A Bite of Death

by Susan Conant

  The Moss children, four boys, ranged in age from about seven down to maybe two. The three youngest had on unzipped parkas with mismatched mittens dangling from clips on the sleeves, polo shirts, and Oshkosh overalls, but the oldest had graduated to jeans and gloves. All four looked like their father, who followed them in, and all five big-boned, robust males looked nothing like Sheila, who was frail, haggard, and pasty. No one said hello to the dog or patted him, but he kept wagging his whip of a tail, anyway.

  Ben Moss was tall, with thick, curly brown hair showing none of the gray that streaked Sheila's. The features visible above his full beard were heavy but not unattractive, except for his small, cold blue eyes. What struck me most about Ben and the boys, though, was the high color that gave all of them the air of energetic health that Sheila lacked. The Moss family looked as if every day or so, Sheila transfused a couple of pints of blood to her husband and sons.

  "Holly," she said. "Ben. This is Holly Winter. She's doing the story about Rhodesian Ridgebacks. And she wants to take some pictures of Id with the boys. And Adler, if she shows up."

  Ben Moss looked straight at me, said nothing, and then walked out of the kitchen. The oldest boy opened the refrigerator. The youngest climbed into Sheila's lap and said something I couldn't understand. She lifted up the bottom hem of the dashiki, and he stuck his head under. She was letting him nurse.

  "I'm not supposed to let him do this," she said to me. "I'm on Prozac. But he doesn't do it very often."

  In Cambridge, people will tell you that they're on Prozac as readily as people in normal places will admit that they're on Weight Watchers. Mothers here no more hesitate to nurse their babies in public than they hesitate to go out in public without veils over their faces. But most nursing mothers here won't even take aspirin or decaf coffee, or if they do, they don't let on.

  The nonnursing boys dropped their parkas on the floor and barraged Sheila with protests about everything their father had refused to buy them at the Aquarium. The dog curled up on the parkas and fell asleep. I envied his oblivion. When Ben Moss stomped back into the kitchen, he didn't even bother to look in my direction. He first complained to Sheila about a bad smell in the bathroom and then said, "Haven't you started lunch yet? What've you been doing all day?"

  I wanted to vanish. Failing that, I managed to awaken Id and lure the boys outdoors with him to pose for pictures.

  That afternoon, the temperature went up to fifty-five, the sky turned blue, and Steve and I took all four dogs to the Middlesex Fells to let them run. We had to take separate cars, of course, but once we were far enough into the woods to turn them loose, they got along pretty well, which is to say that Lady, Steve's black and white pointer bitch, treated Kimi like God. It suited Kimi fine. India, his German shepherd, alternated between snarling at Kimi and keeping her distance. Rowdy and India were no problem. In fact, they were an ideal pair to take for a walk in the woods because they'd follow each other, and since Rowdy had the sled dog's preference for trails and India always came when she was called, we never had to worry about losing them. I described my morning with the Mosses. Emphatically.

  "Would you calm down?" Steve said. "Marriage doesn't have to be like that."

  "It's monstrous. And he is the rudest man I think I've ever met. Do you know that the whole time I was there, he didn't address a single word to me? All four of these dogs have better manners than that. Even Kimi."

  "At least he wasn't hustling you."

  "Just wait. He'll probably call me. He probably thinks he's the strong, silent type and that he made a big impression."

  "He'd be right."

  "What a bastard! You know, if he wants to be rude to me, fine. I don't care. I can handle it. But how could he do that to her? I was a guest of hers. I was in their house. She tried to introduce us. She must've felt so embarrassed. I felt humiliated for her, to have someone treat her like that. Or maybe she's so beaten down that she doesn't even notice it anymore."

  Ahead of us, Rowdy and India were dashing after each other on the path, shiny, beautiful wolflike athletes, but Lady hadn't moved more than a few yards from Steve, and Kimi was devoting herself to provoking Lady's gestures of adulation.

  "She's like an overworked dog," I said. "Compared to her, Lady is a model of self-confidence and assertion. It's pathetic."

  "I believe you. And did you learn anything?"

  "Did I learn anything? Yes. I learned that Elaine was right."

