Dying Wishes

by Judith K Ivie

  “Revenge of the mother of teenagers,” he mugged in a pretty good imitation of Boris Karloff.

  “You’ve got it exactly. So when is this big do and where?”

  “Tomorrow night right here in the community dining room. We close it off after lunch and then decorate like crazy all afternoon. This,” he waved at the shopping bags, “is just a little new stuff. We have crates of ghoulish décor stored in the basement. By six o’clock tomorrow, you won’t recognize the place.” His face lit up as an idea occurred to him. “You should stop by,” he urged. “It’s been so grim around here, it would do you good to see that we really can have a lot of fun. A few people wear costumes, but most people just wear masks. We have a jukebox brought in, too. Things really get rolling around seven o’clock. I’ll show you my “Monster Mash” moves,” he grinned.

  It was good to see him looking forward to something. “Well, the Mashed Potato was before my time, of course. I don’t know if I could keep up,” I teased him, “but I’d like to see you strutting your stuff.”

  He shrugged with good humor. “If you’ve got it, why not flaunt it, right?” He collected his shopping bags and hurried into the dining room, eager to show off his purchases.

  Reluctantly, I went to collect Ginny in her office and have lunch in the dining room, as well. I didn’t feel we had parted on the best of terms on Wednesday, and I frankly wasn’t looking forward to yet another rehash of the murky circumstances surrounding Margaret Butler’s death and Ginny’s concerns.

  To my surprise and relief, Ginny greeted me civilly and even managed a smile. “Ready for lunch? I’m famished. There must be something special on the menu, judging from the wonderful aromas coming out of the kitchen when I stopped by to get coffee this morning. I can hardly wait to see what it is.” She grabbed her purse and bustled around her desk to join me.

  I looked at her more closely. Despite her determinedly upbeat tone, her face was drawn and pale. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days, and her magpie-like chatter wasn’t fooling me.

  “Everything okay, Gin?” I asked quietly as we started toward the dining room.

  “What do you mean? Oh, yes, everything is just fine. I had a long talk with Rog last night, and he agrees with you that there’s nothing to be gained by digging around in this Margaret Butler situation any longer. No good can possibly come of it,” she answered brightly. I wasn’t convinced.

  “You agreed with that?” I repeated.

  “Yes, and candidly it’s a huge relief to let it go. Thank you so much for humoring me all this time, but that’s the end of it. Now, Sandy,” she said to the attractive blonde who stood at her usual post by the dining room entrance, “what is it that smells so good today?”

  Sandy greeted Ginny perfunctorily but ignored me entirely. “It’s the sage,” she told her. “We have stuffed chicken breasts and the chef’s special fresh green bean salad with mustard sauce. He’s serving that hot today.”

  “Sounds great,” Ginny responded eagerly and headed directly for the serving counter. “We can grab a table after we get our food.”

  I smiled at Sandy before trailing after Ginny, but she appeared to be absorbed in tidying the condiment station behind her. Could I possibly have offended her in some way? By the time we got through the line with our trays, the tables in the staff section were pretty well filled. Rather than snag one of the few still available, Ginny approached two young women in maids’ uniforms who were already seated at a table for four.

  “May we join you?” she chirped, startling me and them, judging from their expressions. They looked me over nervously, but Ginny was the boss, so there could be only one response.

  “Of course, Mrs. Preston,” and “Please do,” said the girls, one dark haired and one blonde, whose nametags read Rosalita and Suzanne, respectively.

  Ginny promptly pulled out a chair and motioned me to the remaining one. “Wonderful. This way there will still be a table or two left for the late lunch-ers. This is Kate Lawrence, by the way, one of the Vista View sales representatives,” she said by way of introduction, then quickly asked the two maids how things were going with them.

  Clearly, I had been put in my place. I was no longer Ginny’s friend and confidante. I was merely a Vista View contract employee from this point forward. I wondered if her conversation with her husband had triggered this change in attitude or if something else had happened since we had talked on Wednesday morning. Obviously, there would be no opportunity to pose that question during this meeting. Ginny fired a steady stream of work-related questions at the two young women, which had the dual effect of keeping the conversation going while excluding me. From time to time, Rosalita or Suzanne looked at me apologetically, but I just smiled and remained silent. Fortunately, the excellent meal allowed me to keep my mouth busy.

