Not a Werewolf

by Madeline Kirby

  “Nope. I guess not. Sorry about that.”

  “No. It’s good I found out before we turned in that paper, you know? I’d better go tell my friend. Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

  ❧

  “So let me get this straight,” Don said as we drove back to Houston. “Clarence got the insurance money that really should have been for Dawn and her mother, leaving them high and dry?”

  “Yep.”

  “And most everybody in town figured there was something shady about the accident.”

  “Yep.”

  “But the police couldn’t prove anything.”

  “I don’t think they really tried. I got the impression that maybe the local police were either bought off or turned a blind eye.”

  “Well, if Dawn blamed Clarence for her father’s death, or keeping the money that should have gone to her mother, that would definitely be a motive. But what about means and opportunity? You’ve gotta have all three.”

  “If Dawn manipulated Josh Katz into doing it, he would be the one who’d have to have the means and opportunity. Maybe he took the dog for a walk, knowing Wilton would be doing the same.”

  “Maybe. Wouldn’t his wife wonder, though, if he took the dog for a walk at an odd time?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t an odd time. Maybe it was the normal time, and he knew where Wilton would be because he’d seen him there before.”

  “Which brings up something that’s been bothering me since Helena was arrested.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “If Wilton lived in River Oaks, what was he doing walking his dog in Woodland Heights that late at night?”

  Jake Visits Tom’s Love Nest

  Of course we called Petreski and told him everything we’d learned. Because we’re fine, upstanding citizens, right? Hearing the sound of his voice was just an added bonus, I swear.

  Don mentioned the disconnect between Wilton living in River Oaks, but walking his dog in Woodland Heights late at night. Petreski didn’t have an answer for that, and didn’t sound too thrilled when I suggested that maybe Tom would know.

  “I know that look,” Don said after we ended the call. “You’re going to talk to Tom Wilton, aren’t you?”

  “If he knows why his dad would have been there, it might tell us something.”

  “Are you trying to piss Petreski off?”

  “No. I just can’t help thinking that the police are missing something important. They’ve got the wrong person locked up.”

  “Are you sure, though? Wouldn’t Helena have known her husband’s habits? She would have known where to find him.”

  “Not necessarily. Haven’t we pretty much determined they lived separate lives?”

  “Geez. Fine, but try not to get in trouble or stir stuff up, okay? Petreski already sounded annoyed.”

  “I’ll bet he’s annoyed because they can’t find any evidence that Helena did it.”

  “They wouldn’t have arrested her in the first place if they didn’t have something.”

  I shook my head. “I need to talk to Tom. And maybe Miss Nancy.”

  ❧

  Tom missed class again, but I wasn’t surprised. One parent dead, the other arrested for murder – I’d stay home, too.

  I knew I shouldn’t, but I looked up Tom’s email address in the student directory and sent him a message. Nothing big, just “Hey, are you okay? Do you need notes from class?”

  The reply came within five minutes. “I am totally not okay. Call me? 832-555-4718.”

  This was what I’d wanted, right? I knew Petreski would be pissed off, but I had to make this call. Tom answered before the first ring finished.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey. It’s Jake. How you holding up, man?”

  “Seriously shitty. Mom is still in jail and I swear, there is no way she would have done this. No way.”

  “I believe you.”

  “You do? You’re the only one, I bet.”

  “Your mom does a lot of good for people. I’ll bet they don’t believe it, either.”

  I could hear him sigh, but he didn’t say anything else.

  “You need anything? I can send you notes from class.”

  “Can you come over?”

  “I don’t know...”

  “Please? Right now, it’s like, you’re the only friend I’ve got. You’re the only one who’s not judging me or Mom.”

  I could hear Petreski’s voice in my head. “Whatever you do, don’t go over to Tom Wilton’s love nest.”

  “Sure. What’s the address?”

  ❧

  I followed Tom’s directions and parked in the circular drive in front of the mansion I had seen on the news. There were no vans or reporters to be seen today, though. I walked around to the back of the rambling house and knocked on the door Tom had indicated.

  I looked around – it was a sweet set-up with its own small patio and a path that led to a break in a hedge. Through the gap I caught a glimpse of a larger patio and a swimming pool.

  I heard the door open and turned to see Tom in the doorway, looking tired, but at least he was clean.

  “Just get out of the shower?” I asked, pointing to his wet hair.

  “Yeah. After I got off the phone with you I realized I hadn’t had a shower in, like, three days. I was unfit for human company. Sorry, come on in.” He stepped back so I could enter.

  I wasn’t sure what I had expected, but the place looked like his mom had probably decorated it. The furniture all matched. There were coordinating pillows on the sofas and actual paintings on the walls. It didn’t look like a college student’s apartment. Turn the lights down low, light a few candles, and voilà – love nest.

  “Have a seat. Want anything to drink? I’ve got beer, wine, coke?”

  “Dr. Pepper?”

  “Yeah. Be right back.”

  I sat on one of the grey sofas and looked around. I could hear Tom in the kitchen, and after a minute I felt something brush against my leg. I looked down to see Murphy sniffing my feet.

  “Hey, Murphy,” I whispered. “Remember me?”

