Three More Dogs in a Row

by Neil Plakcy

  Joey opened the door and ushered us out. “Gotta listen to the boss,” he said. We filed out and walked toward the chapel, a few hundred feet away. The Friar Lake property also included a dormitory wing, a kitchen, and several outbuildings. The contractor Joey worked for had nearly finished clearing out the interiors for renovation and was ready to start on the next phase.

  We walked through the old dormitory, and it was a revelation – the walls enclosing the tiny monastic cells were gone, as was the outdated plumbing and the exposed electrical wires. The floors had been stripped down to the original oak, and light streamed in through the multi-paned windows.

  “Now you can see how this is going to shape up,” Joe said as we walked. “There will be a covered walkway along the inside of the courtyard, and each one of the suites will have its own entrance.”

  It was exciting to be there at the birth of something totally new, and I was eager to make my own imprint. We continued walking through the property. By the time we’d finished with the last outbuilding, it was nearly two and I knew Rochester would be getting antsy back at the office. “I’ve got to get back to work,” I said. “I’ll talk to you once you have those numbers, all right, Mark?”

  “Sure. I need to get to the store myself.”

  We all shook hands, and Mark and I walked back to the office. “He seems like a good guy,” I said, probing to see what Mark thought. “Joey.”

  “I’ve sworn off men,” Mark said. “After that disaster with Owen.” Mark had briefly dated a guy who worked for him during the summer, a situation that hadn’t ended well.

  “Going to be tough to work with him if he’s interested and you’re not,” I said.

  “He’s only interested because he doesn’t know me.”

  “Well, aren’t you cheerful?” I said as we reached the parking lot.

  “He’s probably not even gay,” Mark said. “When his dad said we were flirting? That’s the way construction guys talk.”

  Well, I’d thought that at first, too, until I saw the way Joey looked at Mark. “Uh-huh,” I said. “You can believe that if you want. See you later.”

  I found Rochester bouncing around in my office. I took him outside and let him loose for a run around the back side of the property, away from all the construction work.

  As he neared the edge of the woods, he startled a doe and fawn beneath a pine. The doe was darker, body poised like a bow string; beside her, the tan and white fawn nibbled at the grass, oblivious to danger. At some unspoken signal, they leapt away, but Rochester didn’t follow; he’d found some more interesting smell in front of him.

  While he sniffed, I called Rick Stemper. “I had my exit interview with Santiago Santos this morning. My parole is over.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Do you still have that laptop I gave you after the intervention?” I asked. “The one that used to belong to Caroline Kelly?”

  “You mean the one with all the illegal hacking software?”

  “Just possessing those tools isn’t a crime,” I said.

  “Yes, I still have the laptop. I have a meeting at The Chocolate Ear at four-thirty but I could meet you over at my house after that.”

  “A meeting about the case?”

  “Remember Hannah Palmer, the clerk of the Meeting? Her sister is the unofficial historian of the property, and Hannah set up an appointment with her for me this afternoon. Why don’t I call you when I’m finished?”

  “Sounds like a plan. Any news on the bones?”

  “Not yet. The county ME passed the remains on to a specialized FBI unit. They’re going to extract DNA from the bone marrow and the teeth, which we can use if we ever find somebody to match them to. They might even be able to do a facial reconstruction based on the skull.”

  “The FBI? Cool! I’ve seen a couple of episodes of that show about the forensic anthropologist. They’re always figuring out who the body belongs to and how the murder was committed.”

  “And they do it all in an hour,” Rick said dryly. “Including commercial breaks. It takes a lot longer when you live in the real world.”

  I hung up as Rochester and I circled back to the office. In addition to helping with the interior renovation of the site, I was also responsible for designing a schedule of programs we could run. I’d been meeting with various faculty members on campus, reading brochures from similar operations, and brainstorming my own ideas. That afternoon I worked on a program about Jane Austen.

