Last But Not Leashed, page 12
Chief Garcia noticed me on my phone and decided to cut reminiscences short. “Well, good to catch up with you, Luke, but we’re here to discuss something much more serious. You’re both witnesses to a death. Now let’s do this one the right way, one at a time.”
Luke was banished to the waiting room while the chief went over my movements from the time I entered the Hay Barn Gallery. I explained that Colin, who was helping Judy, guided me to the coatrack. Although several people passed by, I didn’t remember any details—except for the guy dressed like Freddy Krueger.
“Not a problem,” the chief said. “Jim always dresses like Freddy Krueger.”
The early evening played out a little hazy in my memory, due to the wine and smoke, but the minutes leading up to midnight and Posey’s death were more straightforward.
“She came hurtling down,” I told him, “headfirst, and crashed into a table. Luke checked for a pulse and several people called 911.”
“Did either of you go near the victim, other than to check the body for signs of life?”
“No,” I said truthfully. “It was obvious that her neck had been broken. Several of us made a ring and kept the crowd away until you arrived.”
“Did you interact with the victim at any time during the evening?”
“No,” I told him. “When Luke and I were sitting at our table, I saw her briefly as she passed by. She was dancing the cha-cha.”
“Do you remember who she was dancing with?” Chief Garcia’s pen hovered over his notebook in anticipation.
In an effort to remember, I closed my eyes. For the life of me nothing came to mind. After a moment of reflection, I shook my head. “I’m sorry but…wait…she was dancing alone. I only saw her for a couple of seconds,” I volunteered. “The Hay Barn was unbelievably crowded and noisy. And hot.”
The chief put down his pen. “So I’ve heard. Do you know anyone who had a grievance against the victim?”
“Not really. I only met her once,” I said. “I stopped to pump gas and went inside Circle K to buy some dog treats. As I checked out, we chatted, mostly about dogs.” My thoughts skipped over that encounter, editing it for submission to the chief. Would he be interested in her gossip about Sookie? Writing a romance during working hours? Vampires?
Before I could add anything, the chief said, “Thanks for your statement. If you remember anything important, please call the office.”
He stood up and escorted me out. Luke sat in the waiting room, checking his phone, looking up when I walked toward him.
“Oh, Dr. Kate,” the chief added, “can I reach you today at the hospital?”
My mouth opened but nothing came out.
“She’ll be with me, Chief,” Luke stated, a bit more emphatically than necessary. “It’s New Year’s Day. The animal hospital is closed.” With a big grin he looped my arm around his. “We’re going spend the day working our way through some of our New Year’s resolutions.”
I waited until we reached the parking lot before pulling my arm away from his.
“What the heck did that mean?” I asked. “Working our way through some of our resolutions. What New Year’s resolutions?”
“Calm down. They’re probably watching us,” he said.
As I was about to tell him not to tell me to calm down, he walked around to the driver’s side of my car and kissed me hard on the lips.
“Follow me,” he said, getting into his car.
Fuming at this game played for the benefit of the chief, I drove behind Luke, a million questions on my mind. What happened to spending the day together? Or any time together? He’d mentioned brunch with his family before, but now it seemed like an afterthought. My heart pounded against my chest.
The familiar winding roads helped me calm down. Don’t start the new year off mad, I told myself. Make the most of what you have. Life is short. Just ask Sookie and Posey.
Luke turned into the wide driveway first, while I waited for a break in traffic. By the time I parked, he’d already started to interact with his relatives. Another cousin with his wife and three kids was unloading their car when I pulled up. I vaguely remembered meeting them before.
We all walked together into his grandmother’s home on the same property as the diner. They’d built away from the road and into the trees, close enough for emergencies, but hidden away for privacy. Several additions over the years had expanded the original stone building. On the oldest section, thick green ivy crawled almost to the roof, its gnarled stems twisted with age.
