Drop Dead on Recall (19 page)

58

“I need you,” I
told Tom, back inside Dog Dayz about three minutes later.

“Wow, that was quick.” He faced me and opened his arms. “I’m all yours!”

Anger overrode estrogen, and my pulse didn’t react at all. “I have four flat tires.”

Tom followed me out the door and took a quick glance at my foundered van. “Yep, they’re flat all right. Hang on.” He took Drake to his car, came back with a flashlight, and made the rounds of the four useless tires. “Sidewalls have been slashed.” Tom remained calm while I ranted in clear violation of my moratorium on four-letter words, then drove me to Mom’s house.

I called Jade Templeton first thing in the morning and told her
I’d have to postpone Mom’s move until noonish. Then I called
Detective Stevens and left her a message to call me. I knew it was a bit
of a reach to expect a homicide detective to care about vandalism, but my gut told me this was linked to Abigail’s death, and autopsy
report or no, I no longer thought that was due to natural causes. I
called Goldie next. I needed her to drive me to Sears to see about new tires, but she didn’t answer either, so I called Connie. She said they had a light morning and her assistant could handle it.

Finally I called Bill and told him what was happening. He showed up at Mom’s twenty minutes later and was still explaining how my tire situation inconvenienced him when Connie arrived. I placed one more call, this time to my road service for a tow, or rather a carry, since the poor car couldn’t roll on four flats. “They said they’d be at the Dog Dayz parking lot in half an hour, so let’s pick up some coffee on the way. I could use some caffeine.”

We were getting back into Connie’s car with steaming lattes and fresh muffins when my cell phone rang.

“Heard you had some trouble last night.” It was Jo Stevens.

“How did you find out so fast?”

“Officer Hernandez knew I was working on the dog lady deaths. Since your tires were slashed at the dog training place, he thought there might be a connection.”

“The dog lady deaths?”

“Cute, huh? Anyway, I want to come talk to you about it. Now a good time?”

“But I didn’t call the police. Except for you.”

“We know everything.” The detective waited a beat, then laughed and said, “The owner of the place called since it happened in her parking lot.”

Of course, that made sense. “Wait, but … You’re investigating Abigail’s and Suzette’s deaths? I mean, officially?”

She didn’t offer anything specific, but confirmed that there was now an official investigation. I told her where I was and where I was going, and she said she’d meet us at the Sears garage. She wanted to see the tires. “Don’t let them take them off the car until I get there—I want photos.”

“If I’d known, I’d have brought my camera.”

“Anyway, be careful. See you in a few minutes.”

Jo was waiting at the garage when we pulled in behind the tow truck. She took her photos and the mechanic began pulling the dead tires off the van. We needed a place to talk. The waiting room wasn’t crowded, but there was a woman with four pre-schoolers and it was a tad noisy for conversation, so we walked into the mall and found a seat in front of Aunt Annie’s pretzel place. I was giddy from the aroma of yeast and cinnamon by the time we sat down.

“Any idea who did this?” She studied Connie, who had popped a piece of gum into her mouth and now seemed intent on folding the wrapper into the tiniest packet possible.

“Not strong enough to accuse anyone, no.”

Jo shifted her attention back to me. “No idea at all?”

I told her about my conversations with Giselle and with Francine Peterson. “But Francine wouldn’t know my car and she’d have no reason to go after me anyway. And I just can’t see Giselle doing it. Could have been random vandalism.” But even I didn’t believe that.

“All four tires?” Connie tossed the paper on the floor. “I
told
you not to ask so many questions.” She folded her arms across her chest. “My money’s on Francine.”

“Why is that?” Jo asked, picking the gum wrapper up from the floor and tossing it into a waste container behind Connie.

“She looked pretty angry when she came in last night.” Connie leaned across the table and tapped my hand. “Maybe she thought it was Greg’s van, you know, Abigail’s van. It looks a lot like yours.” I recalled that Tom had said the same thing. “Or maybe she blames you for keeping her from picking Pip up at the show.”

Jo was watching something to my left, and I followed her gaze. Good ol’ Hutch was headed our way. “This kind of damage took some serious effort, and I’d say a fair amount of anger.” She nodded at Hutchinson as he pulled up a chair. “Anything?”

A familiar odor tickled my nose, and Connie’s expression told me she smelled it too.

“I checked the dog place’s parking lot and alley. Found a chisel behind some trash about a block away. Looks about the right size.” Hutchinson laid a bag on the table, “Evidence” stamped into the plastic and a tool of some sort inside. It could have been a chisel, for all I knew about tools.

