Not a Werewolf

by Madeline Kirby

  Don took a sip of coffee and stared out the window.

  “The thing is, though, if this is personal...” I put the thought out there.

  “If it’s personal, it’ll be harder to figure out. We don’t know who he knew, or spent time with, or talked to.”

  “Exactly. Maybe if I could talk to Tom...”

  “Don’t even think about it. Even if he wasn’t a suspect – and even more so now if we’re looking for a personal angle – Petreski would have kittens.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about Thrasher?”

  I shook my head. “I’m stumped.”

  “Well, we know Wilton didn’t kill her.”

  “Thanks, Don. That’s helpful.”

  “I’m thinking out loud, here. If she had some kind of connection to Wilton –”

  “Clarence Wilton.”

  “Yeah. So if she had a connection to him, can we assume it got them both killed?”

  “I think we have to assume their deaths are connected. It looks like the same weapon was used.”

  “Oh yeah. Okay.” Don went into the kitchen and poured himself some more coffee.

  “I think we need to focus on Dawn,” I said.

  “Okay. So, we know she was having an affair with Katz.”

  “Too specific. I mean, her personality. We know she had a habit of seducing men and using sex to manipulate them.”

  “Like Katz.”

  “Yeah, yeah, okay. Like Katz. But Katz was already sold on the save the neighborhood message. He was one of the loudest voices. So why would she seduce him?”

  “Lust?”

  “Have you seen Katz? No. Dawn was attractive – if she just wanted sex she could have done way better than Katz. No, she wanted something else from Katz. We just have to figure out what it was.”

  We sat for a few minutes drinking our coffee and staring out the windows. Raymond wasn’t anywhere to be seen this morning – probably because Don was there.

  “Maybe...”

  “What?” Don asked.

  “Okay, this is just a wild guess... but maybe Dawn wanted Clarence dead...”

  “We’ve been thinking that.”

  “Yeah. But if Dawn and Clarence had a past, he would avoid her, maybe. And maybe she wasn’t sure she could do it, or didn’t want to do the actual deed, or whatever. So she somehow manipulated Katz into doing it.”

  “It’s a stretch, but what about Dawn? Why would he kill her?”

  “Taking his own back? Anger at her over using him? Maybe she rejected him and he snapped? That would explain why she let him into her place, why everything was wiped clean, why she would be stabbed so many times. Katz has a temper.”

  “I don’t know...”

  “Yeah. And if Dawn and Clarence had a past, we don’t know about it. But his wife might.”

  “And that would give her a motive.”

  “Unless she’s like Jennifer Katz and just didn’t care.”

  “This is really making my head hurt.”

  ❧

  Tom was back in class on Monday, but he looked like hell. Petreski be damned, I made sure I met up with Tom after class.

  “Hey, Tom,” I called to him and waved when he stepped out of the classroom.

  “Oh. Hi, Jake.” He looked around before coming over to where I was standing. “I’m not sure...”

  Now he was developing scruples?

  “Screw it. You look like you could use a friend today. Let’s go get some lunch.”

  He nodded, and we walked in silence to the food court.

  “I was worried,” I said as we sat down, “when you didn’t show up for class before Spring Break.”

  He poked at a taco on his tray. “Yeah, I guess... I guess it finally hit me, you know? I mean, Dad was a crap dad, and a homophobe, but he was still my dad. And maybe he would have come around someday. Now...” he shrugged and poked at the taco some more.

  “Now you’ll never know?”

  “Yeah. And to top it off... shit. I’m probably not supposed to tell you this, but you’ll probably find out soon enough anyway...”

  “What?”

  “The police think my mom did it.”

  “I... I can’t picture that,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral.

  “It’s ridiculous. Anyone who knows my mom... she’s on all kinds of charity boards and does all kinds of volunteer work. She wouldn’t hurt anyone!”

  “Not even to protect you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean... don’t take this the wrong way, because I’m on your side here... but maybe the police are looking at her because, well, I don’t know. Did they say anything about you? Like, did they know he had threatened to kick you out? Maybe if they thought she was doing it for you? Moms will do anything for their kids.”

  “No! I mean, seriously, no.” He shook his head.

  “Okay.” I didn’t want to push him.

  “I heard them.”

  That sounded promising. “Heard who?”

  “The police, when they came to the house. I didn’t hear everything because they were in the study and obviously they didn’t let me in. But if you stand in the pantry you can hear a lot, especially if the voices are loud or deep.”

  “Yeah?”

  “So mostly I could just hear what that one dishy detective was saying. The dark-haired one, Paretski?”

  “Petreski,” I said through my teeth. Tom Wilton did not need to be thinking Petreski was dishy.

  “Yeah, that’s the one. Anyway, I could hear him asking about some woman named Dawn.”

  “Dawn Thrasher?”

  “I don’t think that’s the name they used. But it was someone else who was killed, someone he said had been linked to my dad.”

  “But not Thrasher?”

  He shook his head. “No. I couldn’t hear well.”

  “Wow. So did they arrest your mom?”

  “No, but they searched the house. I didn’t want to come to class today, but she insisted. Said I’d missed too many days already.”

