Raining Cats & Dogs (A Melanie Travis Mystery) (24 page)

I
tried to have a word with Stacey as the obedience club regrouped by the door and was escorted out. She and Bubbles were near the front of the party, however, and Stacey was engrossed in conversation with Kelly. Faith and I, having lingered that extra minute to talk to Borden, were near the back, and the corridor was filled with too many people for us to walk around and catch up.

While waiting to try again when we were outside, I mulled over what Borden had told me. When Michael had needed to get a clandestine message to his mother, he’d entrusted the delivery to an old friend. It was interesting that I hadn’t heard anything about this friendship before. Not from Michael, not from Paul, and not from Stacey herself.

Although now that I thought about it, it occurred to me that I’d never questioned Stacey about her relationship with the Livingston family. Mostly because it hadn’t crossed my mind that she had one. Of course, there was always the possibility that Borden, with his memory lapses and his scribbled notes, was mistaken. But either way, I needed to get some answers.

By the time Faith and I reached the parking lot, Stacey was already unlocking her car. She opened the door, lifted Bubbles up, and placed her carefully on the front seat. The Papillon scampered across to the other side and waited expectantly. Faith and I hurried over before Stacey could slide in the car herself.

“Excuse me, do you have a minute?”

“Maybe one.” Stacey turned and looked back. “I’m kind of in a hurry.”

“I’ll be quick. I was just wondering how well you knew Mary Livingston.”

Immediately, Stacey’s expression closed down. Her eyes grew wary. The change was almost imperceptible, but I deal with kids all day; I can read evasive body language at ten paces. And in the space of a heartbeat, I’d lost her.

Damn, I thought. Wrong question.

“Not very well at all,” she replied. “That it?”

“No, I—”

Stacey slipped inside her car. She quickly slammed the door shut. Now there was a window between us. I hoped Stacey might lower it, but she didn’t. Instead, she reached down and fitted her key into the ignition.

“Sorry.” Her voice, muffled by the glass, was barely audible. “Got to go.”

It was a good thing Faith and I moved to one side, because the car was already backing up. I got the impression that even if we’d continued to stand in the way, she wouldn’t have hesitated.

“Watch your toes,” Julie said. Her SUV was parked in the next space, and she and Jack came up behind us. “When Stacey’s ready to roll, heaven help the person or dog that tries to stop her.”

“I just wanted to ask her a question,” I said as Stacey’s car sped out of the lot.

“Don’t take it personally. Stacey’s always like that after a visit to this place.”

“Like what?”

“You know, furtive, edgy, in a hurry. Like she can’t wait to get out of here. Haven’t you ever noticed that before?”

“No.” I angled Faith to one side as Julie opened her door and the Doberman hopped up onto a seat. Immediately, Julie reached in and cracked all the windows. “But I haven’t been here that many times.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Julie said, nodding. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know what Stacey’s story is. But something about this place must creep her out. At first I thought that maybe being around all these old people made her uncomfortable. But if that’s the case, why would she keep coming back? Nobody’s forcing her to make these visits.”

“Did you ever ask her about it?”

“Once. She blew me off, much like she just did with you. So I figured, hey, it’s none of my business.”

Words to live by, I thought. Too bad I’d never been able to.

“Some people aren’t good at answering questions,” I said. Then stared pointedly.

I might have been remiss in not talking with Stacey earlier, but I hadn’t made the same mistake with Julie. The problem was, even though I’d spoken with her, I hadn’t managed to learn anything.

Julie stared back. She looked faintly annoyed but also a bit amused.

“Go ahead,” she said. The words came out sounding like a challenge. “Take your best shot. What do you want to know?”

Mindful of the fact that I’d overlooked the possibility of a relationship between Mary and Stacey, I led with the same question I’d asked a minute ago. “How well did you know Mary Livingston?”

“Not at all. Aside from seeing her here periodically and hearing bits and pieces about the family from Paul, nada, zip. Which, by the way, if you’re keeping track, and I assume you are, means I couldn’t possibly have had a motive for murder.”

“I guess not,” I said agreeably. Some days I’m in Bad Cop mode. Today, I was feeling more like Good Cop. “I am curious about one thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

“I heard you had some skeletons in your closet.”

Caught by surprise, Julie laughed out loud. Actually, she guffawed. I hadn’t realized I was that funny.

“That’s what’s bugging you? You think
I
have something terrible to hide?”

It was hard to remain serious when she continued to laugh in my face. “Do you?”

