Words With Fiends (26 page)

The woman nodded. “As a board-certified plastic surgeon, diagnosing mental illness is rather beyond my scope of expertise, but I do try to keep up with all the journals. In my highly unofficial opinion, Mark Poole is displaying symptoms of borderline personality disorder.”

“Yeah, that's it!” Jake spoke up with a snap of sugar-covered fingers. “He's got the symptoms in spades. The mood swings, the physical aggression, the self-destructive behavior, and unrealistic expectations in relationships, like putting people up on pedestals and then hating them when they fall. Textbook case, if you ask me.”

When the rest of them stared at her, she shrugged. “What? I read an article on BDP in
Cosmo
while I was getting my carp pedicure last week.”

The doctor sighed. “It certainly would explain why Mark went after Tom as well as Grace. Hank and Hal told me once that Mark seemed to have a serious case of hero-worship for Tom. Obviously the photo of him and Grace led him to believe that his hero was sadly mortal.”

Though that still didn't answer another question that was foremost in Darla's mind at the moment: Why did Dr. Tomlinson want to keep a picture of the sensei and Grace after all that had happened? Darla made plans to pin down Reese about this subject later as the detective told her, “Thanks for the hospitality, Darla, but Dr. Tomlinson and I need to head out now.”

“Wait!”

The exclamation came from Jake, who had lapsed back into silence after her brief turn in the shrink's chair. But now, perhaps fueled by four donuts' worth of sugar, she forged on. “Since Darla is a nice Texas girl and too polite to ask, I will: Why in the world would you want to keep a picture of your husband and his pregnant mistress?”

“His
what
?” The doctor stared openmouthed at her for a moment, only to break into another merry laugh. “Oh, my dear, that is too funny,” she went on when she finally stopped laughing. “Grace was never Tom's
mistress
. She was just an unfortunate young woman whom we took into our home when she had nowhere to go. She'd been a student at the dojo and looked up to Tom as a second father, so when her family refused to help her when she got pregnant, we helped her get back on her feet. Tom treated her like a daughter, as did I. In fact, I was the one who took that picture of them together. I always regretted not keeping a copy for myself.”

Then, with a genteel snort, she added, “And Chris is certainly not Tom's child, though Tom did think of him as a grandson.” Her smile grew mistier. “You have to understand, family was everything to Tom. That's why he insisted on adopting my boys, since their biological father was dead. And he considered all his students to be his family. Nothing gave him greater happiness than their successes. Grace was quite the project for him, and she did not always make the right choices. But he never gave up on her. Given the chance, I'm afraid he would have done the same thing again here, no matter that in the end it turned out badly for him.”

She glanced over at Reese and then returned her attention back to Jake and Darla.

“I already told Detective Reese that Tom suspected something wasn't right about the way Mark Poole acted around Grace a few weeks before he”—she paused, seemingly to control herself—“well, a few weeks ago, but Grace claimed everything was fine. And so Tom gave the man the benefit of the doubt. Unfortunately, we had no clue that Grace knew Mark from back in her high school days, and that this whole obsession had started long ago. Why she didn't tell us what was happening, I'll never understand, but I suppose she wanted to prove she was capable of handling issues on her own. She wanted Tom to be proud of her.”

She smiled a little and then added, “So do not doubt that, for all his flaws—and he did have his share—Tom was a very good man. And
I
was proud of
him
.”

Then, briskly, the doctor got to her feet. “As Detective Reese said, we must be going. Oh, but I do have one last favor to request.” She walked over to the couch where Roma napped and put a neatly manicured hand upon the dog's narrow head.

“Tom loved this little creature dearly, but I'm afraid she requires far more attention than I can give her. Even though I'm in private practice, my hours can be long. And, I must admit, I've never been much for pets. I was hoping, Darla, that you might know someone—perhaps a young man?—who could give Roma a good home for me.”

Darla stared at her in surprise. First, the icy doctor turned out to do charity work for children; then she gave back the dog she had commandeered a few days earlier? Apparently, Mary Ann's lecture about loss a few days earlier had been spot on, Darla thought in no little shame. No matter, it was a welcome announcement, indeed!

Darla gave her a delighted smile. “As a matter of fact, I think I do know just the right person.”

The woman reached into her handbag, withdrawing a sheaf of papers. “Then why don't I leave Roma here with you? It so happens I'm listed on these papers as her owner, so I've already signed in the appropriate spaces. The dog will be Robert's, free and clear. And he is welcome to bring her to the service tomorrow, if he likes.”

