Murders of a Feather, page 5
“Make sure he is separated from their other pets for two weeks,” I advised Mari. “No buddies nibbling on that surgical site. I don’t want to keep chopping pieces of this tail off.”
I looked up at the clock on the treatment room wall. My lunch hour was officially over. I’d gobbled down a banana, but my grumbling stomach remained unsated. A granola bar from a box Cindy bought and a large cup of coffee would have to do. For some reason, my thoughts drifted to Chief Garcia.
“Hey, Mari,” I asked, taking a sip of coffee. “Have you heard any more about the murder-suicide of that couple in the woods?”
My assistant was busy scarfing down half a sandwich and some chips. She held up a hand as she finished chewing. “Nothing. If Cindy was here, we’d already have gotten a rundown.”
“Absolutely, we’d have been updated by the lightning-fast sister-to-sister network. I don’t suppose we could call Chief Garcia directly?”
“He was supposed to join his wife and kids in Florida. I think he flew down this morning.”
“Not letting a couple of bodies prevent him from working on a tan,” I commented. “Well, he deserves it. I’m sure the rest of the week will be stress-free.”
“It better be,” Mari said. “Honestly, I’m not in any hurry to be reminded about that day.”
“I’m sorry,” I told her. “Duly noted.”
We turned as we heard shoes clumping toward us from the hallway. Babs opened the door, that familiar frown on her face.
“How’s it going back here?” she asked.
“We’re all caught up,” I told her. “But I need to update some owners.”
“Let’s see,” she began. “The dachshund is on cage rest for a few days, the car engine cat has to be observed overnight, and the rat can go home and the sutures will dissolve.”
She stared at me, her eyes magnified behind the thick lens of her glasses.
“That’s right,” I said. “Remind me I need to make a cone for the rat.”
“Done,” she said. “I brought my vet assortment of odds and ends. A few months ago, I worked as a technician at an exotic practice. They bandaged all sorts of birds and lizards and rats. Oh, Mrs. Zelter called and wanted to talk to Dr. Kate about her bill.”
“Oh, no,” Mari said. “Not again. I’ve explained all her charges to her.”
“Well,” Babs said, puffing up a bit like a hen ruffling her feathers, “I put a stop to that. I believe Mrs. Zelter is lonely and needs to complain, but I explained the office staff takes care of billing, not the doctor.”
“Really? And she accepted that?”
“Hurummph. I gave her no choice. The matter is settled, and she made a recheck appointment in two weeks.”
Mari and I looked at each other. Cindy had been trying to placate Mrs. Z all last week. I’d been dreading talking to her, and now—on the job for less than twelve hours, it seems that Babs had succeeded where all others had failed.
“Good job,” I told her.
She adjusted her glasses and said, “Thank you. Afternoon appointments start in five minutes. Don’t be late.”
We listened again as the clumping sounds of her shoes faded away.
“That’s a pleasant surprise,” I said, snatching up my stethoscope and brushing granola bar crumbs off my coat. “Babs has gumption.”
“Time will tell,” Mari said cryptically, voicing her favorite saying. “Time will tell.”
Chapter Seven
By the time I finished checking my patients and answering email, it was seven p.m. The last thing I remembered eating after the granola bar was a handful of Mari’s tortilla chips around five thirty. My dog, Buddy, danced circles in front of me signaling how much he loved me and also how much he needed to go out. I’d snuck in a quick walk just before our working lunch, but he deserved my full attention.
Right outside my front door, which opened on to the side parking lot, Doc had built a fenced-in area for dog walking. Buddy favored certain trees and always looked for the resident squirrel. I’d shoveled a path and uncovered some frozen grass, but the rest was compacted snow. Buddy didn’t care. As soon as he did his business, he checked out the oak tree, hoping to see his nemesis. The squirrel and the dog never got within ten feet of each other, but you’d never know that from the fuss Buddy made.
Near the pines that separated our property from our snowplowing person, Pinky, a crow cawed. Buddy answered the bird with a bark.
It was still bitter cold, but at least the wind had died down. Some brave bushes revealed tiny buds waiting for warmer weather to open. I scanned our small strip of green space and the surrounding forest for bright yellow forsythia, the harbinger of spring. Nothing. Spring had not sprung.
The motion detector light above my door popped on, reflecting only frozen ground and leafless bare branches.
It suddenly occurred to me that I didn’t have to spend Valentine’s Day alone.
Once inside, I cleaned off Buddy’s cold feet, gave him his dinner, and poured myself a cold glass of white wine. One was my limit. The inside of the refrigerator looked pretty bare. It contained an almost empty bottle of ketchup, a bag of limp salad greens, and one take-out container containing who knows what. A light fuzz of mold decorated the surface.
Better stick to the wine for now. It would be Ramen noodles from the pantry for dinner again.
A glance around the apartment didn’t lift my spirits.
My renovated garage home came fully furnished, with a large lumpy sofa and a queen-sized lumpy bed. The round Formica-topped kitchen table must have dated from the seventies. All were serviceable, but not very cheery. I’d bought a thick mattress topper, some throw pillows, and a slew of soft colorful blankets to make the room seem like home, but it felt temporary.