“Doesn’t everybody?” Julie took a deep breath and got her amusement under control. “I mean,
come on.
Is there anyone in the world who would like their life to be an open book?”

Now that she mentioned it, I didn’t have anything to hide. At least nothing I could think of quickly. Maybe that meant I hadn’t led a very interesting life. Either that, or all my secrets were already on display. Come to think of it, either alternative was pretty depressing.

“Are you going to tell me who pointed you in my direction?” Julie asked.

“No.”

“Fine, then I’ll guess. It’s not terribly hard to figure out. It was Minnie, right?”

I didn’t nod or agree in any way. Still, Julie went on as though I’d confirmed her guess. “Did she tell you what it is I’m supposed to be hiding?”

“If she had, would I be asking?”

Oops. Belatedly, I realized that confirmed the part about Minnie.

Julie didn’t seem to notice. “It really isn’t any big deal,” she said.

I kept quiet and waited her out. She turned around and checked on Jack. Luckily for me, the Doberman wasn’t offering any excuses. Like the well-trained dog he was, Jack sat patiently in the SUV. He appeared perfectly content.

“I joined the army right out of high school,” Julie said after a minute. “I wanted to go to college and become an engineer, but I didn’t have the money. The army offered to educate me, and I decided to let them.”

The armed forces also taught people how to kill, I thought idly as I waited for her to continue. Not that Mary’s death had needed much skill on the part of her murderer, but it had required a particular mind-set: the determination of someone who’d been taught how to approach an unpleasant job and see it through to the end.

“I don’t know why I even ever told Minnie this,” she continued, frowning. “But you know how it is when a bunch of women get together. There’s a pitcher of margaritas on the table, and next thing you know you’re sharing life stories.”

I nodded because it was the response she seemed to want. Most of the time I’d spent with groups of other women seemed to involve juice boxes, lost shin guards, and a host of shrieking kids. But maybe that was just me.

“So I did my time and got my degree and everything was copacetic. Or at least as copacetic as it can be when you don’t make most of your own decisions and your life isn’t really yours to run. Let me give you the short version. The army and I had irreconcilable differences.”

“How irreconcilable?”

“The AWOL kind.” Julie held up a hand to stop my next question. “Not that I didn’t have my reasons. Good ones, too. Even they eventually had to admit that. You remember back when all the branches of the armed forces were having problems with sexual harassment? Tail Hook, stuff like that?”

“Tail Hook was the navy,” I pointed out.

“Doesn’t make any difference. It was going on all over. I got pretty fed up with the situation and the attitudes I had to deal with and took what you might call a self-authorized extension on a three-day pass. Stupid, I know, but I was young and foolish. It’s the only excuse I’ve got.”

One that most people could probably sympathize with, I thought.

“Of course,” Julie continued, “as soon as I stopped and thought about what I’d done, I realized I wasn’t about to spend the rest of my life running away. When I went back, I found out I was facing a court-martial. So I told them to go ahead, but chances were they weren’t going to like hearing the kinds of things that were going to come out in open court. It took a while and some legal wrangling, but eventually they decided just to discharge me, and I got the heck out.”

“And?” I said.

I tried not to sound too hopeful. Because, so far, based on that story, I had diddly. So Julie had gotten in trouble with the military when she was younger. I couldn’t see what any of that had to do with Mary Livingston’s murder. Or why Minnie had pointed me in Julie’s direction. Unless Minnie had simply been trying to get me off her own case.

“And nothing,” Julie said flatly.

“Minnie seemed to think differently.” It was a shot in the dark, but I threw it out anyway.

She rolled her eyes in disgust. “Minnie’s a drama queen, pure and simple. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

Sometimes being the new kid was a real pain.

Once in the car, I called Sam and told him I was running late. He asked if I needed any help, told me he’d coordinate with Bob for getting Davey back home, and wanted to know how I felt about grilled chicken for dinner. How could I ever have thought that marriage to this man would complicate my life? Aside from a few small technical glitches, so far it had done nothing but make me deliriously happy.

The next call I placed was to Michael Livingston. “I’m in Greenwich,” I said. “Do you have a few minutes to spare? If you want to give me directions, I can come to you.”

“No need for that,” Michael replied hastily. I wondered if he was embarrassed about his living arrangements. “Why don’t we meet in a restaurant on Greenwich Avenue?”

“Sorry, I can’t. I’ve got a dog with me, and it’s too warm to leave her in the car by herself.”

