“Elise, let’s go for a walk. If you’re sure you’re all right?”
“I don’t know. I thought I was all right before I fell to pieces in The Chicken Coop.”
“Let’s risk it. Give us time to finish our agenda.”
With haunted eyes, Meghan watched them head to the front. Braxton, her protector, moved to her side and didn’t take his eyes from Elise till she and Russ reached the door. Russ shooed her out as she turned to the couple.
“What? All I wanted was to wish them well. It feels good to know I might have been the catalyst to ignite their undeniable chemistry.”
Russ refused to be drawn in. “Turn right. The sidewalk peters out in a block if we go the other way.”
Obediently Elise turned with him, into a tidy, and at this hour, almost deserted complex of imposing office buildings. “Nice. Timothy’s family firm has had offices in the historic district before it was historic. He fought a proposal to relocate to the suburbs.”
“For a woman who didn’t like her husband, you talk about him incessantly.”
“Have a little grace. I’d grown accustomed to the arguments. Mutt and Jeff are horrible at fighting. Mutt slobbers all over me and Jeff cries.”
Russell guided her onto another street past more brick and glass edifices, manicured lawns and gleaming windows reflecting apricot rays of the setting sun.
“Before it gets dark and I can’t see your reactions, let’s come back to why the police are interested. Besides the anonymous tipster. By the way, I’m coming home with you to check and make sure no one else is skulking around the house listening to you argue with the dogs. I’m assuming that’s who Mutt and Jeff are. No!” He held up a hand. “Don’t start telling me where you got the dogs and who named them and how they are mourning Timothy. Please tell me why you married him.”
“I think this will be my new place to walk the dogs. I love it. So tidy and anonymous and cookie cutter.”
“Elise.”
“Bully. I already told you. Marrying for love hadn’t worked out for me. And I’m a throwback to—whatever era insisted women had to be married. Victorian? 1950s? Ancient Babylon? Anyway. Timothy made himself available and easy to catch and had many admirable qualities, not the least of which was a hefty bank account. I didn’t love him. You have no idea how important that was, not just for me, but for him. For protection. You never lose what you don’t love, right?”
She strode alongside him, keeping up with his long legs.
“And that’s all there is to it?”
“That’s all. But eventually I realized that neither did I want to keep what I don’t love. Timothy and I didn’t want each other but weren’t sure what to do about it.”
“Did either of you mention divorce?”
“Every night. We had settled into a very comfortable routine of fight, threaten divorce, shrug, and go to bed.”
Russ took a breath as though he didn’t want to ask the next question. Or hear the answer. “Did you sign a pre-nup?”
“Of course! They’re more de rigueur in Timothy’s set than an engagement ring or wedding gown. And yes, if we’d divorced I wouldn’t have gotten much. Some. But nothing compared to what I get as his widow.” She peered sideways at him. “There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“Is that another reason the police find you so interesting?”
“Not yet. I’m sure they’ll get around to it. When they do I hope they get a peek at the will Timothy had me make. I leave half of the money I get from him to my family and the other half to the most conservative political party in the state. It drove him crazy to think his money would support causes he had opposed his entire life. But he didn’t worry too much. He was going to outlive me.” She shivered slightly. “Say, Russ, it’s getting dark and I just heard a mosquito buzz in my ear. Did you ever hear the legend? Or maybe it’s a fable. Seems this boastful mosquito—”
A strangled sound from Russ interrupted her. “Forget the mosquito. You need to get home and sleep and so do I. Tomorrow I visit shut-ins and Mrs. McGee will have coffee cake in the oven by seven and expect me in time to eat it warm.”
Relieved she’d dodged the God question, Elise about-faced to head to their vehicles. Russ snatched at her hand to stop her and she glanced up, ready to tease him about dates with older women. His sober face made her swallow the comment.
“Elise, we both, and Christopher too, all were running at the same pace in high school, away from anything to do with God. And then we realized all we could do, all we wanted to do, was call out His name and be held in His hands. I don’t believe for a second you were only trying to please Christopher, or overcome by fleeting emotion. I would have sworn yours was a genuine conversion.”
