Tanner flashed her a brief look, a hunger in his eyes that was more than familiar, but he masked the look as quickly as he could.
“I’m not the doctor. Nothing I can do. I just clean cages and stock shelves and stuff.”
“Still must be hard to see,” she mused, letting it go.
He didn’t respond, and they walked the remaining few blocks in companionable silence.
“Well, this is me,” she inclined her head toward the cozy cottage that she shared with an undertaker.
“Cool,” Tanner nodded. “See ya,” he said, and ambled toward the scary side of town.
CHAPTER 19
* * *
Unholy Alliances
“So where was the mortuary freak when my house was violated?” Bradley Dobbins demanded, sitting across from Sheriff Arlen Bemis in a local café.
“He has an air-tight alibi for that night. He was hosting a wake at the mortuary, and has scores of witnesses who can testify that they never saw him leave. His story checks out,” Arlen shrugged, taking a swig of thick black coffee.
“Then he put somebody up to it,” the vet insisted.
“You’re soundin’ a mite paranoid there, Dobbins.”
“Well, who else could it be?”
“A kid looking for cash, most likely,” Bemis crossed his arms over his chest and gazed at his breakfast companion steadily.
“I wonder if it’s the new kid that got hired at my office. There’s something squirrely about him.”
“Ya know, it ain’t healthy to be suspicious of every person who crosses your path. Random is usually just that…random. Just cuz your house got broken into don’t mean that somebody’s out to get you, Brad. Relax. Conscience gettin’ ya?” the sheriff smirked.
“My conscience is just fine, thank you very much,” the vet snipped.
The sheriff waved a hand.
“I don’t get you animal people. Why you’d want to have a critter living inside with you is beyond me, but I know there’s a market for that sort of thing. Just do your wildlife witch doctor voodoo and let me worry about crime. You should be just fine,” Arlen exercised extreme self-control and didn’t roll his eyes.
“I still think there’s something strange going on with the mortician and his odd wife,” Bradley mused.
“Yeah, and your house is probably haunted too,” the sheriff mocked him, refusing to even listen to that type of conversation.
He drank the last grit-filled dregs of his badly burnt coffee and set the cup down on the table, rising to go.
“So you’re not going to investigate any further? Do I really have to take matters into my own hands?” the vet asked, eyebrow raised in challenge.
Arlen Bemis put both fists on the table and bent over, speaking in a low voice.
“You’d better not be taking anything into your own hands, hear me? The investigation is still open, and when we get any leads, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, go peddle your doggie vitamins and leave the mortician alone. He may be a strange character, but he ain’t done nothin’ to ya. Am I being fairly clear here, Brad?”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” the vet dismissed him with a grimace. “Doesn’t mean that I agree though.”
“Ain’t no need for agreement,” Arlen smirked. “Just let me alone and I’ll get it figured out.”
“I know you will, Bemis. I’m sorry,” Brad ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I just get so mad at the thought of someone messing with me.”
“Don’t sweat the small stuff. I got this,” the sheriff declared with supreme confidence, digging in his olive green pants pocket for his keys.
“I hope so, Arlen. I really do.”
The vet watched his friend and ally leave, and tossed his sticky fork onto the remainder of his pancakes, suddenly not hungry. He planned to have dinner at Le Chateau again, in order to facilitate another encounter with Susannah Eckels, the mortician’s wife. He didn’t know what it was about this couple that fascinated him so, but they both gave him the creeps and he had to find out why.
**
“You want a more interesting prep job?” Susannah asked Tanner as he tied the strings of his apron behind him.
“Whatcha got in mind?” the young man asked, mildly interested.
“We got a shipment of lambs in today. We’re going to make rack of lamb as a dinner feature, but we also need to cut chops off of them, and make whatever’s left into a spiced minced meat for a Moroccan dish that I’ll be making next week. You think you’re skilled enough to tackle whole lambs? I figured with your knowledge of animal anatomy and meats, you’d probably know exactly what to do.”
Tanner’s eyes lit up for a brief moment, before his perpetual mask came slamming back into place.
“Uh, yeah, I could do it,” he nodded, making a feeble attempt at nonchalance.
Susannah led him to the cold storage, noting that when he worked the admission bar to the unit, his hands were shaking slightly.
“Too much caffeine?”
“Yeah, I guess,” the young man replied with a nervous chuckle.
He lifted the first carcass gently down from the hook upon which it had been hung when the butcher delivered it, and carried it out into the kitchen, setting it down on the prep surface gently, almost reverently. Susannah walked him through the cuts that he needed to make, then left him to his slicing and dicing, silver blades flashing.
“You’re a natural,” she observed, heading back to her station.
“It just comes easily to me, I guess,” Tanner murmured, absorbed in his task. He was busy for the rest of his shift, and when she checked his work, she wasn’t surprised to find it flawless, the cuts perfect.
**
Susannah and Tanner headed home at the same time, falling into step naturally.
“You did a good job today,” she complimented him.
“Thanks.”
“How’s your other job going?”
The young man was silent for a moment, but it seemed clear that something was on his mind.
