by Arlene Kay
The tone of our conversation had changed from warm to frigid, but nothing deterred Babette. She clapped her hands and gleefully said, “I bet you had one of those ‘key man’ clauses too. Guess they call it ‘key person’ these days, but I don’t get tangled up in that mess. Anyhow, that’s what I want. After all, it’s a smart play. Protects both of us in case something bad happens. ’Course we’re both plenty healthy, but you never know.”
Rolf smiled, a fleeting smile without mirth. “True. One should never take good health for granted. Things can change so rapidly.”
Despite the warmth of the sun, I felt a sudden chill. His manner was perfectly pleasant and his words were innocuous. It was one of those sixth sense spidey moments that my dogs felt too. Keats and Poe went on alert and moved closer to me.
“What’s your take on those murders, Rolf?” Babette held her head with both hands. “We’re kinda leery of going back to the Falls. If some mad killer’s runnin’ loose, anyone could be next.”
For a moment he hesitated, but the appeal to his ego proved too strong to resist. “I doubt that any of us is in danger,” Rolf said. “Besides, those residents really love our therapy dogs.” He leaned closer. “I have it on good authority that the sheriff will have things wrapped up very soon.”
My vamping skills were rusty, but I tried my best. “Really? You have great connections at that place. Babette and I didn’t get very far with Sheriff Page.”
He gave us a taste of faux modesty and a coy look. “It was nothing really. I do have a lot of law enforcement contacts, however. I never said Aleita was my source. Your Mr. Pruett seems to have the inside track with her.”
I could see that Babette had reached the end of her tether. Fortunately good breeding prevailed and she confined her frustration to a single oath. “Don’t just sit there like a dummy, Rolf. Tell us who’s on the griddle.”
Rolf picked up his napkin and rose. “Unfortunately I’m sworn to secrecy. Let’s just say it’s someone you both know well.” He placed two business cards on the table. “Ladies, this has been delightful, but I really must run. Let me consult my listings. Perhaps I can suggest a few properties for you to consider.” His smile was now closer to a sneer. I doubted we would ever get that list or the chance to question him again.
After he left Babette poured herself another glass of chardonnay. “Well, darn. That was a waste of time and a good wine.” She flounced into the house, followed by Clara and Prospero, while I joined them for the postmortem. I dreaded the inevitable storm of recriminations that was certain to follow. The duration of a Croy sulk was hard to predict, but I knew from long experience that my wisest tactic was to forge ahead and ignore the headwinds.
I was less pessimistic about our luncheon than Babette. Rolf had been wary but not totally unresponsive. We found out that he had purchased land with the late Sara Whitman and probably scooped the lot when she left this earth. Had that arrangement caused a spat between Nurse Ross and Mrs. Whitman? Was that the secret Dr. Tully uncovered? I wondered how many of the oldsters at the Falls were real estate partners with Rolf Hart. Perhaps Kate knew if he used the Therapy Dog program to influence residents. If so, it was the perfect guise for his shenanigans.
Babette spun around and faced me, hands on hips. “Well, Perri, it’s up to you now.”
“Huh?”
She exhaled forcefully and beamed her death ray glare my way. “Don’t be dense. That Rolf character threatened us. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”
I trod gingerly around that topic, mindful that Babette often got huffy when challenged. “I wouldn’t exactly say he threatened us. Let’s face it: Rolf is unpleasant at the best of times unless you’re a potential customer with cash.”
Babette exhaled forcefully. “Well, what in tarnation do you call us? We waved filthy lucre his way and he basically snubbed us. I say we struck out.”
My silence was more eloquent than any rebuttal. This time she was right.
No one ever accused Babette Croy of being a quitter. After a brief period of reflection she was back in the game. Her eyes narrowed as she confronted me. “Don’t be so wishy-washy, Perri. There’s more than one way to skin a varmint and you know it. Pruett has an in with Sheriff Aleita; old Rolf was right about that at least. Make your sweetie play his ace in the hole or we might as well give up now.”
