The Case of the Red-Handed Rhesus (A Rue and Lakeland Mystery) (18 page)

“Hm.” Clearly, Trudy didn’t entirely believe Tasha, but she let it pass. “Then it’s good we were already here.”

“Listen to me,” Natasha snapped. “Layla’s an idiot. But she’s in a bad place. When the college isn’t in session, this is a small town.
Everyone
knows her mom used to be a prostitute, and it’s not hard to get a copy and see Shannon in
Jolly Roger: Booty Call.
She can’t get into my school because of something her mom did years ago. She’s not one of the bad guys. But I’m scared now that whoever took William might be.”

“I won’t lie to you, Natasha,” said Trudy. “They might. It might also be a random attacker. The news has issued a regional warning, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh.”

“We’ve been a little busy,” I pointed out.

“Police have gone door to door warning parents in Natalie’s neighborhood, the neighborhood behind the Marine, and now
this
neighborhood. While we don’t want to induce unnecessary panic, nobody wants to be responsible for some child getting kidnapped.

“But we’ve been giving a generic warning. You’re the only ones, aside from the people who are looking for him, who know William may have been targeted before. If so, he might be targeted again, because this time, he will also remember his assailant.”

“What do we do?” I asked. “We can’t live like hermits. The semester is going to be busy, and we’re already trying to figure out childcare for the nights we both teach.”

“Officially?” said Trudy. “Nothing. Stay alert. Call the police if anything at all seems out of place. Unofficially? Darnell and I are only accomplishing a little down here no matter how hard we look. He can do most of our job alone.”

“I don’t follow,” said Lance.

“Congratulations,” said Trudy. “You’re looking at your new nanny.”

ATTN:ADVICE

Dear Nora:

New parents need bunches of help. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. Focus on how you can help your daughter make such a big change in middle age. Try to be there for her to babysit and make things run smoothly. This will give you a chance to meet your new grandchildren and fall in love with them.

Sincerely
,

Another Mother

“I got a day pass, and I’m by God using it!” If Stan Oeschle wasn’t suffering pneumonia any longer, he certainly was still in no shape to be out of rehab. But it hadn’t stopped him from arriving at our annual fundraiser gala via ambulance. He rode in a wheelchair, pushed by a beaming Natasha, his leg sticking straight out in a cast. I doubted the pants he had ruined to accommodate the cast were inexpensive, and I did not tell him his neck brace cheapened the look of the entire outfit, though he would have found it funny. He probably also would have taken off the brace.

This was the one occasion a year I regularly wore a dress anymore, and I kept smoothing the skirt as it crept up my stockings, even though I knew it revealed nothing. Lance looked natty in his suit and tie, and the evening was going well. We circulated among our guests, encouraging them to bid on the items donated for our silent auction, grateful for the space Art had provided for this activity in our new administration building. I wished he could have been alive to see us finally hosting this away from a university conference room or barn. There are some places that simply cannot be made swanky. “Rigid Academic” and “Country Chic” were the best we had ever achieved.

Our volunteers, Trudy and Darnell among them, delivered a variety of wines. The agents briefly introduced us to two of their superior officers, a woman who looked to be in her thirties, and a man who was perhaps in his sixties. I was unsure whether these two had come in their official capacities or because we had extended a social invitation to their office.

William and Sara were at home with my parents. A rapid conference between the agents had determined it was better for Trudy to act as a nanny tonight. A rapid conference with my mother had determined she would be hurt if I didn’t let her have a chance to grandparent. Mom won.

“You have to watch Will,” I warned her. “He vanishes so quickly, and he barely knows you.”

“But he’s seen me nearly every day for a month!”

“He’s
lived with
me every single day for a month, and I’m not sure how well he knows me. Let him play video games, put him to bed on time, make sure they both take their night meds, and it should be fine. But watch him.”

Mama sighed when I handed her the pill minders. “Are these really necessary?”

Did she not remember the screaming panic that consumed William the day I forgot his evening and morning meds back-to-back? Lance assured me this attitude was generational, but I felt judgment in her reluctance. Mama wondered why we were taking these kids on if we had to drug them to control their behaviors. She didn’t understand we weren’t “drugging” them at all. The medications made it possible for Will to function and for Sara to slow down long enough to enjoy the world.