Just like my job. My year’s contract to run Oak Falls Animal Hospital would be up soon. I needed to email Doc Anderson, busy relaxing on his round-the-world cruise, and see if he planned to keep me on. One more thing to add on my growing to-do list.
Buddy jumped up next to me, licking his chops in appreciation for his dinner. We curled up together, and after settling in I dialed the one constant man in my life, Gramps.
After the fifth ring I figured Gramps was out, but he answered just as I was about to hang up.
“Hello?”
In the background an oldies radio station played Ray Charles.
“Hi, Gramps,” I said. “What are you up to?” Whenever my grandfather decided to cook, he always turned on the radio.
“Can’t hear you. Let me turn this volume down,” he said. I listened to him moving toward his kitchen, muttering something. Even though meals were provided in his independent living complex, he often preferred to cook his own dinner. “That’s better. I had to stir the sauce.”
No need for me to ask which sauce. Gramps only cooked one sauce, an Italian Bolognese red sauce one of his firemen buddies taught him to make.
“You have to give me that recipe sometime,” I told him. “Except measure everything out the next time you make it.” I’d watched him several times, and every time he did things slightly differently.
“How about we do a video call when I make the next batch?” he said.
“Great idea.” Gramps had become increasingly tech savvy over the last few years, even taking several computer classes.
“Any news about that deceased couple you and Mari found by the lake?”
How many times had I asked that same question?
“No,” I picked up my glass and took a sip. “Cindy is on vacation, so my local news updates have been temporarily canceled.”
“Got to love her. I didn’t see anything on her Facebook page today except a photo of some margaritas on the beach.”
“I’m missing her already,” I confessed, “although so far her replacement is doing a good job.”
“Speaking of taking a mini vacation,” Gramps said, “remind Cindy I told her to give you a Saturday off so you can come visit me in person. Not on Zoom.”
During the COVID-19 pandemic, a large number of people adopted animals. The increased need for appointments had put a strain on veterinary facilities across the country. Some specialty practices were booked out for months. To help out my clients, I’d been working most Saturday mornings, seeing my last appointment at noon or one o’clock. According to Cindy, I averaged about fifty to sixty hours a week. It didn’t give me much of a weekend.
“I’m using the extra money working Saturdays to pay down my student loans,” I reminded him. Gramps had retired from the fire department and lived on his pension and Social Security. “Being fiscally responsible, just like you taught me.”
“Maybe I’ll win the lottery and we can live in luxury together,” he joked. “Me and the boys buy ten tickets a week. We promised to share unless someone kicks the bucket.”
“Which won’t be anytime soon,” I reminded him.
He laughed and coughed at the same time, finally catching his breath and saying, “Sorry to cut this short. The guys will be here any minute for our poker game. Say, why don’t you come to our Valentine’s Day party? I’ve got a date, but you can hang out with us. Come to think of it,” he added, “I might have two dates.”
“Two dates!” We both laughed again. “Aren’t they going to fight over you?”
“Sweetie,” he said. “This is senior assisted living, not high school. They’re happy I’m still kicking.”
The doorbell to his place rang; most likely his poker crew had arrived.
“Anyway, I’ll talk to you later this week,” he said. “And, Katie, try not to work so hard. Give yourself some downtime.”
After we hung up, I felt canine eyes staring at me. “I know,” I said to my dog. “Gramps wants me to take some downtime. And he’s got two dates for Valentine’s Day.”
Buddy thumped his tail in sympathy.
Chapter Eight
In the next few days, my life returned to normal. No more dreams about being trapped under the ice. But hoping that Chief Garcia had finished interrogating Mari and me turned out to be a big no-no.
As I left exam room two the following day with an ear swab destined for the microscope, Babs interrupted me. In a gloomy voice, she explained that Chief of Police Garcia wanted to speak to me on the phone—now. Her demeanor indicated she expected me to be arrested momentarily.
“Great,” I answered as enthusiastically as I could. “Looking forward to it.”
The disbelieving look she sent my way was worth the lie.
The chief spoke to Mari and me separately during lunchtime, basically once again going step-by-step over everything that led to the discovery of the bodies. No new information came to light.
“Aren’t you in Florida?” I asked him. Cindy had said that her sister and Bobby and their kids and she and her kids were all taking a vacation together.
“Affirmative,” he said in a voice that stopped me asking any more personal questions.
I thought it strange he brought up Bruce several times. What he looked like when he flagged us down. His demeanor. Did he initiate any small talk? I wondered if Bruce was more involved than he appeared.
Good Samaritans who discovered bodies sometimes were the killers.
At least twice more I repeated exactly what happened, including the eerie discovery of the body under the lake ice. When it came my turn to ask a question, I heard an electronic wall of silence. Since the investigation was still under way, no public statements would be released.
But brick walls aren’t as solid as one might think. They’re only as strong as the mortar holding each brick together. Chip away at that, and the walls come tumbling down.
We were sitting together in the employee lounge finishing our lunches after our conversations with Chief Garcia when Mari randomly mentioned, “Marjorie loved to swim. Mom called her our own little mermaid. She’d wade into rivers, swim in the quarry—even when everyone else thought it was too cold to get in the water.”
