Plain Jane (7 page)

“Okay, next caller. Stacy, talk to me. What’s bothering you on this rainy morning?”

A small, tired voice came over the line. “Life. It’s not worth living anymore. I hate my job. I don’t have any friends. And my cat just died. I just want to go to sleep and never wake up.”

Jane bolted upright in her chair. Her shoulders tensed. “Okay, Stacy, I’m here to listen to your problems and try to help you work them out. Let’s start with your cat. I’ve got my dog right here beside me, and I know how bad I would feel if anything happened to her. It’s perfectly natural to grieve over the loss of a beloved pet. It’s also healthy. People need to grieve to heal. I suggest you get another cat right away, not to replace the one you lost because nothing will do that but because you need another animal to love. The SPCA has so many animals that desperately need homes. Will you think about it?”

“You don’t think I would be betraying her memory to get another cat right away?”

“No. Not at all.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said.

Jane knew by the sound of Stacy’s voice that a new cat was in her immediate future. “Now, let’s see what we can do about this job you hate so much. Talk to me, tell me exactly what the problem is.”

There were several problems, but they all boiled down to the fact that Stacy hated sitting and staring at a computer all day. After work, she was too frazzled to do anything but go home, eat fast food, and go to bed. And because she never went out, she didn’t have any friends.

“Okay, Stacy, you need to find another job, an outdoor job or at least something where you’re outdoors part of the time. You also need to join a club, an exercise club or a sport club. We have a softball league here at the station, and we can use some good outfielders. Come by and sign up, today, now. What do you say? Can I count on you coming by in an hour or so?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I have another idea. We have a crisis center. How would you like to do some volunteer work? It’s just a few hours a week. You can talk to some of our counselors and get on the right track at the same time. I need a commitment here, Stacy. I’ll wait for you if you give me your promise to come by.”

“Volunteer work? Really?”

Jane saw Tom give her the sign that they were going to break for a commercial. “Really, Stacy,” she said, nodding at him. “I’ll be expecting you, Stacy. This is Dr. Jane Lewis, and this is
Talk to Me
.”

Jane took off her headphones and noted that the
off the air
sign was on. “Did you get her phone number, Tom?” He nodded. “If she shows up, hold her till I go off the air.” Tom nodded again.

The hour crawled by, a couple of calls snappy and to the point, one totally off the wall. Tom held up his index finger to indicate another caller was on the line.

“Talk to me, Dennis. Tell me what’s bothering you this morning.”

“I witnessed a criminal act in which a friend of mine was badly hurt. I wanted to go to the police, but my friend swore me to secrecy. I don’t feel good about this. I want the criminals caught, but I swore I would never talk about it. What should I do?”

Jane reared back from the microphone. In all the time she’d been doing the show, she’d never had a caller with a problem even remotely resembling her own. Considering where her mind had been just a couple of hours ago, it seemed more than a little coincidental. But what else could it be?

“Dr. Lewis?” the caller asked.

“I’m here, Dennis. The answer to your question is complicated because there are both legal and moral concerns. I advise you to go to the authorities, report the crime, and get help for your friend whether he or she wants it or not. It could destroy your friendship, but better that than whatever mental pain your friend suffered destroying him or her.”

“I was afraid you might say that. I asked a lawyer friend of mine, and he said the same thing you did.”

“Well, there you have it, Dennis.” Jane almost sighed with relief when she saw Tom’s thumb point down. “Our hour is up, but thanks for listening. This is Dr. Jane Lewis. I’ll be back next Friday morning at nine o’clock with another hour of
Talk to Me.
Have a great weekend and remember the three R’s. Respect for self, respect for others, responsibility for all your actions. If that’s too intense for some of you, go with this—don’t trust anyone who doesn’t close his or her eyes when kissing.”

“Good show, Jane,” Tom Bradley said, popping his head out of the control room. “Your girl, Stacy, is in the lobby. Listen, would you like to take in dinner and a movie this weekend?”

Jane smiled and shook her head. “Thanks, Tom, but I think our relationship has run its course. I enjoy your company, but I’m afraid I’m never going to feel anything but friendship toward you, so there’s no point in continuing to see each other.”

