Monkey See, Monkey Die

by Cynthia Baxter

  The man didn’t exactly get a tattoo, I thought. Still, I supposed it was a nice gesture.

  At that point, Nick stood up and began collecting dishes to bring to the sink. I cast him an apologetic look, then geared up for another attempt at cutting her off. But to add insult to injury, at that moment I got a beep through call waiting. Sunday morning was no time to be so popular.

  When I glanced at caller ID, however, I recognized the area code on the screen. It belonged to Jack Krieger, the close friend of Ben Chandler’s from our vet school days who I’d been anxious to speak with.

  My heart began to pound for reasons that had nothing to do with Kieran O’Malley’s many outstanding attributes.

  “Suzanne,” I interrupted, “I’m really happy for you. But right now, I have to—”

  “This afternoon, he’s taking me to a friend’s house for a barbecue,” she gurgled. “Another trooper who’s in the canine unit. Jessie, do you believe that he’s already introducing me to his friends?”

  “Suzanne, I have to hang up now,” I insisted as the second call-waiting beep sounded. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have another call and I really have to take it.”

  I might as well have been trying to use logic on Leilani. “Next week,” she gushed, “we’re going to—”

  “Good-bye, Suzanne,” I said firmly. “I’ll call you later.”

  With that, I clicked a magic button and all of a sudden found myself talking to Jack instead of Suzanne.

  “Jack?” I began. “Thanks for calling me back. I wasn’t sure you’d remember me.”

  “Of course I remember you, Jessie.”

  As soon as I heard his calm, almost monotonic voice, I experienced total recall. In fact, it was hard to believe that a solid decade had passed since I’d last spoken to him.

  “It was nice to hear from you,” he continued in the same unhurried way. “Too bad it’s because of such a tragedy.”

  “So you heard about Erin,” I said. “I wasn’t sure if you knew.”

  “Yeah. Kenny Storch called me. Remember him? I think he heard about it from Sarah Cleary, who was also in our class. Word travels fast.” He was silent for a long time before adding, “Pretty awful, isn’t it? Did you go to the funeral?”

  “Erin’s family didn’t want anything public. They just had a small family thing.” Choosing my words carefully, I added, “If there had been a funeral, I would have let you know, since you might have wanted to come down for it. I remember that you and Ben were really close.”

  “Yeah, we were,” he replied. “For a while anyway.”

  Something in his voice told me that he still hadn’t gotten over whatever it was that had ruined their friendship. Which made me more curious than ever about what that had been.

  “Looking back,” I continued, “it seems kind of surprising that you and Ben were such good friends back in vet school. Ben was so outgoing. Brash even. And you were so much more introverted. I guess what I mean is that the two of you were so different.”

  “More than you know,” he said under his breath.

  This struck me as the perfect time to pounce.

  “Jack,” I said hesitantly, “I always wondered what happened between the two of you. You and Ben were inseparable for years, and then suddenly it all just fell apart.”

  He was silent for what seemed like a very long time. Finally, he said, “Yeah, that sounds like a pretty accurate description.”

  “I suppose your differences finally started getting in the way,” I went on, still fishing. “As time goes on, people grow apart—”

  He let out a contemptuous snort. “If only it was that simple. The real problem was that Ben Chandler turned out to be a cheat.”

  “What?” I cried, prompting Nick to glance over at me questioningly.

  “You heard me,” Jack said. He hesitated before saying, “His true nature finally came out, thanks to the Pharmacology final.”

  “I—I don’t understand.”

  “Look, enough time has gone by that I might as well be honest about what happened at the end of our final year. Basically, Ben claimed he was so busy studying for all his other exams that he just didn’t have time to study for that one.” Jack’s voice was dripping with so much acrimony that it was hard to believe he was describing something that had taken place ten years earlier. “I remember him saying that that was no reason for him to flunk out and be forced to give up his dream of becoming a veterinarian.

