Last But Not Leashed, page 25
Unbeknownst to the powerful sorceress who brought Pansy to the duke’s mountaintop castle, the servant vowed to search for the key to the golden coins. Her quest was righteous, for she knew the duke and his family to be black-hearted thieves.
I was starting to recognize more patterns in Posey’s story. The mountaintop castle likely referred to Chloe Ramboulle’s home up on the mountain, which real-life Posey had visited. Was the duke supposed to be Arthur, Chloe’s husband? Could I make a giant leap and assume that the theft of the golden coins referred to the missing Bitcoins?
Chief Garcia would never believe any of it. I’m not sure I did either.
I kept reading, looking for clues as the story progressed. Another new character appeared on the next page. The wizard, dressed in black, asks many questions of the couple, but the servant suspects the wizard lusts over the vampire. Even some of the ladies in the court have designs on the handsome vampire teacher, who never seems to get around to teaching anyone anything academic.
Who did I know whose name started with a W?
I reminded myself that thinking fictional characters might stand for real people was mere speculation. Not every character represented someone in Oak Falls, so I shouldn’t jump to conclusions—especially wrong conclusions.
Sipping my fresh cup of tea, I went back to the story. Many people stood in the way of true love, forcing Pansy and her vampire to fight for their love. At one point, the sorceress forbids their union. But as in fairy tales, the sorceress, who is described more as a witch, is struck to the ground, her feet left sticking out of the bushes similar to the Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz.
And very much like Sookie.
I supposed imitation is the height of flattery. If so, Posey flattered plenty of authors in her notebooks. But what about outright theft? Or plagiarism? There also were similarities between Posey’s couple going at it like bunnies and a certain extremely popular Netflix costume drama, also set in jolly old England.
Pansy’s rounded orbs hung like clusters of purple grapes, ripe and ready to be plucked. Her vampire lover’s manhood pointed the way.
That grape cluster reference didn’t seem very flattering. I started the third notebook, called The Quest for Justice. The vampire and the servant got it on for a few pages, then finalized their plan to steal the duke’s gold. In the dead of night, the vampire flies into the castle through an open turret window. The count put his magical undead skills to use by sending the doubloons soaring into the sky like a golden fountain, to rematerialize in their new home far away. The servant, Pansy, now also a vampire, is vindicated in her quest for her inheritance. After another sexy encounter using their wings in surprising ways, the lovers fly away cloaked by the darkness of the waning moon. THE END
I was puzzled because there were plenty of pages full of notes left in her notebook after the ending.
After flipping past a few scribbled pages, I noticed a description of the sorceress. Posey had written the words “add modern clothes,” and underlined it several times. She now described the character as having a short silk robe, camouflaging a black modern suit, closed with shiny obsidian buttons. On the sorceress’s feet were black snakeskin boots.
Sookie wore boots and a black suit the night she was murdered.
On the following page was a brief mention of the duke. Dark-haired, handsome, and arrogant, he wore a gold bracelet and necklace. Always surrounded by guards sworn to fight to the death to protect him, he was difficult to approach. There were more suggestions for describing the palace—soaring ceilings and buttresses, glass, and perched on a mountaintop. A bridge over a moat protected his privacy.
Except for the bridge and moat, it still sounded like Chloe Ramboulle’s estate.
A funny note said “Add Aliens!!!!” with several exclamation points.
On the next-to-last page of the third notebook, Posey described the local pub where most of the characters—except the duke, of course—hung out. It had beat-up wooden tables, a large open kitchen, and a spit for roasting meat turning over a wood fire, plus endless glasses of mead. The owner of the tavern was a large woman who brandished a wooden spoon, using it to smack customers who got out of line. Jude was the woman’s name, and few dared cross her.
Jude?
It wasn’t a far stretch to think this was Judy, the owner of my favorite café in town. Mari and Cindy had told me many stories about Judy, who single-handedly threw some guy out who was making racist remarks during lunch. One of their tales included brandishing a wooden spoon.
I sat up.
Another character possibly based on a real person. Another character whose first name started with the real person’s initial.
***
At seven a.m., my alarm rang. Before I even got out of bed, I received a text from Cindy.
GLENN OVERMANN HAS BEEN
ARRESTED FOR SOOKIE’S MURDER
An odd feeling of relief was my first reaction. Relief that a man like Glenn would finally be held accountable. Everyone who knew the couple knew how abusive he was. So why did I keep thinking about Posey’s notebook that described the servant smiting the sorceress?
Without any goading or licking from the dogs, I slipped out of bed, pulled my boots and coat on over my pajamas, and let the big dogs out for their run. Little Man, however, made do inside with his wee-wee pad. This morning he appeared alert and feisty, his normal behavior. Since his tissue sample had gone out before the storm hit, we wouldn’t have to wait too long for his results.
The three larger dogs romped in the fenced-in run, scooting in the snow and generally making a mess.
A double-tap honk sounded close by. Pinky drove down the driveway, his plow lifted up and packed with snow. A mounted shotgun rack was visible in his rear window. Most likely he’d been plowing all night. As always, he’d done a great job with the animal hospital parking lot.
