Hounded

by Anita Klumpers

  The switch of topic surprised Elise. “Timothy never took files home from the office. If he did he certainly wouldn’t leave them laying around the house. They’d be locked in the study desk. Didn’t you look there?”

  “I checked. After the funeral. Before you got home.”

  Elise couldn’t imagine why he bothered to explain the time. He’d always treated the estate as an extension of his own home, which it was.

  “Palmer, I really don’t know anything about it.”

  Back to his brusque and assured self, Palmer was ready to end the call. “We won’t worry about it anymore, then. All right?”

  “I wasn’t the one worried. Goodbye, Palmer.”

  Unconcerned with formal terminations of conversation, he hung up. Elise washed the lunch dishes, wishing for the hundredth time that biodegradable, non-toxic, hypoallergenic dish soap could generate suds to last past the first piece of stemware. “Elbow grease,” she muttered at the virtually bubble-free sink of water and dirty dishes. “I use every last drop of my elbow grease because you can’t give me suds.”

  She finished the dishes and, promising Jeff a visit to Mutt in the animal hospital, realized she spoke to an empty kitchen. Lecturing herself not to panic every time he wasn’t at her feet, she nonetheless shot out of the kitchen and down the hall to find him, and screeched.

  “Oh my stars! Vanessa! You people need to stop walking into the house! Unless your goal is to scare the wits out of me.”

  Vanessa stood in the foyer, examining one of the enormous plants in one of the enormous pots squatting throughout the house, gorging themselves on indoor pollutants. “Devil’s Ivy needs to be pinched.” Vanessa didn’t so much speak as bark, boom, and snarl.

  Jeff adored her. He wriggled his haunches, patted a paw on Vanessa’s powerful calves and sighed the sighs of the smitten up at her face. One of her square hands rested on his head. She addressed him directly. “Don’t eat these leaves, Jeff.” Her gruff voice almost crooned. “They would make you a very sick baby. We don’t want a trip to the hospital.”

  Jeff adoring eyes promised he would never, ever ingest anything that would bring her sorrow.

  Elise never knew how to deal with Vanessa. Not too distant in age, they had the same last name and little else in common. The other woman embraced her solitary lifestyle, concocting homeopathic remedies for pets and selling them online. She rarely needed to deal with the human race, and Elise had never seen her in the company of anyone outside of her family. In the past three years her stepdaughter had been at the house less than a dozen times.

  As her heart rate calmed to its regular rhythm, Elise gentled her tone. “Vanessa. Can I help you?”

  The square hands hovered over the ivy for a moment before dropping to her sides. “Didn’t Daddy show you how to pinch back new leaves? If you don’t, it’ll get scrawny.”

  “No. He took care of the plants himself. I don’t have much of a green thumb.”

  “You can hire someone. Probably wouldn’t need to pay for it yourself. Comes out of the estate upkeep.”

  Vanessa was the Amberson who didn’t care about social position or wealth accumulation. Money merely provided a means to keep animals and plants thriving.

  “I probably won’t be living here for long, Vanessa. Remember? The house isn’t mine. It belongs to natural-born Ambersons.”

  The sudden and wholly unexpected gleam in Vanessa’s eyes proved she was aware of this. Of course. It had been the home of her birth, and her father’s and her grandfather’s, all recipients of the Amberson Family Trust.

  The awkward hand came heavily on Jeff’s head and he shifted away. “Where is Mutt?”

  “We’re going to visit him at the animal hospital now.”

  At Vanessa’s sharp intake of breath Elise asked, “Didn’t you hear what happened?”

  She hadn’t, so Elise told her what she hoped was a concise narration of the morning, leaving out her concerns that sleepwalking may have played a role.

  Vanessa’s eyes, the Amberson brown muddied through genetics by the olive hue from her mother, narrowed. “Careless, Elise, to lock Mutt in a closet.”

  Elise wanted to defend herself. Mutt had been shut up. Not locked in. But her own uncertain guilt kept her silent.

  With an unaccustomed attempt at conciliation, Vanessa relaxed her grip on Jeff’s head and added, “Naturally, it wasn’t intentional. Can I go along to see him?”