“We haven’t even been out a half dozen times, Jane. How the hell do you know if you could never feel anything but friendship toward me?”

How many times had she told her patients to stay away from personal involvement with coworkers? Office dating failed more often than it succeeded. This was one of those times she wished she’d followed her own advice. “I just know, Tom. I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t like you. You’re a good man, but you’re not the man for me.”

“Is there someone else?”

Was there? Did Mike Sorenson count as someone else? “Not at the moment. I hope my decision doesn’t cause problems between us. I love doing the show, and I’ve been thinking a lot about going to two days a week, but—”

“No, no,” he said, shaking his head. “There’s no problem.”

Jane knew he was agreeing with her for the sake of the show, which was why she’d mentioned it. She wouldn’t have even considered the subtle threat had he not been so persistent.

“Where are those softball forms? I want to give one to Stacy.”

Tom whipped one out of the basket on his desk. “We could really use a good relief pitcher.”

“Thanks for being so understanding,” she said with a sincerity she was far from feeling. But to leave him feeling good about himself, a little schmoozing was needed. “See you next week.”

“Yeah, next week. Take care of her, Olive.”

Trixie McGuire pranced into the police station like she owned the place, and in a way she did. She donated handsomely to any and all fund-raisers in her name and Fred’s. Other more costly items, like digital cameras and the latest high-tech equipment were always sent anonymously. Trixie didn’t like it when people gushed over her generosity.

“Morning, Miss Trixie, how’s it going on this ugly, rainy Friday morning?” Jake Ramos, the on-duty officer asked. “You got any strawberry rhubarb today?” He patted his beer belly with anticipation.

“Two strawberry rhubarbs just for you, Jake,” Trixie said, thumping down a box of Krispy Kreme donuts on his desk. “Anything happening?”

“If you call Maude Lassiter swatting Luke and putting him through the wall because he had a snootful at three this morning, then that’s what’s happening. We got him locked up in the back. Shoulda locked her up, but she skedaddled out the back. She’ll come in around noon to bail him out and we’ll give her our usual sermon and Luke will be good till next week. What’s new with you? Any offers yet?”

“Close, Jake,” Trixie lied, straight-faced. “Anything on the wires? What’s going on in N’awlins?”

“Quiet, Trixie, real quiet.”

“Shoot!” Trixie complained as she bit into her donut. She was nose deep in chocolate cream when the station doors flew open and four men barreled in, simultaneously talking and arguing.

“What are they all arguing about?” she asked, bending close to Jake’s ear.

“Bob Henry’s been accepted into the FBI, so that means his dog Flash is going up for adoption. Those four all want him. Flash is the best K-9 dog in the state of Louisiana. The department was planning on retiring him next month anyway, but with Bob going off to Quantico, they had to make the decision sooner than expected.”

“He must be some dog.”

“He’s good in the field all right, but he doesn’t have many social skills. Truth to tell, I don’t know why anyone would want him. From what I’ve seen he can be downright vicious.”

Trixie gathered her thoughts and analyzed the situation. Chances were those men weren’t looking for a pet. More than likely they’d turn him into a guard dog or hunting dog. They’d probably keep him chained outside. “How much?”

Jake looked up in surprise. “How much?”

“What are they selling him for, Jake?”

“He’s not for sale, Trixie. We just want him to have a good home.”

Trixie pointed a bony finger in the direction of the four very vocal men. “None of those bubbas will give him a good home, and we both know it. But I will. Our last dog died of old age a few years back, and we just never got around to getting another one. Flash is just the kind of dog Fred and I need. How much, Jake? Name your price.”

Jake wiped the chocolate off his mouth with the back of his hand. “Trixie, the dog weighs more than you do. You and Fred would never be able to handle him. Flash is not a lapdog. He’s a legitimate police officer with his own badge. He’s an expert at tracking criminals and sniffing out drugs and guns. Bob is the only one he listens to.”

“Five hundred dollars!” Trixie said smartly.

“Sold!” Jake said, slamming his fist down on his desk. Chocolate cream splattered in every direction.

Trixie burst out laughing. Obviously her offer had excited him so much, he’d forgotten he was holding a cream-filled donut.

