Dead Canaries Don't Sing (8 page)

I had a feeling I would have been able to pick out Merrilee Frack’s home even without a street address. The touches at number 54 were all variations on Merrilee’s favorite theme: cuteness. Inside the white picket fence was one of those wooden cutouts showing the backside of a woman bending over to pull weeds. A straw hat hung on the front door, with long satin ribbons in pastel colors dangling from it. White ruffled curtains framed the windows, which had flower boxes decorated with hearts along the bottom.

Something about its desperate attempts at cheerfulness made me sad. This house clearly belonged to a woman who longed for a real home. But from what I’d seen so far, I knew that Merrilee’s dream house was missing a very important ingredient.

As I climbed out of my van, the front door flew open. The movement sent the ribbons on the straw hat flying like streamers. Then two massive Dobermans emerged, their powerful chests heaving and their long legs eager to run. Only the sheer determination of the tiny woman at the other end of their leashes held them back.

“Thanks again for coming,” Merrilee called to me as they dragged her down the driveway. She’d changed into jeans and a lavender sweater, and she wore a matching lavender plastic barrette in her hair. The contrast between her soft, almost girlish look and the two mighty beasts she managed to keep in check was startling.

“Sit!” she commanded. Two sleek, muscular butts hit the ground so fast you’d have thought they belonged to United States Marines.

“Sorry they’re so rambunctious,” Merrilee said. “Like I told you, they just don’t know what to do with themselves now that Tommee is—well, you know.”

She cast me a meaningful look. I instantly understood that we weren’t to use the D-word in front of the dogs.

“Bring them inside the van and I’ll check them out,” I offered. Just from eyeballing them, both dogs looked pretty healthy to me. I suspected that my initial diagnosis would prove correct: that they were simply going through some grieving of their own.

Merrilee came into my van and watched as I did the usual tests, exhibiting the same anxiety most pet owners show as I touch and prod their little bundles of fur. Sure enough, there was nothing wrong with Dobie and Maynard that time, the great healer, wouldn’t correct.

“They’re beautiful animals,” I told Merrilee, admiringly running one hand along Maynard’s sleek fur as he eased himself off the examining table. “And they’re fine, at least physically. As for their emotional state, it’s probably going to take them a while to get used to the fact that Tommee is gone.”

Merrilee’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s true for all of us.”

“I’m sure they’re also responding to your grief. They can sense that you’re upset, and that contributes to their state. If you can, try what’s called ‘the jolly treatment.’ Act cheerful around them, play happy music, do your best to act as if there’s nothing wrong.

“In the meantime, don’t worry about them not eating. They’re both strong, healthy animals. It won’t hurt them to go without food for a few days. It shouldn’t be long before they’re back to normal.” I reached down to stroke Dobie’s silky head, and was rewarded with a long, wet tongue slurping my wrist. “If you don’t see any change in another week, call me. We can always do blood tests at that point to make sure everything’s all right.”

“Thank you so much, Dr. Popper.” She smiled tremulously. “Hey, would you like to come in for a few minutes? I could make coffee. If you have time, I mean—”

“I’d love coffee. In fact, every day about this time, I
need
coffee.”

“Good.” Shyly, she added, “Frankly, I’d be really grateful for the company. This hasn’t exactly been my best day.” She gathered up Dobie and Maynard’s leashes. “Why don’t you go ahead in? I’ll put these guys in the backyard. They could use a little fresh air.”

As I wandered unattended into Merrilee’s house, I saw that the inside was consistent with the outside. Cute touches abounded, ranging from appliquéd throw pillows with a daisy design on the living room couch to a shelf lined with Precious Moments statuettes. Every square inch of clutter was absolutely immaculate. Somehow, the house had the feeling of being stuck in a state of readiness, like a model home. It was as if everything in there was untouched, waiting to be used.