Children screamed and yelled with pent-up energy. Family members greeted each other, eager to catch up on family news. Watching everyone laughing and smiling, I felt my remaining anger cool. It was Luke’s family, not mine, but for a while I could pretend.
Once I was inside, a feeling of familiarity wrapped around me. His grandmother’s home and furnishings never changed–very old-world Italian. A marble bust of someone sat on a stand in the hall. With all the children and grandchildren running around I couldn’t believe that Caesar or Plato or whoever it was hadn’t been shattered to pieces.
Recordings featuring Italian tenors played vigorously in the background as we headed toward the dining room. A throng of people who resembled each other were gathered around the table chatting away, smiles on their faces. At the head of the table, dressed in black, was the matriarch of the family, Grandma Gianetti.
Grandma. Nonna. Hers was the brain behind it all.
“Dr. Turner,” she said, formal as always. “Wonderful to see you. Thank you for joining us today.” Despite the festivities, she wore black as a sign of mourning for her husband who had passed away many years ago.
“Come. Sit.” She patted the seat next to her.
Two huge tables had been set up running against the wall, acting as a buffet. I recognized some of the diner employees, also relatives, as they efficiently brought out trays of food. The room smelled of aromatic herbs like rosemary and oregano, punctuated by roasted garlic.
“Sit down, everyone,” Grandma Gianetti called out in a surprisingly loud voice, raising her hands in greeting. Around her neck she wore a ribbon of lace, fastened with an antique cameo. The crowd of family moved toward the table. The scene became a little raucous, with babies being passed to aunties, toddlers trying to grab food, and older children doing laps around the huge mahogany table. Most of the teenagers surreptitiously stared down at their phones.
I loved it. It felt like life itself pulsing around me.
Luke appeared at my side, with two plates piled high. “Got you most of your favorites,” he said. Then in a feat of magic, he pulled a small dessert plate from behind his back. It held a perfect piece of cranberry pecan pie.
“Just in case you wanted dessert.” The smile in his eyes reflected the smile on his face.
“Good boy,” Grandma Gianetti said, her sharp eyes watching us. “Mangia. Mangia.”
I loved pie, and Luke knew it. Was this an apology for last night?
The next half hour raced by as everyone talked and laughed between stuffing their faces. I noticed Rainbow sat farther down the table on the side opposite us, wrapped like an octopus around a cute guy. Nobody seemed to care.
Grandma Gianetti took a spoon and tapped her wineglass. Gradually the noise stopped as they waited for her New Year’s Day toast.
She raised her glass of red wine in the air. “This last year has been hard for all of us,” she began, “but I want you to concentrate on the future. When my dear husband, God rest his soul, bought this piece of land, I called him a fool. But he had a vision—and that’s what I want each of you to have. A vision. Make your vision come true.”
Rising slowly from her chair at the head of the table, she lifted her glass again.
“Coraggio,” she said in Italian. “Courage to you all and Buon Anno—Happy New Year!”
We stood up, raised our glasses, and pledged to be brave in this fresh New Year.
I’d fallen in love with Luke’s family almost as much as I’d fallen in love with him. Maybe our relationship ultimately wouldn’t work out, but I realized the uselessness of worrying about it now. Enjoy the day.
I was counting blueberries in a blueberry pie with a three-year-old when Luke pulled me aside.
“Sorry about last night,” he began.
We ventured outside, detouring into his grandmother’s kitchen garden, protected from the winter storms by a large greenhouse. Basil grew abundantly toward the overhead grow lights, oblivious of the season. I recognized a vigorous clump of Swiss chard filling a terra-cotta pot.
“Mint,” Luke said, lifting the trailing stems next to us seeking to escape. He took my hand, the smell of the mint and damp earth on our skin.
“What happened last night isn’t the way to start a new year,” he said. “It makes you think about your own mortality.”
We walked for a while, stopping to admire a rose in bloom.
“Did you know Posey?” I asked Luke.