Snapping her handbag closed, she gave Reese an imperious nod and headed out the door. With a final grin for Darla and Jake, the detective followed after her.

“Well, that was heartwarming,” Jake said as the door closed behind them. To Darla's surprise, she saw her friend brush away an actual tear. Then, with a glance at the sleeping pup, the PI added, “How do you think Hamlet is going to react to his new neighbor?”

“Actually, as long as Roma shows him the proper respect, they seem to get along fine,” Darla told her with a shrug. “Which reminds me, I still need to call Brody and let him know that Hamlet is cured. He's supposed to do a follow-up visit, so he might as well—”

Darla's front door buzzer sounded abruptly, making her jump and cutting short her suggestion that she invite the feline behavioral empath to drop by that afternoon. “I wonder if Reese left something behind,” she exclaimed as she hurried over to the intercom. Pressing the button, she said, “Hello?”

“Darla?” came a tinny voice that sounded vaguely familiar. “It's, uh, Brody. The feline behavioral empath. I believe you feel that Hamlet is now cured?”

She and Jake exchanged looks. Had Brody extended his empathic talents to the human species, as well? Then, recalling that the man was standing out there in the cold, doubtless wearing only the usual thin denim jacket, she hurriedly pressed the button again. “Brody, let me buzz you in so we can chat where it's warm,” she urged him and hit the buzzer.

“Oh, no need,” the man replied, and she pictured his gentle smile. “Hamlet has let me know that he has regained what he lost, and that he now feels worthy again of his role as your store mascot. I simply wanted to stop by and make certain that you knew that.”

“I do. In fact, I think Hamlet and I both are fine now,” Darla told him. Though how much of their recovery was attributable to Brody's mind-meld therapy, she wasn't certain.

“I shall consider my work here done, then. Good-bye, Darla. Perhaps we'll meet again down the road.”

“Uh, okay,” she answered, feeling surprisingly sad to say good-bye to this strange young man. “I'll tell Hamlet you said good-bye, too.”

“No need,” he repeated. “We've already said our farewells.”

Darla released the button and rushed over to the window to see Brody's thin form retreating down the sidewalk. But rather than continue walking, he paused at the curb, and a sleek white limo pulled up alongside him.

Limo?
Darla stared in surprise as Brody hopped in—next to the driver, rather than in the back. Apparently, what the man didn't spend on his wardrobe, he spent on his wheels, she thought as she watched the car slip away into traffic.

“Doo-doo-DOO-doo. Doo-doo-DOO-doo.”

This approximation of the
Twilight Zone
theme came from Jake standing behind her. Darla smiled and shook her head. “I'm not even going to try to wrap my head around this one. But I can't wait for Robert to get back and see Roma is home for good. And now that Hamlet knows how to walk on a harness, maybe Robert can take them out together every day—”

“Speaking of which,” Jake interrupted her with a devious little grin, “do you know that you're already at over ten thousand hits?”

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“Your and Hamlet's YouTube video. They call it ‘The Karate Cat.'”

Darla stared at her in shock. “Please tell me you're joking.”

“Nope. Scout's honor.” She held up two fingers, and then three, and then finally threw up her hands. “Whatever. Anyhow, it looks like you and Hamlet are poised to go viral.”

“Darn that Robert, I told him I'd kill him if he posted that!” Darla exclaimed, only to see Jake shaking her head.

“Sorry, kid, it wasn't Robert. I counted at least fourteen different versions last night—eight of them set to music, by the way—and each one was uploaded by a different user. Face it, you and Hamlet are famous.”

Hamlet chose that moment to stalk back into the room again. He leaped onto the back of the sofa, only to narrow his eyes at the small dog sleeping in his domain.

Darla waited for the hiss and the growl, but to her surprise the feline blinked, and then settled himself comfortably in his usual spot.

“See,” Jake pointed out, “even Hamlet knows he has fans now, and a reputation to uphold. Next thing you know, he'll be wearing wraparound shades and signing paw-tographs.”

“Sure, and we'll send him on tour, too,” Darla replied, beginning to see the humor—and the possibilities—in the situation. “Hamlet, what do you say? You feel like hitting a few conventions this spring?”

Hamlet opened one green eye again, and Darla didn't have to be Brody the Cat Whisperer to read his mind.

“Start making reservations, Jake,” Darla told her friend. “It looks like we're going on a road trip.”