  “The night before the Pharm final, Ben came to my room,” he continued. “I don’t know if you remember, but he and I were sharing a house with a couple of other guys. It was late, probably one or two in the morning. I was still up, trying to stuff as much information into my head as I could. Ben knocked on my door, and when I opened it, he looked really upset. When I asked him what was wrong, he told me that if he didn’t find a way to pass the Pharm final, he wasn’t going to graduate.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I offered to help him cram for the test,” Jack replied matter-of-factly. “I said I’d make coffee and the two of us could stay up all night, study until noon the next day if we had to, since that was when the test was scheduled.

  “That was when Ben came inside and closed the door. I knew from the way he was acting that something funny was going on.” He paused. “Once he was sure nobody else in the house could hear, he offered to pay me a thousand dollars if I’d let him cheat off me during the test.”

  I gasped. Nick abandoned the dishes and sat down at the kitchen table again, the muscles in his face tense.

  “I said no, of course,” Jack said bitterly. “In fact, I told him in no uncertain terms where he could stick his thousand bucks.”

  “But Ben graduated with the rest of us,” I pointed out.

  “Yup.” In a steely voice, he said, “I always figured he found somebody else who needed that thousand bucks a lot more than I did.

  “After the exam,” he continued with the same rancor, “Ben couldn’t look me in the eye. In fact, we never spoke again. Not that it mattered to me.” Almost as if he was thinking aloud, he added, “At least he had the sense to be embarrassed that I finally knew him for who he really was.”

  “What about Erin?” I asked gently. “Did she ever find out about this?”

  “She didn’t hear anything about it from me,” Jack replied. “And the next thing I knew, the two of them announced that they were getting married right after graduation.”

  He was silent for a long time. “Maybe I should have said something to her. At the time, I guess I figured it wasn’t my place. But to be perfectly honest, I thought the world of Erin. At first, I was happy that Ben got himself such a prize. But by the time they decided to get married, I was convinced he didn’t deserve her. Erin was pretty amazing. Much too good for that jerk.”

  I realized then that Jack had also cared deeply for Erin, perhaps even more deeply than he felt Ben’s best friend should have. But that was a subject I couldn’t bring myself to pursue.

  “Jessie,” he asked in a strained voice, “do you think things might have gone differently if I’d spoken up? For Erin, I mean.”

  “I honestly don’t know,” I told him.

  But I was thinking, Maybe they would have, Jack. And they might also have gone differently for you.

  The news about Ben Chandler’s true character gnawed at me all day. Even Nick’s contention that there was a big difference between cheating on an exam and murdering someone didn’t do much to comfort me.

  I was still trying to come to grips with what Jack had told me about Erin’s husband that evening, when I found myself with some downtime. Nick was in the shower, Max was gnawing on his poor pink plastic poodle, and Tinkerbell was stalking a dust bunny.

  Lou, meanwhile, was playing Hide the Tennis Ball Under the Couch. Even though I knew he’d soon be summoning me, barking the command, “Jessie, retrieve!” I curled up on the couch with Cat beside me and turned on my laptop. I e-mailed a few veterinarians I
knew in the area, including Marcus Scruggs, asking for the name of a good animal behaviorist who might be capable of helping a really bad opera singer who’d been reincarnated as a beagle.

  Then I checked my inbox, relieved to see that as usual the weekend had been quiet. When I spotted an e-mail from Betty, I let out a joyful yelp. She’d had a couple of days to settle in at her Tuscan villa, and I was looking forward to her report on how her honeymoon was going. Especially since it was such a crowded one.

  Greetings, Jessica—or as we say in Tuscany, Saluti!

  Tutto sta andando bene—which means everything here in Italy is going just fabulously! Even though we just got here, we’ve already grown accustomed to living in the lap of luxury, Italian style. We’re staying in a gorgeous white stucco villa with a red tile roof, overlooking the rolling hills of la Toscana. It has a huge swimming pool, exquisite gardens, and a charming patio that’s perfect for dining by moonlight. Molto romantico!

