Dead Canaries Don't Sing (25 page)

“The other side of the coin is that when you and I leave here, we’ll take something with us. Like if you checked the bottom of your shoes tonight, you might find a couple of grains of dirt that contain the fertilizer the owner of this place uses around his property. Or a piece of gravel from the parking lot. Something that could prove you’d been here.”

Despite his claim that he didn’t like discussing business on his night off, I got the feeling Jimmy was more interested in police work than he was letting on.

“Let me show you something.” I said impulsively, reaching into my purse.

I opened my spiral notebook and laid it in front of him. “I’ve been keeping detailed notes. Every time I talk to somebody who knows something about Frack, I write down what I learn in this book. This way, I not only have a record of everything I’ve learned; I also know who told me and when.”

“Gee, you’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” He wore an expression of amazement as he turned over page after page of my notebook, glancing at the newspaper clippings I’d stapled in along with the detailed listing of facts written beneath the source, the date, and in some cases, the implications. On several pages, words like
SUSPECT!!
or
LYING?
were scrawled across the page and underlined. “I had no idea you’d covered this much ground. Boy, you’ve talked to everybody, haven’t you? I see you even got the business card of Frack’s accountant.”

“Jonathan Havemeyer. I met him at the wake.”

“Geez, you got everything right here. Names, dates, and serial numbers. Sooner or later, you’re gonna crack this case, aren’t you? Probably months ahead of Harned and his squad.”

I beamed, wondering if the pride I felt was making me glow.

He continued turning the pages of my notebook. “Wow, Frack’s ex-wife, his fiancée . . .” He looked up at me and grinned. “Anything about me in here?”

“Sorry,” I replied with a laugh. “I’m saving that for my personal diary.” Inwardly, I groaned. I was flirting again.

He raised his eyebrows. “I’d
much
rather read that.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” I cocked my head to one side. “A murder investigation is one thing. My inner thoughts and feelings are something else entirely.”

“Which is why you should forget all about that crime stuff. Concentrate on the living. I guarantee you’ll have more fun.”

“Think so?”

“I know so. In fact,” Jimmy continued in a husky voice, sliding the notebook back to me, “how about if later on, you let me show you something that’s really worth writing about in your diary?”

I gulped, unable to come up with the words to respond to an offer like that.

“Do you like cars?” he asked.

So much for my warped mind.

“Uh, yeah, I suppose so . . .”

“I’ve got a couple that’ll blow you away. Classics. Real collectors’ items. I’ve got them stored in a garage in Westfield. If you like, I’ll take you over to see them later.”

Suddenly my head snapped up. Something over at the bar had caught my attention. I could feel the color drain from my face.

Nick.

As he headed across the bar, toward the dining room, he looked like he was auditioning for a cowboy movie. And I would have bet my autoclave that he was wearing hair gel or some other product designed to make his hair behave.

And then I noticed the woman right behind him. “My pride and joy is a ’55 Thunderbird. Mint. It’s pink, believe it or not. The other one’s a ’65 Porsche 550 Spyder, the same model James Dean was driving when he was killed. And I’m about to get another one . . .”

Suddenly, Jimmy stopped. He’d finally noticed that my eyes and my attention were elsewhere.

“Everything okay?”

“Um, yeah. I just . . .”

The correct ending for that sentence was, “I just made the unforgivable mistake of making eye contact with the one person in the world I would like to have hidden from.” But it was too late to explain, not to mention too late to do anything about it.

Nick’s expression changed the instant he saw me. The cool confidence of a handsome young stud out on the town, with his filly in tow, vanished. Suddenly, instead of looking like he was trying out for a western, he looked like he was auditioning for a horror movie.

A look of total confusion followed. I knew he was debating whether to ignore me or come over and say hello. Personally, I voted for A.

Predictably, he chose B.

“Well, look who’s here!” he said with false cheerfulness. He was Cowboy Joe again as he headed over to our table. His friend followed, looking a little confused herself.

I glanced over at Jimmy, wondering what he thought of all this. But he didn’t have a clue about the awkwardness of the situation unfolding before him. As far as he knew, Nick was just a neighbor or a pet owner who just happened to have the same taste in night life we did.