  After twenty minutes of nonstop interrogation, Suzanne and Rosalita excused themselves and made a beeline for the door. I knew how they felt. Bert and his ladies chattered happily at a large table near the windows. I wished I were seated there instead of at this table, where silence had descended. I looked around idly while Ginny toyed with her lunch. A young man sporting body art and a buzz cut bussed tables without enthusiasm.

  “Where’s Tommy Garcia?” I couldn’t help asking.

  Ginny’s lips formed a thin smile which didn’t reach her eyes. “He quit yesterday.”

  “But why?” I gasped, afraid I might already know the answer.

  “I asked him to come to my office before he left for the day. I warned him that inappropriate behavior with the female residents would not be tolerated, and he quit just like that, walked out without even giving notice. He’ll see where that gets him when he needs a recommendation,” she said, not bothering to conceal her malicious satisfaction.

  The chicken that had seemed so tasty a minute ago now formed a cold lump in my stomach as I gaped at Ginny.

  “But those were just allegations, the sort of rumors busybodies inevitably concoct about a handsome young man in their midst. I told you what Margo said, what a fine, gentlemanly person she thought he was,” I all but wailed.

  “Keep your voice down,” Ginny snapped. “I don’t think Margo Farnsworth is a reliable judge of what is and is not acceptable behavior, from her reputation around town before she landed that police lieutenant. I had to make a managerial decision, and I decided Garcia needed a formal warning on his record, so I gave him one. Getting all riled up and quitting was his idea, and good riddance.”

  Judgment, yes. Ginny was all about making judgments these days, regardless of whether they were supported by evidence. I imagined poor Tommy, hauled into the boss’s office on a Wednesday afternoon and accused of inappropriate sexual behavior with retirement-age women. Having some experience with a short-fused Latino myself, I wasn’t surprised that he had quit. Then I remembered Ginny’s snide remark about Margo, and heat flooded my face.

  “Margo Harkness is my partner and dear friend,” I said, struggling to keep my voice low. Even so, I sensed growing interest in our conversation from the staff members seated nearby. “She is smart and honest and insightful, not to mention loyal to a fault, and I would trust her with my life. I know for a fact that her husband feels extremely lucky to have her in his life, as well he should. We all do. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some phone calls to return.”

  As I snatched up my purse and stalked to the door, I felt dozens of curious eyes following me, but I was too outraged on my friend’s behalf to care. I couldn’t quit Vista View without first consulting my partners, but it certainly crossed my mind. Sandy was absent from the hostess station, which was just as well.

  I had no idea what had prompted the change in Ginny Preston, but it was becoming beyond endurance. The Ginny I had known and agreed to work with had been efficient and capable but also warmhearted and tolerant. Over the past few weeks she had become a different person, cold and judgmental. Once again, Armando’s assessment of the situation had been spot on.

  W
hen I reached the sales desk, I pocketed my phone message slips without looking at them and kept right on going out the front door. I had had my fill of Vista View for the week. Instead of driving directly to Mack Realty, I parked on Broad Street and changed into the Adidas shoes I kept in the car. I needed to walk off some steam, and a brisk circuit of the green usually did the trick.

  As usual, I started at the Nathaniel Foote monument and headed toward the Anderson Farm and the Henstocks’ childhood home. As it always did, the sight of the beautifully restored structure soothed me, and my pace slowed as I admired the well-tended beds of mums, sedum and other late fall blooms. My eyes wandered to the MacRaes’ former residence diagonally across the street, and I remembered that I had yet to complete the preliminary paperwork the lawyer had left with me. It would be a good project for the weekend, I told myself. Armando could do some thinking about similar documents for himself. I would make a follow-up appointment with MacRae for next week and get everything taken care of before my fiftieth birthday. At least this Vista View experience wouldn’t be a total waste. Perhaps I should just stop in now and book the appointment with Shirley.

