by Holly Dey
“Guinevere! Stop that!”
PC didn’t have any kind of donkey equipment–not a halter, not a lead rope, not even a dog leash in her car. She grabbed a fat handful of mane and tugged. The jenny was unmoved. PC leaned against Guinevere and pushed. The donkey swished her tail but didn’t so much as twitch a hoof. Gwen was not going to budge without some type of guidance and encouragement. The detective ran her hand through her close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair.
I can’t believe I’m going to do this. After a visual recon, she reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, then pulled each strap out from under her sleeves. It would have been a lot easier with a summer shirt. Using the undergarment as a loop around Guinevere’s neck, she tugged and pushed. The donkey didn’t budge.
“Gwen. Please work with me here. I’m trying to keep you alive long enough for my mother to get home. Please.”
PC pulled Guinevere’s head to one side. The donkey took a step.
Finally! She’s moving. “Good girl. Come on. Let’s go home.”
Another witness check. So far, so good. They were almost to the curb. She’d have to come back for the car once she got the donkey back to her mother’s. A beige Lincoln Towncar turned onto 14th street. PC looked down. With any luck, the driver wouldn’t notice the bra’s cups sticking up behind Guinevere’s head like a second set of ears.
And that’s where her luck ran out.
The car pulled into the driveway. A white-haired man got out and glared at her.
“What in tarnation?”
PC forced a smile. If you have to walk through Hell, walk like you own the place. “You must be Mr. Parker.”
“Who are you, and what are you doing with that jackass?” He squinted and tilted his head. “Is that a black brassiere on that donkey’s neck?”
“Yes, sir. That’s exactly what it is. I’m Rose Donovan’s daughter, and I’ve been taking care of her pets while she’s in the hospital.”
Parker chortled. “I shoulda known you’d be Rose’s daughter. You Donovan women are crazy. You must be Primrose. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear. But most people call me PC.” She cleared her throat. “I’m really sorry about your rose bush. I can—”
He laughed again. “It’s almost February.”
PC blinked. What does that mean?
Parker raised his eyebrows. “Gotta prune ‘em before Valentine’s day. The harder I cut ‘em back, the more they bloom.”
So, all this was for nothing? He didn’t care? “My sister was in a panic because she thought you were going to shoot Guinevere if you caught her in your roses again.”
“Bah! Sure, I might dust her butt with some rock salt to send her home. But I’d never hurt Gwenny. You kidding me? Your mother would have my head on a plate if I ever did any harm to one of her pets.”
Leave it to Daisy to get hysterical about nothing. When would I stop believing her?
Guinevere stretched out her neck and let out a long, ear-piercing ee-awww-ee-awww-ee-awww.
“I should probably get her back home. I’ve got to go pick up Mama.”
“She’s coming home today? Well, I’ll be. Glad to hear that. You tell her the Parkers send their best, now won’t you?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do that.”
He gave another look at Gwen’s lacy neck strap and chuckled his way into the house.
PC turned to the donkey with a withering look. “Alright, let’s get this walk of shame over with.”
Guinevere seemed happy enough to get back in her pen. Her one-eyed friend, Arthur, brayed to her before he came trotting up. Hazel, the three-legged goat, pogoed from the back of the paddock, mmmaaaa-mmaaa-ing. Even Clementine, the big orange Orpington hen, left the flock of smaller chickens to run over and see what was going on.
PC released Guinevere from her lingerie bondage and stepped inside to re-harness herself. The bra–that had been her last clean one this morning–was covered in donkey hair. She gave it a quick shake and got dressed.
Bong! Bong!
She didn’t even have to glance at the grandfather clock to know she should have left ten minutes ago. And she still had to jog back to the car.
PC caught a strong whiff of eau de Guinevere as she got out of the SUV, but there was nothing she could do about it now. It wasn’t too bad during the short walk from her RAV4 to the center’s double doors. Maybe they wouldn’t even notice.
She checked with the nurse’s station, and the discharge paperwork was ready for her signature. She picked up the pen on top of the folder. The nurse’s nose twitched as she raised her head and scanned the area.