“Hello, Nick.” Involuntarily, I tossed my head, suddenly the picture of womanly self-assurance. “What a surprise!”

He glanced at Jimmy. “Surprise is definitely the word.”

“Uh, this is Officer Jimmy Nolan. Jimmy, Nick Burby.”

The two men shook hands, studying each other as they did so. I’d seen that look many times before— most recently on the Animal Channel when two male penguins were checking each other out to see which one looked bigger, stronger, and more capable of winning a fight if a question arose about who owned that particular ice floe.

“Yeah, we met,” Nick said. “At Atherton Farm. Tommee Frack?”

“Now I remember. You were at the wake, too, right?”

“That’s right. Terrible thing.”

“Awful.”

We all turned our focus to Nick’s date, whose Good Sport look was starting to fade.

“Oh, sorry,” Nick said belatedly. “Everybody, this is Tiffany Fisk. Tiffany, this is Jimmy and this is Jessie.”

Jimmy and Jessie
. Way off the cuteness scale.

But
Tiffany
? Geez.

She, too, deserved a place in the Cuteness Hall of Fame. Her perky smile, her pearly pink lipstick, and her bare midriff, peeking coyly from between the top of her tight jeans and her even tighter nylon shirt, also placed her in good stead. Of course, the thick, glossy chestnut-brown hair hanging to her waist didn’t hurt, either.

You’re just jealous, I told myself. My inner voice sounded cranky. Even so, I had to admit she was actually kind of pretty. If you like the thin, graceful type with the extraordinary cheekbones of a supermodel.

“Well,” Nick said heartily, “I guess we’ll go hang out at the bar. I had no idea this place would be so crowded. Do you believe there’s a twenty-minute wait for a table?”

“Hey, sit with us!” Jimmy insisted. “At least while you’re waiting.”

“No!” I cried, without thinking. The other three turned to stare at me.

“I mean, I’m sure they’d rather be, you know, just the two of them—”

“Right,” Nick piped up quickly. “Thanks for the invitation, but we’ll just—”

“Don’t be silly.” Jimmy had already slid across his seat, making room for another butt. I suspected the butt he was hoping for was Tiffany’s. “The bar is so jammed you’ll never get a seat.”

I looked at Nick pleadingly, begging him to come up with a stronger counterargument. But unexpectedly, it was Tiffany who took charge.

“I’d rather wait here.” She positively flowed into the booth beside Jimmy. “This is much more comfortable.”

Nick cast me a forlorn look.

“Guess I’d better move over, too,” I muttered lamely.

Nick sat down next to me. Even though my hip practically merged with the wall, we had no choice except to sit arm to arm and thigh to thigh. I tried crossing my legs to create a little more room, but the table was too low.

“Do you think you could move over?” Nick asked through a clenched jaw.

“Not without sitting in the parking lot,” I snarled back. “Remember, this wasn’t my idea.”

“So how do you and Nicky know each other?” Tiffany flicked her hair off her shoulder in that way I thought only movie stars and other women who were paid enormous amounts of money to look good had mastered.

“
Nicky
and I met about three years ago.” He refused to look at me. “Yes, Nicky and I go
way
back. In fact, Nicky is one of the—”

“We should probably order a drink,” he interrupted. “I’ll try to flag down our waitress—”

“Are you a private investigator, too?” Tiffany persisted. Her eyes were the tawny color of a lioness’s.

“No. Actually, I’m a veterinarian.”

She nodded approvingly. “I adore animals myself. I’m one of those people who’s always had, oh, like, three cats and two dogs at a time. I don’t even know where they come from. They just seem to find me.”

“I’m not much for pets,” Jimmy interjected. He smiled at Tiffany in a way that told me he was enjoying himself. And in the process, losing a few points in my book. “My work schedule is too irregular. It wouldn’t be fair to the animal.”

“What line of work are you in?” Tiffany looked absolutely enthralled, as if she were inquiring about one of life’s greatest mysteries.

“I’m a cop.”

“Wow! That is
totally
cool.”

“Norfolk County P. D. That’s me.” He took a sip of his beer, clearly basking in the admiration of the little lady at his side.