“But how do you know …”

Hutchinson cut me off. “Look familiar to either of you ladies?” The smell was getting stronger.

Connie glared at him, and a warm wave rolled up my neck and face. “What are you suggesting?” I asked.

“Just asking a question, ma’am.” He looked from me to Connie and back. “Either of you recognize this chisel or know who it might belong to?”

We shook our heads.

He held the chisel toward Jo and pointed to an area along the edge. “There’s a nick in the edge of the blade, something caught in it. Could be a bit of tire.”

Jo told her partner, “Dispatch called. We caught another case. You go get started and I’ll catch up with you.” She held out her hand for the evidence bag.

Hutchinson started to protest, but seemed to think better of it.

“And Hutchinson?”

“Yeah?”

“You need to clean your shoe.”

“Huh?” He raised his right foot to check the sole, then the left. “Aww, shit!”

“Bingo.”

When he was gone, I grinned at Jo. “You’d be a good dog trainer.” She didn’t say anything, but her lips twitched.

59

Detective Stevens and Connie
and I stood looking at the tires from my Caravan. The holes were narrow slits, and clean. Exactly the sort of holes the sharp chisel in Hutchinson’s baggie might make. Jo took some notes, then pulled her phone out and walked away. She was on her way back to us when a mechanic strolled over and handed her a piece of paper. “This was under the wiper.” Jo took it by the edges, read it, and turned it so I could see. My stomach did a half-gainer as I read YOU COULD BE NEXT, printed in large black letters.

Jo pulled a plastic bag from a pocket in her notebook, slipped the
warning into it, and zipped it shut. She gave me a look that made me think of Mom. “You call me if anything—I mean anything—strange happens again. Keep your eyes open and
be careful
.” I resisted the urge to glance over my shoulder right then.

When Jo was gone, Connie and I strolled back into the mall, figuring it would be better to walk than to sit in the gritty waiting room, even though the frazzled mother and her noisy mob had left.

“I’m worried for you, Janet.”

“Tell me about it!”

We speculated on what the tire attack was all about. Was it possible that someone—Francine?—thought my car was Greg’s? But why slash his tires? And what was she doing at Dog Dayz anyway? Giselle had left in a huff before I did. But why on earth would
she
do such a thing? And even if she wanted to, was Giselle ballsy enough to risk getting caught?

“Who would have a chisel?” asked Connie.

“I dunno.” Didn’t
I
have a chisel somewhere in my garage? “Lots of people do, probably.”

“Francine would have one.” Connie glanced sideways at me.

“She would?”

“She’s a handyman, well, you know, handy woman. She has one of those odd-job businesses, like ‘call-a-husband.’ Abigail told me that.”

“But that doesn’t mean …”

Connie elbowed me in the ribs. I stopped talking. Greg Dorn had just walked out of the Travelfair agency office with a packet of some sort in his hands. He was cutting across the mall at a right angle to us.

“I wonder where he’s going?”

“Can’t say I could blame him for wanting to get away for a while.” I could have stood a getaway myself. “Should we say hello?”

But he had already disappeared into Macy’s, so we walked on. Connie told me that Fly’s breeder was going to take the dog back since Suzette’s sister didn’t want to keep her.

“She’s up past Chicago, north of the city, actually in Wisconsin, I think. I guess she’s willing to come get Fly, but asked Yvonne if she could meet her halfway.”

“Yvonne?”

“Suzette’s sister.”

“I know that. But I thought Marietta was keeping Fly for a while?”

“Right. But I imagine Yvonne inherited her, so she’s making the arrangements.”

You could drive her part way. You’ve been wanting to take photos at Potowatomi again,
whispered the helpful little angel on my right shoulder. Her devilish counterpart added,
Yeah, and you could do some more nosing around
. I made a mental note to call Marietta and offer to drive Fly halfway if her breeder could meet me. I might even take those photos.

60

Before I could volunteer
to reunite Fly with her breeder, I had familial duties to fulfill. Moving Mom was not going to be a lot of fun. Tom offered to help, and I didn’t try very hard to dissuade him.
He had helped her gather a bouquet of at least fifty daffodils in
yellows ranging from palest cream to darkest gold. Four or five branches of pussy willow added height at the center of the arrangement, which filled a big cut-crystal vase. Mom was humming something vaguely familiar and tying a big bow around the waist of the vase when I walked in.

“Hi, Mom. Beautiful bouquet.”