PC focused on the pen. Click. Sign. Initial. Initial. How many initials are there? This was worse than buying a car. Click. Rose was now officially in her custody.
The nurse took the paperwork and tucked PC’s yellow copy into the discharge folder. “Yes, ma’am. If you hurry, you’ll catch the doctor.”
PC strode down the corridor. Laughter bubbled out through her mother’s partially open door.
“… Hazel’s only got three legs, you know, but lordy, you shoulda seen her on that trampoline. That goat is something else.”
Rose guffawed, and a male voice chuckled politely.
PC pushed the door all the way open. “Mama? How are you feeling? About ready to go?” She extended her hand to the man standing next to her mother’s wheelchair. “Dr. Thompson.”
“Miss Donovan. I was just telling your mother here that she needs to walk every day. If there is any swelling or fever, bring her in as soon as possible. Don’t hesitate to take her to the ER if it’s after hours. She’ll need to come back in two weeks for her six-week visit, then for a three-month checkup. Most patients are fully recovered at three months, but a few do take longer.”
Three months? But I hadn’t planned to be in Possumwood that long. “Can I schedule that with the nurse on the way out?”
“No, you’ll have to call the office tomorrow. Priscilla does all the scheduling, and she’s out today. All the information is in the discharge packet.”
Rose reached out and took the doctor’s hand. “Oh, Dr. Thompson, I’m going to miss you. You’re just cute as a bug. And my Primrose, she’s single.”
PC’s cheeks flamed, and she wanted to crawl out the window. “Mama, you’ll see him again in two weeks.” Maybe Daisy can bring you. On second thought, that might be an even worse idea. Daisy’s the biggest flirt in Possumwood. PC looked at Dr. Thompson’s face without really making eye contact. “Sorry about that.”
Then she tucked the discharge folder into the side of the chair, put her head down and wheeled her mother out the door. The collapsible cane that hung from one grip on the chair banged into her thigh with every step, but she ignored it. At least the plastic bag of Rose’s laundry and toiletries that hung on the other handle wasn’t going to leave a bruise. She just wanted to get out of the rehab center before her mother tried to fix her up with anyone else.
“Would you like me to push?” A nurse in pink scrubs asked. “I have to walk you to the door, anyway.” She smiled.
“No thanks, I’m fine.”
“Mrs. Donovan has kept us entertained with her stories about her animals.”
“I’m sure she has.” Tennies squeaked on the tile.
PC glanced down at the top of her mother’s head as she moved along. Something was different. Was just the light?
“Mama? When did you get lavender streaks in your hair?”
Rose cackled. “You like ‘em? They took me down to the beauty shop this morning, since I was being discharged.”
“They’re certainly colorful.”
“I think they’re beautiful,” the nurse chimed in.
“Mmmm.”
She’d seen hair like that before. Two years ago. Decedent had her hair bleached white, then added lavender streaks. She’d been stabbed thirty-seven times by her soon-to-be-ex-husband. Beautiful hair, the parts that weren’t soaked in blo
od. PC remembered them all, each lifeless face that represented a death investigation. She shook herself to come back to the present.
The trio arrived at the front door.
The RN gestured to Rose. “I’ll wait here with Mrs. Donovan, so you can go get the car.”
“Be back in a minute.”
PC pulled her SUV under the portico and got out to help Rose into the car. Once she was buckled in and her cane stowed, the detective took a deep breath and started the vehicle. The pink-clad nurse waved from behind the empty wheelchair as they drove away. Rose blew her a kiss.
“Have you been collecting those eggs for Justice to take to the farmer’s market?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“The green and blue ones get two dollars more a dozen than the regular ones. My girls are the only ones in town that lay after October. They shouldn’t go to waste just because I’m laid up.”
“Mmm. Chickens are all good. Your friend’s been picking up the eggs every other afternoon.”
Rose reached over and turned up the heat a notch. “And what about the cats? Sometimes Felix gets colicky when the weather turns.”