I did a double take when I saw the large picture prominently displayed in the front hallway. The blown-up photograph in an elaborate gilt frame showed Merrilee and Tommee side by side, their arms around each other as they stood beneath a canopy of pink roses. Merrilee, engulfed by a puffy white cloud of a dress, looked as if this was the happiest day of her life. Next to her stood a red-haired, freckled, pudgy Tommee Frack, looking as if he couldn’t wait to get out of his tight tuxedo.

When Merrilee came in behind me and caught me gawking at the king-size wedding picture, she sighed.

“I know; it’s beautiful, isn’t it? So was everything about that day. It was absolutely perfect.”

“You both look so . . . young.”

“We
were
young. I was twenty-one, and Tommee had just turned twenty-two.”

“How long had you two known each other?”

“We met in high school. Tommee and I were high school sweethearts from the ninth grade on. You know, the kind of kids that are always holding hands in the hall and making out in front of their lockers? Junior Prom, Senior Prom, the whole nine yards . . . Then we both went to college here on the Island. I went to the state university, because my parents didn’t have the money for a private school. But Tommee’s folks sent him to Brookside College. They didn’t have much money, either, but somehow they found a way. They doted on Tommee.”

“Did he win a scholarship?”

She shook her head. “Tommee was brilliant, but not in a school-type way. I mean, his grades weren’t anything to write home about. He was people-smart. He could talk anybody into anything, you know? He could take any situation, anything at all, and make people see things the way he wanted them to see them.

“It even worked with teachers. He’d talk them into giving him a few extra points, or dropping the lowest test grade. That kind of thing. And because of it, everybody knew who he was. They didn’t necessarily like him, but they
knew
him. It was like this special talent Tommee had. You know, always finding a way to be at the center of things.”

I was watching her face as she reminisced. With a shock, I realized she had stars in her eyes. It was the same look Betty accused me of having whenever I was around Nick.

She really loved him, I thought. I hastily amended that statement. She really
loves
him. Even now. He’s the one she never got over. The one who broke her heart.

“Is there a bathroom I can use?” I asked abruptly. I didn’t really have to go, but I was anxious for an excuse to look at the rest of the house. It was funny, the way going to the ladies room was turning out to be a terrific investigative technique. It literally opened doors.

“Sure. Right upstairs. End of the hall. And I’ll get that coffee started.”

As I walked down the second-floor hallway, I glanced into each bedroom. The first room on the left was the master bedroom. Merrilee had decorated it all in white lace. Next to the bed, I noticed a framed close-up of Tommee.

Amazing, I thought. The first face she sees in the morning and the last face she sees before she goes to sleep at night.

But it was the next room that totally floored me. It was much smaller, probably meant to be a study or a guest room. And it did contain a desk with an outdated-looking computer and a sofa.

Otherwise, it looked like an altar to Tommee Frack.

Business-style letters had been framed and hung, congratulatory notes from politicians praising Tommee for his valuable contribution to Long Island’s economy, and thank-you letters from satisfied clients. I skimmed a letter from George Babcock, President of The Babcock Group, printed on thick, expensive-looking stationery embossed with gold. It was a job offer, dated eight years earlier. Using ridiculously flowery wording, Babcock welcomed Tommee Frack to his firm and said he was looking forward to a long and prosperous association.

But that was just the beginning. Framed articles from
Newsday,
the Long Island Weekly section of the Sunday
New York Times,
and what looked like weeklies from all over the Island covered the walls. Every one of them was about Tommee.

I stepped into the room, so astonished that I forgot to worry about being found out. “PR Genius Starts Own Firm,” one headline trumpeted. “Wunderkind Turns Entrepreneur,” screamed another.

They weren’t all about the young public relations star opening up his own public relations shop. There were also pictures of Tommee with every politician and every celebrity who had ever set foot on Long Island. The governor, the past governor, and no fewer than three U.S. presidents and seven presidential candidates. There was Tommee with every member of the town council, and there he was with most of the Norfolk County legislators.

He also posed with a number of celebrities who were Long Island natives, actors and sports figures who had probably returned from Hollywood to visit their relatives who still lived here. Tommee and Jerry Seinfeld. Tommee and Eddie Murphy. Tommee and Rosie O’Donnell. Tommee and basketball legend Julius Erving, a.k.a., Dr. J.