  He looked up and wagged his tail as I stroked his back. I scratched his side and the tail moved faster, his whole body getting in on the act.

  “Looks like you found his sweet spot,” Tom said, setting a tray on the coffee table in front of me. He had poured my drink into a glass with ice – fancy, but I figured he was used to the finer things. He picked up his own drink – a glass of white wine – and sat back in the sofa, slightly turned to face me.

  “Yeah, well dogs are pretty easy. They’ve all got one and it’s not usually hard to find.”

  Tom sipped his wine and I looked back down at Murphy.

  “How’s he been doing? Still upset?”

  “He seems better. He’s quite the escape artist, though. I was going to put in a dog door, but he can’t be trusted.”

  “Escape artist?”

  “Yeah. Dad always... Dad always used to say he should have named him Houdini. Now I know what he meant.”

  “So he gets out a lot?” That would explain why sometimes I dreamed about running loose and hunting. Murphy the escape artist. “You’re a real troublemaker, aren’t you?” I asked, looking down at the dog, who had rolled onto his back so I could rub his belly.

  Tom snorted. “Yeah. But I don’t know... he seems okay, but when he gets out he heads for the bayou. I wonder if maybe he’s looking for Dad.”

  “Your dad always walked him there? In The Heights?”

  “Not always. But after he decided to start buying property there, he would go over there all the time. He’d walk along the bayou and the esplanades. He said it was to get a feel for the place, but that was bullshit.”

  Something in his tone made me look back up at him. The wine glass was almost empty. He looked down into it, then got up and headed for the kitchen. He was back a minute later with the bottle, filling his glass and setting the bottle on the table.

  “What did you mean?” I
asked.

  “Hmm?”

  “About getting a feel for the place being bullshit?”

  “Oh. Dad did whatever he wanted, right? He always had a plan, and getting a feel for a place? He’d never cared about that before. I don’t know... maybe he was having a mid-life crisis or something.” He shrugged and sipped his wine. Maybe this was going to be one of those questions that couldn’t be answered. Who could really know what went on in another person’s mind? In the end it didn’t matter why Clarence Wilton walked his dog where he did. What mattered was that someone knew and took advantage of that fact.

  I picked up my own drink, and looked at it for a few seconds before putting it back down. I remembered Petreski’s warning again. I didn’t think Tom would have put anything in it, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

  In a flash of clarity I realized that coming here was a mistake. Anything I’d get from Tom would be speculation, and coming here might have given him the wrong idea. I needed to get out of there.

  “Something wrong with your drink?” Tom asked.

  “No. It’s fine.”

  “I’ve got other choices. Iced tea. I can get another glass if you’d like some wine?”

  “No, thanks. It just suddenly hit me that I probably shouldn’t be here, you know? I mean, it’s fine at school and all, but this might look suspicious.”

  Tom shrugged again. “I’m kind of beyond caring at this point.”

  “You shouldn’t be. You should care a whole damn lot. It’s your mom who’s in jail.”

  He flinched at that and I felt bad, but if he needed a friend right now, he needed the kind of friend who would tell him the hard, unvarnished truth.

  “Tom?” I took the wine glass from his hand and set it on the table. “Tom, I need you to listen to me, okay?”

  He looked up and met my eyes. I could tell he was trying not to cry, and was impressed he hadn’t given in yet. I would have. He nodded.

  “I really, honestly, do believe that your mom didn’t do this, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “But there are a lot of people – mainly the police – who think she did. And they are the ones who matter.”

  He nodded.

  “Right. So you need to put down the wine, take care of yourself, and get your act together so you can be strong for her. She needs people on her side who believe in her. You need to stick up for her like she stuck up for you.”

  He nodded again, his lip trembling.

  “So, I’m going to get out of here, okay? Because we really aren’t supposed to be hanging out.”

  He stood and squared his shoulders. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Maybe... maybe after this is all over we could get together?”

  I stood and stepped around the coffee table towards the door.

  “I’d like that, Tom, if you mean as friends, right?”

  He looked confused and kind of cute, and I had to admit that he wasn’t unattractive. “Sorry, I thought...”

  “I’m... I’m kind of seeing someone. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”

  “No, it’s cool. Really. Thanks for... well... thanks for being a friend. Does that sound lame?”

  “No. Not at all. Hang in there, and if you really need me, call. Okay?”

  He nodded and I let myself out.

  There was someone leaning against my car when I came around the side of the house, and I cringed when I realized it was Petreski. I was about to get an earful. One look at Petreski’s face and I wondered whether I might be free to take Tom up on his offer after all.

  “So, heya, Detective Petreski.”

  He didn’t say anything, but his glare was damn eloquent.

  “What, uh, brings you out to this neck of the woods?”

  More silent glaring. He was an excellent glarer, I had to admit.

  “I was, uh, going to call you...”

  “Is that so?” Apparently he could talk and glare at the same time.

  “Yeah. I, um, well...”

  “You decided to visit Tom Wilton, son of the murder victim you found, and son of his accused murderer, and you didn’t think maybe you should call me first?”

  “You forgot cousin of the other victim.”