We settled on Bruce Park as a place that would work for both of us. Faith and I arrived first. I took the Poodle for a walk past the tennis courts and around the lake while we waited for Michael to show up. She chased squirrels and scrambled up and down the big rocks for ten minutes before I called her back to my side.

When we returned to the parking lot, Michael was waiting for us. He’d left his car and was sitting at a picnic table under an old elm tree. Faith and I were both happy to sit down in the shade.

“That’s a pretty fancy looking dog,” Michael said.

Faith had been freshly groomed in anticipation of the visit to Winston Pumpernill. Her thick black coat—bathed, blown dry, and scissored the night before—looked luxuriously plush. The pompon on the end of her tail was perfectly round and full. Add to that the fact that she was probably larger than most of the Poodles Michael had ever seen. I’ve grown so accustomed to the way Sam’s and my dogs look, that it takes a fresh eye to make me stop and appreciate how truly striking they are.

Faith preened at the compliment. She might not have understood every word, but she was great at picking up nuances. Deciding Michael was a new friend, she sat down next to him and offered him her manicured paw.

“She just learned that,” I said. “You don’t have to play if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t mind.” He shook the paw briefly. “Your dog has better manners than most people I know in this town. Since we’re here, I’m guessing you have a message for me from my family.”

“Actually, I don’t,” I admitted. Then I stopped and thought about what he’d said. “You mean they still aren’t speaking to you?”

“Not if they can help it. I thought my mother’s death might have brought about some sort of rapprochement, but instead they’re treating it as if the last link between us has been severed. So the hell with it. I don’t need their money, and I don’t need their acceptance. I’ll be heading home to Colorado in a few days. I’m just as glad you called today. It gives me a chance to say good-bye.”

“G
ood-bye?” I echoed faintly. “How can you leave now?”

“Why would I stay? Now that my mother’s gone, there’s nothing left for me in Greenwich anymore. Believe me, that’s been made abundantly clear.”

“What about Mary’s will…?”

It was a rude question. I didn’t quite have the nerve to finish it. But I let the topic dangle in case Michael wanted to contribute. Fortunately, he did.

“The will said just what I expected it to. Most of my mother’s money was tied up in the family trust. She had a bit on the side, and that came to me.”

In a family that had been manufacturing widgets for decades and for whom great wealth was the norm, even “a bit on the side” could add up to a substantial amount.

Michael must have been reading my thoughts. “It’s not about the money,” he said. “It was never about the money. It was about family and belonging and having a chance to see my mother again before it was too late.”

He stopped and sighed. “None of that happened. And now, obviously, the chance has been lost forever. I’ve made a good life for myself, one that doesn’t need to involve my relatives. So I’ll be going home in a day or two. Actually, it will be a big relief to get out of here.”

I supposed I could understand that, but the thought that his family would be lost to him forever seemed infinitely sad to me. “Did you ever talk to your relatives about your illness?”

“No, I never had the chance. And, frankly, under the circumstances, it wasn’t any of their business. If that’s what it would have taken—the knowledge that I might die soon—to make them welcome me back into the fold, then I’m afraid I’m just not interested.”

In his place, I’d have probably felt the same. I wondered whether the police had counted Michael as a suspect in his mother’s murder and how they felt about his leaving town. He laughed in reply when I asked.

“If the police are thinking about detaining me, they certainly haven’t let on. I checked in with Detective O’Malley a couple of days ago. All he told me was that the investigation was proceeding, whatever that means. I don’t think my presence here makes a difference. I’m sure the Livingston clan has enough clout to keep law enforcement working diligently.”

Two weeks had already passed, I thought. If the police had turned up any viable leads, they hadn’t been reported in the newspaper. Which brought me to the topic I’d come to broach.

“Do you mind going over a few more things with me?” I asked.

Michael shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

“When you first came back to Greenwich…when was that, by the way?”

“Last month. Which is another reason why it seems like time for me to go. My lease is just about up, and I don’t plan on renewing.”

I nodded. “Upon your arrival, how did you go about getting in touch with your mother?”

Michael thought back. “I started by calling the house. You know, the phone number she had the last time we’d spoken, which, admittedly, was a while ago.”

“You didn’t know that Mary was living at Winston Pumpernill?”

“I didn’t know anything about her life, which was just the way the family wanted it. Unfortunately, she’d decided to accede to their wishes, or maybe she’d been browbeaten into agreeing. Anyway, when that didn’t work, I tried calling my cousin Sylvia and ended up talking to Paul. He made it perfectly clear that my presence was neither needed nor wanted here.”

