Chili Con Corpses (10 page)

“Cats get stuff like that?” James was amazed.

Dwight nodded. “I’m going to recommend you give him some Metamucil or try some canned pumpkin. He may just need more fiber in his diet.”

James gaped. “Canned pumpkin?”

“Some cats really like it.” Dwight scribbled something on Dalai Lama’s chart.

“So your office must be pretty backed up these days,” James said in what he hoped sounded like a sympathetic tone.

The young vet nodded without looking away from his paper, but James saw a shadow darken his features. “We are, but one of,” he struggled to say the name, “Ms. Willis’s friends—a large-animal vet—is helping out.”

“That must be a load off your mind,” James stated enthusiastically. “Ms. Willis seems to have had a great reputation for her way with animals. I hope her friend is just as good.”

Dwight’s face became stormy, and James knew that he had hit a nerve. The vet averted his eyes, but James could have sworn he saw them grow misty.

“Oh, he’s
not
that good, huh?” he inquired innocently and then, when Dwight refused to answer, added, “Well then, I’m glad we got
you
instead.”

“I’m not much of a people person,” Dwight admitted after a long pause in which he struggled to get a hold of himself. It was clear that he also wished to move the subject away from Colin Crabtree. “I love all animals, though. They’re very giving. They don’t care that you’re not charming. They want you around no matter what you look like or how much money you make.” He clamped his mouth shut after that, probably regretting that he had revealed such private thoughts in front of a stranger.

“If this fellow is more of a large-animal doc, it must be a challenge to come in and treat small animals,” James persisted.

Dwight nodded, but said nothing. Completing his notes, he closed the folder. “You can put him back in the carrier. I’m going to get you some literature on inflammatory bowel disease.”

James eyed the tabby fearfully. He blocked Dwight’s exit and gestured at the carrier. “He can be pretty persnickety. Mind giving me a hand?”

Wordlessly, the vet picked up the Dalai Lama and eased him into the carrier, cooing at him gently. The tabby offered up no resistance. As Dwight was fastening the door, James took the opportunity to ask him one last question.

“I’ve got a friend who’d like to start raising cows. Do you think I could get this other vet’s card so that she could talk to him about which breed to get?”

Opening the door to leave, the young vet shrugged. “You could ask June if she’s got any of his cards. Dr. Crabtree isn’t here today.”

“Uh-oh,” James pretended to look disturbed. “I hope he didn’t have some kind of emergency with one of his own patients.”

“No, nothing like that,” Dwight answered. “He’s out of town for the moment.”

James took a stab in the dark. “On a fishing trip?”

Dwight shot him on odd look but didn’t respond. “I’ll leave your paperwork with June. Goodbye.” He let the door close behind him.

James was more than ready to get back in the truck and compare notes with Gillian. He hoped she had discovered something more useful from her new soul sister, June.

Back in the Bronco, the Dalai Lama remained strangely peaceful and silent, as if Dwight Hutchins had placed a spell of calm over him. Gillian, on the other hand, could barely sit still. She bounced around the passenger seat from the second James pulled onto the main road heading south to Quincy’s Gap. Handing James one of the bananas she had brought along for a snack, she began eating hers with small, frenzied bites.

“I can’t believe how destiny led me to June today! We’re like sisters!” Gillian chewed the last bit of her fruit and then sighed blissfully. “She told me everything I asked her. What a
giving
soul.”

“And?”

Gillian arranged her skirt, fluffed up her wild orange hair, and exhaled. “Parker and Colin have been an item for about six months. They met in the parking lot of a movie theater. Apparently, some
abusive
pet owner had left his beagle locked in the car with no windows open. It was a warm spring day and the sun had been beating down on that poor creature for over two hours.” Gillian cooed to her cat. “I’d
never
neglect you that way!” She then returned to her narrative. “They both noticed the abandoned dog before their movie started and again two hours later as they were heading back to their cars. Parker, who was with another friend, was going to smash the window to free the beagle. Colin stopped her, went inside the theater, and demanded that the manager make an announcement to all the moviegoers that if the beagle’s owner didn’t appear by his car in five minutes, Colin would call the cops.”