  “What?!” His nostrils flared.

  “Nothing. Never mind.”

  “People are dying, Jake. There is a... a... really bad energy around this family, for lack of a better word. You need to be staying away from them, not visiting them in their homes. Homes, by the way, that I specifically told you to stay away from.”

  Told me to stay away from? I was fine with being scolded, because I figured I deserved it and I knew he was worried about me, but he did not get to tell me what I could and could not do. I think he realized his mistake right after he said it, because he shut up real fast as I drew myself up and straightened my shoulders.

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “What?”

  “Are you following me?”

  “No! Of course not. We have the house staked out. If anyone leaves or comes calling, Perez and I get a call. When I realized you were here, I came.”

  “Because I was visiting Tom Wilton’s ‘love nest’?”

  “Um –”

  “He’s my friend now, like it or not. And he needed a friend. His dad is dead, and his mom is in jail, yeah. So – surprise – he’s feeling kinda down and needed someone to talk to. Get over it.”

  “I –”

  “Oh, and yes, he asked me out. I turned him down, but the offer is probably still on the table.”

  “Jake –”

  “What?” I’m pretty sure I suck at glaring, but I was giving it my best shot.

  “Look. I’m sorry. I’ve got a job to do here and I could have phrased that better –”

  “You could have phrased it better?”

  “What?” He looked confused and pissed off.

  “You think that would solve the problem? If you had phrased it better?”

  “I’m trying to keep you safe!”

  “Then go catch the real murderer!”

  I stepped past him, dodging out of the way when he reached for my arm, and got into my car. I could hear him calling my name, and as I pulled away I looked in the rearview mirror to see him as he watched me leave, hands on his hips and mouth drawn into an angry frown. It would have been a picture perfect exit if I hadn’t mistimed my turn and hopped the curb as I left.

  A Visit Goes Awry

  I drove towards home, trying to concentrate on what I was doing and not on how angry I was. Or how scared – because if I pissed him off too much, Petreski might not come back. But even so, he did not get to order me around. I thought I had made that perfectly clear.

  I was restless, and not ready to go home, where I’d probably have to tell the whole sad story to Don and listen to him tell me he told me so. So, with Helena Wilton in jail – and Josh Katz probably out – I decided to go check on Jennifer Katz. Maybe her husband wasn’t a murderer after all – again, not convinced – but he was still a cheating scumbag and she could probably use a friend. I was hardly snooping at all.

  It wasn’t hard to find the Katzes’ address, since they were so active in the neighborhood. The house was a two-story four-square with a large covered porch. Someone in the family had a green thumb – the flower beds were full of bushes and fresh plantings getting ready to bloom. Blue-glazed flower pots overflowed with bright pink geraniums on either side of the porch steps. I couldn’t picture Josh working in the garden, so this must have been Jennifer’s work.

  I rang the doorbell and stepped back from the door. I could hear Buttercup barking, and footsteps approaching. Mrs. Katz’s face appeared in the small window in the door and she smiled before opening it.

  “Hello, Jake! How are you? What brings you by?”

  “I just wanted to check on you and Buttercup. See how you were doing.”

  “Oh, that’s so sweet. Come on in.” She held the door open and I stepped inside. The blinds were all open
and sunlight streamed in.

  “This is really nice,” I said.

  “Thanks. I’m going to redecorate. Paint it a more cheerful color. Fresh start, you know?”

  “Sounds like a good idea.”

  “Would you like a gin and tonic?” she asked.

  I was more of a beer drinker, but since it wasn’t likely she had beer in the house, I decided to join her. “Sure, why not?”

  I followed her into the kitchen where a bottle of gin already sat on the counter. She went to the pantry and came back with a fresh bottle of tonic water. “Josh hates gin. Now that he’s gone, I’m going to try them all. Especially the expensive ones.”

  “Sounds, um, interesting.”

  She laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m not going off on a bender or anything. I’m just not going to let anyone stop me from doing what I really want from now on.” She took a couple of glasses from a cabinet, setting them on the counter before opening the freezer. “Oh, bother. The freezer must be on the blink again. The ice is all stuck together.”

  She opened a drawer and started rummaging around. “That’s odd. I could have sworn it was in here.” She moved to the next drawer and started shifting the contents around.

  “What are you looking for?” I asked.

  “The ice pick. The ice in the freezer is always sticking together, and it should be in here.”

  I pulled open the first drawer. “Maybe you just overlooked it. What does it look like?”

  “Nothing fancy. Wooden handle, and a metal spike about,” she held her fingers a few inches apart, “so long.”

  I froze. “When... when was the last time you saw it?”

  “Oh, it’s been a while. Maybe three or four weeks since the last time we used it.” She was still rummaging. She hadn’t made the connection yet.

  “Mrs. Katz...”

  “Jennifer.” She turned to smile at me. “I’ll never be Mrs. Katz again as...” her voice trailed off and her eyes got wide.

  “What?” I thought I knew what.

  “The...” she looked down at the open drawer. “The ice pick’s not here, is it?”

  “I have a really bad feeling it isn’t. Has anyone other than you or Mr. Katz been in the house recently?”