  It’s so lovely having Winston’s children with us. It’s the first chance they’ve really had to get to know me, and me them. We all sit down to breakfast together every morning. Then we usually take a day trip together. There’s so much to see in la Toscana bella! Best of all, Fiona seems to be having a wonderful time. What a dear child! I treasure the time she and I get to spend together.

  Better run, since there’s so much to do. My best to both you and Nick—and of course Cat, Tinkerbell, Max, Lou, Prometheus, and Leilani. As for my darling Frederick, please give him a big hug and tell him I miss him terribly!

  Hugs and kisses,

  Betty

  I let out a deep sigh of relief. Thank goodness Betty and Winston’s honeymoon is working out after all, I thought. In fact, it even sounded as if Betty was enjoying all that company.

  By this point, I’d gotten a response to one of the e-mails I’d sent to other vets I knew. I printed out the name and phone number of a behaviorist, who fortunately happened to live nearby.

  I planned to put it to very good use.

  Even though Monday was jam-packed with appointments, I made the time to squeeze in a quick visit to the Drayton household. And I purposely scheduled my detour into their neighborhood in Walt Whitman Hills in the late afternoon, hoping that by then Nicole would be home from school. On my way, I dropped Sunny off at the cottage to perform some more of her organizational magic. This was one house call I wanted to make alone.

  As I pulled up in front of the Draytons’ eyesore of a house, I noticed that the silver Maserati was gone. In its place was a white Mercedes. I wasn’t familiar with the various models the Mercedes-Benz company produced, but I had a feeling this was one of their higher-priced buggies.

  As I neared the front door, Maggie’s ear-piercing howls shattered the silence of the otherwise quiet residential street, as the heavy wooden front door did very little to muffle the sound.

  At least the Draytons’ beagle hasn’t been cured of her bad habits in the last forty-eight hours, I observed. A good thing, too, since it’s those very habits that are providing me with the excuse I need for paying a second visit.

  The cacophonous canine chorus continued as the door opened. But at least it was Nicole who answered the door. This time, instead of wearing expensive pre-ripped jeans that cost even more than the unripped ones, she was dressed in a school uniform that consisted of a gray blazer and a gray-and-navy-blue plaid skirt. She stood in the doorway, stooping over with her fingers looped around the errant beagle’s collar.

  “Quiet, you stupid dog!” she cried, her shrill voice almost as irritating as Maggie’s barks.

  Once she focused her attention on me, a look of confusion crossed her face. “Can I help you with—oh, that’s right. You were here on Saturday.”

  “That’s right,” I said cheerfully. “I’m Jessie Popper. The veterinarian, remember?”

  “Right.” But she still looked confused about why I was standing on her doorstep.

  “I offered to get you the name and number of a good animal behaviorist,” I reminded her. “Somebody who could help you break Maggie of her howling problem. I found somebody, but then I realized I didn’t have your phone number. I was on my way to a house call just now that happened to take me right through your neighborhood, so I figured I’d stop by and see if you were home.”

  “Great,” she said. “We could sure use some help with this monster.”

  As if to emphasize just how true that statement was, the unruly beagle’s howls got even higher and louder.

  “Can I come in?” I yelled over the noise.

  “I guess.”

  Nicole retreated inside the house, dragging Maggie by her collar and commanding her to be quiet. Not surprisingly, her words had absolutely no effect.

  Fortunately, once the novelty of a newcomer’s arrival wore off, the beagle’s howls quieted down enough that Nicole and I could finally hear each other.

  “Here you go,” I said, handing her an index card on which I’d written the animal behaviorist’s name and phone number. “This is someone a friend of mine recommended, so she’s probably pretty good.”

  “Thanks,” Nicole said, glancing at the card. “Now all I have to do is get my dad to spring for it.” Sullenly, she added, “I’ll start working on Darla as soon as she gets back from her stupid Pilates class. You see, the trick is to get her to ask him, instead of me. He never says no to her.”

  My ears pricked up. The more I learned about the dynamics of the Drayton household, the more intriguing they seemed.

  “So . . . is there anything else I need to know?” Nicole asked. “About this animal whatever-you-call-it, I mean.”