“There’s this dog…” he began, then shook his head. “I don’t even know why I care, but he’s this big guy. He used to be a tough dude, you can just tell…and now his owner has to put a towel across his belly and lift up the back of him so that he can walk and go to the bathroom,” Tanner muttered, his jaw clenching and unclenching, as though he were wrestling with the subject.
“That’s too bad,” Susannah commented. “How old is he?”
“Almost fifteen.”
“Does that mean that he’s going to…?” she let the question hang between them.
“Die? Yeah, I suppose, but, even though his hips gave out, his body, and his…like…spirit are still strong, ya know?” he shook his head in disgust.
“Sounds like he must be miserable.”
“You can see it in his eyes, ya know?”
“Is he getting the supplements?”
“Of course. They just don’t do anything.”
“I might be able to help.”
“Huh?”
Susannah told Tanner about what Tim had done, first for Shelby’s cat, and then for Rosa’s dog, and the youth took it all in, nodding occasionally, but mostly looking very solemn.
“Does it hurt?”
“No, he just makes them go to sleep and they don’t wake up. Do you have any way to talk to the owners?”
Tanner nodded.
“When they get dropped off for treatments, I take them back, and when they get picked up, I put them in the owners’ cars.”
“So, maybe you could tell some of them about Tim, and…what he does,” Susannah suggested.
“Maybe,” he fell silent. Just as they arrived in front of the mortuary, he stopped on the sidewalk, and looked at his boss carefully. “Why do you care?” he asked without accusation.
Susannah shrugged. “I had to take care of the animals that my family had when we had this small farm. I never allowed an animal to suffer on my watch. If they needed to die to provide
food for us, I helped them die…and then we ate them. It was a win-win.”
Tanner’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he merely nodded.
“Okay. See you tomorrow,” he said, continuing on his way.
CHAPTER 20
* * *
Too Close for Comfort
Bradley Dobbins was going to be late for work, which normally didn’t upset him, but the reason that he was going to be late was particularly irritating.
“Oscar? Oscar, where are you?” he tried to coo, angry that his feline companion had chosen this rather inconvenient time to hide from him.
“Oscar?” he called out again and again as he looked under beds, behind furniture and in every nook, cranny and crevice in his sizeable house. Oscar wasn’t an outdoor cat, so he had to be in the house somewhere.
When the veterinarian stepped into his mudroom, a chill ran down his spine, and he grimaced. The door to the garage was ajar. He locked it every night before bedtime. Stepping out into the grey realm of oil, gas and cut grass, he saw immediately that the side door to the garage was wide open, letting in sunlight and fresh air, and undoubtedly letting out poor fat little Oscar.
Dobbins jogged out into the side yard from the garage, calling Oscar’s name, then listening for a familiar meow. Nothing. He looked under bushes, in window wells, and in trees, but there was no sign of Oscar. Gritting his teeth and letting out an exasperated sigh, he called Sheriff Arlen Bemis to report yet another break in.
**
Tanner was skillfully removing the skin and bones from a heaping pile of catfish when Susannah arrived at Le Chateau.
“Wow, you’re making quick work of that,” she commented, with an approving nod.
“Lots of practice,” the young man replied, focused on his task.
“Oh? You fish?”
Tanner’s flashing knife stilled for a moment, and he cocked his head, looking at her, puzzled.
“No.”
“Can I ask you a question?” the normally reticent Susannah couldn’t contain her fascination with the new prep cook.
“I guess,” he shrugged, grabbing another fish.
She stepped a bit closer and looked around before speaking quietly.
“What happens when things don’t go well at Dr. Dobbins’ office and an animal can’t be saved? What happens when it…expires?”
Tanner’s eyes darted back and forth briefly, before he regained focus, not looking at his boss.
“That depends.”
“On?”
“The owner’s wishes, usually. Some people want to take them home and bury them, so we check their address to make sure that they live in a part of town where that’s allowed. If they can’t bury them, but want the ashes, we can freeze the body and send it off to a company who cremates it and sends it back in a pretty box or jar.”
Susannah stepped closer, so close that she could almost hear the inhale and exhale of the nervous young man in front of her.
“What happens when the owners don’t want to have anything to do with the remains?”
Tanner’s knife stilled for a moment, but then he seemed to attack the flesh in front of him with more determination.
“We take them out to the ovens at the landfill and they cremate them. They have a separate bio section out there, kind of like a pet cemetery, but it’s all one big grave,” he explained.
“And do you, personally, ever deliver the bodies to the landfill?” she asked quietly, her voice a caress.
“Sometimes.”
“And do you ever…make stops along the way?” half of her mouth quirked up into a smile.
“I don’t know what…” Tanner’s knife faltered, and he swallowed convulsively.
“Shhh…” she put a hand on his arm. “It’s okay…I get it,” she whispered. “I have hobbies too.”
The young man turned to his boss then, eyes wide, knife glinting in the glare of commercial lighting, and Susannah felt a rush of excitement.
“I think we have a lot in common, you and I,” a slow grin spread across her face.
