featured it as a special. Not only were the patrons giving the dish rave reviews, but Andre himself had proclaimed that it was outstanding and innovative.
“Thanks,” shy Susannah blushed, looking down. She was unaccustomed to praise, and the warm feelings that his word sent rushing through her made her more than a bit uncomfortable…but in a good way.
“I think we may start having you create a new dish once a week. Would you like that?”
Susannah raised her head and stared at him in disbelief.
“I…I would love that,” she stammered. Creating new dishes was another art form for her, and to be recognized for her work was overwhelming.
Andre nodded.
“Great, we’ll make it happen, and we’ll see about getting you a raise to go along with it, how does that sound?” he grinned.
“That works,” she nodded, wide-eyed.
“Susannah,” Kelcie, the floor manager came rushing into the kitchen, her eyes bright. “There’s a customer who would like to speak with you.”
Susannah’s heart sped up, and her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Kelcie giggled. “It’s a positive thing, don’t worry. Just c’mon,” she hooked her arm through Susannah’s, practically dragging her toward the dining room.
Sensing Susannah’s resistance, Andre encouraged her, calling out, “Go ahead, he probably wants to tell you how amazing you are.”
Susannah wasn’t the least bit comfortable with the thought of having to interact with a customer, but she didn’t see that she had much choice in the matter. She briefly considered whether or not Kelcie’s thin skin would make attractive leaves, but dismissed the thought. Kelcie was nice, just a young, exuberant puppy who meant well, but was clumsy in her interactions.
“This is our very talented Assistant Chef, who created your dinner,” Kelcie pushed Susannah toward a man who sat beaming at her, then scurried off to check on another table.
“It’s a pleasure to meet the artist behind the dish,” the man said, sticking out his hand for her to shake. “I’m Brad Dobbins,” he introduced himself. “And I am very much enjoying my dinner, thanks to you.”
“Susannah. You’re welcome,” she said, trying to form a polite smile, despite her discomfort.
“You’re the new undertaker’s wife, right? You two are new in town?”
“Yes, that’s right,” she replied, feeling uneasy all of the sudden.
“Your work is very precise. Your husband must appreciate that about you. I would imagine you’d have incredible knife skills in your line of work. Does he as well?” the veterinarian asked casually, sipping his wine, and holding her gaze over the rim of his glass.
“Do you dine alone often?” Susannah asked, ignoring the inflammatory question, a deadly calm flooding through her.
“Divorced,” he replied with a rueful smile, showing her his empty ring finger.
“Pity.”
“It’s for the best. I’ve found that having only myself for company is better than having bad company,” he smiled, his gaze traveling up and down her body.
“Kids?”
“They’re with her most of the time,” he shrugged. “I get holidays and the occasional weekend.”
Susannah nodded. That would make her job easier.
“Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying your food. Have a good rest of the evening,” she said, turning away from the table.
“Susannah,” he caught her hand as she turned and held it briefly before releasing it, causing waves of revulsion to churn in her stomach. “I’d like to meet your husband sometime. You know, one local businessman to another.”
“What is your line of work?” she asked coolly.
“I’m the veterinarian here in town.”
Realization dawned on her at that moment, and if she hadn’t already been plotting his death, that admission would’ve clinched the deal.
“I see. You can find him at the mortuary if you’d like to introduce yourself,” she replied, her brain spinning with need…and ideas.
“Thanks, I’ll take you up on that
,” he smiled affably, having not an inkling that the woman in front of him would be personally escorting him from this world to the next.
**
“May I help you?” Tim asked the man who wandered into the mortuary, interrupting his work on a recent victim of an automobile accident.
“Are you Timothy?”
“I am.”
“Brad Dobbins,” the man introduced himself. “I ran into your wife the other day at Le Chateau, and it reminded me that I hadn’t stopped by yet to welcome you to Pellman.”
“Oh, thanks,” Tim blinked at him after shaking his hand.