James was riveted. “What happened?”

“The man came out. He had tickets to a double feature and was aggravated at being interrupted. Can you imagine that kind of self-absorption?” she asked with indignation.

“Was the dog okay?”

Gillian grinned. “That’s the best part! The owner shoved the helpless animal into Colin’s hands and shouted at him to keep it. Well, Colin accepted the offer and Parker volunteered to give the unwanted pooch free check-ups for life.” She put her hands over her heart. “Have you
ever
heard such a romantic story? It was love right from the start. And all because they both tried to rescue a dog! They named the beagle Sunshine as the film that they had both gone to see was
Little Miss Sunshine
.”

James approved. “What a great movie.” He digested the details for a moment. “Does June think Colin was just trying to impress Parker, or did she indicate that he acts like a hero all the time?”

Gillian shook her head. “According to June, Colin is
utterly
devastated over Parker’s death. He came over here right away to help out with her patients, and June says he has a
very
warm and generous spirit.” She pushed a fluff of hair off her forehead. “It would seem, that despite a childhood of
privilege
—the best schools, summers in Maine, help with setting up his practice—we are not dealing with a self-centered individual here.”

“Well-meaning though he may be, how can Colin take care of two practices?” James wondered.

“I don’t know, but he’s very much at home around Parker’s office. Colin and Parker regularly visited one another’s practices to help out or just to watch the other one at work.” She clasped her hands together. “June truly believes that they were
soul mates
.”

James was growing irritated by all of the references to love and romance. “Sounds like this Colin is too good to be true. Everyone has vices. What are his?” He cast an unfriendly glance at Gillian. “Is that all June had to say?”

“Patience, my friend.” Gillian patted his forearm. “She even showed me two pictures of Colin that Parker kept on the desk in her office. Guess what he was wearing in one of the photos?” She bounced up and down on the seat in excitement.

James had no idea. “A tutu?” he said mischievously.

“Silly! Not a tutu, but a fishing vest, complete with hooks and lures and all that other stuff.”

James immediately had a vision of the fishing fly on Mr. Sneed’s hat. “That
is
interesting, Gillian. Still, he might just be an award-winning fisherman in addition to all his other talents,” he added ruefully.

“Tsk, tsk,” Gillian said, wiggling her finger back and forth. “You’re not letting me paint you the entire mural. Colin Crabtree is
not
perfect.”

Thinking back on how Dwight’s face had clouded over when James had broached the subject of Parker’s boyfriend, he felt a thrill course through him. “So he
does
have some vices.”

“At least one. June really didn’t want to tell me, either. I think she might be a teeny, tiny bit in love with Colin herself.” Gillian leaned back into the seat and gazed dreamily out the window. “After all, good-looking, sensitive animal-lovers don’t grow on trees.”

“The vice, Gillian?” James redirected her.

“Well, he might have loved animals, but they didn’t always love him back,” Gillian spat out quickly, as if hating to criticize Colin. “June confessed, after a lot of prodding and three cups of ginseng tea, that Colin is
much
,
much
better with people than with animals.”

James was confused. “What does that mean?”

“It means that he should have been a human doc. See, animals can only speak using their eyes and a kind of
hidden
voice. You need to be able to read their body language to understand what they’re trying to communicate.
Some
of us have that gift,” she preened. “Others do not.”

“Have there been complaints?” James inquired eagerly.

Gillian nodded. “Parker’s regulars are asking to see Dwight Hutchins instead of Colin. June also said that Colin’s practice hasn’t been doing so well. Some angry farmer named Ramsay out in Mt. Sidney has been complaining to all his friends about the last birth Colin attended.”

James pressed down on the accelerator as his heart quickened in excitement. “So money could be a motive!”