  We had a great professor in the English department who specialized in women writers, and I knew there were a ton of Janeites out there, as fans of the novelist were called. I thought we could combine a series of discussions about Austen’s books, led by Professor Christine Jackson, with some fun experiences, like a costume tea party, an examination of Austen fan fiction, and an afternoon of music from Austen’s era directed by a musicologist, along with some demonstrations of the types of dances featured in the novels.

  I spent the afternoon working out the details for that program. Around four, Lili called. “I really wanted to celebrate with you tonight,” she said. “But one of my adjunct photography professors has the stomach flu, and I have to take over her class.”

  “What time will you be finished?”

  “She scheduled a field trip to take photos of Leighville after dark, so I won’t be done until late. And after herding a dozen kids all over town I’m sure I’ll be exhausted. Would you hate me if I just went home and went to sleep?”

  “I’d never hate you,” I said. “Don’t worry, we’ll see each other later in the week.”

  “Thanks for understanding,” she said. “Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  Well, that sucked, I thought, as I hung up. I had pretty much made my decision about having her move in, and I’d thought we would talk more about it that night. And I’d been looking forward to sharing my happiness about the meeting with Santos with her, too.

  I looked at the clock. Well, if I couldn’t hang out with Lili, Rick was a solid second choice. I could head down to Stewart’s Crossing and catch him as his meeting with Hannah Palmer’s sister was ending. Especially after what Mark had told me about the Quakers helping runaway slaves, I was curious to know more about the history of the Meeting.

  And if I happened to get to the café a few minutes early and added myself to his appointment… what was he going to do? Call me a party crasher? He’d called me a lot worse in the past when I’d snooped in his investigations.

  10 – War Hero

  My aged BMW sedan was the last relic of my life in Silicon Valley. I could still remember the thrill of buying it right after Mary and I moved out there from New York. It was the first car I bought new, and when I financed it for five years I never dreamed I’d still have it for so long. It got me and Rochester from point A to point B, and sometimes that was as far as I wanted to go.

  Rochester loved to ride in the car. He plopped his big golden butt on the passenger seat and pressed his nose against the window. “What’s the matter, haven’t figured out how to operate the switch yet?” I asked. I pressed the one on my side of the car and the window slid down. He stuck his head out, and the gold fur on the back of his neck fluttered like a bunch of Tibetan prayer flags. I bet that if I showed him how the switch on his side worked, he’d master it quickly.

  Rochester and I pulled up in front of the café as Rick approached on foot from the police station, a half a block away. When I opened his door, Rochester jumped out to greet him, licking his hands as if he’d dipped them in doggie treats. “What are you doing here?” he asked me.

  “Lili has to work tonight and I thought maybe we could get a beer together after you’re finished, celebrate my release.”

  “Or you thought you could insert yourself and your dog into my meeting.” He shook his head. “I ought to make you get right back in your car and leave.”

  “But then you’d just have to tell me what you learned,” I said. “Better I should get it firs
t hand, right?”

  “Who says I’d have to tell you?”

  “Because you’re a dedicated police officer who recognizes the importance of using all the resources available to solve crimes and protect the people of Stewart’s Crossing.”

  He laughed. “And you’re a major bullshit artist. Fine, you can stay.”

  Rick and I staked out a round wrought-iron table on the sidewalk. I waved at Gail’s mother Lorraine through the window, and she came out to greet us. “We’re going to be four,” I said. “Including Rochester, that is.”

  “I always include him,” she said, scratching his head. He opened his mouth in an exaggerated yawn, then settled to the ground.

  “Café mocha for me,” I said. “One of Gail’s special biscuits for the hound.”

  Rick ordered an iced tea, and Lorraine promised to have everything out right away.

  “Do you know Hannah’s sister?” I asked Rick when she’d gone.

  “Don’t think so, but you never know in StewCross. Her name’s Tammy and she must be a few years younger than we are. Hannah says she described me.”

  “Not too accurately, I hope, or else she might not show up.”

  He held up his middle three fingers and said, “Read between the lines.”