  Groaning inwardly, Elise agreed. “First I need to shower and change. I’ve had these clothes on since last night.”

  Vanessa seemed to find this much cleanliness unnecessary but Elise ignored the disdain. She showered even longer than usual and chose cropped jeans, deep pink, and a flippy, ruffly, sleeveless blouse in pale shades of lemon and lime. The bright strappy sandals she grabbed solely because they would irritate the other woman.

  “Huh,” Vanessa grunted, “you look like a fruit platter. We can take my car,” she continued. “Yours is all dented.”

  “Gee. Really? I don’t think dents will affect the engine or transmission or brake system. I’m taking mine. You can ride with me or follow. It’s up to you.” As she locked the front door Elise found herself fervently hoping Vanessa would drive herself. A woman who avoided the company of others should be colorless, invisible and unobtrusive. Vanessa’s antipathy practically pulsated. When homo sapiens bumbled into her domain she flung bitterness at them on caustic words and scathing glances.

  “I’ll follow you. I’d like Jeff to ride with me.”

  Elise’s relief made her generous. “Of course.” Jeff couldn’t do any more damage to the interior than Vanessa’s menagerie of pets.

  The other woman paused. “Did you set the alarm?”

  Biting back an irritated retort—Vanessa, Palmer, and Russell seemed to think thieves and vandals roamed the west end of Des Moines—Elise stomped back to the house and hit the appropriate combination to activate the system.

  “The house can go up for sale next year.”

  Elise stared at Timothy’s daughter in surprise. “I thought the trust meant it couldn’t be sold.”

  “Only until fifty years after the death of the testator. My great-grandfather. If the family line didn’t flourish, he wanted whoever was left to have the option of getting rid of the house. The Ambersons don’t tend to prolific breeding.” She sounded pleased and Elise couldn’t tell if the pleasure lay in the potential sale of the estate or the dearth of Ambersons.

  “I didn’t know. Do you think your uncle will sell?”

  “I hope so. We’ll all share in the profits, even though Palmer would naturally receive the largest percentage. I’d like to expand my line to include aromatherapy. Animals have highly developed olfactory organs and respond to scent. But I’ll need to buy more land, equipment, maybe even” —her brow furrowed— “hire help. But I’m not quite breaking even yet and it all will all cost more than my allowance provides.” Vanessa practically chattered.

  “Oh.”

  “You’ll be moving away.” The grating voice continued. “Mama doesn’t want to stay in Iowa. She likes the coasts. Can’t imagine why she’s here yet, other than Timmy’s kids. And Timmy Junior hates this house. Especially now that Daddy died here. But always.”

  That almost went without saying. The old family home seemed to hold little draw for the family. Gatherings for holidays were held at Godfrey and Dorthea’s spanking new condo. Even though the estate had been Timmy and Vanessa’s home, Timothy and Palmer’s before them, and Godfrey’s before that. Maybe the family didn’t appreciate all the changes Timothy had been making, bringing the early twentieth century home up to the environmentally green wisdom of the early twenty-first century.

  Vanessa continued. “Palmer and Therese don’t need it. Dorthea and Godfrey won’t want such a huge place again. They were glad to be out of it.” Neither of Timothy’s children had been encouraged to address his parents by any of the affectionate names common to grandparents.

  Elise g
rew restive. She didn’t care what happened to the house. “I’m leaving now. Please leash Jeff before you take him in.”

  On the short trip to the animal hospital she reflected on how the Ambersons dealt with a family tragedy. Very oddly, she decided.

  Mutt was ecstatic to see Elise, just as ecstatic to see Jeff and Vanessa, and absolutely overjoyed to catch a glimpse of one of the veterinary assistants.

  “Been pining away for us, haven’t you,” Elise told him, scooping the bundle of tangled vibrancy into her arms.

  A smiling vet—different than the one she’d spoken to this morning—introduced herself and dug affectionate fingers in Mutt’s fur. “He’s a favorite here. Loves us all and we all love him. It will be hard to let him go tomorrow, Mrs. Amberson.”

  “You still think he needs to stay overnight?”