“I guess so,” Gillian responded glumly. She clearly wanted Colin to be innocent of Parker’s murder. “Can you slow down a bit, James? The Dalai is looking a little peaked.” She reached for the radio. “Better put his music back on.”

Nothing came out of the speakers. Gillian tried to eject the tape but it had come unwound around the heads of the Bronco’s cassette deck. Yanking it free, Gillian held the shredded black tape out in front of her.

Seeing the look of dismay on his friend’s face, James tried to distract her from the ruined tape. “Before I forget, Gillian, I should tell you that Dwight said to start giving your cat Metamucil or some canned pumpkin. Apparently, he needs more fiber in his diet.”

Gillian accepted the advice solemnly. “And that should help with his
digestive
issues?”

“That’s what the man said. He seemed to connect with the Dalai Lama well enough.”

“Poor Dalai!” Gillian wailed. “I had no idea that you’ve been living with this kind of
discomfort
. I thought you were simply being
finicky
over your food. Oh, oh! Can you
ever
forgive me?”

In response, the disgruntled tabby put his face directly against the bars of his cage, opened his mouth wide, and vomited all over the truck’s center console.

After her flight
from Kansas City landed at Washington-Dulles, Murphy drove straight to the library. James knew the instant her car pulled into the parking lot: Francis practically leapt over the counter of the circulation desk in order to interrupt his boss, who was speaking to a young girl about the book report she wished to research. Her chosen topic was unicorns.

“This is supposed to be a report for science class, right?” James asked the girl.

She absently turned out the pockets of an enormous pink parka and nodded. “I really like unicorns.”

“Alert! Member of the media in the immediate vicinity,” Francis whispered urgently and then turned to the young patron. “You know, I like unicorns too, but your science teacher probably wants to you to pick an animal that lots of folks have had a chance to study.” He leaned down and spoke quietly. “Only a few people have been lucky enough to see a unicorn, and they can’t talk about it. It’s a secret.”

The girl’s eyes were wide with amazement. “That makes sense,” she responded seriously and then sighed. “But I wanted to pick something no one else would pick.”

Francis was surprised to see that James hadn’t moved from his place behind the desk but was watching his exchange with the young girl in amusement.

“It’s okay, Francis. Ms. Alistair and I are working on a project together,” James said. “But thanks for looking out for me.”

“Let’s get back to you then, my unicorn-loving friend,” Francis said and then smiled. “If you want a special animal to write a report about, then how about one that’s
almost
as magical as a unicorn.”

The girl was doubtful. “What could be as cool as that?”

Francis gestured toward the computer workstations. “How about a soft, fuzzy, adorable kangaroo that can climb trees?”

“That
is
cool.” Convinced, the girl hopped up and down in excitement, her purple backpack bobbing in time. “Let’s go!”

As the pair moved away, another twosome approached the reference desk. Murphy had brought one of her reporters along. James immediately recognized the young woman that had confronted him in the men’s room the week before.

“I’m glad you’re back,” James said by way of greeting.

Murphy looked haggard. “Me too. It’s been a hard couple of days. I believe you know Lottie, one of my reporters.”

“We’ve had the pleasure, yes,” James answered wryly.

The young reporter issued a small smile but said nothing.

“Lottie agreed to be our self-tanner guinea pig. I thought we’d deal with Mr. Sneed’s makeup riddle before our next get-together in which I share what I learned at the funeral and you can tell me what you found out at the vet’s.” Murphy signaled to Lottie. “Show him your arm.”

Pushing up her sleeve, Lottie revealed a thin, almost hairless, and very orange arm. She twisted her limb so that James could see the brighter and more uneven hue of the underside of her forearm.

“That’s the self-tanner,” she said and then rolled up the sleeve covering her other arm. “I’ve got foundation on this one.” Seeing the perplexed look on James’s face, she explained, “Foundation is a base makeup that a lot of women use to cover imperfections in their skin. It’s supposed to match your skin tone, but some of the cheaper ones can look a bit orange.”

