Fillet of Murder (25 page)

Talia's heart pounded relentlessly for several minutes before she got it under control. What had Cliff been thinking, nabbing her like that? Clearly he was desperate, both for cash and to escape the clutches of the lowlife who'd been stalking him. But his behavior was inexcusable, and she'd have to consider reporting his actions.

She located Whitnee's house, a sad-looking clapboard affair that begged for a paint job. Whitnee's car was in the dirt driveway. Praying the girl was home alone, Talia climbed the worn front steps and rang the buzzer. She pressed it twice before she saw Whitnee's pale face glowering at her through a side window. Talia held up her book bag.

Seconds later, Whitnee opened the door. “I wondered where I left that,” she said, reaching for the tote. She stared inside it for a long moment. Talia had shoved everything back
inside with the magazine on top of the books. Did Whitnee notice the contents weren't in the order she'd left them?

“Um, thanks,” Whitnee muttered and started to close the door.

“May I come in for a moment?” Talia wondered why Whitnee hadn't even missed the book bag. Hadn't she claimed she had an exam to study for?

Whitnee shrugged, and then took a step back. “I guess,” she said dully. “What do you want?”

Talia entered the parlor gingerly. The room was tidy enough, but every surface was jam-packed with bric-a-brac and photos. Seventies-style paneling covered the walls, and the sofa and chairs were the old plush type with stout wooden legs. Retro, but far from chic.

“You seem upset with me, Whitnee,” Talia said. “Did I do something to offend you?”

Whitnee flushed pink. “My mom doesn't like you. She was, like, really embarrassed when you threw her out of the restaurant the other day.”

Talia couldn't believe what she was hearing. Had Whitnee forgotten the humiliating barbs her mother pinged at her during that awful spat? In front of someone she barely knew? Talia had intervened only to protect Whitnee from further abuse.

“I didn't mean to hurt her feelings,” Talia said, “but I was thinking of you. I'm sorry if she felt I was picking on her. Is she home? Maybe I could apologize in person.”

Whitnee regarded her through red-rimmed eyes. Talia's heart softened, remembering the
W + P
etched on the bridal magazine. “No, she works nights.”

“Oh. Where does she work?”

Whitnee looked uncomfortable. “She, um, does commercial cleaning. Do you, like, want a soda or anything?”

A soda was the last thing Talia wanted, but it seemed to be Whitnee's way of accepting her apology. “Sure, I'd love one.”

Whitnee left the room. Seconds later, Talia heard the sound of a refrigerator door opening and the rattle of ice cubes. While she waited for the soda she knew she'd have to choke down, she wandered toward the bookshelf against the nearest wall. Photos of every size, encased in cheap metal frames, covered the shelves. Curiosity nudging her, she glanced from one picture to the next. It took several seconds before she realized something—every single photo was of Whitnee.

There was a young Whitnee with carroty braids, making faces at the camera.

An unsmiling Whitnee sitting cross-legged on the floor, her straight bangs hanging in her eyes, a fluffy white rabbit wriggling in her small hands.

“Hope you like grape.”

“Eep!” Talia jumped and whirled around.

“What's wrong?” Whitnee's pale eyebrows dipped toward her nose in a frown. She handed Talia a paper cup half-filled with a flat purple liquid, a single ice cube floating on top.

Talia patted her chest lightly and accepted the drink. “Sorry, I didn't hear you come up behind me.” She sipped from the cup, nearly gagging on the sweetness. “I was just admiring all these photos of you. Is that the bunny you told us about?”

Whitnee's gaze slid to the rabbit photo, and her frown deepened. “Yeah, but I didn't have it long. My stupid brother
teased it. He kept poking it with a sharp pencil and, like, wouldn't leave it alone.” Her eyes grew distant. “I took it out of its cage to get it away from him, but then the rabbit bit me, kind of hard. Ma was, like, livid when that happened.”

“At your brother, you mean?”

