Dogs Don't Lie (5 page)

Sometimes I’m as dumb as Pammy. I hesitated for a moment and pulled over onto the shoulder of the road to make a U-turn. Only then did I notice the blinking light on my cell telling me I had a message.

“Ms. Marlowe?” I couldn’t place the voice. “This is Officer Creighton.” The young buck from the crime scene. “I’d like you to come in to answer a few questions. Please call me at your convenience.”

My convenience would be sometime in the next century, but since I had the phone open, I scrolled back. He’d already called three times. He was a cop, and I didn’t need him pissed at me, and so I hit “call.”

Creighton answered right away, the number obviously his private extension. Whatever hopes I had of distracting him, he was all business.

“Ms. Marlowe, I need you to come in.” His voice sounded older than he’d looked. Tired. And that set off alarms. Tired cops want to close cases quickly.

“How about Monday? This week has just been an awful shock.” I wanted space and I wasn’t above feminine wiles.

“How about today? I’ll be here at least until six.” Pity when wiles don’t work. I was saved by his mention of the time.

“And is it three already? Oh, gosh, I can’t.” That was probably overdoing it, but in for a penny. “I’m going over to Mrs. Harris’ and I said I’d bring something.”

Checkmate. But he didn’t like it. “Tomorrow morning, then, Ms. Marlowe. I’ll be waiting.”

***

Lies have a way of tripping you up. Back in the city, I’d have been able to buy something to bring. Beef stroganoff, “homemade” meat loaf. A complete Thai feast, and at any hour of the night, as well. Out here, well, we’re not exactly the sticks. Only the closest gourmet food store was over in Beckett, and midweek there was no guarantee when it would close. Nothing for it, then, but to shop and cook. Murder was making me domestic.

Chopping onions leaves you free to think. Both the black Persian and Lily were trying to tell me something, only I wasn’t getting it. Standing in the big, open kitchen that was my house’s best feature, I opened the ground beef and stood there waiting, hoping the scent would lure Wallis from whatever hiding place she’d found. I could use the consult, though in our current relationship I no longer felt I had the right to ask after her whereabouts—or even to keep her inside, despite my concerns for her safety, and the birds’. Now, in true cat fashion, she’d absented herself when I most could have used her company. As I scraped the onions into a casserole, listening to them sizzle in the hot oil, I tried to remember how I’d used to think, back before Wallis started talking to me. Or rather, before I started hearing her. Before —

“What horrid concoction is that?” As if on cue, Wallis appeared in the doorway, stifling a yawn.

“Napping, were we?” I heard the waspish note in my voice. I’d been about to put something together, and her tone didn’t improve my mood.

“Working.” She sat and began to wash her face. “Some of us have lives, you know.”

I didn’t bother responding. Instead, as I stirred the beef into the casserole, I tried to recall what had been on the tip of my consciousness. Something about thoughts, about connections.

“Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be getting out more?” Wallis’ voice entered my head like a cold draft. I spun around to face her.

“Are you reading my mind now?” She kept washing. “Wallis, would you answer me?”

“Not on a general basis.” She seemed focused on one ear. “Too dull, really.”

“Wallis, don’t be such a cat.” She looked up at that, meeting my eyes with her cool green ones. “I mean, don’t get all legalistic on me.” Nothing. “Please.”

“I know what you mean.” She finished her bath. “Don’t get your panties all in a bunch. Yes, I can listen in, when I want to. How do you think we’re conversing anyway? How do you hear all those other voices?”

I hadn’t thought about it, but she had a point. “I just do, that’s all.” That flood, that curse of consciousness. “But since we live together, you could try to respect my privacy.”

“I thought you wanted my help.” She jumped up on the counter and watched as I cooked. In previous times, I might have shooed her off. Now it would seem rude. Instead, I scooped out a hunk of meat and held it out to her on my wooden spoon.

She sniffed and turned away. “Too many onions.” Still, she seemed pleased to have been offered, and settled into her sphinx pose while I worked. “You’re starting at the wrong end.”

“The onions?” I was humoring her. It worked. She smiled, as only cats can.

“Humans! So linear.” She tucked her paws beneath her. I knew a lecture was coming and opened a can of tomatoes while she gathered her thoughts.

“My thoughts are perfectly gathered, thank you very much.”

I broke the tomatoes into the meat. “Sorry, I was waiting.” I tried to keep my mind blank.