  We were both laughing when a huge SUV pulled up at the curb in front of us, and a tall, leggy blonde in a pink and white sundress stepped out. She was in her late thirties and almost fashion-model beautiful, with a smooth face, demure lipstick, and a flash of white teeth. A silver heart on a matching chain rested above the cleft of her breasts.

  “Hi, Rick!” she said, waving as she closed the door.

  “Crap,” Rick whispered to me, and it looked almost like he was blushing. “I know her. That’s Tamsen Morgan. Her son plays in the Pop Warner league I help coach.”

  Rick jumped up, knocking his metal chair backwards. “Hi, Tamsen,” he said to her. “When Hannah called you Tammy I didn’t realize that we already knew each other.”

  “Hannah’s almost the only one who calls me that anymore,” she said. “And it’s funny, I never knew your last name – the kids all call you Coach Rick. When my sister told me I was meeting with Detective Stemper I had no idea it was you.” She raised her eyebrows. “Though she did say you were very handsome. I should have guessed—there aren’t that many handsome men around Stewart’s Crossing.”

  “Excuse me?” I asked. “There are other guys present at this table.”

  Tamsen turned her smile on me. “Yes, who is this good-looking fellow?” She stuck her palm out to Rochester, and Rick guffawed.

  “That’s Rochester the crime dog,” Rick said. “And the human attached to him is my friend Steve. You don’t mind if he joins us, do you?”

  “Not at all.” Tamsen and I shook hands. Lorraine came out with our drinks and Rochester’s biscuit, and Tamsen ordered a coffee for herself. “God knows I need the caffeine. I have to pick up Justin in half an hour and he’ll keep me running until bedtime.” She sighed. “Sometimes I wish he was more like his cousin Nathaniel, who can actually sit still for more than five minutes. But then, when Nathaniel wants something, he’s relentless. He wants a dog right now, and he won’t let up until he gets one. Justin has a bit of ADD – he jumps around from one thing to the next. If I ever take him to a Meeting I have to let him run around in the back of the building.”

  “Justin’s eight,” Rick said to me. “He’s very energetic.”

  “He’s a holy terror,” Tamsen said. “Not exactly an exemplar of the Quaker ideals of peace and serenity. He’s his father’s boy through and through.”

  Her words reminded me of the two children that Mary had miscarried. We never asked their sex, because we thought at the time it would make them less real to either of us. No such luck.

  “Your husband must be glad to have a son,” I said, picking up my coffee.

  “He was so proud when Justin was born. I think he showed baby pictures to every soldier in Iraq. And then he was killed outside Fallujah four years ago.”

  I put the coffee down without drinking. “I’m so sorry.”

  “We met in college. I was a shy Quaker freshman and he was a sharp-looking junior in ROTC. You can imagine what my parents thought of my dating – and then marrying – a soldier. I moved away from the Friends until after his death, when they welcomed me back.”

  Lorraine delivered Tamsen’s coffee. After a sip, she said, “Oh, that’s good,” and sighed with pleasure. Then she looked at Rick. “Hannah said you had some questions about the history of the Meeting?”

  “Did she tell you about the body we found behind a false wall along the north side of the building?” Rick asked.

  “Yes. It really shook her up. She’s so devoted to the Quaker ideals that she felt it as a personal violation.” She took another sip of her coffee. “So, here’s a capsule history. The first Friends arrived in Stewart’s Crossing in the early 1800s. At the start they met in a field down by the river. God is everywhere, you know.”

  I glanced over at Rick, who was staring at her like she was the only woman left on earth.

  “The Meeting House was built in sections, as you might have guessed from the different materials,” Tamsen continued. “The center section with the fireplace was first, in 1825. The north wing was built in the 1850s, and the center section opened up to one big space, and the minister’s gallery on the south side was enlarged, too. The kitchen didn’t come until later, around the turn of the century.”

  “Rick said he learned something about the Meeting House being a way station on the Underground Railroad,” I said. “And then another friend of mine suggested that the false wall might have been constructed to hide slaves.”