Then there were photos taken with the Hamptons crowd, the summer people who regularly came out to the East End to recreate the social scene they’d left behind in the city, only this time with a beachy backdrop. Tommee with Christie Brinkley, Steven Spielberg, Peter Jennings, Dr. Atkins, Betsey Johnson. Even Martha Stewart stood stiffly beside Tommee, looking tortured as she let him pose with his arm around her.

Charity events, fund-raisers, the world-famous Hampton Classic horse show. Whatever the occasion, it seemed that if important people were there, so was Tommee.

“Pretty amazing, huh?”

I jumped at the sound of Merrilee’s voice. But she didn’t sound at all irritated that I’d been distracted on my way to the loo. In fact, she sounded as if she completely understood my amazement.

“Like I told you, he had an awesome talent. People
liked
Tommee. They trusted him. They just wanted to be around him.”

“And he obviously put a lot of effort into being at the center of things.” I glanced at the walls of photos, wondering what the guy had paid for tuxedo rentals every year. “A person has to, if he’s that ambitious. But I suppose that kind of drive is what comes of growing up without having a lot of money.”

“Money?” Merrilee looked bewildered. “But it was never about money. Not really. I mean, sure he liked what he could buy with all the money he made. You know how boys are with their toys. And Tommee was even more extreme than most. Everything had to be the best. Dinners at the most expensive restaurants. The biggest suites at the best hotels. Silk shirts and handmade suits he got on his weekend trips to Hong Kong. He even drove a Rolls. I think it was only leased, but the point was that he had to have it all.”

“But if his ambition wasn’t about money, what was behind it?”

“Tommee was star-struck, back from the very beginning. He was always attracted to people other people considered important.”

“You mean he was a social climber?”

“No, he just liked to be around people who had distinguished themselves in some way,” she said happily. “Like in high school? After a football game, he’d always make a point of sneaking into the locker room so he could hang out with the winning team. If our team lost, he’d go out partying with the guys from our school’s rival. After a school play, he’d wangle his way into the cast party, even though he’d had nothing to do with putting on the production.”

“Sounds like he was kind of a hanger-on. Didn’t the other kids find that annoying?”

“Are you kidding? They loved it! Tommee was always fawning all over them, telling them how great they were. In fact, that’s how he got started in the public relations business.”

“Really? How fascinating!” Nancy Drew herself couldn’t have done better.

“When we were still in high school—I think he was, like, a junior—Tommee started getting kids’ names in the local paper. Like if somebody won some poetry award or scored the winning point in a basketball game, Tommee would offer to call the newspaper and get some reporter to come over and take their picture. He was really good at it. He could talk anybody into anything.”

“Did these kids pay him?”

“He didn’t expect to be paid. All he wanted was their gratitude—and a way of being close to them. Here, let me show you. Take a look at our yearbook.”

Proudly she held up the blue and white cover for me to see. It was embossed with the name,
The
Caumsett Commemorative
.

“You can practically open to any page and you’ll see Tommee standing next to some kid who’d just done something special.”

To demonstrate, she flipped the book open. Sure enough: There was a photograph of the varsity soccer team carousing after a victory. Tommee—looking younger and thinner—hovered in the background, wearing a pleased expression.

“This is the Debating Team, the time they won the Norfolk County Championship.” Six serious-looking students posed in front of lockers, standing at attention for the camera. Lurking a few feet behind was Tommee.

Frankly, I found the whole thing kind of creepy. But Merrilee had that starry look in her eyes again. “He was so terrific with people. Tommee really had a special, special talent. And it took him exactly where he wanted to go.”

I jumped as she slammed the book shut. “I still can’t believe he didn’t want to take me with him.” Her voice had become hard.

After a few seconds, I broke the heavy silence that had fallen over the room. “It sounds like you’ve never gotten over him,” I said gently.

Staring straight ahead, as if she’d forgotten I was in the room, Merrilee said, “To this day I believe I’m the only person who ever truly loved him.”