Jake stood up, his expression anything but amused as he wiped chocolate cream off his uniform. “You boys can stop your arguing. Flash has been adopted by Trixie here.” There was a chorus of grumbling and complaining, which Jake brought to a quick end when he told them Trixie had agreed to pay five hundred dollars for the privilege of adopting Flash.

“The chief will skin me alive if this goes sour, Trixie. What that means is, you take him, he’s yours. You can’t give him back if it’s too much for you.”

“He won’t be too much for me,” she said with more confidence than she felt. He was just a dog, after all. The only thing she was really worried about was what Fred would say when she showed up with a K-9 police dog. Better not to think about that right now. “Where’s the dog now?”

“They’re bringing him to the station. How about some coffee? I made it myself right before you came in.”

Trixie nodded as she contemplated what she was going to say to Fred. She accepted the coffee Jake offered and touched her lips to the rim and sipped.

“Just the way you like it, Trixie, four sugars and a dollop of cream.”

She heard Flash before she saw him. And what she heard was enough to make her set her coffee cup down on the desk sergeant’s desk, then scurry behind it.

“It’s not too late to reconsider, Trixie,” Jake said, giving her a sideways look.

“I can handle it, Jake. Let’s just see what he does.”

“Okay, but there’s something I forgot to tell you. He only understands German commands. You might have to get one of those Berlitz tapes and take a crash course.”

The door opened. Trixie shrank into herself as she stared at the most magnificent animal she’d ever seen.

“He’s a Belgian Malinois,” Jake informed her. “Born and bred in Holland before coming to Louisiana. He weighs a hundred and ten pounds.”

The dog strained at the leash being held by two patrol officers. A third officer entered the station with two cardboard cartons on a dolly. “This is his gear, Sarge.”

“His gear?” Trixie squeaked.

“Yeah, his gear,” Jake said. “Bulletproof vest, special leashes, special food, special vitamins, some toys, his toothbrush, hairbrush, nail clippers, eyedrops, his badge, and a bunch of other stuff. He has a bed, blanket, and special towels. You know, Trixie, gear.”

The dog started to whine even as he continued to strain at his leash.

Trixie was no dog expert, but Flash did not look like a happy dog. “What’s wrong with him? He seems agitated.”

“He’s been locked up ever since Bob left. I imagine he’s feeling abandoned. Bob was the only one Flash bonded with. And he’s probably bored. He likes patrol work, loves the siren and all the excitement. I imagine he doesn’t know what to think or feel right now.”

“I see,” Trixie said, studying the dog from a distance.

“By the way, Trixie, Bob said he doesn’t like women. Guess I should have told you that straight out, but I forgot until just now.”

Trixie’s eyebrow peaked. “Are you going to tell me why, Jake?”

“Some whacko broad took a blowtorch to him. Good thing he was wearing his vest. Aside from a little scorched fur, he was fine. You need to start thinking about taking him home, Trixie.”

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking,” she muttered. She’d never been afraid of anything in her life and she wasn’t about to let a dog scare the hell out of her, even if he was a hundred ten pounds and looked like a timber wolf.

Fred had once accused her of being nastier than cat shit. Maybe this was one of those times when being mean and nasty would do more good than harm. With a calm she was far from feeling, she looked at each of the officers. “Let him go.”

“This is not by the book, Trixie.”

“You got that right, Jake, but that’s the way it’s got to be. I’m going to sit down here on the bench, and I’m not going to move. Let’s just see what happens.”

“Let him go,” Jake said.

A moment later the huge dog raced around the room, going from person to person, sniffing. Waiting her turn, Trixie bit down on her lower lip. Suddenly the dog’s tail settled between his legs and his ears flattened against his head. He charged toward her and skidded to a stop in front of her. Trixie didn’t blink. “I don’t have a blowtorch, Flash,” she said in a low voice. “I don’t have anything in my hands.” She turned her hands over for him to see. “Yeah, you’re almost as big as I am, and you sure as hell weigh more than I do, but I’m not afraid of you,” she said, smiling. She watched as the big dog cocked his head, listening. Still, his tail remained between his legs, and his ears stayed flat against his head.

“I need a few minutes alone with him. Everybody take a hike and give me five.”