“What about you, Tiffany?” Since we were all identifying ourselves by our line of work, I figured there was no reason we should let her off the hook. I was imagining all kinds of answers that suited my need to feel superior: supermarket checkout girl, manicurist, examiner for the Internal Revenue Service . . .

“I’m an attorney,” she replied, dashing my hopes. “An associate with Givens, Doyle, Peet, and White.”

“Ah,” I said, reaching for my beer. “Then you’ll be able to give Nick
lots
of pointers.”

Tiffany giggled. “I already have.”

I glanced over at Nick, intending to cast him a meaningful look. But he was clearly so pathetically uncomfortable that I actually felt sorry for him.

“In fact,” Tiffany told me, “we were up practically all night last Friday. We started around nine, and by the time we finished, it was, like, four o’clock in the morning.”

“Poor Nicky,” I crooned.

“It was worth it,” Tiffany assured me cheerfully. “I think all that cramming really helped Nicky with the LSAT. He took it today. Don’t you agree, Nicky?”

“I think I did okay.”

“Well, that’s certainly good news,” I said brightly.

The waitress finally acknowledged our existence, and Nick and Tiffany each ordered a drink. I hoped the conversation would move on to something neutral.

Instead, as soon as the waitress left, Tiffany said, “You still haven’t told me how you two know each other.” I’ll give her one thing: she was persistent.

“Nick—Nicky—was investigating a dogfight ring that was based in Corchaug,” I replied. “Pit bulls. I’d treated some of the dogs, and somehow he got hold of my name.”

And he came to what was then my office to interview me, and we ended up going out to dinner, then making plans for the following evening . . .

“Wow. And you kept in touch ever since.”

“You could say that,” I said lightly.

“You two are waiting for a table, right?” said a voice from nowhere. “It’s ready. I’ll bring your drinks over there.”

Our waitress clearly had no idea what a relief her sudden reappearance was. I was tempted to tip her a twenty.

Tiffany actually looked disappointed. “It was fun talking to you two. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“You, too.” I even managed to smile as she and Nick stood to leave. “Nice meeting you, Tiffany. And, uh, it was great seeing you again, Nicky.”

“Right.” I thought I could detect real agony in his eyes as he cast me a parting glance. But what the source of that agony was, I couldn’t be sure.

“Seems like a nice guy,” Jimmy commented after they left. “Her, too.”

“Yeah,” I agreed sullenly. “Very nice. The two of them should be very happy together. Lawyers deserve each other.”

“Yeah, well, I’d much rather talk about us. And what we’re going to do later.” He leaned forward so that our noses were only inches away above the remaining buffalo wings.

I jerked back, hitting my head on the back of the booth.

“Yeow!” I yelped, sounding just like Cat.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I rubbed the back of my skull, wishing the bar wasn’t so crowded that asking for ice would have been a waste of time. “Sometimes I’m such a klutz—”

“Here, let’s see if this helps.” Jimmy reached across the table and began massaging my neck. I had to admit, it felt good. His hands were strong, and he knew exactly what to do. In fact, it felt great.

“That’s okay,” I said hastily. “I’m feeling better already.”

“You sure?” He frowned. “Maybe we should get out of here. I could take you home—”

“No, I’m fine. Really.”

I managed to get through dinner, even though, across the crowded bar, I could see Nick and Tiffany cuddling together in their booth, yukking it up. At least she was. To watch her, you’d have thought she was having a cheeseburger with Robin Williams.

As for Nick, he looked miserable. Probably because he didn’t like having me along on his hot date as a chaperone.

Finally, mercifully, dinner was over. When Jimmy and I headed out the back door of the bar and found ourselves in an icy downpour, I broke the bad news.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to postpone the car thing.”

“You’re kidding!”

“I don’t know if it was that second beer or banging my head, but I’ve got a killer headache . . .”

“Then why don’t we just go back to your place? You can take something for your headache. In twenty minutes, it’ll be gone.”

“Thanks, but I just don’t feel up to it.” I really did feel lousy. The part about the headache was true, too.

“But it’s not even eleven o’clock yet!” He added, “And I’m not on duty tomorrow. I can stay as late as you want.”

I knew what he meant. And I realized that, given my mood, I didn’t feel like having him stay late at all.