He waited but Elise had no intention of responding. She was too busy trying to eradicate the image of hands heavy around her. “We didn’t finish number two of the napkin agenda. Skipping items is no way to conduct business, Pastor Martinez. Someone found physical evidence that Timothy didn’t accidentally drown, but got himself purposefully murdered.”
Gratified at the surprise in his face, she told him about the rock in the xeriscape.
They turned into the parking lot of The Chicken Coop. Elise stopped at Russ’s pickup. “If the offer is still good, I wouldn’t mind you checking to make sure I don’t have unwanted company. Unless someone planted a bug in the house. Do you think that’s it? Do you know how to look for listening devices?”
Rolling his eyes, Russ got her address and promised to meet her at the estate. Before boarding Bubba, Elise shrugged away God’s fingers and reflected that, with the revelation of a likely murder investigation, she’d successfully diverted Russ from talking about her soul.
He had beaten her home and parked the little green truck at the curb. Leaning against the gates, he jumped back as she pressed the appropriate button to open them.
“Here I’d pictured you using a big old brass key. The remote is more practical. Not as secure as hiring a gatekeeper, though.”
“Timothy only hired union workers. Maybe he gave up when he couldn’t find the Local Brotherhood of Gatekeepers. Hop in and I’ll drive you to the house.”
“Nope. I’m doing this right. I’ll walk around the fence and make sure everything is in good repair. When I leave I’ll check the other side.” He flicked on a flashlight she hadn’t noticed and began his counter-clockwise journey along the brick-and-mortar perimeter.
Twenty minutes later Elise heard tapping on the French doors that led from the solarium to the patio. She unlocked the doors and flung them open.
“Ah ha!” Russ crowed, stepping into the solarium.
“Ah ha, what?”
“You didn’t even turn on the light to see who it was. Elise, you can’t let anyone come marching in your back door. Oof.” The final syllable was extinguished almost before he uttered it as Jeff, with strength and precision Elise didn’t know he possessed, leapt from five feet away and nailed Russ directly on the face, jowls flapping, tongue swiping, tail wagging. Mutt, on cue, grabbed a playful mouthful of Russ’s jeans hem and tugged.
“Boys! Leave the poor man alone.” With difficulty she loosened Mutt’s grip from the pants and wedged her way between the enthusiastic administrations of Jeff’s tongue and Russ’s slobber-soaked face. “Thank you, gentlemen, for demonstrating why no intruder could lay a hand on me. But keep him there, will you, till I get back?”
Russ had backed into a chair resembling a large bird’s nest. His jailers comforted him with great affection till Elise returned with a warm damp washcloth and a towel.
“Here you go. I’ll distract Jeff while you wipe away his drool. I don’t want to hurt his feelings. C’mon boys. Mommy has a treat for you in the kitchen.” The dogs abandoned Russ for tastier morsels. When Elise returned she found him squatting next to the chair, examining it.
“Never have I seen anything like this.”
“I’m sure there aren’t many in the Des Moines metropolitan area. Timothy had it flown in from T
hailand. He’s gradually replacing all the furniture with sustainable stuff. That one is woven from opium poppies. I’m not sure if it seems so comfortable because of how it’s made, or what it’s made of. Don’t inhale too deeply. Just kidding. Did you find anything?”
“No. The brick fence was built to last. It’s too high to get over easily but it’s possible with a stepladder or even the top of my pickup truck. No tree limbs hanging over from your side. But as far as I can tell there isn’t any security for the fence? No alarm?”
“Heavens. Too third-world-dictatorish.” She held out her hand for the washcloth and towel. “Only the house has a security system. It’s a good one though. Some kids invited themselves in for a party last year. A private security firm got here in two minutes and the police in three.”
Russ stood. “That eases my mind, at least as long as you stay in the house. But someone could get onto the grounds with relative ease and a bit of ingenuity. I didn’t see any cameras.”
“No. The Ambersons are more concerned with loss of privacy than loss of security. No digital eyes and ears for this estate. I promise you though, it’s safe.”