  “We’d like to get one more treatment into those little lungs. You can pick him up first thing in the morning, to the disappointment of the entire staff.”

  Elise, Jeff, and Vanessa walked out into the afternoon sun. “I can’t believe it isn’t already tomorrow morning.” Elise shaded her eyes at the glare. “This day has lasted at least thirty-six hours.” If she thought Vanessa’s gregarious mood of earlier would continue, she was wrong. Timothy’s daughter climbed up into the cab of her pickup.

  “Daddy had a packet for me. Family papers. I think at the house because he said he kept them close. He told me when he died I would be caretaker. Godfrey says it isn’t in the office and I haven’t been able to find it. Do you know where it might be?”

  “What do you mean? How many times have you been rummaging around, looking? I do still live in that house, remember.”

  The woman shrugged solid shoulders. “I stopped on the way to the funeral.”

  Vanessa had arrived for the visitation only at the very end, but Elise had assumed this to be typical Vanessa behavior.

  “I wouldn’t mention it except Daddy never talked to me in a personal way. He said Timmy wouldn’t be able to decide what to do with them but he trusted my judgment.” Her voice had softened, but only for a second. “Keep an eye out.” And she roared away.

  Ambersons had been crawling all over the house looking for papers and packets and folders yesterday. Elise couldn’t wait to move out of the place.

  As she unlocked the front door and disarmed the alarm, nothing but profound silence greeted her. Jeff, suddenly tired and dispirited, had none of Mutt’s boisterous vocals. Timothy used to play jazz through the sound system his father had installed. He considered television the medium of the undereducated, and tolerated only the one in the kitchen on the main level. Their twice-a-week cleaning woman watched it on her lunch break. Elise could turn on the music. But at this moment she wanted nothing more than to put her feet up and watch some utterly mindless and very noisy program. Jeff stared pointedly at his empty dish so she filled it and pulled an ancient rocker over to the television.

  The remote was nowhere. Not by the television, in a nearby drawer or on top of the refrigerator. Seized by an almost febrile need for televised entertainment, Elise tore through every drawer and cupboard in search of the elusive remote, then tried to turn the TV on without it. She couldn’t find a power button, much less a knob to change channels. The glassy black screen reflected her own irritated image. And a face leering over her shoulder.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Nigh and nigh draws the chase,

  With unperturbèd pace,

  Deliberate speed, majestic instancy

  “The Hound of Heaven,” Lines 105-107

  For the second time that day Elise screamed. She was afraid to turn around, either from fear the face would still be there, or would be gone. Gathering courage, she peered again at the television. A hand had joined the face and waved, a jaunty sort of wave. Stevie Wonder, boy detective, stood outside her kitchen window, pointing to the door.

  That’s when she saw the remote. As black, thin and glossy as the television, and attached by some voodoo to the back of the set. Elise wanted to throw it right at Steven Bly.

  “What?” She mouthed it at the window, refusing to move. Maybe he would go away.

  “Can I come in?” He mouthed back.

  “No!”

  He smiled and jabbed a finger toward the door. Jeff glanced briefly from his dog dish but saw nothing requiring his immediate attention. Elise scowled at him. “Heaven help me if Jack the Ripper ever shows up at feeding time.”

  Opening the door only enough to fit her nose, Elise didn’t bother with civilities. “Why are you here, Steve? And how?”

  “Your father-in-law gave me a remote for the gates. And I had a couple of questions. I called you but you didn’t answer. I left a message but you didn’t call back.”

  She glared, shut the door and marched to the phone, assigning Godfrey and Steven to adjoining rooms in the ninth circle of Hades. The light blinked. One missed phone call. One message. Still glaring, she shoved open the door another foot and stood aside for him to enter.

  “Don’t you want to listen to the message?”

  “I have to listen to you ask questions. Why hear your voice any more than I need to?”

  She hadn’t intended offering him a seat but he spied the old rocker, the one she should be on right now watching reruns of some happy show, and made a beeline.

  “I’m dead tired. Did you know we have a crime wave in Des Moines? Two shootings this week. Could be gang-related.”