“No, at the rabbit,” Whitnee said softly.

“It was probably scared,” Talia said tightly, incensed that the boy had been allowed to torment a helpless animal.

“Yeah, I suppose.” Whitnee looked at her crossly. “Anyway, the next day the rabbit was gone. Ma said it got out of its cage and ran away, but I think she got rid of it.”

The room was beginning to feel oppressive, as if the air was being sucked out through a large tube. Talia gulped back the rest of her vile drink, and that's when another photo caught her attention. A photo of a little girl with curly red hair, dressed in a gray snowsuit and orange plaid boots. It wasn't exactly the same as the picture she'd found in Turnbull's showroom, but it was definitely taken at the same time.

Talia pointed at the picture. “Is . . . is that you, Whitnee?” she asked, a tiny elf in her head warning her to leave it alone. “Your hair's so curly.”

“Yeah, Ma had given me one of those dopey home perms. She thought it would make me look cuter, but I only ended up looking like a dork.” She reached over and absently touched the photo. “Ma was always trying to make me prettier . . .”

Talia looked at Whitnee's pinched face, and a tingling sensation shot up her legs. Hadn't Whitnee said she'd only met Pug a few months ago? Why was she lugging around the May issue of a bridal magazine?

W + P
 . . .

“You look, like, kind of weird,” Whitnee said.

“Oh, sorry.” She gave Whitnee her empty cup. “I haven't eaten much today. I think the soda gave me a sugar rush.”

“Um, before you go, Talia, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” With an effort to look casual, Talia started toward the door.

Whitnee looked at the floor, and her cheeks flushed pink. “Like, the first time you, you know,
did it
with a guy, did he ask you to marry him?”

Of all the questions Talia anticipated, that one hadn't even made the top fifty. The only man she ever “did it” with had been Chet, but she had no intention of sharing that with Whitnee.

“Whitnee, I don't really feel comfortable talking about that. Why do you want to know?”

Whitnee swallowed. “Well, my mom told me that when a guy, you know, like, takes away your virginity, that he's supposed to ask you to marry him. She said it's, you know, like an unwritten law.”

Talia stared at the girl. She was a college student, for pity's sake. Surely she didn't believe that. Could she be that naïve?

“Whitnee, I'm sure that's not true.”

Tears hovered on Whitnee's pale lashes. “Never mind. Forget I asked, okay? Look, I know my mom goes kind of overboard about me, but it's because she loves me so much. She's always got my back, you know? No matter what happens, she's always there for me. Without her, I have nothing.”

“Whitnee, you don't have to make excuses. I feel the same way about my mom, so I understand perfectly.”

Get me out of here.

Whitnee's eyes brightened. “You do?”

“Of course. In fact, she's waiting for me right now, so I'd better dash. Thanks for the soda. Good luck with your exam!”

•   •   •

On legs that felt like pogo sticks, Talia wobbled out to her car. All along, it was right under her nose.

She desperately needed her mom's advice. Maybe she was blowing the bridal magazine out of proportion. Maybe she was only imagining that the
P
penned inside the heart stood for Phil and not for Pug.

But what about the photo? Why had a snapshot of Whitnee as a child been on the floor in Turnbull's showroom?

Her brain was on overload. She needed her mom to help process it all before she went to the police. Her mother should still be at the Pines, since her promotion to assistant director came with evening hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Talia rang the bell twice. The night nurse smiled brightly as she promenaded toward the front entrance and waved at Talia through the glass. She pressed a button on the wall, and the door opened automatically.

“Hey, Talia! What brings you here so late? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

No, just a killer.

“Hi, Nancy. I really need to talk to my mom.”

“Oh, of course, dear. She's in a meeting, but I can check to see if she's going to be much longer.”

“Thanks, Nance.”

“Is everything okay? Your dad's not sick, is he?”

“No, nothing like that. More of a personal crisis.”