He surveyed the solarium and foyer on the way to the front entrance. “Are you going to stay living here?”
Elise walked with him. “No. The house isn’t mine at all. Part of the Amberson Family Trust. Always goes to the oldest son. Since Palmer is still living it will be his.”
Russ had opened his mouth to say something but now cocked his head, intrigued. “So he stood to gain by his brother’s death.”
“You haven’t seen Palmer’s house, have you? He has several, actually. He has money, the family has money, the law firm has money, his wife, Therese, has money. This place” —she threw out a hand—“will be a step down. But it is the family homestead, even though no one seems emotionally attached to it. Goodnight Russ, and thank you. You’ve been a rock for me today. I hope you like the Widow McGee’s coffee cake.”
On the first step Russ paused. “We’ll be in touch, Elise. We still need to cover number three on the agenda.”
Down the driveway she watched him lope, around a bend till she couldn’t see him. She counted three more seconds. Dimpling at the shouted “Elise! Let me out!” she pushed a set of buttons next to the security system. She waited for the sound of the little truck’s rumble before pushing the same buttons to close the gate and setting the alarm.
Faced with an arduous nighttime routine of cleansing, creaming, flossing, brushing and pajama-ing, none of which could happen till she’d climbed the miles-long staircase to get to her room, Elise was seized with a whelming desire to fall asleep right there in the hall, standing up like a horse. She compromised by ascending the steps, tossing Russ’s towel and washcloth over the side of the hamper and running a wet brush over her teeth. Pausing only to pull off her socks, Elise helped Mutt and Jeff onto the vintage iron canopy bed and collapsed next to them.
CHAPTER FIVE
To all swift things for swiftness did I sue;
Clung to the whistling mane of every wind.
“The Hound of Heaven,” Lines 38-39
If she dreamed, she didn’t remember particulars. But when Elise woke at seven o’clock, alone in the bed and reaching for Christopher, the last five years crashed in on her and she leapt to run down the hall, down the steps, around the kitchen, hoping to stub her toe or knock into something, anything that would bring physical pain. Anything to legitimize the tears she’d thought, till last night, had run their course. When she banged her shin on a stool constructed of recycled road signs, she bit back a bad word but welcomed the tears pricking her lids.
“You get what you ask for,” she told Jeff, who’d watched, with cautious interest, her sprint around the kitchen. Elise rubbed her shin where it had hit against the edge of “No U Turn.”
“What are you doing in the middle of the kitchen?” The stool, its mute condemnation of an illegal turn glaring up at her, wasn’t telling. But then a more disturbing question hit her. “Jeffy, where’s Mutt? He should have been hot on my heels a minute ago.” Jeff lowered his massive head, ashamed he hadn’t called attention to his friend’s absence earlier.
“It’s okay, baby. We’ll find him. Wanna split up, or stay with me?” Jeff crowded against her heels. “All right. You sniff, I’ll call.”
Call she did, on the main level, up to the second floor, even the cramped third story where servants had lived to attend needs of previous Ambersons. She strained her ears for a bark, a whimper, something. Elise’s heart constricted and she called more loudly as she hurtled down the stairs, two or three at a time and checked the basement, even though the door leading from the kitchen was bolted.
Bounding back up, shouting Mutt’s name, she realized Jeff wasn’t with her. “Jeff! Where are you?”
He called her from the depths of the house. Timothy’s study. She found him lying with his nose to the closet Timothy used to store non-essential files. Elise flung the door open and her constricted heart squeezed to pulp. Mutt lay at her feet inside the door and his absolute stillness told her he was dead.
She couldn’t move. She couldn’t pick up that limp body.
Jeff nudged her aside and moved in on his friend. “No, baby, don’t touch him.”
Ignoring her, the big dog nuzzled the small motionless form.
“Jeff, stop!”
He didn’t listen.
“I can’t pick him up. I can’t.” Jeff continued his ministrations and Elise knew she’d have to move the quiet little bundle. She nudged Jeff aside and knelt, her tears falling on the disheveled fur.
Three seconds later and Elise flew back to the kitchen, still sobbing, with limp, barely breathing Mutt in her arms.