“All fine.” PC had been taking the don’t-ask-don’t-tell approach to Guinevere’s morning adventure.
“What about Hazel? Has she needed a blanket? I didn’t keep up with the weather much. There was a lot of medication at first.”
I know. “Hazel’s fine. Hasn’t been cold.”
Down to the donkeys. Which one would she pick first?
“Has Guinevere been taking good care of Arthur? She’s his seeing-eye donkey, but sometimes they get into a spat. Just like an old married couple.”
“Mostly.” Except for the part where she made a run for the roses.
“Good.” Rose looked out the window for a moment, then turned back toward her daughter. “Mostly?” Suspicion tinged her voice.
“Mr. and Mrs. Parker send you their best.”
“Primrose Corvina! I told you have to push the slider all the way through and make sure the latch is all the way down. Guinevere can’t get her lip over the latch if you do that, but she can open the slider in her sleep. She could have been stolen. Or hit by a car. Anything could have happened…”
“But it didn’t. She ate a few roses, and I brought her home. Everybody’s happy.” I’m not sixteen anymore, Mama.
“Well, I’m grateful for that.” She crossed her arms and turned her head away from PC to sulk out the passenger window.
Memorial City Mall flew by, then the Sam Houston Tollway. They were only a few freeway exits from the Houston city limits. PC was going to have to do something to appease her mother before they got home, or she would grump around the house the rest of the day.
“Mama, you want to stop at that new Brandee’s? We could get some fudge and kettle corn.” Appealing to her mother’s sweet tooth rarely failed.
Rose sighed. “Well, I guess I wouldn’t mind havin’ a coke.”
PC held an armful of fudge, popcorn, assorted baked goods and two bottles of soda water. They’d been here half an hour already, while Rose read each and every tee-shirt, perused the cookbooks, tried samples of hand lotions, and inspected Texas-shaped cast iron skillets.
“What about this? Might go good in the living room.”
“Do you really need a mirror mosaic-encrusted cow skull clock?”
“Maybe not. But I do need some of that peach jalepeño jelly.”
After nearly an hour, they were back on the road, Rose clutching her cow skull-free bag of goodies in her lap. They each had a soft drink in the center console and the open road beckoned. Born to be mild.
Rose crinkled her nose and sniffed. “What’s that smell?”
“I don’t know. What does it smell like?”
“Kinda horsey.”
Thanks for that hair in my bra, Gwen. PC shrugged. “Mmm.”
A few minutes later, she exited the freeway and headed north on FM 999. She’d always thought it sounded like a radio station–smooth jazz?–but instead of Frequency Modulation, the FM was a much less glamorous Farm to Market.
Rose took a big swig of her drink. “Getting closer.”
“I’m sure all the critters’ll be happy to see you.”
“Not as happy as I’ll be to see them.”
Flooded rice fields shimmered on the left side of the road. A large flock of snow geese floated like heavy pack ice a hundred yards from the pavement. Smaller, darker islands of ducks staked out their own territory a little closer to the highway. Cattle sifted through brown winter grass on the right, probably hoping the clover would sprout soon. She almost ran off the road when she saw a pack of llamas grazing near the fence. A little further on, there was a wooden billboard near a gate. A grinning white goat provided the backdrop for the lettering: Glenda’s Fibers * All natural * Alpaca * Angora * Camel * Cashmere * Roving * Hand Dyed Yarn. An auxiliary sign was tacked on to one corner of the billboard: Now Open! Gift shop * Tea Room * Classes Available. She wondered how many people came out to the middle of nowhere for afternoon tea.
Thirty-five minutes later, they pulled into Rose’s driveway. Daisy’s car was parked in the street. She and one of her strapping sons stood in the yard, holding a poster that probably said, “Welcome home, Rose!” But it appeared to have been hand-written in the car on the way there, and looked more like “Wehusre husre, Rusc!”
PC got out first and unfolded the floral print cane before she opened Rose’s door. Daisy came over and got in the way so their mother couldn’t get out of the car. Tyson remained in the yard, cell phone in one hand, and the now-folded poster tucked under his other arm.
