Last But Not Leashed, page 26
“Sure. They were hot and heavy for a while. There were several others, Posey too, I think, but that was short-lived. Too clingy, I’d suspect. Colin’s a lot of fun, but ultimately he’s not interested in a serious relationship. Which is okay.”
“I suppose so…”
“It’s the romantics who have a problem with someone like him. They think he’s their knight in shining armor—but instead he breaks their hearts.” Judy looked over my shoulder at Colin’s table. “But I guess every person needs to experience one Colin in their life. As long as they survive it in one piece.”
Judy’s brown eyes stared up at me. Forty or so years of experience, some hard years, had lined her eyes and forehead. She ran both a restaurant and catering business and sponsored many community programs. There was no Mr. Judy in the picture.
“I think you’re right,” I said. “Thanks for the advice.”
As I walked along Main Street toward my truck, I thought about Colin and then Luke. There were times I felt that little shards of myself were being chipped away in my relationship with Luke. Taking control and turning down his Chinese takeout offer felt as though I’d picked up a sliver of my self-respect and hot-glued it back on.
Rainbow and I officially dissolved our brief business partnership over the phone. With Glenn now a murder suspect and under arrest, the possibility of reward money vanished. An investigation into a Bitcoin theft of multiple millions was completely out of my league. I wanted to make sure Rainbow had no other schemes in mind.
“Sorry it didn’t work out.”
“Sure. I understand. Besides, I’ve got to concentrate on raising funds for my start-up. There are friends in California who want me to join them.”
Rainbow sounded fearless, but I suspected much of it was an act.
“How are you getting on with Posey’s journals?” she continued. “If you don’t want them, maybe my mom will take them off your hands—she and Posey being best friends and all. I’ll ask her.”
“That’s a good idea. Maybe we can have lunch before you go?” I said.
“Great. Oh, I’ve got a vet question for you. What do you know about iguanas?”
“Iguanas?”
Over the phone I could feel her giving me the eye roll. “Yeah. This great-looking guy is giving his iguana away, and I wanted to know how difficult it is to keep them. Do they eat mice?” She made a cringing noise over the receiver.
“No mice. They’re primarily herbivores. There are several balanced commercial diets available, but it should be supplemented with a lot of greens, leaves, some fruits…and they need a temperature-controlled habitat, unless you live in Florida.”
“Sounds too complicated. I’m going to be sleeping on my friend’s sofa in Marina del Rey. Too bad, the guy was super hunky.”
There couldn’t be that many hunky men in Oak Falls hawking iguanas.
“You must mean Colin,” I said.
“Yeah. You know him?”
“I’ve met him. We danced a few times at the New Year’s party. Remember the night you caught a ride with Luke and me?”
“Wow. That’s right. It feels like such a long time ago. I’m afraid I was a little out of it that night. Too much partying before the party,” she laughed.
That, I could attest to. But Rainbow was right in one respect. It did seem like a long time ago—a very long time ago.
After hanging up, I got the dogs walked, situated, and bedded down. With all the daily dog chores I now handled, it felt like I was running a kennel. Even though I wanted to relax in front of the television, I picked up book number three of Posey’s notes and thumbed to the last few pages. Past THE END, I continued to the last few pages of the notebook where I found more disjointed entries, full of notes and suggestions for Volume Four, The Epilogue.
Epilogue? Did I miss a notebook when I fished them out of the Circle K dumpster?
I picked up the black marbled notebooks again and counted what I had, clearly labeled One, Two and Three. If there was a Volume Four, it probably was long gone.
The last two pages of Volume Three had more random notes, as if Posey was gathering her thoughts, jotting ideas down for later use. Add a dragon, she’d written. Green scales, forked tongue, and spitting fire. Give Sorceress a strange-looking animal she channels through. Maybe cat/dog/pony?
At the very bottom of the page, she scrawled another cryptic note.
They hide their forbidden love along with the golden treasures, waiting for the stroke of midnight to steal away into the forgiving night before all was lost—and they die by the duke’s enchanted sword. Danger lurks within.
Her story sounded like a movie script. Maybe Posey mixed fact and fiction and these notebooks meant nothing. A yawn and then another signaled time to sleep.
It was frustrating to think there was more to be revealed in Volume Four, wherever that was—probably in the middle of the landfill. A slight headache began to brew as I put the notebooks aside and turned off the light.
Stress often makes me dream. As I fell into a restless sleep, a headless knight on horseback charged toward me, hooves pounding on an asphalt parking lot. In the dream a huge book, skewered by his bloody lance, wriggled on the sharp steel like a living thing. Page after page ripped away from the binding and fell to the ground. Each page soundlessly screamed Epilogue!
Chapter Thirty-Five
I awoke to a surprise from Mother Nature—an impossibly bright, sunny day. Sunbeams bounced off snow, the many ice crystals sparkling with attention. But after too much of a good thing, snow everywhere started melting, dripping and, with no warning, sliding off the hospital roof.
Our office phone rang like crazy as Mari and I took time to bring Little Man into the treatment area to change his dressing. His stitches looked clean, not a lot of crusting, and the best news was that the Chihuahua was leaving the surgery site alone.