  “I’ve heard about false walls at other Meeting Houses. But I didn’t realize that ours had one until… well, you know.” Rochester nosed at her leg, and she leaned down to pet him. “There’s something else tickling around in the back of my mind. Let me think for a minute.”

  She closed her eyes, still absently petting Rochester. I noticed Rick had a sappy grin on his face as he stared at her. I’d have fun teasing him about that later.

  Tamsen opened her eyes again. “I know there’s something, but I can’t seem to retrieve it.”

  “You mentioned that you let Justin run around in the back of the Meeting House,” I said. “Did you do that yourself when you were a kid?”

  “Oh, sure. Hannah and I knew every corner of that building.” Her mouth opened. “That’s what I was trying to remember.” She put her hand on my arm. “Steve, you’re a genius.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Rick frowning, and I thought, Take that, Frank Hardy.

  “What did you remember?” Rick asked.

  “When Hannah and I were kids, maybe eight or ten, the lock on the door to that storage closet was broken and we used to hide there sometimes. One day Eben Hosford discovered us, and he had a fit. I remember he told our parents that it wasn’t safe back there, and he volunteered to repair the door and put on a new lock.”

  “That’s the old hippie who sells soap?” I asked.

  “Yes. Sometimes I find it hard to believe he’s really a Friend. Despite the hippie exterior there’s something very angry inside him.”

  “Do you think he knew about the false wall?” Rick asked.

  She shrugged. “I remember how nasty he was, and how Hannah and I were mad that we’d lost our special hiding place.”

  “Do you know anyone who might have known about it?” Rick asked.

  “Maybe one of our older members.” She thought for a minute. “Steer clear of Eben, though. He’s been very opposed to the reconstruction project, and he’s gotten even crankier as he’s gotten older.” Her eyes lit up. “You know who you could talk to? Edith Passis. She was very active in the Meeting in the 1960s, before she got married. Do you know her?”

  “I used to take piano lessons from her, back in the day,” I said. Rick was looking moon-faced so I kicked him in the shin. “Ri
ck knows her, too. He helped her out when her identity was stolen last year.”

  Tamsen looked at Rick. “Well, well. Good with kids and kind to elderly ladies.”

  “Don’t forget the handsome part,” I threw in, and Rick glared at me.

  Tamsen laughed. “I’ve got Edith’s number in my cell. Want me to call her for you?”

  Maybe it was the meeting with Santos that morning, which reminded me of my incarceration, but for a moment I thought she meant prison cell. But as soon I realized my error, I said, “That would be great,” before Rick could protest. She dug a phone out of her shoulder bag and pressed a couple of buttons.

  “It’s Tamsen Morgan, Edith,” she said. “I’m here with Rick Stemper from the police, and his friend Steve. They want to ask you a couple of questions about the Meeting House. I’m going to put you on speaker.” She pressed a button and laid the phone on the table.

  “Hello, Edith. We don’t want to bother you,” Rick began.

  “No bother at all. This is about what you found on Saturday, isn’t it? There’s no time like the present. Can you come over here? I’m not busy, just noodling around at the piano.”

  All throughout my youth, Edith had given piano lessons to the talented and the tone-deaf; I fell squarely into the second category, though Edith and I had both endured about three years’ worth of lessons, only ending when I was able to substitute Hebrew School. I knew she still gave the occasional lesson at her home, though she had stopped teaching advanced students at Eastern a year before.

  “We’re downtown,” Rick said. “Give us about fifteen minutes.”

  Tamsen she picked up the phone and as she ended the call she must have noticed the time. “Gosh, I’ve got to go,” she said, then drained the last of her coffee. When she stood up, Rick and I jumped to our feet, too. Our mothers would have been proud of our manners.

  “Thank you for coming over,” Rick said. “I appreciate your insight.”

  “It was my pleasure. It’s nice to see you when you’re not surrounded by a horde of pre-adolescent boys.” She shook hands with both of us. “I’ll see you on Saturday?” she asked Rick.