  "You know what I mean. And remember, I'm not Ben Moss."

  "I know. I'm sorry. In a way, I did learn a few things. Mostly, it's just impossible that Sheila Moss had anything to do with it. For one thing, she's the most harmless person I've ever met. But mostly, she's too disorganized and overwhelmed. Stuff is spilling out all over everywhere. It's completely impossible to imagine her planning anything, never mind murder. And they do get cottage cheese, but she knew that Elaine hated it. She volunteered that. I didn't ask. She also knew that it was for the dog. And I also found out she takes Prozac."

  "Didn't you say she was nursing a baby?"

  "It isn't exactly a baby. It probably weighs a third of what she does."

  "If she's nursing a baby while she's on anything, then she's doing harm to someone," Steve said.

  "That's different. The whole situation is just beyond her. Planning to murder someone must give you a sense of power. It's a way of controlling what happens, right? A terrible way, sure, but it must make people feel powerful. And, believe me, she doesn't. She just couldn't do it."

  "What about him? Is he enough of a bastard to murder two women?"

  "I think he's more of a vampire. He keeps them half alive. Seriously? Mostly, he was Elaine's lover, and he's an M.D. He could've made her death look like suicide. He could've done that easily. Doctors get drug samples all the time. He could've fed her anything he wanted and left a pile of empty bottles or packages. And what's his motive? Before I met them, I thought it was possible that Elaine had threatened to tell his wife. But so what if she had? This poor woman wouldn't have been able to do anything about it if she'd known. What's she supposed to do? Leave him and be stuck with those horrible kids? Anyway, I don't think she knew, from the way she talks about Elaine. I'm sure she didn't. He's given her some kind of line about his friendships with women, and she's bought it. But so what if she'd learned about it? If there's one thing she's not, it's a threat to anyone."

  "No one else had such easy access to the Sinequan, you know. He did. She did."

  "Not quite. No one else that we know of."

  18

  "There's Catamount and Samuel Adams in there," I said. "Help yourself."

  "What's-his-name finished off the Bud?"

  Kevin knows Steve's name.

  "No one finished it off. No one touched it. It's in there somewhere."

  "You got something against dogs all of a sudden? You don't like Spuds MacKenzie?"

  "He's all right," I said. "But I don't see why they didn't use a malamute. Rowdy and Kimi would make beautiful mascots."

  "For what? Eskimo pies?"

  "Ha-ha."

  Kevin flipped the top off a can of Bud, leaned against the kitchen counter, and reached over to hand me a photocopy from a machine that needed toner. "Tell me what you make of this."

  I'm not sure whether I believe in graphology as a key to character, but if I'd had to make a guess about Donna Zalewski's handwriting, I'd have been wrong. Even in the light copy, it looked flowing, confident, and conventional, like a sample for fourth graders to emulate.

  Dr. Walsh—

  I know this is a lot to ask, but I just can't get it under control, and I've tried all the other options, and I know she'll be safe with you. She deserves better than me.

  "You got some opinion on that?" Kevin asked.

  "This was supposed to be a suicide note?"

  "That's what they tell me."

  "Then why didn't she sign it?"

  He took a sip of beer, pulled his lips shut, and looked at m
e.

  I answered him. "Because she never finished it Other options, huh? I can see that. All she meant were kennels, you know. She didn't mean options in life. You guys have spent too much time in Cambridge. So where'd they find the note?"

  "On her desk."

  "Was this all?"

  "That was the only page."

  "There must've been something else," I said. "Instructions. Something about Kimi. When to feed her. Something like that."

  "A list" he said. "Basically, she packed the dog's bags. One bag, it was—some kind of canvas gym bag, dog dish, bag of food. A leash. And a list."

  "And on the list was what to feed her when, right? And one of the things was cottage cheese."

  Kevin nodded.

  "So all you want from me is confirmation? Yeah. It's a note asking Elaine Walsh to take care of Kimi. It's an unfinished note. What's missing is something like, 'I'll pick her up tomorrow' or 'I'll pick her up as soon as I get myself together.'"

  "You got some ideas on the other options?"