“You haven’t seen him try to scratch, have you?” I asked her.
“Nope. He’s even leaving his booties on.”
“Hmm,” I said, looking at the Chihuahua temporarily housed in an upper-level cage. “Maybe because Daffy dresses him up so much?” My instincts told me to keep him under close observation. “Here you are,” I told the little dog, giving him a fairly large chew bone. I wanted to keep him busy and safe and quiet during office hours.
We were finishing up the day when Mari reminded me it was Wednesday, and tonight was the final lecture of our home-organizing course. To tell the truth, I’d completely forgotten. I’d made a stab or two of following through with some suggestions but quickly had slid back to my bad habits.
“Do you want to meet us there?” Mari asked.
“I suppose so.” From my voice, she knew I was less than enthusiastic. “Six o’clock? Save me a seat?”
Since I didn’t want to leave Little Man alone yowling in the hospital, I anchored a pet gate to my bathroom door. Surrounded by his personal belongings, the small dog could interact with the bigger dogs on his terms while I wasn’t home. Desi took one look, grunted, and went back to his chew toy. Little Man perched on his bed, actively guarding his growing pile of stolen toys. Mr. Pitt walked over, and the two dogs touched noses with a minimum amount of growling on Little Man’s part. With canine peace established, I put on a clean pair of jeans and a cheap pair of UGG lookalikes. Hoisting my backpack over my shoulder, I climbed into the truck and carefully drove to the community center. Once again, the parking lot was full. This time I parked in the third-row center, in line with the one functioning camera over the main door.
I wasn’t anticipating any trouble, but being seen in the camera lens was a good thing.
People were still streaming into the auditorium as I slipped off my coat. A quick overview of the room showed Mari and our baking friend Henry James chatting away in the fifth row. It looked like they’d saved a seat for me.
I picked my way along the row, dodging purses, coats, and Henry’s big leather bag, to safely sit down next to Mari. The crowd sounded unusually rowdy, as if we were waiting for a rock concert instead of a lecture. “Is Chloe here?” I asked, wondering if my actress client decided to attend. Tonight, there were no bodyguards blocking the aisle. Nothing unusual caught my eye.
“Not so far,” Mari answered. “I wonder how Elaine’s going to tie this lecture up? The truth is no matter how organized you are, housework never ends.”
Henry overheard her gloomy proclamation and went into a lecture on cleaning up as you go—a habit, he said, that helps him not lose his mind while cranking out his commercial baked goods.
I shared what a friend advised once. When your house gets too crowded with stuff, move to a bigger house.
We all snickered. On stage the crew checked the microphone for Elaine’s final lecture. I noticed someone setting up a PowerPoint presentation. Usually, slideshows put me to sleep, so I told Mari to elbow me if I nodded off and started to snore. Only a short while later, the lights began to flicker, signaling the start of the presentation.
Elaine’s introduction elicited effusive clapping from the audience. She blushed a little and held up her hands.
“In these last few weeks, I’ve bombarded you with ways to organize various parts of your homes,” she began. “Some suggestions will work wonders for some of you, while others of you will never see the point in color-keying anything.”
This got a good-natured laugh.
“But tonight, I want to share a success story with you. One that never would have happened without the intervention of someone you all knew, my mentor and friend, Sookie Overmann.” A click of the computer keyboard brought up a picture of Sookie laughing into the camera with a double thumbs-up pose.
The image on the screen surprised me. Sookie looked much younger, her hair in a messy bun with very little makeup on. Not a power suit in sight.
With the next slide, the dates of her birth and death, printed in a plain black font, flashed across the bottom of the screen.
Elaine stood completely still. The lights in the room started to dim, along with the image on the screen. I found it to be a very dramatic moment.
After a minute of complete darkness, the lights burst back on along with a new screen image—an apartment building.
“We met by accident,” Elaine said. “Sookie was renting an apartment next door to me. My wrist was in a temporary brace, and I was struggling with opening my door and carrying in the groceries. I tried to discourage her from helping, but she basically pushed past me and carried two bags of food inside. This is what she saw.”
One picture after another flicked overhead. Rooms filled with stuff. Tall towers of boxes and bins lined a hallway. A living room so crammed with items that it obscured most of a large picture window.
A gasp stirred the audience.
“This was my home,” Elaine said. “If you ask me how it started, I could give you a million reasons. I broke up with my boyfriend, shopping made me feel happy, I didn’t like to waste anything.”
The next slide revealed bulging suitcases, more plastic bins, and stacks of newspapers three rows deep.
“My parents lived in Milwaukee. They hated to fly so I always visited them. No one came to my home. No one knew my secret.”
More photos followed that showed a clean kitchen, one empty recliner, a folding TV tray table, and a television, an oasis of order in a jungle of stuff.
“Do you see this small space? This is where I lived. The recliner was my bed.”
Henry James leaned over and whispered, “It’s brave of her to tell us this.”
I nodded my agreement.