“Jeff, here boy! You’re coming with us.” Pausing only long enough to grab shoes, purse, and the two hundred dollar basket Mutt never slept in, she punched buttons to disarm the alarm.
Thankful she’d left Bubba in the drive, she laid so-still Mutt gently on the back seat floor in the bed, wedging anything she could find around to keep it from sliding. Jeff she hoisted in the front along with her shoes and Elise bounded up after, jabbing the remote for the gate. The wrought iron arches had only advanced halfway in their stately progression when Elise gunned the vehicle through, scraping both sides. Bubba, the gate and Jeff all groaned in anguish and Elise paid none of them the slightest heed.
She was too busy praying. “This one isn’t for me either God. It’s for Mutt. Please don’t let us hit traffic. Please help me remember how to get to the emergency vet clinic. Please don’t let Mutt die.”
Taking a corner on two wheels, she slammed the brakes. Ahead, every vehicle in Des Moines had come to a dead stop in a traffic jam to make L.A. blush. Elise jerked into reverse and felt, more than heard, the crunch of metal on plastic. She’d backed into something small with a bilious-sounding horn. Elise jumped out and ran back to find a short, red-faced man propelling himself out of a sub-compact. He barreled toward her and she jumped forward, arms flung up to ward off well-deserved whacks.
“I’m sorry! My dog is sick and I need to get him to the emergency clinic. Please. You can slug me later. I promise.”
Her babbling brought him up short. Elise heard the passenger door of his car open and close. A small round woman with a tight perm and soft eyes hurried over.
“Did you say you have a sick dog? You won’t be able to get out of here. Look.”
The little lady spoke truly. Over half a dozen cars crowded behind them, all in various stages of agitation, and more kept coming. Elise struggled to retain the little composure she still had. In the front seat Jeff paced and whimpered.
“Is that the sick dog?” The woman nodded to Jeff’s nose, now smashed up against the window.
“No.” Elise opened the back door. “This one. He got shut in a closet. I think he’s suffocated.”
The woman lifted the limp body from the basket and, crooning gently, carried him up the curb and onto a small grassy verge. Eli
se heard another whimper. With a start she realized it came from her. The little red-faced man shrugged. “Better go by your dog, lady.”
The sad little scene on the verge collected a crowd. The woman laid Mutt on his right side, and felt by his leg. Nodding, she opened his mouth and swiped a practiced finger inside, then pressed sturdy hands onto his chest.
“Heimlich Maneuver,” someone muttered from the onlookers.
The woman pressed and waited, pressed and waited.
“No good.” A different voice spoke. “Dog is dead.”
Elise stopped crying, stopped praying. As if she would be stealing precious oxygen Mutt might need, she slowed her breathing. If he wasn’t dead. The pressing and waiting continued. Then, with an impatient grunt, the extraordinary little woman lay down next to Mutt, closed her hand around his stout little muzzle and, mouth almost touching his nose, blew.
“Wow. Artificial respiration? On a dog? Who knew that was a thing?”
Several others in the audience murmured agreement. Someone else called for silence. And there was silence. The permed angel lying with her face so close to Mutt now breathed and waited, breathed and waited.
“He’s breathing!”
A sigh hovered in the air for the space of a heartbeat before the clapping began. Hoots and cheers erupted when the shaggy tail moved.
The woman cradled Mutt in her arms and rose. “He still needs to get to the animal hospital and put on a ventilator. That should be right away.” She addressed the crowd. “How are we going to make it work?”
The throng of bivouacked motorists moved as one, enthusiastic, all thoughts of eight a.m. start time forgotten. Five precious minutes were wasted trying to work out the dynamics of everyone backing onto 50th Street. The red-faced owner of the sub compact proved to be as invaluable as his wife. He consulted his phone, made calls, rounded up likely volunteers to redirect traffic till the police arrived. He came to stand by his wife, who had not yet relinquished Mutt, and Elise, who hadn’t tried to take him. She watched, mesmerized, the fragile ribcage under the tousled fur rising, just a bit, and falling, just a bit.
Hounded Page 4