  “That does sound like something a mom would say.”

  “Yeah. I think she’s trying to keep it together, act like things are normal. But they’re not.”

  “No. They definitely are not.”

  ❧

  I got a text from Don as I was walking to my car after lunch with Tom Wilton.

  “wrking happy hr 2day”

  I hated when he used numbers instead of letters, which is probably why he did it.

  “Major news! On my way.” I messaged back. I didn’t mind acronyms so much, but my phone autocorrected OMW. It made me look like an old man, but I hadn’t gotten around to figuring out how to undo it. Which also made me look like an old man, now that I thought about it.

  I drove straight to the restaurant where Don tended bar. Their happy hour started early, which was great for slackers, but not so great for Don, since slackers tend not to tip very well. I parked as far away as I could get from any other cars, because it’s parking that’s my real downfall.

  When I got to the bar I slid onto a stool at one end, where I could see the rest of the bar and the restaurant entrance. One thing I had learned recently was that no matter where I went I was likely to encounter someone I knew, and I didn’t necessarily want them sneaking up behind me.

  Don put a beer in front of me and raised an eyebrow. I really wished I could do that. Since I couldn’t, I made him wait while I took a swallow of the beer.

  “Duuuude...”

  “Okay, fine. I just had lunch with Tom Wilton.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No, wait. You should have seen him. He looked awful – really upset. Seems the police paid his mom a visit this morning.”

  “That’s hardly surprising, though, is it?”

  “No, but they went into the study, so he eavesdropped.”

  “Yeah, you two should totally be friends.”

  “Whatever. Tom thinks that the police think
his mom did it.”

  “Now that is major news. Did they arrest her?”

  “No, but they asked her questions about someone named Dawn, but not with the last name Thrasher.”

  “A married name? Or maybe a maiden name?”

  “Maybe.”

  Don walked down the bar to serve some other slacker and I looked around. No familiar faces. Yet.

  “So...?”

  I turned back to Don as he approached. “Yeah,” I answered. “So, it looks like Helena Wilton is now suspect number one.”

  “You should be glad, right? That they’ve got a serious suspect and this could all be coming to an end?”

  “You’d think.”

  “But...”

  “But I just can’t see it.”

  “You just want it to be Katz.”

  I shrugged and took a sip of beer.

  “Or is it that you just don’t want it to be Tom’s mother?”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean, for someone who’s supposed to stay away from somebody, you sure do spend a lot of time with that somebody.”

  “That is so not what this is. You seem to have forgotten about a certain detective who’s going to take me on a date as soon as this is over.”

  “And that scares you.”

  “Yeah – no! Why would that scare me?”

  “Because he’s a real-live grown up person. Tom is non-threatening.”

  “Again. That is not what this is. You are totally not getting me at all. I need to drink more beer if you’re going to make a half-assed attempt at psychoanalyzing me.”

  Don shrugged and I drank some more beer. I was pissed off, not just because he was wrong, but because not so long ago he wouldn’t have been wrong. There was a time when I had avoided serious relationships, or any kind of relationship. But it was a phase – part of growing up – and I had worked it out of my system. Don, though... Don had always been a commitment kind of guy.

  “Okay,” I said, putting down my half-finished beer. “My turn.”

  “Huh?”

  “I know what’s eating you.”

  “Oh yeah?” His eyebrow went up again, the show-off.

  “Yeah. You’re pissed off because you’re the one who’s always been the romance and flowers and finding ‘the one’ guy. I’ve always been the... the... bumble-bee floating around the garden and never settling down. And now I’ve found somebody who might be the real deal, and you’re... ohmigod – you’re jealous!”

  “I’m not.” He looked down and started wiping the bar with the towel he’d had tossed over his shoulder.

  “Don.”

  He ignored me, not looking up.

  “Don. Donny. DonnyDonnyDonDon.”

  “Stop it, dude.” He sounded pissed off, but I could see his lips quirk.

  I leaned as far over the bar as I could to get up in his face.

  “Don, just because I’ve met Mr. Right doesn’t mean there’s not someone out there for you. I mean, seriously, we’re not even fishing in the same pond, you know?”

  He shrugged.

  “It happens when it happens. Your someone is probably so special and awesome and kickass that you’re not ready yet, so fate is making you wait until you can see her and not spontaneously combust.”

  “Jake. Seriously, I am begging you. Stop reading paranormal romance.”

  “Just wait. You’ll see.”

  Jake is Not Convinced

  I was having a chat with Raymond the next morning, trying to decide whether meditation was something I should try. My mom and Miss Nancy would probably say yes. Don would roll his eyes. Raymond cocked his head and I picked up some calm vibes that I took to mean that he was on board with the meditation plan.

  “I think so, too, Ray,” I said. “I mean, with all the crazy that’s been going on around me lately, maybe it would help me focus and prioritize. And I could get one of those cool cushions to sit on.”

  I took a sip of my coffee and thought about how having chats with a squirrel named Raymond was probably going to be part of my new normal. I could live with that.

  A knock at the door sent Raymond skittering back up the tree and I got up to let Don in.