**
The hunger within her was fierce. No one had tried to impose their will on Susannah in a very long time, but the need to claim a life rose up within her like hot lava on the verge of spewing out death and destruction. The blood in her veins hummed with need, and she couldn’t help but wonder if it might not be because she’d found a sort of kindred spirit in Tanner. She didn’t know what dark secrets the young man held, but she sensed something within him that was similar to her own dark needs. The way he held his knife, his quiet disinterest in humanity, his shy awkward manner…they all spoke to her. Something about him connected with something about her, in ways that she didn’t quite understand…yet.
“Susannah!” Andre bellowed, shattering her reverie.
“What?”
“Table 17. Get out there, let him thank you for your outstanding culinary skills, then get back here and work on the crème brulee,” the Head Chef ordered, jerking his head toward the dining room as he added a dash of wine to a sautéed dish, making it flame briefly.
“Do I have…” she began, making a face.
“Just hurry up, it won’t kill you. Smile, shake his hand, say thank you, and get it over with. Go,” Andre waved a hand at her.
Sighing, she snapped off her gloves, wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and headed for the dining room. Her expression darkened briefly when she saw the occupant of Table 17, Dr. Bradley Dobbins. Again.
“Hello,” she hoped her half smile looked more convincing than it felt.
“Good evening. I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed my entrée,” he gestured at his nearly full plate.
“All two bites of it?” she didn’t even attempt to hold back the snarky comment that rose to her lips.
“I’m a light eater,” he shrugged, oozing confidence. “I met your husband. Interesting fellow,” he gazed at her darkly, knowingly.
“Great. Well, I’m glad you enjoyed your dinner. I need to get back to the…” she began, but Dobbins sat forward and cut her off.
“It’s only a matter of time before I take him down,” he whispered, with a pleasant smile. “He thinks he’s good at playing games, but he doesn’t realize that I WILL win this one.”
Susannah’s face went slack, and it took considerable restraint for her to not grab the arrogant bastard’s steak knife from the table and plunge it into the nearest artery. Her need raged through her, and her vision briefly swam with a red miasma as she fantasized about a slow, painful death for the veterinarian. She swayed a bit, and he grinned, taking her reaction as a sign of weakness. If he’d really known what emotions were flooding through her at the moment, he’d have been smart to run for the hills.
“Your move,” she whispered, and stared at him with a look so evil that he was taken aback for a moment, his supreme confidence faltering.
She left him at a loss for words, maintaining eye contact while she slowly turned away and headed for the kitchen.
CHAPTER 21
* * *
A Rock and a Soft Place
Timothy Eckels had settled into his role as town mortician remarkably easily. As the owner of the only funeral home in town, he had a steady stream of business, and had received some very positive endorsements from grateful townsfolk. Most of the deaths that he dealt with were from various accidents or old age, and life was running along rather smoothly for the mild-mannered mortician. He’d just finished putting the final touches on a seventy-nine year old retired school teacher, whose funeral promised to be a town-wide event, when he heard the front door chime sound. Sighing, he snapped off his gloves and went to see who had entered his cool, quiet realm.
“You need to help my Elmo,” a pinch-faced woman in a pink suit declared, when Tim came into view at the top of the basement stairs, giving the mortician a look that brooked no nonsense.
“Excuse me?” Tim blinked at the high-energy society matron. He hadn’t received any calls for a body pickup, he wo
uld’ve remembered a deceased person named Elmo.
“The young man from the vet clinic told me that you could…help me with…something,” the woman looked uncomfortable, but her demanding gaze never wavered.
“Young man? I’m afraid I don’t understand,” the mortician frowned, baffled.
The woman crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “I need help with Elmo, my geriatric Irish Setter,” she explained, raising an eyebrow in a manner that seemed like a challenge.
“Shouldn’t you see the vet about that?”
“I have seen the vet about that,” she mocked him tersely. “And he won’t do what needs to be done. I understand that you can take care of things that the vet won’t.”
Light dawned on the mortician finally, and he held up his hands, shaking his head.
“Oh, I think you have the wrong person. I don’t have anything to do with animals. I don’t even own a pet,” Tim backed away.
The woman’s face darkened like an impending storm.
“Don’t toy with me, Mr. Eckels. I know precisely what you do, and I’d hate to have to go to the sheriff and talk with him about that,” she said lightly, examining her nails with a haughty air that Tim found offensive to the extreme. “You help me with my…issue, and I’ll keep quiet. My husband plays golf with the District Attorney, you know,” she smiled tightly.
“Surely you can afford to go to a professional who can give you what you want,” Timothy Eckels stared at her, aghast.
“Of course I can, but the nearest “professional” is at least a two hour drive away, and I don’t have that kind of time to waste. Now are you going to take care of Elmo, or do I have to visit the Sheriff’s office?” she glanced at her watch.
Tim’s eyes darted back and forth as he wracked his brain, trying to think of an alternative to offer this horrendous woman, but he came up with nothing.
“Fine,” the woman snipped, whirling toward the exit. “I guess I’ll just go see…”
The Quiet Type Page 10