I’m no quitter, but giving up sounded fine with me. Unlike Babette, I had a business that had been sadly neglected over the past month. My schedule included two dog shows and several major horse competitions. A tart response was on the tip of my tongue until I recalled Magdalen Melmoth, that spunky senior who depended on me. With that in mind I folded like a fifty-cent fan. “Okay. Enough already. I’ll ask Pruett.”
Babette didn’t flinch. She folded her arms and growled, “When?”
“Soon. Okay, tonight. I’m not sure we should tell him about our session with Rolf, though. You know how tedious he can get.” I envisioned the lengthy lecture I would get from Pruett about personal safety, interfering in a murder investigation, and any action that might compromise his sacred news story. That was something I was simply not up for after today’s antics. Unlike Babette, the queen of histrionics, I avoided conflict whenever possible. I preferred to choose my battles wisely and listened to but ignored most unsolicited advice, electing instead to rely on my own good judgment. Pruett and I managed to respect each other’s boundaries most of the time, although we had come perilously close to disaster on a few occasions. I vowed to avoid that tonight.
Chapter 24
As luck would have it, Pruett canceled our dinner date. He was full of apologies and less than convincing excuses. That emboldened me to broach the subject of Sheriff Aleita head-on. I mentioned Rolf’s comment about an imminent arrest.
“What does the sheriff say about that?” I asked, clutching my iPhone in a death grip. If only I could see his eyes. Pruett couldn’t fool me if we were face-to-face.
“You know more than I do,” he said. “Aleita doesn’t share that kind of information with the press. At least not with this member of the Fourth Estate.”
I let the matter drop, but before we hung up, Pruett added something else. “Look, Perri, I’m not trying to deceive you. I’m on the trail of something big. As a matter of fact, I plan to meet with Aleita tonight. Strictly business. If I get the chance, I’ll ask about Magdalen.” He paused half a beat, then said. “Okay. I promise to ask about her. Satisfied?”
I kept my voice steady and unemotional. After all, I trusted Pruett. Didn’t I? “Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Stay safe.”
We ended our conversation after that. I told myself to grow up and stop fretting like a nervous filly at the starting gate. What would be would be. Sheriff Aleita was a hot number, but then again, Persephone Morgan was no slouch either. I texted the update to Babette, summoned my dogs, and retreated to my workshop and the tactile comfort of leather.
Two hours of toil swept the clutter from my mind and focused my thoughts on the only issue that counted: extricating Magdalen Melmoth from the maw of the criminal justice system. I doubted she would be arrested, let alone prosecuted. Surely anyone could see that an octogenarian spinster, even a cantankerous one like Magdalen, was an unlikely double murderer. Still I worried that at her age the mere stress of a police matter might precipitate a health crisis. As I pondered these grim possibilities. the clarion call of my iPhone roused me.
Carrick Farraday’s voice was subdued, but it worked like a tonic on my troubled mind. “Are you busy, Perri?” he asked. The slight touch of Ireland in his voice charmed me no end. Confession time: I’m a fool for a brogue. “I spoke with Mags a bit ago,” he said. “Believe it or not, she seemed fine. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was just a normal day for her. That got me worried.”
Micah must have worked his magic on the sheriff, unless it was some kind of trap. I clung to that ray of ho
pe. If they had already released Magdalen, it had to be good news. Maybe another suspect was in the sheriff’s crosshairs.
“She’s back at the Falls?” I asked. Somehow I wasn’t certain that was the wisest course of action. After all, it was already the scene of two homicides. Better to permanently insulate Magdalen from that house of horrors.
“Actually she agreed to stay overnight at the hospital while they evaluate her heart. Just to make sure.” Carrick hesitated. “Tomorrow she’s coming home with me. No one will harm her here. Not with Paddy and the gang standing guard.”
Paddy was scarcely a guard dog, but I kept my misgivings to myself. No need to borrow trouble. “That’s good news,” I said. “Can I help in any way?”
More silence. Finally Carrick blurted out his concerns. “I need your advice. You’re not a lawyer, I know that, but you have my sister’s best interests at heart. I’m worried about money. Micah’s fees must be mounting up and I doubt that Mags has much in savings. Joanie tells me that residents sign over most of their assets to the Falls when they move in.”