James thought back to the shade of Mr. Sneed’s face. “It’s not like the self-tanner. That’s too orange.” He pointed at Lottie’s left arm. “The overall look was much more like that makeup stuff, but a bit more uneven.”

“Maybe he didn’t know how to apply foundation properly,” Lottie suggested. “It goes on the most smoothly with a makeup sponge. He may have just used his fingers. Sounds like he didn’t choose a shade that exactly matched his normal skin tone, either. He must have gone a shade too dark.”

Nodding, James looked at Murphy. “He could have bought this stuff at any drug or grocery store, right?”

“That’s right.” Murphy was clearly disappointed. “We’ll never get anywhere pursuing that angle, but let’s think about what else might have been a fake. His wig? His beard? That stuff’s not too easy to come by.”

Hating to knock down her theory, James hesitantly said, “Except that Halloween was just two weeks ago.”

Murphy looked like she was on the verge of tears. “Give us a minute, would you, Lottie?”

Lottie moved off and began examining the new fiction releases. Within moments, Scott appeared at her side and the two whispered animatedly while staring at the cover of the latest Tad Williams fantasy,
Shadowplay
.

“Did any clues turn up at Parker’s office?” Murphy asked. Her face was filled with a trepidatious hope.

“Everyone seems to love Colin Crabtree. Especially women,” James told her.

Murphy rubbed her swollen eyes. “Yeah, I kept an eye on him at the funeral. There’s no denying he’s handsome, yet he’s remarkably down-to-earth as well. He seemed pretty broken up about Parker, but he could just be a great actor. Between Milla’s class and the funeral, my impression so far is pretty favorable.” She drummed her fingers on the countertop. “So no leads came out of your visit—just that everyone loves Colin?”

“Well, not everyone. There’s a farmer named Ramsay who’s been telling everyone that Colin’s not worth his salt as a big animal doc. Even June, Parker’s assistant, admits that Colin isn’t at the top of his game in caring for animals. The other partner, Dwight, is taking care of the majority of Parker’s patients right now.”

“Ramsay, huh? I bet that’s Ramsay’s Beef Farm. My folks used to buy whole sides of beef from him when I was a kid. I’m from a pretty big family.” Murphy rubbed her chin absently. James could almost hear the gears turning in her head.

“Let’s pay this farmer a visit,” she suggested. “I can pretend we’re doing a piece on cattle diseases and promise him that we’ll do a big spread that’ll guarantee a lot of publicity for his farm.”

“You want me to come along?”

Murphy smiled. “Absolutely! In fact, you’re going to pose as my photographer.”

James glanced down at his khaki pants. “What should I wear?”

“Jeans and some rubber boots.” Murphy raised her brows. “We’re going to be walking through barns and cattle fields.”

“And you’ll fill me in on your trip to Kansas in the car?”

Murphy tapped James affectionately on the temple. “You’re a sharp one, Professor Henry.” She caught Lottie’s eye and waved her over. “I think we’re onto something with Colin. He can’t be as great as he seems.”

“Maybe,” James responded without conviction, as he didn’t want to encourage her too much. “He does fish, too, but so do half of the men who live around here.”

Clearly only listening to the first portion of his statement, Murphy grabbed James by the arm. “The fishing lure! We’ve got to nail that down. Another thing to add to our list.” Her eyes glimmered. “If I can arrange for the interview to happen over the next couple of days, would you mind driving? My car’s going in for service.”

“I’ll drive,” James agreed, “but I can’t miss any more work. Can you try to book the interview for Saturday or Sunday?”

“Sure. I’ll call you as soon as I know.”

“Murphy?” he held on to her arm. “Don’t you think we should be investigating Kinsley’s background, too? I mean, maybe the killer didn’t realize that it was Parker on that field trip. After all, I didn’t know it wasn’t Kinsley until …”

With a shake of her head, Murphy dismissed this idea. “She just moved here, James. No, we need to focus on Parker’s life. We’re going to get to the bottom of this.” After this declaration, she left with a visible spring to her step.