Babs nodded in remembrance.
I took it as a good sign that Mari initiated this conversation.
“Did you swim much when you were kids?” I asked her. “I swam on a team in middle school and high school.”
“What was your best stroke?”
“The butterfly. You should have seen my shoulder muscles.” For emphasis I flexed my biceps. “One summer I worked as a part-time lifeguard at the Y.”
“Which is why it’s so unfortunate,” Babs said.
“What’s unfortunate?” I mumbled between bites of my sandwich.
“She was a swimmer, too.”
“Who are you talking about?” Mari asked.
I’d noticed that sometimes stories from Babs didn’t proceed in any obviously logical manner.
“Alicia. The young woman who died in that lake. She was a swimmer.”
Babs knew the murdered woman? Why hadn’t she told anyone? “How do you know her, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Her grumpy stare indicated she might mind my asking. I took another bite of my sandwich and waited her out.
“I’ve done a lot of jobs since I retired, not all of them for veterinarians. A temp agency sent me to work at a law firm. That’s where I met Alicia. Very organized, a lovely person.”
I suspected Babs liked anyone who was organized.
“Was she engaged then?” Mari asked.
“No.” Babs sipped from her iced tea for what seemed like hours before answering. “I knew the other boyfriend.”
With plenty of prompts, Mari and I extracted the history of Alicia’s love life from Babs, going back about five or six years. Babs doled out every syllable she spoke as though it was money she was losing at a casino. The fewer words spent the better.
After fifteen minutes we knew all the basics. Babs met Alicia when the young woman interned at Ramsey and Pratt, a mid-size legal firm located in Kingston. Only a year away from graduating law school, she worked there one summer. One of the married partners, James Ramsey, became infatuated with her. Their heavy-handed sneaking around embarrassed the rest of the staff, especially when his wife showed up unannounced looking for him. Alicia went back to school at the end of the summer, whereupon Mr. Ramsey separated from his wife prior to filing for divorce. Six months later, Alicia sported a diamond engagement ring and drove a Lexus convertible.
As soon as she graduated, Alicia went to work for Ramsey and Pratt, taking two-hour lunches with her boss/fiancé, James Ramsey, to the dismay of the staff and his business partner.
“Then what happened?” Mari asked.
“I have no idea.” Babs got up from her chair. She glanced at her watch and reminded us that appointments started in twenty minutes.
“Do you think they got married?” Mari asked after Babs left. “She must have married because she took his last name.”
“But something else must have happened because when she died, she was engaged to José,” I added. “I suppose Alicia and James Ramsey could have married and divorced, or the first husband died.” My brain went into overdrive. “What if the first husband was murdered?”
“Okay. I get the picture. Time to go back to work,” Mari said. “I wish Cindy was here. She’d straighten this out in a heartbeat.”
Putting the remains of my lunch in the trash, I picked up my stethoscope, draped it around my neck, and took a quick look in the employee lounge mirror. Half my hair had slipped out of my hair band. I’d stashed a small hairbrush in the bathroom, so a few sweeps smoothed everything back to normal. My mirrored image showed pale blond hair framing an equally pale face with a longish nose.
“Ready?” I asked Mari.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied, then tossed her empty chip bag toward the garbage pail. It banked off the side of the lower cabinet and dropped into the basket.
“That’s good luck,” I predicted.
“I’m not counting on it.” Mari started moving toward the front of the hospital. “Bad things come in threes. We’re two bodies down and one to go.”
After we finished our last appointment early and closed up the hospital, I persuaded Mari to join me at Judy’s Café. Usually my assistant ran directly home to her dogs, but I shamelessly tempted her with visions of fresh baked brownies and blueberry scones.
“My treat,” I added.
“Well,” she began, “okay, but I can’t stay very long.”
“I’ve got an ulterior motive,” I explained while we walked to our cars. “I’m hoping Judy knows something about Alicia and José and why they might have been hiking near the lake.”
Mari ran a hand through her dark curls and said, “That’s a long shot.”
Pulling the front door of the truck open, I answered, “So? Worst case is no info, only a nice piece of pie.”
A village staple praised by weekenders and locals alike, Judy’s Café welcomed its main customer volume for breakfast and lunch. She closed down just before seven on most weekdays. It was six forty-five when we strolled through the door.
“We’re about to close,” Judy said while cleaning off the counter.
“We’ll be super quick,” I promised her. “In fact, we’ll take our meal to go if necessary.”
“No worries,” Judy said. She walked over to the front door and turned her sign from OPEN to CLOSED. “You two, I can handle. Lord save me from New York City millennials with crazy food requests. Hold the butter because it’s not vegan, or is this fresh? What do they think I serve? Rotten food? The best was some guy wanted to know where the chicken in the chicken soup was raised.”
Both of us sympathized with anyone working with the general public. Most people were great, but there were a few…
“We’re easy. Soup of the day, toasted blueberry scone, and a piece of pecan pie with whipped cream,” Mari told her with a smile.
“Sounds good,” I said. “Me too.”
“Easy peasy,” Judy countered. “Anything to drink?”
“Earl Grey tea,” Mari said.