“Daisy. Can you just stand over here?” PC gestured towards the rear bumper of her SUV. “And hold this.” She shoved the cane into her sister’s hand.
PC held onto the door while her mother pulled herself out of the seat. She was a little stiff and unsteady at first, but once she had her cane, she was a lot more stable.
“Oh, Mama! I’m so glad you’re home!” Her younger daughter nearly bowled her over with a hug. As Rose struggled to regain her balance, Daisy chirped, “And you know who else is back in town? Heather Micah!”
PC shook her head. What has Possumwood done to deserve that?
Chapter 3
Rose’s forehead wrinkled. “Why on earth is she back here? Her mama died years ago, and her sister moved to Wichita Falls.”
PC shrugged. “Looking for a cheap place to retire?”
Daisy’s eyes widened and her mouth formed a little circle. “Wouldn’t that be something? A real-life celebrity right here in Possumwood!”
A D-List celebrity. “The community theater group might—”
“Of course! People would drive out from Houston to see her.” Daisy clasped her hands together.
Doubtful. “You don’t even know how long she’ll be here. She may just be passing through on her way to visit her sister.”
Daisy planted her hands on her hips. “You’re always such a Negative Nelly.”
“Her biggest claim to fame was being the last one to die in that slasher movie. The one with the machete guy. Can’t think of the name of it. And that was years ago.” I never watch horror films. Spent too much of my job cleaning up the aftermath of real-life monsters.
“Would you two stop? Primrose, you’ve got the front door key, right?” Rose was making her way up the wheelchair ramp PC had had installed while her mother was in rehab. It was the only major modification she’d made to the house. She’d wanted to keep the work local and discovered a man she’d gone to school K-12 with, Bart Denton, owned a handyman service company. He and his son had done a superb job, and PC had enjoyed catching up with her former classmate while his son and a helper did most of the work.
The detective jogged up the three steps to the porch and unlocked the door.
Daisy looked at her son, standing transfixed by his phone in the grass, and huffed. “Tyson! Come over here and help your grandma. I raised you to be a gentleman!”<
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He hurried over, but Rose was already inside.
PC tossed her nephew the keys. “Tyson, would you please get that bag of laundry from the back seat?”
Seemingly grateful for a respite from his mother’s disapproving glare, he scurried toward the car.
PC’s dog capered and whined, wagging his entire body in excitement.
“Cordite! Be careful. You’re going to knock Mama over, you silly dog.” She tried to corral the furry menace, but he danced out of her arms.
Daisy scowled. PC was well aware that she didn’t allow dogs inside her house and made sure everyone knew that. Her sister had not inherited the more-the-merrier gene regarding pets. Which was not necessarily a bad thing. Now that PC wasn’t working crazy hours, she could be a budding cat lady. Or, more likely, a dog lady.
She had to dodge around furniture to keep up with Rose, who was headed straight through the house to the back yard to see the outdoor pets. A generously sized cat door led to a screened-in back porch, and that’s where the felines spent most of their time.
“Felix! Marmalade! Sylvester! Chirp!”
The calico came trotting over, but the others ignored Rose, punishing her for being away, as cats so often do.
“Primrose, get me that box of cat treats from the pantry.” She leaned over and scratched the undersized orange, black, and white cat. “Hello, Chirp! It’s good to see you, too.”
Who keeps cat treats in the pantry? PC hurried into the kitchen to look for them. She scanned each shelf but saw nothing cat-related. She slowed down and looked again. No joy. She turned and noticed a bright turquoise box poking out of the trash, begging for her attention.
She picked it up and examined it more closely. “Morsels!” in a bright yellow script floated above a picture of variously shaped rice crackers. PC had eaten them with a Greek salad last night. She’d needed just a little something crunchy to go with it, and the open box of crackers seemed perfect. They were okay–a little too fishy for her taste, though.
The light caught the much smaller font at the bottom of the box. “Cats can’t get enough!”