  “Am I interrupting?” He asked. “I thought I heard voices.”

  “I was just discussing the merits of meditation with Raymond. What’s up?”

  “You were... no. Not asking. What’s up is more important. Have you looked at the news this morning?”

  “No. What happened?”

  I moved to the coffee table and opened my laptop.

  “Helena Wilton was arrested early this morning.”

  “No!”

  I opened one of the local news websites and there it was, with video and pictures and everything: “Local Philanthropist Arrested for Developer Husband’s Murder”.

  “Holy crap,” I whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  “Look how calm she looks.”

  The video showed Helena Wilton, in handcuffs, being escorted from her River Oaks mansion to an unmarked police car. Detective Perez, her face grim, was at Helena’s side. Helena’s face was unreadable, her hair in a twist and her make-up perfect. She’d probably take a glamourous mugshot. I didn’t see Petreski anywhere.

  “They must have found out something new,” Don said. “Some new evidence.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Let me guess. You’re not buying it.”

  “I’m not ruling it out completely. I’d like to know what they found that was big enough to arrest her for, though.”

  “Maybe it’s in the article.” Don started scrolling down, reading the text below the video. “Ugh, don’t they have proofreaders look at this stuff before they post it?”

  “Oh man. I wonder how Tom is handling this?”

  “You couldn’t call him, even if you had his number. Do you have his number?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Don’s phone rang and we both turned to look at it where it sat on the coffee table.

  “Do you have his number?” I asked.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve never even spoken to him. Oh, it’s Petreski.”

  “Answer it! Answer it!”

  “I am. Geez. Hello? Yes, we saw it on the news. He’s right here.” He handed the phone to me.

  “Hello?”

  “Jake, Don said y’all saw Helena Wilton’s arrest on the news.”

  “Yeah. She didn’t look like she was worried. I don’t think she did it.”

  “People with as much money and as many lawyers as she has don’t worry.”

  “Wow. Cynical.”

  I could practically hear him shrug. “You see it happen.”

  “Or... and here’s a thought... she’s not worried because she didn’t do it. That’s my bet.”

  “Your money’s still on Katz?”

  “Yeah.”

  “There’s just no evidence, Jake.”

  “He and Jennifer were arguing about something major the night Dawn Thrasher was killed. Or whatever her name was.”

  “What?”

  “What what?”

  “Dawn whatever her name was? What do you mean?”

  “I mean, her name wasn’t always Thrasher, right? And whatever else her name was, I’m guessing it connected her to the Wiltons somehow.”

  He was silent, and I waited.

  After a few moments he sighed, and I sat back on the sofa, the phone pressed to my ear.

  “No, it wasn’t. What do you know? You need to tell me.”

  “Only that someone heard you refer to her by a name other than Thrasher. I don’t know what, though.”

  More silence.

  “Wilton.”

  “What?”

  “Dawn Thrasher was born Dawn Wilton. She was the daughter of Clarence’s older brother, Roger.”

  “She was Clarence’s niece?” Don turned to look at me when I said that, and I nodded at the shocked look on his face.

  “Yes. And now I’ve told you m
ore than I should. I need to go.”

  “Wait – why did you call in the first place?”

  “What?”

  “Why did you call?”

  “Just, uh, checking in. Making sure you and Don were doing okay. No more threats or uncomfortable encounters, that kind of thing? Right. Okay, gotta go.”

  The line went silent and I looked at the phone before handing it back to Don.

  “So weird.” I said.

  “What?”

  “He called us for, like, no reason.”

  “Did he?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Or did he call to tell you something?”

  “Tell me what? I had to pick information out of him.”

  “But he told you, didn’t he? I mean, maybe he called so you could ask him the right questions. Maybe he doesn’t think it’s Helena either, but he’s got no choice but to arrest her at this point.”

  “You mean, he was being devious? That is so him.”

  “And he knew that if he gave us the information we wanted – that he wanted us to have – that we would keep poking at it.”

  “That is so us,” I agreed.

  “It is.”

  “So let’s poke.”

  “Ew. Dude.”

  “Okay, that sounded bad. But you know what I mean.”

  “So bad. I’m telling Petreski you wanted to poke me.”

  “I am so killing you. Bridger will be an orphan and it will be your fault.”

  “Jake.” Don turned to me, his face serious. “If anything ever happens to me, you have to promise to take care of Bridger.”

  “What the fuck, dude? I mean, yeah, of course. But... oh. Ha ha ha. Very funny. You really should consider a career on the stage. Maybe that’s what the road opener candle is trying to tell you.”

  ❧

  Back we went to the digital drawing board, searching for any information we could find on Roger Wilton and his family. We found a record of his marriage to Amelia Thrasher in 1962, and the birth of a daughter, Dawn, in 1967. Dawn must have taken her mother’s maiden name at some point – but when, and why?

  Roger was killed in an automobile accident in 1979. The obituary scanned from a local newspaper didn’t give much information, just listing his survivors and information about the services. Dawn would have been twelve. Clarence would have been twenty, just getting started on his handyman/builder career.