“I’m the local veterinarian, but you probably knew that,” Dobbins grinned smugly.
“Uh, no. I don’t have pets.”
“Well, if you’re looking for one, I have a few up for adoption at the clinic,” the vet wandered around the mortuary, hands in his pockets, his eyes darting this way and that, as though he were looking for something.
“We don’t have time for pets,” Tim shrugged.
“Do you not like animals?” Brad peered at him.
“I think animals are beautiful and innocent.”
Dobbins nodded. “Yes they are. Sometimes they’re the only family members that folks have.”
The vet moved casually toward the stairs, where the preparation rooms were located.
“What’s down here?” he asked, stepping onto the first step.
“That’s my work area,” Tim replied. “You can’t go down there.”
“Really? I’m curious as to what a mortuary work area looks like. You can’t give me a tour?”
Tim shook his head, wishing the obnoxious man would go away.
“No, I’m sorry, I’m right in the middle of something. You can call later this week to make an appointment if you’d like a tour. If I’m not too busy, I could show you around,” he offered, hoping to get rid of his unwanted guest.
“I can just go through myself and take a look if it’d be easier for you. I won’t touch anything,” Dobbins persisted.
“Sorry, not possible. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some unfinished work to attend to,” Tim stared him down.
Dobbins pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow at the mortician.
“Okay, I get it,” he conceded, holding up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “No harm, no foul. Quick question though…have you ever had anybody come back on you?”
“What?” Tim blinked at the vet.
“You know…has there ever been someone who seemed to be dead, but later you found out that they weren’t? I’ve heard that stuff like that happens sometimes.”
“No,” Tim said flatly. He was very serious about his profession and didn’t appreciate it when strangers asked irreverent questions.
“How do you prevent that?”
“I make certain that the deceased is actually deceased. Won’t you excuse me?” Tim had had enough, and led Bradley Dobbins to the door.
“Nice chatting with you, Tim,” he shook the mortician’s hand again.
“Likewise,” was the toneless reply.
“Your wife’s cooking is amazing…maybe we can all do dinner sometime?”
“We’ll get back to you,” Tim smiled thinly, saying whatever he needed to make the vet go away.
“Great, I’ll be in touch.”
CHAPTER 16
* * *
Catlike Stealth
When Susannah arrived at Le Chateau, she found Andre having a conversation with the sheriff in his office. She couldn’t hear what was being said, but saw the grim look on the Head Chef’s face, and saw him shaking his head vehemently at times. When the sheriff emerged a short time later, heading immediately for the exit, the world-renowned chef muttered expletives to himself in French, picked up a meat cleaver, and began vigorously disassembling fresh ducks that had just been delivered.
“Everything okay?” Susannah asked, not because she cared about the chef’s emotional state, but because she wanted to know what the conversation with the sheriff had been about. Given her somewhat unusual hobbies, she had an inherent mistrust of those in authority.
Andre spat out another French word that sounded like it must’ve been a curse.
“That peasant comes in here asking questions about my food, as if I’d use anything but the finest ingredients. It’s an insult,” the chef fumed.
“Did someone complain? Why would the sheriff care?”
“He was insinuating that I might be killing local animals for my dishes.”
“He said that?” Susannah’s heartbeat sped up a bit.
“No. He implied it. Same difference,” Andre growled.
“But, we do use locally sourced meats and fish.”
“Yes, but not cats and dogs, and we don’t do the killing ourselves.”
“Well, no. That would be…gross,” she busied herself with tying on her apron and snapping on her gloves.
“Peasant,” Andre proclaimed, bringing the meat cleaver down and severing the neck of the duck in a manner that had Susannah’s pulse racing with need.
The sheriff and the vet were becoming problems. She’d have to be very careful in the elimination of one or both of them, since they were both high-profile figures in the community. It was time for a bit of reconnaissance.