  "If that's what you want," I said. "Sure. Where would she have tried to board Kimi? With Steve. Steve was her vet. Another? Faith Barlow. She bought Kimi from Faith. You want me to ask? No one at Steve's will remember, you know. If she called there, which she probably did, she'd just have asked if they could board her dog. If there wasn't room, she wouldn't even have left her name. But Faith might remember. You want me to find out?"

  "Naw," Kevin said. "I'm not looking for anything you might call evidence. I just wanted a wild guess."

  It's no use answering him when he's in that kind of mood. I picked up the phone and dialed Faith's number.

  "Faith? Holly. Listen, did Donna Zalewski ever ask you to board Kimi?"

  "I never did," Faith said. "She called once, but I was full up."

  "Do you remember when that was?"

  "A while ago."

  "Can you be a little more specific?"

  "Sometime in the fall."

  "Do you remember how come you were full? Was something special going on?"

  "Oh, yeah. I know when it was. I had a litter almost ready to go, and I was keeping one. Kerry. But I was still calling him Zippy then. And then I got a dog returned. That practically never happens to me. A littermate of Kimi's, actually." Faith was about to tell me everything about that dog and the fate of the rest of the litter, as well as all about why the dog had been returned, and how Kerry was turning out.

  "When exactly was that, Faith? Can you give me a month? A day?"

  She told me all about why the dog had been returned, why she should never have sold the puppy to the people in the first place, and why she'd sold him to them, anyway, but eventually, she came up with a rough date: Thanksgiving.

  By the time we finished catching up, Kevin was on another Bud.

  "I suppose you were listening," I said to him. "Is Thanksgiving about right? Does it fit?"

  It must have. He got Faith's address and phone number from me, and I don't think it was because he was planning to buy a dog from her. Then he finished his beer and left.

  "Men are all the same," I said to the dogs, who were woo-wooing at me for their dinner. Dogs, of course, are entirely apolitical, and one of the many joys of dog ownership is that you can say absolutely anything to dogs without having to consider what they think of you for having said it. Furthermore, you can express one opinion today and another tomorrow, and they'll never point out that you've contradicted yourself. "Get what they want and take off. Did Kevin bother to ask why Donna wanted to find a place to board you, Kimi?"

  Her ears pricked up.

  "Of course not. But we know. In fact, we understand quite a lot. We probably understand more than we want to. But about Donna? Didn't I tell you she loved you? You know what happened? She told Elaine Walsh. That part of what she told Elaine was true. She told her about what she was doing to you. She wanted to stop. She loved you. Right?"

  The dogs had their eyes on me. It was a few minutes before five. Under no circumstances is their dinnertime earlier than five. They pretend to want dinner whenever they're bored, but I don't give in, because what dogs value most—even more than dinner—is predictability. Who can blame them? People are the same way. For instance, when I meet a married couple, I like to be able to predict that the husband is male, the wife female. Gender itself doesn't matter. What counts is being able to predict it.

  "You guys are great listeners," I said. "So listen. Donna couldn't get it under control. So until she could, she had to protect you. She tried to find a place to board you, just for a few days, I bet. She calls Steve's, and there's no room. She calls Faith. No go. She probably tries a couple of other places. But you know what? You know why there was no room at the inn? It wasn't Christmas. It was Thanksgiving. Half the dogs in Boston were being boarded because some people's stupid idea of celebrating a holiday is locking their best friends in jail."

  The dogs wooed at me.

  "So she's desperate. Maybe she feels she's going to pieces. Maybe she's afraid she'll really hurt you this time. She needs help. And she decides to ask the person who's supposed to help most, and that's her therapist, Elaine Walsh. She packs you a suitcase, and she starts to write a note. And that part of the story ends there, guys, because she never finished it. Why? Because she'd just had her dinner, or whatever meal it was. And whatever it was, it was cottage cheese. So maybe she was going to leave you tied outside Elaine's house, or maybe in the waiting room at her office. We don't know. And how come we don't know? Because somebody killed her. And I wish it had been somebody I don't know. I wish it had been somebody who doesn't love dogs. But who else could it have been? Lots of people might have wanted Elaine dead. Ben Moss? Sheila? Antifeminists, like the guy in Montreal? I don't think so, you know, but it's possible. But Donna? Donna was no threat to anybody. Except Joel. He's the only one. He's the only one who had a reason to want them both dead. And I didn't say a word to Kevin, did I? Dinnertime?"