  “So you’re here to tell me some gangster hit Timothy with a rock?”

  Steven laughed and settled back in the chair, rocking with approval. “They don’t make them like this anymore. No, Mrs. Amberson. I don’t think someone killed your husband because he got in the way of a turf war, or owed money to drug lords. By the way, the autopsy came back clean as a whistle, outside elevated blood alcohol levels. He was a healthy man. Took care of himself.” He watched her keenly. “You are as cool as a cucumber on ice, Elise. Seems you had a bit more fire under the hood in high school. Or a few minutes ago, for that matter.”

  “Honestly. You’re suspicious because I didn’t fall to pieces at the mention of the autopsy? You need to understand something right now. My relationship with my husband wasn’t a storybook romance. But I’m not happy he’s dead. I find it hard to believe someone killed him, but if so, whoever did it needs to be found.”

  “Oh, your husband was murdered. No doubt about it.”

  “That is wrong on so many levels. Timothy fully expected he would be the one to decide when his time would come.”

  Steven Bly nodded solemnly, then pounced. “Did you know we got a tip you’d been arguing?”

  “The family couldn’t wait to tell me.”

  “We received permission to search the grounds—”

  Elise couldn’t help herself. “From Godfrey, I imagine. Did he volunteer to give you a tour?”

  “—and found several rocks large enough to inflict so much damage. Only one had traces of blood and tissue. And while it might have dislodged from one of the multitude of earthquakes we get here in central Iowa and hurtled right at your husband’s head, I doubt it tried to wipe itself off and tuck itself in the statue of a little girl watering some weeds.”

  “Native grasses.” Her automatic response covered her shock. “Sounds deliberate, doesn’t it?”

  “It sounds as though someone kept their head. The rock was too big to haul out in a pants pocket. Might have attracted attention, even so late at night. It’s pretty well-lit all around the outside of the fence. Police patrol regularly.”

  He rocked and, like Russell, seemed fascinated by his surroundings. “Not the sort of kitchen I’d expect from the outside of the house. Are the rest of the rooms so…so—”

  “Muddled? No. The kitchen seemed the logical place for Timothy to begin saving the planet.”

  “Hmmmm. He didn’t want to start with the black behemoth sitting in the driveway?”

  “My husband was a very practical man. Walk into the g
arage, and you’ll see his hybrid. Lucky for him the dogs preferred my big old gas-guzzler to his sixty-thousand dollar little number. And truthfully, I don’t mind feeling bigger than everyone when I drive.”

  Steven rocked and rocked. Elise wanted to tip the chair over backward. “Mrs. Amberson, who knew about the opening under the statue?”

  She couldn’t read the man. One minute he treated her like an old acquaintance, the next as just another suspect, and at no time did he ever relax his observation. The time had come to play nice. She pulled a low chair for herself from the breakfast nook so she wouldn’t tower above him.

  “The family knew. The statue is supposed to be of Timothy’s daughter, Vanessa. She was an adorable little girl—I’ve seen photos. Her mother Patrice commissioned it, and one of Timmy, when she was designing the rock garden. Timmy hated his statue. It made him cry and they moved it. But Vanessa loved her twin. That’s what she called it. Patrice had the stonemasons form up that little cavity behind a dummy front so Vanessa could hide treasures. You pivot it to get at the hollow. But I guess you know that.”

  “We did. It’s well-constructed but not impossible to spot.”

  “I know. I found it the first time I walked through the garden. It annoyed Timothy a bit, I think. He couldn’t stand his first wife but wanted to make sure I knew she was a superior sort of woman.”

  “You’re prettier.”

  “Why, Detective Bly. Are you trying to catch me off guard?”

  “No. I deal in facts. She’s still well kept up. And she was a looker back when.” He chuckled. “I saw pictures too. But not many girls in high school could hold a candle to you and now there are even fewer.”

  Elise didn’t know how to answer and for once didn’t try.

  “Everyone expected you to marry Christopher. No one expected you to marry Timothy Amberson. Not that you’re not good enough for the family. Actually, most of us thought you were too good for them.” Her modest thanks dried up when he added, “Now I’m not so sure.”