“Yes.” She stopped her work for a moment and frowned at me. “You’re late, Alice.”
Who in the heck is Alice?
Mom tilted her head toward me and lowered her voice. “The gentleman here is buying these flowers for his sweetheart. Isn’t that romantic?”

Tom stood behind her, grinning.

“They’re lovely. But why are you using Christmas ribbon with daffodils?”

“Oh, am I? I thought it was a nice contrast.” She gave the bow a final tug and a pat, and stepped back for a better look. Yep, no question, the green, red, and gold plaid bow certainly contrasted with the spring flowers.

“So, Mom, how about we go for a ride?” I had to work to keep the emotion out of my voice.

“Oh, my, I don’t know where my boots are.” She adjusted a daffodil. “No, I don’t think so, dear. Thanks, but I really don’t like to ride without my boots. The stirrup leathers chafe my legs.” Mom had been a competitive rider as a young woman, but I was pretty certain she hadn’t been on a horse since before I was born. The sadness of that thought wrapped itself tight around my chest.

Tom leaned back against the kitchen counter and held me in his gaze, his eyes like a big, warm hug, while I regained control and plunged ahead. “No, Mom, not horseback riding. Let’s go for a car ride.”

“Oh, yes!” Mom clapped her hands together, twirled around, and lunged for her purse, which was lying on the kitchen table. “We can deliver the flowers! They’ll be so happy to get them.”

“So much for the sweetheart.” Tom winked at me as he offered Mom his arm. “You bring the flowers, Alice. I’ll take this lovely young lady to the car.” Mom latched on to him with a giggle, and off they went.

Twenty minutes later we pulled up in front of Shadetree Retirement Home, and I was surprised that Mom remembered the stated purpose of our outing. I was even more surprised that she remembered my name. “Janet, dear, you take the flowers in. Your father and I will wait here.” Ah, well, two out of three wasn’t bad.

Tom hopped out and hurried around to Mom’s door. He leaned into the car, unfastened her seat belt, and helped her out. “Upsy daisy, there you are. Shall we?” Once again he played the gallant, and she hooked her arm through his. I brought the flowers.

Jade Templeton met us at the front desk. “Ah, Mrs. MacPhail. It’s so nice to see you. And what gorgeous flowers! Are these from your garden?” she asked, taking the bouquet out of my arms and setting it on the counter.

Mom froze, then scanned the lobby, a crease settling across her forehead. She pulled away from Tom, skewered me with a look, and declared, “I’m ready to go home.”

“Why don’t we take a little walk around?” Jade emerged from behind the counter and started to put her arm around Mom.

“Leave me alone.”

I don’t believe I’d ever heard my mother hiss before, and another wave of guilt washed over me. I looked at Jade, then at Tom, for help. “Maybe it’s not time yet. Not if she knows what’s happening.”

Jade tried again to take my mother’s hand, inviting her for a “little tour of our home.” Mom jerked away and hugged her purse to her chest with both hands wrapped so tightly around it that her knuckles went white.

“No. I don’t know you.”

“Not yet, but I’d like to get to know you.” Jade took a step toward Mom. “Why don’t I show you around and we can talk? Would you like to see the garden?”

No sale. Mom pulled away from Jade again and wove her arm through Tom’s. He patted her hand. “Why don’t we both take the tour?”

“No. I want to leave.”

My eyes started to burn, and I needed to sit down. Tom signaled with his free hand toward a chair. He was reading my mind again.

“Let’s walk around and see if we can find the exit.”

That perked her up. She let her purse drop to her side, clutching the handle in her left hand and Tom’s strong arm in her right, and off they went.

The lobby opened into a large common area. Two men were playing chess at a table in the center, and several ladies were gathered around a television at one end. A small gray and white cat lay curled on one of their laps. Another woman sat in a lounge chair, a vacant look on her face and a pink teddy bear upside down on her lap. Tom led Mom around the room, and I collapsed into the chair in the lobby. Jade patted me on the shoulder. “It’ll be fine. This is the hardest part.”

For once in my life, I was speechless.

As they approached me on their fourth lap of the lobby and hallway, Tom spoke to me. “What time do you have to pick Jay up?”

“They close at six.”

He kept Mom moving, but slowed their pace. “Look, this is going to take a while. Why don’t you call and see if you can pick him up and take him home.”

“I don’t …”

“Janet, you don’t want to be without your dog again tonight and you know he wants to go home. Go ahead. We’re fine. When you get back, we should be all settled in.” I knew he was right, at least about the first part. I was going to need a warm, furry friend tonight. I had one at home, but two would be even better.