I visualized Carrick wringing his hands as he spoke. “Anyhow, Mags is entitled to half this place, you know. Her mum’s will said so.”
Where was this conversation leading? I felt uneasy and inadequate to the task before me. “What were you thinking of?”
More sputtering and stuttering from Carrick. “I have some money saved and maybe I could refinance the place. There’s no balance on it, you know. Or maybe get one of those reverse mortgage things I heard about on the telly. That real estate fellow offered me a pretty penny for the land. Almost two million dollars as I recall.” Carrick’s voice quavered as he mentioned the possibilities, and I could tell that he was agonizing over the choices. The Farraday property was part and parcel of his heritage, and Magdalen’s as well. Even the thought of losing it must be heart-wrenching. I suspected that the “real estate fellow” in question was none other than the ubiquitous Rolf who covered central Virginia like a blanket.
“Carrick, stop! Why borrow trouble before we know what arrangements Micah and your sister have? She’s quite business savvy, you know. Besides, the manuscript is another unknown. Who knows how much that might be worth?”
He heaved a sigh of relief. At least I presumed it was relief and not exhaustion. “Ah, you’re a fine gal, Persephone Morgan. Just the pick-me-up this old man needed. I haven’t had a sound night’s sleep in a while but without this millstone hung around my neck I might finally grab forty winks tonight.”
I promised to broach the subject with both Micah and Pruett as soon as possible and we ended our chat on an upbeat note by discussing Babette and her new pup, Prospero.
Afterward I recalled his reference to Joan Fergueson. That made me wonder. Joan had acted quite indifferent to Carrick and told me that she’d lost touch with him. Was she sidling up to her uncle all of a sudden or was it simply a normal exchange between two people who had reconnected? Any discussions involving money and Magdalen activated every suspicious bone in my body. I closed my eyes and did some deep breathing. Was I now responsible for her well-being and Carrick’s as well? Quite a burden for a single woman with worries of her own.
Keats and Poe sensed my discomfort. They surrounded me and lay their soft, velvety muzzles on my knees. I looked into their eyes, slowly stroked their fur, and felt once again the magic of the human-canine connection. Small wonder that therapy dogs were in such demand. My lack of commitment and waning enthusiasm for the program gnawed at my conscience. True, I was a busy person, but that was more of an excuse than a reason. Our next session was already scheduled and I resolved to visit the Falls the very next day, spreading comfort and joy or something very much like it to the residents. What could possibly go awry? Besides, I just might learn something interesting.
* * * *
Babette grumbled at first about having to change her hair appointment. Apparently, some faux friend had asked her if she was going gray and that terrorized my poor pal into immediate salon therapy.
“Lookee here, Perri,” she said, patting artfully colored strands of hair. “See any gray? Why, I pay good money to never see anything that color. Ever. No matter what they say about silver power, gray is code for over-the-hill in my book.”
I squeezed her shoulders and chirped words of consolation. “Your hair is always perfect. You know that. Just some jealous woman’s fantasy. Besides, we’re on a mission today, and that’s lots more fun than sitting under a heat lamp covered with foils.”
Babette snapped to attention. “You betcha. Just what are we looking for anyway?”
I filled her in on Carrick’s dilemma and my conversion to the ranks of Therapy Dog enthusiasts. My hope was that we might learn more about Dr. Joan Fergueson, the formidable Nurse Edgar, Dr. Dreamy, and any other suspicious goings on at the Falls. Considering Babette’s aversion to danger, I downplayed that possibility.
She gave me a hard stare. “Pruett know about this?”
My response was cool. I knew that by appealing to her contrary side, I’d win the day. Babette was a lukewarm feminist but a feisty one when roused.
“Why should he? We don’t need his permission and we’re perfectly capable of gathering information on our own without a man’s interference.”
A smile the size of Texas lit up her face. “Damn straight! We’ll show him. Micah too. Those boys need a good comeuppance.”