James watched her leave. He didn’t honestly believe that Colin was a solid suspect. If he were, the police would have him in custody. According to all the major papers, no arrests had yet been made. Whoever had strangled Parker was still at large.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and just stumble on something,” he muttered without conviction.

“
What
is that smell?” Murphy held her nose as she jumped into the passenger seat of the Bronco early Saturday morning.

James glanced at the center console, which he had scrubbed using every type of cleaning agent he could find in his house. Apparently, none of the bleach, de-greasers, or odor neutralizers had found a way to vanquish the pungent scent of cat vomit. “The Dalai Lama got sick to his stomach on the way home from the vet,” he said, scowling.

Murphy laughed. “The Dalai Lama? Man, that is
so
Gillian.”

“So where exactly is Ramsay’s farm?” James asked.

“South on I-81.” Murphy consulted the Google map she had printed out off the computer. “Shouldn’t take us long and then we can have lunch in downtown Staunton afterwards. There’s this awesome little place called the Dining Room where we can get a seared and seasoned filet.” She slipped her seat belt across her trim waist. “Might as well get a jump start on the Thanksgiving/Christmas gorge.”

James drove through Quincy’s Gap, which was still sleepy on a cold, November morning. One town employee, bundled up in coat, hat, and gloves, swept a scattering of shriveled brown leaves into a neat pile and tipped his cap at the Bronco as James drove past.

“I love this town,” Murphy stated, sighing with contentment. “When I was in college, I always thought I’d move up to New York or D.C., be some hotshot journalist, live in an apartment twenty stories high, take the subway to cocktail parties, plays, and gallery openings, and dress in a lot of hip, black clothing.”

“What happened?” James wondered.

Murphy shrugged. “I tried it for a few years, but I was no hotshot. Shoot, I never rose above the level of copyeditor, and my apartment was the size of an outhouse. I couldn’t afford any of the hip clothes, and I spent the only cocktail party I went to trying to convince the other guests that I wasn’t with the wait staff!” She pointed at the rolling hills outside the window. “Every time I came back here, to the Valley, to visit my folks, I’d feel more and more homesick. One day, when I had come back for a long weekend holiday, my mom showed me an ad calling for an editor for
The Star
.” She smiled nostalgically. “That job had come vacant just for me. I felt it in my bones.”

“Lucky for us,” James said kindly.

“Not everyone feels that way.” Murphy traced one of the lines on her map. “Reporters aren’t always very well liked, James. We have to get in people’s faces, get under their skin—even hide behind some bushes! We have to act sneaky and conniving and pushy all in the name of news. I remember rubbing
you
wrong more than once.”

Chuckling, James nodded in agreement. “That’s for sure. And I bet it was difficult to ask questions at Parker’s funeral.”

“It really was.” Murphy’s sigh was heavy with sadness. “I didn’t learn anything of much significance, either. As I said before, Colin was there and seemed genuinely upset. I also met Gary Lowe, Kinsley’s ex. I only saw him briefly, as he had to fly back to New York right after the service. I was surprised that they had once been a couple just because Gary doesn’t look like someone that a smart, gorgeous, and wealthy young woman would date, but Kinsley clung to him the whole time like he was her life preserver.”

James digested this information. “What about the money? That can’t have been an easy trail to follow.”

“No, it wasn’t, but I was frank with Kinsley on the plane. I told her I was looking into Parker’s death and wanted to know everything about the money. She was completely supportive.” Murphy watched the landscape as it quickly changed from the heavily wooded, twisty road leading away from Quincy’s Gap to the flat and crowded interstate. “You’ve got to realize that Kinsley is broken in two. She’s a shattered person right now. I barely got her to talk, but she did tell me that the girls were required to make wills upon receiving their inheritances at age twenty-five. They each left their share to the other, with some of the money going to their favorite charities.”