  I turned into MacRae’s driveway where the blue Audi was parked. To my surprise, a chocolate brown Labrador retriever, the spitting image of Rhett Butler, was tied to the driver’s side door handle.

  “Hello there,” I said, offering my hand for a sniff. I hadn’t been aware that the MacRaes had a dog. I nearly jumped out of my skin as the Lab went crazy, yipping and whining and all but throwing himself into my arms as he strained against the rope tethering him to the car.

  Frowning, I soothed the excited animal by talking quietly to him. Something about this dog was very familiar. “Rhett, sit,” I commanded experimentally, and his furry backside hit the ground. I reached for the tags on his collar to confirm what I already suspected. This dog didn’t just look like Rhett. He was Rhett.

  I looked around in confusion for Margo’s car but didn’t see it. As I struggled to come up with some logical explanation for this odd turn of events, MacRae himself came out the front door, his cell phone at his ear. His eyes lit up when he saw me.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary, Ms. Harkness,” he said into it. “Your partner, Ms. Lawrence, seems to be here. Perhaps she can tell us both what’s going on.” He handed the phone to me and backed off a few steps, watching Rhett uneasily.

  “Margo? Why is Rhett Butler tied to the door of Gerald MacRae’s car at his office on Broad Street?”

  “Oh, thank God, it really is him. We’ve been goin’ crazy here. Emma went out back about an hour ago, and Rhett’s pen was empty, the gate wide open,” she almost sobbed. “I thought I must not have closed it securely, and one of those damned squirrels taunted him …”

  Her voice caught in a hiccup, and Emma came on the line. “Momma, where are you? Do you need any help? I’ve been calling you and calling you, but you weren’t at Vista View, and your cell phone wasn’t on.” I didn’t miss the censorial tone of her voice. My history as a cell phone user was unfortunate and lengthy.

  Guiltily, I remembered the unread phone messages in my purse. I gave her a quick rundown of how I’d found Rhett. “All I need is a pair of scissors or a knife to cut this rope, and Rhett and I will be along directly,” I said, aware that MacRae was listening. I had no doubt that Rhett would be happy to accompany me to my car. More likely, he would drag me to it.

  MacRae took the hint and hurried back inside. He reappeared with sturdy shears and handed them to me. “Sorry,” he said, keeping his distance, “but dogs make me nervous. I was bitten as a kid and never really got over it.”

  That didn’t make him a good candidate for dognapper, I concluded. “How did Rhett get here, and why is he tied to your car?” I asked bluntly as I sawed at the rope with the shears. It was old, from the look of it, but thick. Rhett helped by flopping onto my feet with a sigh.

  “I have no idea. All I know is that I was inside preparing a will with Shirley when we both heard a dog whining outside the window. I called one of my young associates downstairs to investigate, and he found this unhappy animal tied to my door handle. Fortunately, he had tags on his collar. I was just speaking to Ms. Harkness on the telephone when you turned up.” He shook his head, mystified. “I haven’t got a clue,” he finished, “do you?”

  I sawed through the last of the rope and returned the shears to MacRae. I thought about our Vista View inquiry and Margo’s session with Tommy Garcia during which he had told her about his plans for the future. I remembered Sandy’s sullen expression at lunchtime and my conversation with Ginny about Tommy’s sudden departure. Then I considered the vindictive, but amateurish, nature of the door-painting incident at Mack Realty and now this, stealing poor Rhett from his pen but leaving him unharmed and in plain sight of any handy rescuer.

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” I said shortly and allowed Rhett to tug me out of the driveway and back the way I had come.

  ~

  At the end of a long afternoon, my partners and I sat on the back stoop of the Law Barn, where Margo kept Rhett firmly by her side. Their reunion had been something to see, and they hadn’t been apart for a moment since. Emma lunged out the front door at five-thirty like a racehorse leaving the gate. We locked it behind her and silenced the phones before we assembled out back, paper cups filled with a decent Chardonnay in hand.