Our spirits were buoyed by optimism as we headed to the Falls the next morning. The plan was simple but focused: find the answer to several key questions, exonerate Magdalen, and corral the real killer. Simple? Admittedly they were stretch objectives, but why not aim high while we were at it? While the plan was tricky, I had to admit with all modesty that it was also rather clever. Under the guise of performing our Therapy Dog routine, Babette agreed to circulate among the other residents, encouraging them to gossip. Chatting up strangers came naturally to Babette and I had to admit she was far better suited to that task than I was. Her sunny disposition and gift of gab reached almost genius level and disarmed even the most taciturn person. Naturally she would enlist Irene’s help too, and sprinkle the conversation with frequent references to Magdalen. I undertook the tougher assignment: interrogating Joan Fergueson, Nurse Edgar, and Rolf. Even the mention of Nurse Edgar’s name terrified Babette, so she readily agreed to anything that kept her out of his sight. Although the man’s size and grim visage were off-putting, I didn’t fear him. Maybe he was just shy in the same way a sumo wrestler might be. I closed my eyes for a second, envisioning those meaty paws closing around my neck in a death grip. Then I recalled my secret weapons: Keats and Poe. I was safe with them by my side. Even a man-mountain like Edgar had to respect their mighty jaws.
Dr. Fergueson was a tougher proposition. The woman was an iceberg, indifferent to anything, even the winning ways of therapy dogs. Carrack painted a very different picture of her, but his views were tainted by fond memories of yesteryear with his uncle and assorted kin. A cynical person might question her sudden devotion to Carrack. That seemed inauthentic and awfully convenient. It neatly coincided with the real estate boom in rural Virginia and the seven-figure offers for Carrack’s land. Joan had a glaring financial motive for her burst of family feeling. As Micah had explained it to me, the provisions of the family real estate trust made Joan the putative heir to Carrack’s very desirable property when he passed. One thing stood in her way: a spunky senior named Melmoth. Magdalen’s age gave Joan the distinct advantage, but it also required patience. For all we knew, Mags might live another decade or even more. If Joan hoped to challenge the trust and dispose of the property quickly, that would put a spanner in the works.
I had few illusions about Rolf or my ability to coax even a civil comment from his perpetually pursed lips. My goal was to pinpoint his whereabouts at the time that Dr. Tully was murdered. According to Pruett, Rolf had been vague about it when questioned by Sheriff Alei
ta. His excuse involved “scouting properties,” a feeble but unverifiable one. Real estate was a peripatetic profession that allowed employees plenty of free time to maneuver. If Tully had learned something incriminating about Rolf’s dealings, I knew that he was ruthless enough to neutralize the threat and anyone who posed it. One niggling point argued in Rolf’s favor: Portia, the lovely Borzoi. The man’s devotion to her seemed genuine. It wasn’t enough to tip the scales, but it was definitely something to consider. I freely admit my bias toward any man, even a loathsome one, who loves animals. Rolf wasn’t irredeemable, just unlikable.
Our quest was clear: determine who besides Magdalen had motive and opportunity to eliminate Nurse Ross and Dr. Dreamy. Although Pruett had assured me that Sheriff Aleita was doing that very same thing, I had my doubts. Cops—even comely ones—were more likely to seize upon an easy victim like Magdalen rather than looking farther afield. I couldn’t allow that to happen.
When we arrived at the Falls our colleagues had already assembled outside, juggling dog leads, purses, and other paraphernalia. Frankly it was a more dispirited group than normal. Not surprising. Murder tends to dampen even the hardiest souls. Fortunately our dogs were oblivious to such concerns and were much more interested in a new addition to our pack. Babette had added baby Prospero to the mix even though he was far too young to be a certified Therapy Dog. I expected Dr. Fergueson to rush out and demand to see his bona fides, but she was nowhere to be found. Prospero’s grasp of commands was sketchy, but the rambunctious pup proved to be a crowd pleaser. Soon he had an eager audience surrounding him. Some of the more somber residents responded by hugging the young Leonberger and clutching him to their chests. That gave Babette the entrée she sought to chat up a host of people. I felt confident that she would worm any information worth having from the mouths of the unsuspecting.