  She had apparently realized that there was no reason for me to continue standing in her living room. So I did some fast thinking.

  “Before I go, could I trouble you for a glass of water?” Fanning my face with my hand, I noted, “It’s pretty hot out there.”

  “No problem.”

  Nicole disappeared into the back of house, with Maggie trotting after her. I took advantage of being alone to do some exploring.

  Interesting, I thought as I wandered through the room, my eyes darting around as if I was a member of a S.W.A.T. team. There’s not a book or a magazine or even a newspaper in the place. Even the shelves are covered with expensive-looking collectibles, rather than anything containing the printed word.

  I also noticed that there was scarcely anything personal in the room. Like Ben and Erin’s house, the Draytons’ residence looked as if it was some designer’s dream. I got the feeling this grand living room was simply waiting for someone from Architectural Digest to come by and photograph it.

  I was actually startled when I happened upon something that indicated a real, live family dwelled within these rooms. The floor-to-ceiling shelves tucked away in a back corner of the living room were lined with photographs, most of them in silver frames. One was a photo of a little girl—Nicole, no doubt—all dressed up in a pink ruffled party dress. Another was a picture of Maggie when she was still a puppy. A third was a shot of Darla, lounging on the family yacht in a skimpy black bikini.

  I picked up the fourth photograph, the one featuring Nicole standing next to a balding middle-aged businessman in a red polo shirt. His arm was draped around her shoulders and they were both grinning at the camera. Behind them stood a low, ramshackle building that looked like a stable, with a large grassy field stretching out beyond.

  “I didn’t know what kind of water you wanted,” Nicole said as she returned, this time holding a glass. “We have Perrier, San Pellegrino, Evian . . . this is Evian.”

  Tap water would have been just fine, but I accepted the glass without comment.

  “Thanks, Nicole.” Glancing at the photograph in my hand, I commented, “I was just looking at this photo of you and your father. That is your dad, right?”

  She glanced over my shoulder. “Yeah. That’s him.”

  “It looks as if this was taken at a stable. Do you ride?”

  “I used to,�
� Nicole replied dully. “My dad too. It was something we did together every Sunday. There’s a stable nearby where we would rent the same horses every week. They were our favorites.”

  As I put the photograph back, I commented, “It must be nice, being so close to your father.”

  She shrugged. “We’re not that close anymore. In fact, these days, we hardly spend any time together.”

  “I guess once a girl gets to be a teenager, she doesn’t have much time for her parents anymore,” I observed.

  “It’s not me who has no time,” she shot back. “It’s him. And it’s all because of that wicked witch he married.”

  I wasn’t surprised by her comment, since Darla Drayton hadn’t exactly struck me as the type of person who would spend her afternoons baking cookies with her stepdaughter in order to create goodwill. In fact, she exuded about as much warmth as this house.

  “I guess it’s not easy getting used to a stepmother,” I observed.

  Nicole snorted. “Not if she’s somebody who wants a stepdaughter about as much as she wants cellulite,” she replied angrily. “Especially since my father is so crazy about her that he doesn’t seem to want his own daughter around either. As soon as she came into the picture a couple of years ago, it was like I ceased to exist. Sometimes I think I should just forget about my friends and my school and move to California, the way my mother did.” Scowling, she added, “Except that she’s just as busy with her new spouse.”

  “I see,” I said quietly. And I did.

  “You wouldn’t believe the way Dad and Darla are living it up,” Nicole continued in the same bitter tone. “You’d think they were Marie Antoinette and King Whatever-his-name-was.”

  It sounds as if Donald and Darla are reveling in their dramatic increase in prosperity, I reflected. Just like Ben and Erin.

  “First came this monstrosity of a house,” Nicole went on. “I mean, honestly. Have you ever seen anything so grotesque in your life? Then my father started buying himself toys like that stupid boat and that stupid car. But that was nothing compared to all the stuff he bought for Darla. Ridiculously gaudy jewelry, designer clothes . . . do you believe she has a pocketbook that cost twelve hundred dollars?”