In response to his honk, I raised my hand and waved. He blinked his lights as a hello just before his commercial-sized double garage door opened and he disappeared inside.
“Come on, boys,” I told the dogs, who obediently came running. I checked everyone’s feet and rubbed each with a towel before they went back inside.
Of course, Little Man started yapping and tried to direct traffic. The other dogs gently nudged him out of the way. Mr. Pitt sweetly licked the top of the Chihuahua’s head.
When my phone pinged again, I assumed Cindy had another update for me. It was an update, all right, but not from my receptionist.
BACK IN TOWN FOR THE WEEKEND
MISS YOU. XXXXXXXX
WANT CHINESE TAKEOUT TONIGHT?
MY TREAT. LUKE
I sank into the sofa feeling like I’d been sucker punched. How many times had we eaten Chinese takeout here in my place after work? We’d laughed and argued and I’d fallen in love with him. He’d met Gramps, met my friends; I’d met his family. For a short while, our relationship was my warm blanket, my go-to place, a reliable constant.
I stared at the television’s black screen.
What happened to the girl you met in school, Luke? Did she dump you? Am I the girl on the bench being called in as a last-minute replacement?
Cindy said Luke’s a great guy, but he’s not ready to commit to one person. Well, I’d found out the hard way my girlfriend was right. Strike three. Game over.
One text didn’t change anything, didn’t let him walk in and out of someone else’s life.
BUSY THIS WEEKEND
I’M SURE YOU’LL FIND SOMEONE
TO SHARE TAKEOUT WITH, BUT
IT’S NOT GOING TO BE ME
Hitting Send felt great. In a rush of energy, I fed the dogs, took a quick shower, got ready for work, and high-fived my mirror. Later on, I expected I’d have second thoughts, but right then I felt invincible.
My happy morning greeting to Cindy and Mari caught them off-guard.
“What happened to you?” Mari asked.
“All is right with the world,” I said.
A box of mixed pastries sat open on the employee lounge countertop. “My fault,” Cindy said. “The hubby brought them home, and I needed them gone.”
“So you dumped them here for us to eat?” Mari acted annoyed. “Well, thanks for the five extra pounds, Cindy.”
Cindy showed no remorse. Mari always protested, but somehow the food all got eaten—and she never seemed to gain an ounce.
I picked out a small croissant and poured a cup of coffee. Biting into the buttery goodness, I hit an almond surprise. No complaints here.
“What do you think about the arrest this morning?” Cindy asked. Although she’d brought in the high-calorie treats, she only nibbled the broken-off tip of an apple cruller.
Mari took a sip of coffee and remarked, “Frankly, I’m astonished it didn’t happen sooner.”
“The chief moved forward slowly,” Cindy explained, “because he had witnesses contradicting each other, and of course, Glenn, appeared to have an alibi.”
“Alibi, schmalibi.” Mari didn’t seem impressed. “Right from the beginning, I knew it was him.”
“What do you think, Kate?” Cindy looked my way. “Was offering the twenty-thousand-dollar reward a part of his cover-up?”
“Maybe.” Breakfast tasted great. Life was great. I didn’t care about Glenn at all.
Cindy continued. “Well, we’ll have the entire length of his trial to figure things out. Now we can concentrate on other, more important things.”
“Like?”
“What color uniforms we should order for the springtime?”
I was surprised Mari didn’t scream out “Nooooo!”
You would think ordering hospital uniforms would be an easy task. Not here. It took six months of discussion about fabric blends and styles and pockets for us to settle on gray for our winter uniforms. Spring meant pastels. Pastels were tough. Pink, pale yellow… Mari’s eyes lifted skyward while mine headed in the opposite direction.
Out in reception, I noticed our bulletin board had doubled in size.
“It’s all the post-Thanksgiving and Christmas pocket pets,” Cindy said. “Hamsters that don’t like being held, rats that give someone a rash, and all sorts of lizards, snakes, and frogs that turn out to be too much work.”
This came as no surprise. It’s fun and educational for children to be exposed to some pocket pets, but often the prospective owners have no idea how much work it can be. Terrariums in particular need to be large enough to provide an enriched environment and a variety of hiding places. Some lizards, like iguanas, need a more tropical climate, while desert dwellers such as horned toads prefer a drier environment.
We tried to steer our clients toward rescue and shelters, which provide quite a bit of practical education to someone wanting to adopt or foster.
My eye perused the notices. The large color picture Colin posted of his iguana was still there. No one had taken any of the phone numbers at the bottom. The big lizard, almost four feet long, was named Masher.
Lizards and mice were not on my mind when I walked into Judy’s and straight into another informal going-away party for Colin. Three tables in the back were crammed together, and at least ten people appeared to be boisterously enjoying themselves. Some of the women I recognized, but others I assumed were fellow artists who worked at the Hay Barn Gallery.
I’d just given Judy my takeout order when someone called my name.
“Kate, come join us.” Colin shouted out.
Judy finished writing everything down. “Go ahead. I’ll let you know when your order is done.”