“Did he tell you where your mother was?”

“He did give me that much.” Michael’s tone was bitter. “I guess he felt pretty secure in the family’s ability to keep us apart. And as it turned out, he had good reason to feel that way. Before I’d even placed my first phone call to Winston Pumpernill, the administrators knew who I was. None of my calls was put through, and when I tried to visit, I couldn’t even get inside the front door.”

“You must have been feeling pretty frustrated.”

“Frustrated isn’t the word. I was about ready to kill someone.” He stopped abruptly. “It’s a figure of speech.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m not above using it myself.”

Faith, having grown bored listening to our conversation, was now stalking a pair of squirrels that were racing up and down a nearby tree. If I’d thought she had even a hope of catching one, I’d have called her off. But she seemed to enjoy the chase more than the kill, so I left her to her game and turned back to Michael.

“And then?”

“Then I got lucky. It was the last thing I expected. I was walking down Greenwich Avenue one day and I ran into someone I used to know. Her name was Stacey Quillan back then. We went to high school together.”

Stacey Quillan then, Stacey Rhoades now. The woman hadn’t been an old friend of Mary’s, she was an old friend of Mary’s son. That made more sense.

“But that’s not the amazing part,” Michael continued. “It turned out that Stacey knew my mother was at Winston Pumpernill. She’d been visiting the home once a week with some sort of dog group.”

“I know,” I told him. “I’m a member of the therapy dog group, too. That’s how I met your cousin, Paul.”

“So you’ve already spoken to Stacey about this part?”

“Actually, no. That’s why I wanted to hear it from you. You wrote your mother a note and had Stacey pass it to her during one of the visits, didn’t you? That’s how Mary found out that you were in Greenwich and wanted to see her.”

Michael nodded. “It went like clockwork. I told my mother that I’d been prevented from getting in touch with her directly. I wrote that she had to initiate the contact herself. I gather she went back to the family and raised holy hell. Which was pretty gratifying under the circumstances.”

“I’ll bet.”

Faith came racing back, warm from her exertions, tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth. She’d done her job; the squirrels had vanished. She flopped down on the cool grass feeling like a hero.

“The funny thing is,” I said, “Stacey never mentioned to anyone that she knew your mother. And when I asked her about it earlier, she denied there was any connection.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Michael said.

“I agree.” I reached down and stroked Faith’s long back. “And here’s something else that’s odd. Apparently Stacey finds the visits to Winston Pumpernill pretty stressful. I’ve been told that she always seems agitated and in a hurry to get away.”

Michael looked up sharply.

“What?” I asked.

“Probably nothing.” He looked away.

“But maybe it’s something.”

“I shouldn’t be telling tales.”

“Why not? We’re talking about people you haven’t been in touch with for twenty years. People who pushed you out of their lives.”

“It wasn’t like that with Stacey,” Michael said. “She and I were close in high school. Boyfriend and girlfriend for most of senior year. We even went to the prom together. But then we both went off to college, and you know how it is. You begin to grow in different directions.”

“Been there, done that,” I said.

I could remember my high school boyfriend’s name, but the details of his face were a little hazy. We’d broken up when we both came home over Thanksgiving break of freshman year. The parting was mutual, and I hadn’t thought about him in years.

“Anyway,” Michael continued, “what you said a minute ago about Stacey wanting to make a getaway just jogged something in my memory, that’s all.”

I hadn’t phrased things quite that way, but I wasn’t about to correct him. This sounded interesting.

“Back when we were teenagers, Stacey had a bit of a problem. You know what it’s like growing up in a town like Greenwich. Kids get given way too much, way too early. And when everything comes to you that easily, maybe you begin to look in inappropriate places for a quick thrill.”

“Are we talking about drinking?” I asked. “Drugs?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” he said quickly. “At least nothing beyond the usual teenage experimentation. This was something else entirely. I can’t say that I ever really understood what it was about, but Stacey liked to steal things…you know, shoplift? She’d stuff a blouse in her purse or a scarf under her sweater. She’d take things she could easily afford to buy, stuff she didn’t even need. Someone dared her once to steal a watermelon from the supermarket and damned if she didn’t manage to get it out of there without paying for it.”

“Wow,” I said under my breath. I wasn’t admiring her technique, I was pondering the implications. And they were pretty big.