“To start with, I still don’t understand why you care so much about a dog. Especially a dog like that.”

“A pit bull?”

“An animal too dumb to survive on its own.” Before I could protest, she continued. “Animals get killed, and that Charles may have been your best client, but that simply illustrates his inability to get along on his own.” I’d thought she was talking about Lily, but I guess to her, the dog and its owner were one and the same. “But I understand. For whatever reason, you do care. That’s obvious. For some reason, your so-called advanced intelligence needs to understand what happened. And you’re still clearly confused about your gift. So why not approach the killing from the other end?”

I looked at her, confused. Surely she wouldn’t need me to voice the question in my mind?

“
Cui bono.
”
I must have been staring. “ ‘Who benefits,’ isn’t that the number one question of any crime investigation? Watch it with the cumin. It smells like fireweed from here.”

She was right, I’d been shaking the spice in without thinking. Ah well, I stirred it in. I didn’t have to eat this casserole, only bring it. “Where did you learn that?”

“Did you think I was asleep all those nights when you were watching
Law and Order
?”

I burst out laughing. The idea of my cat learning to investigate crime from a TV show, it was all too much.

She stood up, clearly offended. “Well, if you don’t want my help.” Tiger-striped haunches quivering, she prepared to jump down.

“Oh, Wallis, I’m sorry.” Dropping the wooden spoon, I scooped the tabby into my arms and held her close. It had been a while since I’d had any warm body against my own. I’d forgotten how good it could feel.

“If you’d get out more, maybe that wouldn’t be the case.” I twisted back to peer into those clear green eyes. “After all, I may be spayed, but I have had other lives.”

I put her down on the floor and she sashayed out of the room, purring.

***

“
Cui bono
.” Wallis likes to think she’s sophisticated, but sometimes she’s right. If I wanted to understand what happened, I’d do well to figure out why. Or in this case, who. And the question did add a little more savor to the evening’s entertainment. Being stuck in a house of mourning is a tad too grim, even for me. Charles’ mother’s place turned out to be a neat little bungalow right on the edge of Raynbourne, another old mill town further down the river. Nothing fancy, but someone had cared to find and nurture flowers that would bloom in New England’s rocky soil, even in September. Too bad the careful landscaping couldn’t hide the gloom inside.

“Good evening. I’m Pru, Pru Marlowe.” I held up the Dutch oven as some kind of proof. “This is Mrs. Harris’ place, isn’t it?” The little white-haired thing who’d opened the door nodded and I stepped in, over a mat depicting posies. To my right, a cheery plaque declared “Time Spent in the Garden is Never Wasted.” The crowd in front of me looked like they could use some fresh air. This was going to be a long evening.

“Hot plate. Coming through.” It wasn’t, not anymore, but as soon as I stepped into that living room, I knew I needed to keep moving. Outside, autumn had already put a slight nip in the air. In here, it had it be over eighty; the steam quotient ratcheted up by a house full of mourners who murmured and buzzed like so many flies. “Coming through.”

My voice at normal volume sounded harsh, but it got their attention and with minimal bumping, I was able to make my way through to a kitchen already full of aluminum foil, baked goods, and something that smelled of burnt cheese.

“A casserole?” A tall redhead with a face ten years too old for her brassy hair reached to take my Corningware. She was wearing an olive pantsuit that brought out the green in her dye job. At least in here, people were talking like the living. “Meat pie?”

“Chili, sort of.” I relinquished my offering. Something about her was familiar, but it took a minute. She looked like all my mother’s friends had, twenty years ago. The voice, however, that was more recent. “Are you Sal?”

The redhead smiled. “You’re the dog trainer, right? Isn’t this sweet of you.”

“Well, considering.” I’m not good at these kinds of situations, and the time warp—everything but her face—didn’t help. Not to mention that I’d been working with the dog accused of killing the man being mourned. Maybe that’s why Sal was looking at me funny. “I did want to show my respect.”

She nodded and bit her lip—peach frost—and I let her lead me through the crowd to a large and highly polished dining room table.

“Let’s see now. Would you get that trivet for me?” I swung around until I saw a decorative tile printed with three garden hoes, all wearing Santa hats. With a grateful sigh, Sal put my dish down. “Seems like we have enough food.”

“I wanted to do something.” It sounded lame, even to me, but I’d hit the right note. Sal smiled at me and took my hand.