**
Sometimes before taking a life, Susannah would spend time getting to “know” her intended victim by roaming about their home, touching certain objects with her gloved hands, even standing over them, breathing in their breath while they slept. She intended to get to know the vet, his habits, his preferences, his peculiarities, so that when she finally drained the lifeblood from him, she’d be able to do it in a manner that would have a profound impact upon him in the moments before his death. She loved the element of surprise, and she loved seeing the horror in the eyes of those who were accustomed to being in control.
Bradley Dobbins shouldn’t have spoken to her the way that he did, as though he were in control. He shouldn’t have asked to speak with her at work, he shouldn’t have grabbed her hand, touching her without permission, and he definitely shouldn’t have dared to invade Tim’s safe space, the mortuary, even though she had told him that he could. He was willing his presence into their lives, and she wouldn’t put up with that. Susannah and her husband needed their privacy, and Bradley was trying to invade their personal bubbles, which was entirely unacceptable.
After a light dinner, Tim had gone to the mortuary to preside over a funeral, expecting to be gone all evening. The family of the deceased was large, and a caterer had been employed for the viewing, which meant that he’d have to work diligently to usher the crowd out of the understated interior of the funeral home before things got out of hand. It was an evening that he viewed with much trepidation, which worked out wonderfully for Susannah.
She’d been itching to get over to the veterinarian’s home so that she could begin her observation of his habits and lifestyle, and Tim’s evening at the mortuary would give her just the opportunity that she needed. Dressing in her black, fiber-free clothing, she secured her hair, donned her gloves, and headed for the exclusive side of Pellman, where she’d have to work her way around neighborhood gates, sensitive alarm systems, and nosy night watchmen. At least the designer dogs that these folks tended to have shouldn’t pose much of a threat.
The air was getting cooler. Soon the turning of the season would pose its own challenges. Footprints were easy to see in frost-covered grass, crouching in bushes became much more of an ordeal when temperatures dropped, and disposing of bodies effectively sometimes became an issue. Despite the fact that heat made Susannah uncomfortable, summertime certainly had its advantages.
Bradley Dobbins had a blue and white alarm system sign in his yard, snugged into a picture perfect mound of mulch, but when she looked for the telltale signs of an actual system in the form of cameras, wires on windows and sensors around the property, there were none. It had been her experience in many of the uptight, exclusive neighborhoods, that
the security, just like the McMansions and Swedish “build it yourself” furniture, was just for show. There were typically several homes which had the signs, but only a handful of them actually employed the services.
Susannah slipped into the side yard, reaching through the bars of the wrought-iron gate that was set into the brick wall surrounding the property, to let herself into the back yard. It never failed to astonish her that folks would go to the trouble of putting up a brick wall, then install a gate that even the simplest of intruders could thwart. She closed the gate silently behind her, thankful that she’d brought a small canister of lubricant, with which she had sprayed the hinges before attempting to open it. She’d found very few issues in life that couldn’t be addressed with either an application of lubricant or duct tape, depending upon the circumstances.
There was a large swimming pool in the back yard, and fortunately, the lights around it had already been turned off for the evening. Between the pool and the house was a large deck, and behind the French doors off of the deck was a spacious kitchen, where Bradley Dobbins was currently reaching into a stainless steel state-of-the-art refrigerator for a beer. Susannah smirked. With the long hours that the vet worked, she guessed that within a few minutes of finishing his beer in front of the television, Brad would be fast asleep. After watching him settle into his overstuffed leather couch, in a living room lit only by the television, she crept around the back of the house, to get an idea of the layout. While large, the home was quite simply designed, which would make getting in, memorizing it, and getting out again, a snap. She had wanted to just get a feel for the place tonight, and come back another time, when Dobbins wasn’t home, to do some exploring, but the thought of slipping through the dark shadows of his home while he dozed on the couch was far too compelling, and after she did as much external exploration as she could, she waited until she saw his head drop to the side and stay there before trying window latches.
The Quiet Type Page 8