“No,” he said. “I vaguely remember her ringing me up at Circle K a few times, but I don’t think I ever had a conversation with her.”
We stood in silence, his hand in mine.
I wondered how many times a day her clients bothered to talk to her. So often people behind the counter or credit card terminal are anonymous in our hurry-up culture. Working her shift day after day—people running in, and out—filling their gas tanks and driving away. The Circle K, and the woman in it, a momentary memory.
“Did you know her?” Luke asked me.
I reached down to smell a miniature rose tangled in the plantings. We started heading back to the dining room. I still hadn’t answered his question.
We’d been two lonely, single women in a Circle K, briefly talking about their lives, dogs, books. Dreams. Would a man understand that quick female bond?
Some children playing hide-and-seek noisily searched for each other behind the heavy curtains as we entered the dining room. I paused at the table filled with people sharing stories. I thought back to that night at Circle K, Posey, wearing her cheap corporate jacket, harshly lit by overhead fluorescent lights. Only a name tag identified her. When I’d approached the register, she’d stuffed her notebooks out of sight under the locked cigarette display. Who was she? A woman working the night shift—not because she wanted to, but because she had to? Did she have a family? Who mourned her today?
If she were alive right now, would she be eating lunch alone on the first day of the New Year?
Luke had asked if I knew Posey. What should I tell him?
I whispered my answer in his ear. “I only met Posey once. That’s not enough time to really know anyone.”
Chapter Eighteen
The New Year that started so terribly continued making our lives miserable in the next few days. A frozen pipe burst on an outside wall of my garage apartment, making a piece of Sheetrock bulge out of the wall like a tumor. Cindy’s car was rear-ended at a stop sign. The sudden jolt gave her a bad case of whiplash with a pounding headache. And since bad things come in threes, I’d ended up driving home alone from Luke’s family’s New Year’s brunch, with no real explanation on his part. I was tired of trying to interpret his mixed signals.
On the third of January, Mari and I were in the truck driving back to the office when the low fuel light popped on. We were particularly tired, having had to spend part of our time on a farm call, trying to trap and examine a stray cat that wandered into a client’s barn.
Other than an advanced state of pregnancy, the kitty seemed fine when we caught her. Just to be sure, I’d drawn some blood to test for FIV, the feline immunosuppressive virus and feline leukemia virus. After a detour through the goat and sheep pens to say hi to my old friend, Billy the Goat, Mari and I smelled a little gamey.
The closest gas station was Circle K—the same Circle K Posey had worked in. With the weather hovering below freezing, I made sure to park at a pump close to the store’s entrance.
My assistant unbuckled her seat belt. “Want anything?” she asked.
“I’m not sure.” The memory of Posey behind the counter came to mind. I wondered how the other employees were coping with her death. “Wait up. I’ll go with you.”
Leaving the truck gassing up, I wiped the bottom of my boots in the snow. Protected by the overhang from the flurries just starting to fall, we ducked inside. The door handle felt uncomfortably cold in my hand.
Two people stood behind the cash register—a young boy, who looked just out of high school, and an older man with a swarthy complexion and deep frown on his face. They were in the middle of a conversation.
“I’ll stay with you for the first two hours,” the man said. “After that, you’re on your own.” His restless fingers straightened up the display of single-serving jerky in front of him. “Text me if you have any computer problems. Otherwise, I’ll review your shift with you tomorrow.”
I wondered if this was Posey’s replacement. The kid looked scared to death. Making my way over to the endcap display of candy and snacks, I pretended to mull over the selection. In reality, I blatantly eavesdropped. Neither clerk bothered to watch me.
The older man’s phone chimed. He muttered what sounded like a curse, then sent a text, the same angry frown frozen on his face. Trying hard not make a wrong move, the kid started fidgeting, eyes wide. I thought he might faint.
Abruptly the man I assumed was a manager asked the kid, “Did you bring a book or something, like I told you?”