Nancy nodded and led her to the first floor desk, where a young nurse with pink-tinted hair was sipping tea while she filled out reports. Nancy introduced the woman as Allie and said, “We've had a few crises ourselves today, haven't we, Allie?”

Allie snorted in agreement. “Yeah, it's been quite the banner day. Started when old Mrs. Hartman tossed her cookies, so to speak, on the floor in the dining room after lunch. Poor dear came down with a bad flu bug, I guess. Anyway, her roomie, Gladys, all but tossed her own cookies when she saw all that, you know,
vomit
splattered on the floor. Next thing we know, Gladys screams and drops to the floor in a dead faint, right in that puddle of pu—”

“All right, all right! Enough with the graphic descriptions!” Nancy waved a hand at Allie and then plopped herself onto a chair in front of a free monitor. “Even worse, while all that was going on, Mr. Lunford managed to escape wearing nothing but a johnny and a pair of red socks. Got as far as the corner of Amherst and Pine before Livvy at the florist shop nabbed him and called the police.”

“Welcome to the zoo,” Allie said with a chuckle.

Nancy shot the nurse a look. “Don't you start,” she chided. “Bad enough we have to hear that kind of talk from the maintenance staff. Anyway,” she told Talia, “your mom's in a meeting with Mr. Lunford's daughter and son-in-law. They went nuts when they found out what happened, and drove straight over from New York.” She reached for the phone. “I'll find out if she's going to be much longer.”

“That's okay; don't interrupt her.” An idea had popped into Talia's head. “I know it's after visiting hours, but while I wait for Mom, could I say a quick hello to Arthur Collins?”

“Professor Collins? Well, sure, I think he'd like that.
You'll have to take the elevator to the second floor, then take a left and another left to the end of the hall. He's in room nineteen. He usually leaves his door open a smidge until he tucks in for the night.” She reached for the phone. “I'll let the nurse on that floor know you're coming.”

“Thanks,” Talia said. “I'll only stay a few minutes.”

Following Nancy's directions, she headed to the second floor. The desk nurse acknowledged her with a quick wave, and Talia did the same. The hallway was eerily quiet, broken only by the sound of an occasional moan, or voices drifting from a television. She passed a janitorial cart full of cleaning supplies that was parked near an emergency exit, a spaghetti mop sticking up from one of its side slots. At the back of her brain a memory teased her, but it hovered just out of reach.

Talia hustled down the hall until she reached room nineteen. The door was partway open. Occasional flashes of color from the television told her Arthur was still up.

“Arthur?” She knocked lightly and peeked inside. “It's Talia Marby. May I come in for a minute?”

Arthur stiffened. “Do I know you?”

Dressed in a flannel robe and tan slippers, Arthur sat hunched in a wing-back chair beside his twin bed. On his opposite side, a water carafe capped with an upturned drinking glass rested on a polished piecrust table, along with a volume of sonnets by Shakespeare. Behind his chair was a tall bookcase crammed with hardcover volumes. From the top of his oak bureau, a bust of the Bard himself surveyed the room with pensive eyes. Had Arthur brought it from Shakespeare's birthplace along with the letter opener that went missing?

Talia went over and stood beside him. “I met you on Sunday, Arthur. I'm Talia, Ryan's friend from high school.”

Arthur's shoulders sagged, as if with relief. “Talia, my dear, thank heaven you came.”

Talia remembered Ryan's concerns about his dad misplacing things. It tore at her to see the mind of this brilliant man fading behind the veil of a debilitating disease. “Arthur, do you need help? Is there something I can do?”

He pursed his lips in deep thought, and then his gray eyes brightened. “Did you bring my fish and chips?”

Talia smiled and squeezed his hand. “No, the restaurant is closed for the night. But I will soon. I promise. I just wanted to say a quick hello. I'm going to leave and let you rest now.”

From the hallway, the sound of a squeaky wheel grew nearer and nearer. Arthur's ears perked. He gave out a tortured whimper and cowered into his chair.