Although I only knew Colin and perhaps one other woman, I joined the group. In a quick series of introductions, which I promptly forgot, Colin put names to the faces. Sitting next to me, opposite Colin, a middle-aged man lifted a briefcase onto his lap and snapped it shut.
“Kate,” Colin said, “this is my agent, Serghi Davinoff.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said. “Will you be staying long?”
“I’m actually on my way out,” the man said, standing up. “From here I go to Albany for a few days, then drive back to help load Colin’s work into the van and transport it to Manhattan.”
“Then does it get mailed out to Finland?” I honestly had no idea how paintings or artworks were sent internationally.
A ripple of polite laughter followed my question.
“Hardly. Everything is brought to my warehouse. Then each piece will be professionally photographed and uploaded into an electronic catalog and a hard copy glossy printed.”
“How old school,” someone commented.
The agent shrugged his shoulders. “Somebody always wants one. Anyway, the Helsinki opening will be presented in multiple forms—virtual, streaming; the gallery owner also wants some holograms. Holograms are big in Europe.”
I nodded in agreement at that statement, having no idea if it was true or not.
“Then it’s up to graphics to generate our advertising and public relations products.”
“Helsinki’s got a few informal photos I sent, but none of the finished works,” Colin added.
“When do you actually leave, Colin darling?” a dark-haired woman wearing huge silver earrings and dressed in black asked. Her voice had a Bostonian flatness. “It seems we’ve been saying goodbye for weeks.”
Colin joined in on the subdued laughter. “Ask Serghi. He’s in charge of my travel arrangements.”
The agent patted down his jacket pockets. “You ladies have him for another six, maybe seven days at the most. We’ve got a few details to iron out, but for now he’s booked on the red-eye Saturday evening from NYC on Finnair. Let’s keep our fingers crossed nothing changes before then. I already had to reschedule once.”
Someone said they envied the artist’s life. I felt the same. Colin’s life rolled along like a movie or a limited-edition television program.
“Dr. Kate…” said the good-looking young man to my left. He wore a hand-knit sweater matched with designer jeans. “I’m Wyatt. Wyatt Cressan.”
Where had I heard that name? Wait, was this Glenn Overmann’s mysterious lover?
At a loss for what to say, I simply said, “Nice to meet you.”
“Thanks for taking care of Babykins. Isn’t she a sweetheart?” he asked. Not pausing for a response from me, he kept talking. “Glenn is such a turd about taking care of a cat. I would have volunteered, but we were going through a rough patch—what with the murder and everything.” He lifted his chin up and crossed his legs as if he were talking about the weather. Around his neck, a thin cashmere muffler draped itself beautifully.
“Someone said Glenn had been arrested?” I wondered how Wyatt felt about his boyfriend going to jail.
He stroked the end of his muffler shifted his weight, and took a sip of red wine. I noticed I wasn’t the only one listening carefully for Wyatt’s answer.
“I’m not worried,” he stated. “Glenn said he didn’t do it, and I believe him, although I wouldn’t blame him if he did. After Sookie wrecked our finances, I felt like bashing her in the head myself.”
The woman with the silver earrings opened her eyes wide, shocked.
Wyatt simply laughed, a loud braying sound—a sound that I’d heard before. Where?
“Don’t forget to pack up that final piece,” Serghi reminded Colin just before he walked away. “Keep the fans on it. It should be dry by the time I get back. No last-minute touch-ups!”
“Cross my heart,” Colin said. “That’s the only one left to crate up.” He rose to give his agent a hug. “Have a good trip.”
Some of the others joined in and waved goodbye.
Colin took his seat again and said, “My one problem now is rehoming Felicia’s iguana that she dumped on me. Any takers? It comes with a terrarium and a bunch of lizard stuff.”
“You don’t make that iguana sound very attractive,” an older woman said. “What’s its name and how old is it?”
For some reason Colin looked toward me. I’d barely glanced at the poster he’d given Cindy. When I shrugged my shoulders, he continued. “Its name is Masher. Felicia had him for about six years, I think. He likes women and he doesn’t bark.”
Wyatt laughed at the joke—a very distinctive braying laugh.
“What do you feed him, Colin?” another person at the table asked.
“Iguana food.”
“You must supplement it with leafy greens, fruits, calcium sources…” I began.
“That too.”
“What will you do if you can’t find anyone to keep him?” someone asked.
Running his hand through his thick hair, Colin explained that the local shelter had agreed to take him, as a last resort. “Someone called last night. Maybe they’ll take him,” he added.
Changing topics, we talked a bit about travel, with one of the women mentioning seeing the Northern lights and sleeping in an igloo Airbnb in Norway. Someone else regaled us with stories of exploring Machu Picchu. Their adventures seemed so exotic.
Judy came over to tell me my order was ready, so I excused myself. The conversation at the table barely stopped.
“Sorry to see him go,” Judy told me as she rang up my bill. “He’s certainly been good for business.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“He eats here a couple of times a week,” she said. “The studio he sublet is close by, about two blocks away. And Colin’s usually got company, if you get my drift.”
Looking back at the group still talking to him, I saw what she meant. “Did he happen to know Sookie?” I asked her.