  Rowdy had known the word for a long time, and Kimi had learned it quickly. With Kimi leashed to the knob of the kitchen door and Rowdy on a down at the opposite end of the room, I measured out their Eukanuba. Then I put Rowdy's bowl on the living room floor, released him, got out of the way, and closed the door after him. Kimi was, of course, wooing and yipping, but the second the bowl was within reach of her mouth, she quit it. Her bowl was half empty before it touched the floor. When it did, she lay down flat, wrapped her pretty white forelegs around the bowl, and rapidly finished the food, stopping only to glance up and make sure that I didn't intend to filch any.

  "A lot of people believe that a leisurely dinner hour is good for the digestion," I told her.

  I picked up her empty bowl and let Rowdy back into the kitchen.

  "We don't have to do anything, you know," I said to them. "And one thing we are definitely not doing is going to Kevin Dennehy. But we do have to do something. If it had only been Elaine? I'm not sure. But Donna? Now we know for sure. She didn't want to die. She wanted Elaine to dog-sit. And maybe with Elaine, he really didn't have any other choice. But Donna? He knew she was lying, and she did, too. That's what I don't get. Not really. Couldn't he have talked to her? Okay. Elaine might not have listened. But Donna? Couldn't he have talked to her first? Do we know he didn't? Yes, we do. I think. I think she would've told Elaine. And Elaine would've said something in that second letter. Or there would've been another letter, wouldn't there? You know what I really think? I think Donna would've been relieved. She would've been glad to be talked out of it. She would've been happy to have to tell the truth."

  I sat on the kitchen floor and tapped on the linoleum, a signal to Rowdy to join me. He lay down, and I rubbed his ears and ran a finger up and down his muzzle and in the furrow between his eyes. Then Kimi lay down with us, and I started patting each of them with one hand.

  "But she never had a chance," I said. "I guess he was just too scared that it wouldn't work. That people would eventually find out about him. He wasn't willing to take
the risk. If it had just been Elaine? I don't know. But it wasn't. Maybe he had a good enough reason to kill Elaine. Maybe that was a strange kind of self-defense. Donna? He killed Donna, too. That time, I think, he had a choice, and what he chose was murder. And if he was scared enough to do that?"

  Kimi didn't like having me stare directly into her eyes, but I did, anyway.

  "This is partly your fault, you know," I told her. "I wasn't the only one who saw what you did. Other people noticed your bad manners. Joel saw, too. And they saw how embarrassed I was. And they know me. They know I love dogs. And they know I speak dog. Thanks to you, pretty Kimi, he knows I know. He saw how I looked at him."

  19

  "My name is Holly Winter. I'd like to make an appointment with Dr. Arsenault."

  "And what is this about?" The woman's voice was so nasal that if Erich Arsenault, M.D., had been an ear, nose, and throat specialist or an allergist, she'd have lost him a lot of potential patients.

  What was it about? Well, before I go to Joel Baker and tell him I think he murdered two women, I'd like to know whether he could have got hold of a lot of Sinequan.

  "I haven't been feeling too well," I said.

  "Then it's not something urgent?"

  "It's not really an emergency, but I'd like to see him soon, if that's possible." I wasn't sure how to feign Sinequan deficiency, but I tried to sound depressed and anxious.

  "We have a cancellation tomorrow at two-thirty. How's that?"

  "Fine," I said.

  The next afternoon, I followed her adenoidal directions north up Mass. Ave. past Route 16 and into Arlington, which is a blue-collar city with professorial and professional enclaves. Dr. Arsenault's office wasn't in one. His building was a pale gray, cranberry-trimmed wooden two-family that had been broken up into suites. According to the sign out front, it housed an insurance agent, a podiatrist, and a pediatrician as well as the notorious Dr. Feelgood, although the sign didn't call him that.