After a pause, Elaine continued. “Sookie didn’t judge me. She took me under her wing, like a hen with a chick. She found me counseling, and I started on medication, since hoarding can be a mental health issue. Every Saturday morning, we would set a goal, always reminding me that by donating I’d be helping someone else—someone truly in need. Gradually I came to feel the generosity of letting go.”
Another set of photographs showed the same rooms cleared out, closets in order, and a small gathering in Elaine’s living room watching a football game.
“The reason I’m sharing my story,” Elaine explained, “is that there is always help out there, be it in person, in videos, on the Internet, or in book form. Stop being embarrassed by the way you live. Life is too short not to be happy.”
Someone in the front row jumped up and began clapping. The rest of the audience joined in.
“Thank you so much,” Elaine said. “Now, I’m going to open up the rest of our time together for questions. Remember, often you can learn from someone else’s problem.”
A community center volunteer walked down the aisle with a microphone. One older woman held up her hand. “I can’t clean the way I used to because of my arthritis, but everyone I hire does a terrible job. What do you suggest?”
Elaine walked down the aisle toward the woman and said into her microphone, “I’m sorry to hear about your arthritis…”
“Vera,” the woman in the audience replied. She nervously fingered a pearl necklace through her knobby fingers.
“Vera. Thank you for your question. But let me be frank. You will never find anyone who cleans like you used to unless you clone yourself. Make that a pre-arthritis clone.”
“How about a twenty-year-old me?” the woman joked.
Elaine smiled. “We’re often too polite to point out things we are dissatisfied with. I suggest you sit down with your cleaning person and explain what’s most important for you.”
I noticed several women around me nodding their approval.
“Start with the major issues like toilets or floors but skip the things you can finish up yourself for now. That way you’ll get the most for your money, and also have the satisfaction of not feeling helpless in your own home.”
“I like that,” Vera said. “Thank you so much.”
Elaine then showed another photo of herself, a waving Sookie, and someone with her back to the camera. All three wore green sweatshirts, the corporate logo on the back. “Here’s a picture of our local team packing items for donation.”
I recognized Posey’s tight curls just visible in the background. More proof that Posey had worked with Sookie.
Someone stood up toward the back of the auditorium and loudly yelled out, “If you’re so great at what you do, then why was Sookie going to fire you?” The tall blond woman angrily gestured toward Elaine. “You never told any of these rich clients you’re working for about that, I bet. She was the brains, you jealous troll.” A self-satisfied grimace contorted the anger in her face.
My eyes traveled from Elaine to the woman in the audience and back again.
“This is going to be good,” said Henry. “Catfight.”
The volunteer on the stage who had overseen the PowerPoint presentation a few moments ago looked like she was about to cry.
More buzzing spread through the audience. Those murmurs hushed when Elaine tapped on her microphone.
“Please, everyone. Let’s remain quiet and stay in our seats.” Elaine pointed at the back of the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce Phillipa Overmann, Glenn Overmann’s sister.”
Immediately more whispering broke out.
“As most of you know, Glenn Overmann, Sookie’s estranged husband, has been taken into police custody and charged with Sookie’s murder. Phillipa, no doubt, is understandably distressed.”
Once again, I was impressed with how Elaine handled yet another public confrontation.
By that time, one of the center volunteers had recruited a maintenance man and the two of them started to escort Phillipa out of the room. She pushed them aside before saying, “I’ll go. Don’t touch me.” Before she exited, she turned toward the audience and screamed, “You killed her, Elaine. Somehow you killed Sookie, and they’re blaming my brother. He was home with me that night.”
As the staff members forced her through the exit door, she continued to yell vague threats and obscenities at Elaine and everyone participating in the seminar.
Mari poked me. “Who says that small towns are boring?”
During the ruckus, the moderator escorted Elaine in the opposite direction, down the aisle and toward the stage curtains. Once our moderator was safely hidden from view, the community center representative took the mic and said, “That concludes tonight’s session and our organizing seminar. Please give a round of applause to our speaker. As always, there are refreshments in the main reception area.”
After a smattering of confused clapping, most people picked up their coats and began to move in an orderly way toward the exit doors. From the chatter, it seemed everyone had an opinion on Phillipa’s accusations. Our little group became hedged in on both sides, so we resigned ourselves to being some of the last participants to leave.
While waiting our turn, I checked the stage but didn’t see Elaine anywhere. I assumed the community center management took all threats seriously.
“Do you think anyone will call the police?” I asked Henry and Mari.
“Perhaps,” he said, “to cover their butts. Someone’s probably posting pictures on Facebook as we speak.”
A sad commentary on modern life, I thought, sad and potentially dangerous. We were in an age when TikTok stars are targeted, Internet celebrities harassed, and everyone on the planet can be a potential critic or potential victim on social media.
Once in the reception area, our little group huddled together. Henry inspected the baked goods with a professional eye while the rest of us drank decaf and discussed the evening. I didn’t expect Elaine to make an appearance, but all of a sudden, a small round of applause broke out in the far right corner of the room.
Henry, who was the tallest of us at well over six feet, said, “It’s Elaine. That shows guts,” he added, approvingly. “Let’s hear what she has to say.”