“Yes, sir.” The boy’s face blanched. “I have a textbook with me.”
“Make sure you bring it home with you every night.” It was obvious the manager didn’t relish small talk. “These yours?” He’d fished out a stack of notebooks from under the cigarette display, with black-and-white marbled covers. They looked like the ones that Posey had written in.
“No, sir.” His voice trembled. “I don’t know whose they are.”
The manager’s dark eyes alighted on me for a second, then moved on. “I’m tired of you employees leaving your stuff all over the place. Keeping a clean work space is part of this job. ” With a sharp stride he abandoned the register, scooping up random items left on the countertop behind him. A wrinkled newspaper, two half-empty soda bottles, several random potato chips—all of them went into a white plastic bag. The manager took a moment to open one of the notebooks. After he glanced down at the page his face changed, some hint of emotion before it tightened back down. He stuffed all three notebooks into the garbage bag.
“I’ll be right back,” he told the kid. Without waiting to put on his coat, he marched out the door. Meanwhile, Mari came up the aisle with some food items on her way to check out.
“Meet you in the truck,” I told her, pulling my hood up over my head. I opened the glass exit doors and noticed the manager tossing the white plastic bag into the dumpster.
I needed to retrieve that bag.
As casually as possible, I hurried down the walkway next to the building. A moment later, the man returned, still frowning. Acknowledging my existence with a brisk nod, he passed by.
Aware there might be cameras on me. I pulled out a tissue and pretended to blow my nose. Kleenex in hand, I made for the dumpster. Nonchalantly, I raised the lid and threw the tissue in while fishing out the white plastic bag, which, thankfully, rested on top of a used but closed pizza box. Sliding it out of sight under my coat, I walked back to the truck and opened the driver’s door, covering my movements. With the plastic bag now safely out of sight in the back seat, I exited, finished gassing up, and paid with the hospital credit card.
The snowflakes coming down turned fluffy, the kind of snow that piles up in drifts and in your hair. Mari still hadn’t come out of the Circle K. I started the engine and took a deep breath. I didn’t think it was a crime to lift something from a dumpster, but I wasn’t sure. Even if it was against the law, I couldn’t let Posey’s words be thrown away with the trash.
Mari appeared at the passenger side window and yanked the door open. She had a paper bag in her hands, which she placed on her lap. I recognized the colorful potato chip logo sitting at the top.
“Sorry it took so long,” she said, popping the bag along the seam and retrieving a chip. “The cashier was new and he messed something up. They had to void the first receipt and ring me up again. That manager didn’t look real happy about it.”
It was a short drive to the animal hospital. Mari continued to chat away between bites. Most of her conversation had to do with Posey’s death. She passed along the town gossip, which ran rampant. Someone said Posey had overdosed with pills and booze on the previous New Year’s Eve. Others said she’d always been a little odd. No known family members, or next of kin survived her. A high school friend set up a GoFundMe page for funeral expenses. The coroner had officially ruled her death a suicide.
So what did I hope to gain by reading Posey’s stories? Mari kept up her banter, and I kept quiet.
With the snow falling faster and my eyes focused on the road, a memory of my conversation with Posey lingered in my thoughts. I’d asked what she was writing. She surprised me with her answer—some kind of Edwardian, sci-fi vampire novel. Not stories about the people she saw on her night shift. Then I remembered her final words.
Knowledge is power. And power means money.
I had wondered then if that meant blackmail; I wondered still.
When we turned into the hospital parking lot, I realized Cindy had left. Only Mari’s SUV was parked at the back entrance, at least an inch of snow covering the hood and luggage rack. A familiar vehicle waited outside my door, engine running.
Mari glanced over at Luke getting out of his car and said, “I can finish up.” She zipped up the hospital laptop case. “Go on. Take your time. You’ve got a visitor.”
The snowflakes floated around us like tufts of down. When I lifted my lips toward his, he kissed me on the cheek. My stomach gave a thud.