“She was good all right.” Michael obviously had misunderstood my comment. “Scary good if you know what I mean. I’m not much of one for psychobabble, but, trust me, this was some sort of addiction. It was like she couldn’t stop. Sometimes I’d make excuses not to go places with her because you never knew what she might make off with.”

“You were worried about getting caught?”

“Hell, yes! It might have been a kick for her, but it scared me silly. I tried talking to her about it, but she just laughed and told me not to worry; that it wasn’t a big deal and she knew what she was doing.”

“And nobody ever caught her stealing?”

“Maybe once or twice, but don’t forget, this was twenty-five years ago and things were totally different then. The store manager would give her a lecture rather than calling the police. Her parents would come down and pay for whatever she’d taken, and that would be the end of it.”

I thought of all the items that had gone missing recently at Winston Pumpernill: Madeline’s ruby brooch, the leather backgammon board, and Mrs. Ellis’s cash. There had to be a connection. I wondered whether things had started disappearing when the visits from our group began, and if they’d all been misplaced on Sunday afternoons.

Michael was right. Times
had
changed, and the stakes were totally different now. Security was tighter everywhere, and people who got a thrill from stealing could expect to be arrested and prosecuted if they were caught.

Unless, that is, they happened to stumble across the perfect locale in which to indulge their bad habits. One where security precautions were scarce and missing items would most likely be ascribed to the forgetfulness of their elderly owners.

“What?” Michael demanded, staring at me across the table. “You’re thinking something. What is it?”

“I’m wondering whether, in all those intervening years, Stacey ever got help for her problem, like therapy or counseling.”

“I wouldn’t have any idea.”

“I know,” I admitted. “I guess I’m just thinking out loud.”

“What difference does it make?”

“I’m not sure. But things have been disappearing recently at Winston Pumpernill. Little things, the kind of stuff that would be easy to snatch and stash away.”

“The sorts of things Stacey might be lifting if she were still looking for a quick thrill,” Michael said.

He wasn’t slow, I’d give him that.

“Did she take anything from my mother?”

“I don’t know. Mary and I never spoke about it.”

“My mother wouldn’t have put up with it if she had.” Michael’s fingers curled into a fist. He looked as though he wouldn’t have minded hitting somebody with it. “You know, I hadn’t thought about any of this stuff in years. When I left Greenwich, I thought I had left it all behind.”

I leaned closer. “All what?”

“Back then…my mother knew about Stacey’s problem. I think a couple of the mothers had been discussing it by the pool at the club. I’d kind of forgotten this, but that was one of the reasons Stacey and I broke up. My mother brought some pressure to bear. She didn’t think it was right for me to be associating with that sort of person.”

Gossiping around the pool at the club? Worrying about associating with
that sort of person
? How very “old Greenwich.” And yet…it sounded as though Michael might be onto something.

Abruptly, he shoved back the bench and stood up.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Somewhere, anywhere. I don’t know. I need to process this and think things through.”

“Fine,” I said. “Let’s walk.”

Faith liked this form of entertainment even better than lying in the shade. The park was mostly empty, so I didn’t bother putting her back on a leash. The Poodle gamboled on ahead several steps in front of us as we started down the hill and around the lake.

“Tell me what else you know about Stacey,” I said.

“She was never a violent person, at least not back when I knew her. But she was an opportunist.”

With a hobby like hers, she’d have to be, I thought. What was it I’d said when I was talking to the other club members about Mary’s murder? That with the distraction provided by Minnie and Coach, the killer must have seen his shot and taken it?

“Are you thinking that Stacey might have felt threatened by your mother?” I asked Michael. “Maybe by what your mother knew about her?”

That was what I was thinking, at any rate. It would have been nice to have my ideas seconded.

“Possibly…” Michael stopped and shook his head. “It’s looking like this is all my fault.”

I stopped, too. Faith, circling past us, skidded up short. “What is?”

“Don’t you see? My mother was fine, everything was fine, until I came back to Greenwich and started this whole chain of events. I’m the one who gave Stacey the note to deliver. I’m the one who sent her to my mother. I came back into my mother’s life, and now she’s dead as a result.”

“That’s not true—” I said, but Michael wasn’t listening. Instead, he was moving again, faster now, and heading back toward the lot where we’d left our cars. Faith and I hurried to catch up.

“Paul said I was nothing but a bad luck charm, and it looks like he was right. I’ve made a mess of everything. There’s only one thing I can do now.”

“What’s that?” I asked, pretty sure that I wasn’t going to like his answer.

“I have to fix things,” Michael said.