  It was chilly enough to require jackets but still pleasant. In another couple of weeks it would be pitch dark at this hour, thanks to the fall time change that seemed to come earlier with every passing year. I shivered and drank deeply of my wine. Where was a good hot flash when you could really use one?

  “It was just so mean,” Margo said, clearly bewildered. “I get that in some convoluted way Sandy thought I was responsible for Tommy losin’ his job by tellin’ imaginary tales of lust to his boss, but how could she take it out on my Rhett?” Her eyes flashed at the thought. “Can you imagine how he must have felt, tied to a car door in some strange place?”

  “It wasn’t all that strange,” Strutter attempted to soothe her. “Rhett has walked around those streets with us for years. I think he’s on a first-name basis with some of the ducks on the Spring Street pond.” Her tone was light, but the softness in her eyes let Margo know she understood how she felt.

  I added my two cents. “He can’t have been there long. Sandy was in the dining room at twelve-thirty, and I found him at MacRae’s office around two. Good thing I got mad and left Vista View early.” I told them about Ginny dissing me but edited out her snide remark about Margo’s past.

  “What if you hadn’t? What if MacRae hadn’t heard Rhett out there cryin’? What if he came out in a hurry and drove off without even knowin’ poor Rhett was …”

  She was working herself into a real state. I grabbed her chin and made her look at me. “Sandy tied him to the driver’s side door handle so that couldn’t happen,” I said firmly. “She also knew that people go in and out of MacRae’s office all the time, so Rhett would be found quickly, and he was wearing tags. She was sending you a message: Mess with my boyfriend, and I’ll mess with you. She didn’t intend to hurt Rhett; she just wanted you to know that she could if sufficiently provoked.”

  “It actually sounds like something Margo might have done as a kid, except it wouldn’t involve some poor beast,” Strutter observed, startling Margo and me. “So what do you think, should we find her car and let the air out of her tires? Maybe we should sneak into the dining room at Vista View and glue the menus together at the hostess station. I know! We could fill all the sugar dispensers with salt. That’ll fix her.” She grinned broadly.

  The wild look dimmed in Margo’s eyes, and I released her chin. “It is all pretty high school,” she agreed. The corners of her mouth were beginning to turn up, I noted with relief. “So are we just going to let the little piss-pot get away with it? Who knows what she might have planned for us next?”

  “No, indeed,” I assured her. “That young woman ne
eds to learn that actions have consequences, and I can’t think of a more fitting consequence for an inveterate sneak than being called out in public. We have a perfect opportunity coming up to do it, too.”

  I had Margo’s attention now. “And what would that be?” she asked with some of her old zip.

  “You and I will be dropping by the Vista View Halloween social tomorrow night. I told Bert Rosenthal I would stop by for a few minutes, and I’m sure Sandy will be expected to be there to help out. Since everyone will be wearing masks, she’ll never even know we’re there until we’ve got her cornered. I think it’s time all this nonsense about Tommy gets brought out into the open. Nothing kills a rumor faster than exposure to the light, so to speak.”

  Strutter pouted. “I miss all the fun these days.”

  “That’s what you get for having an adorable baby girl and a son who’s playing in the regional finals in Springfield tomorrow,” I retorted. “Don’t worry, we’ll fill you in.”

  “What do you suggest we do with John and Armando while we’re out fixin’ this little gal?” Margo wanted to know. “I don’t know about your husband, but mine gets kind of curious when I leave him home alone on a Saturday evenin’.”

  I hadn’t thought about that, but I did now. “How about I invite the two of you over for pizza and a movie? You and I volunteer to go pick up a couple of DVDs and the pizza. We’ll be gone less than an hour, and you know the minute we leave they’ll get involved in some boring game on TV. They won’t even miss us.”

  Strutter looked at us appraisingly. “You two are getting a little too good at lying to your husbands,” she observed.

  “We’re not lyin’ in the strictest sense of the words. We’re just choosin’ to leave a few things out of the conversation,” Margo protested. “We do what we need to do without gettin’ ‘em all riled up. You know they’ll be happier not knowin’.”