“You’re a good girl.” I waited, but she didn’t let go. “Have you met Nora?”

I shook my head no.

“Come with me, then.” She pulled and for a moment I couldn’t move. It wasn’t just the crowd, it was the mood. I’m not sensitive to people, not like I am to animals. But there was something palpable in this room, something bad. A man had been killed. Maybe I’d been spending too much time around animals, recently. They know to leave the dead alone.

“Nora.” She led me over to an overstuffed recliner cradling an understuffed woman. Nora Harris had probably been small to start with, but tragedy had flattened her further. “Nora?” The tiny woman played with the oversized buttons of her bulky knit cardigan. If I’d lost a son, I’d tune out the world, too. “Nora.”

Sal reached for the small veined hand, pulling it gently away from the wooden button. At the same time, she propelled me closer. “This is—” She paused. Of course. She wouldn’t want to bring up the subject of the dog.

“Pru, Pru Marlowe.” I crouched down and took the old lady’s hand. It was as cold as I’d feared. But whether it was the touch or the sound of my name, something sparked a light in those deep-set eyes.

“Pru, yes.” Her hand tightened on mine. “Welcome to my home. Charles talked about you.”

“He was a good man.” Hey, he’d saved a dog. Got her in more trouble in the long run, but at least he’d tried. “I was working with him pretty closely for the last few months.”

“Yes, yes. He was—”” The spark was gone; those blue-gray eyes fixed on something I couldn’t see. Her mouth set in frustration. I wasn’t going to get anything out of this woman. I doubted she could tell me her phone number. Meanwhile, the buzz was getting louder, and my thighs were sore from crouching.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Harris?” The crowd parted, and the buzzing died away as a new voice came through. Warm, soft, and strong. “Do you think you could eat something now?”

My interview was coming to an end. Before my legs gave out, I had to try. “Mrs. Harris, can you tell me about the dog? Do you have any plans for Charles’ dog?”

The warm voice was right beside me now. “I don’t think we need to think about that right now.” I caught a whiff of perfume. Expensive and not too obvious. “Won’t you try a sandwich?”

The blue grey eyes looked up, alive again. The gnarled hands reached up for the proffered china plate.

“Actually, I’m afraid we do have to.” I leaned in as the old lady took a bite so small it wouldn’t have fed a mouse. God, I hated being the heavy. “Charles’—the animal is in the town pound now, and I’d like permission to treat her.”

I was pulled to my feet by the woman next to me. She might talk softly, but she was a strong one. “I do not think this is the time or the place.” I turned and found myself staring into the kind of blue eyes you only read about. Turquoise, almost, and set into a face better suited to poolside Hollywood than a Berkshire wake.

“But—” Beauty has its advantages. My tongue was tied.

“I don’t mind.” The small, grey voice broke our staring contest. “Really. The police talked to me about the dog.”

Goldilocks didn’t relax her grip on my elbow by much, but I managed to turn back to the woman in the chair. “And would you be willing to relinquish control?”

“Of course.” But she wasn’t finished. I held my breath. “He told me they should do a test first.” She blinked, lost in the middle distance again, but something brought her back. “For the public good. A rabies test. After that.”

“Rabies? But her tags.” I tried to visualize Lily’s collar. Thick black leather and a couple of tags: one big round one with her name and address. Some charm or other, and the state ID, blue metal, with the date of her vaccination and the vet’s license number. I remembered the slight jingle as she’d shake herself after a roll in the grass. “There should have been a rabies tag on her collar.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it fell off. They said they had to do a test.”

I thought as fast as I could, and I kept my voice soft. “If you’ll give me permission to look for the dog’s papers, Mrs. Harris, that won’t be necessary.”

“No, no. I think they’re right.” I was losing her. “It’s for the public good.”

“You heard her.” Goldilocks was pulling me back up. “After the test.”

I tore my arm away. “Do you know how they do the test?” Blue grey eyes blinked up at me. “They don’t have to test the whole dog. They just send the head to the lab.”

“Oh, my.” That had been my last shot, and it had been as effective as a body blow to the old lady. Any hope that I might have had of rousing the latent animal lover in her was lost as the blonde turned me around and pushed me through the crowd. It parted easily this time, nobody wanting to get in the way of the lioness and the jackal she was kicking out of the jungle.