“Yes. Make sure they get them,” was all I told her.

I had already called in twice to check. The third time, Mama didn’t answer and replied with a text. “Cut it out. We’re fine.”

I tried to pay attention to the party, an event I normally enjoyed enormously. The volunteer servers were encouraged to share out libations freely among the guests. We didn’t want them drunk, but we wanted them to open their pocketbooks wide, and alcohol always paved the road more smoothly than lemonade.

I saw Natasha lingering too close to the bar early in the evening and headed her off. “If he needs a drink, one of us will get it,” I said. “I don’t even want you on this side of the room.” That Stan wasn’t supposed to be drinking went unspoken. He was enjoying his “day-pass” to its fullest capacity.

I thought she might appeal to her grandfather to arbitrate, so I was a little surprised when she said instead, “Okay. Message received. Thanks,” without a note of sarcasm in her voice.

“How many people are there?” I asked Lance in a rare moment together.

“It looks like a good crowd.”

A stir at the door caught my attention. “This is an invitation-only event!” said Jen. The gala was half over; we were going to start shutting down portions of the silent auction soon. We were twenty minutes out from the beginning of the live auction.

“But my dear,” purred a silky, feminine voice, “I have a donation.”

One by one, people fell silent as a sumptuously dressed woman paraded into the crowd. She looked like something out of a fifties movie with her blonde up-do, net-veil hat, and black and white polka-dot dress. She led a capuchin monkey on a leash.

The animal was obviously edgy. It first resisted her pull, then shot ahead and jerked her arm. It danced from one leg to the other, its performance anything but endearing. Then it darted into the crowd, yanking the leash entirely loose. The woman stood gaping as her pet shot away. She gave chase. “Come back here!”

The upsets started nearly immediately.

“Hey, give me that!”

“It took my glasses!”

“Gah! That bracelet cost a fortune!”

“My wallet!”

The owner tripped as many people as her pet, stumbling through the crowd, clutching arms and waists to keep herself upright. If the capuchin’s leash hadn’t been clipped to a harness, the animal might have been uncatchable. It moved so quickly and had so many feet to tangle up its pursuers. Additionally, it was vicious. Though it spun its own way through the room, anytime someone made a move to catch it, it bared its teeth in an evil grin and hissed menacingly. Finally, Lance stomped on the leash and pulled. The capuchin ran up and bit his hand. Lance flinched, but stood his ground as blood welled.

He seized the animal by its harness. “We don’t normally accept animal surrenders during the center’s nonworking hours. But I believe we’ll make an exception in this case.”

“Oh, no, you don’t understand. He’s not a surrender. He’s a donation. For the live auction. He’s well trained.”

This was exactly the impression we
didn’t
want to give our donors. I doubt the woman had seen me sidle up to her. I’m short, and she wasn’t. Plus, she had on stiletto heels. “We’re a sanctuary, not a pet store,” I told her in a low voice. “In case you hadn’t noticed, you have a short time to register or hand over that animal under the new law. Were you planning to get a permit?”

“My lord, no! Have you seen what those cost? If you won’t accept the donation, I’ll take him back.”

From the way the monkey was thrashing in Lance’s grasp, I thought it was ready to escape, biting as many people as it could on its way to the door. “We’ll be happy to accept your
surrender.
But we’re not a clearinghouse. Our animals are here for life.”

“Poor things. Those are the ones you can’t socialize.” Her voice dripped with equal parts honey and battery acid.

“We don’t socialize
any
of our animals. Not in the way you’re thinking. We socialize them to each other. Not people. Primates aren’t pets, ma’am. Now if you’ll kindly accompany me so we can complete the necessary paperwork, we’ll transfer this fellow to our quarantine facility.” We had exactly one open.

It took nearly half an hour and a great deal of cajoling to part the woman from her monkey without so much as a donation letter for her taxes. But when she left, she did so without even looking in on the animal, which was huddled in a corner of the quarantine cell chewing on its organ grinder vest. Though he got bitten again for his efforts, Lance did retrieve the valuable bracelet. The monkey had dropped the glasses in the heat of the chase.

“I didn’t think she was going to sign,” he muttered after we had escorted her to her car and watched her drive away down the lane.

“I was going to call the deputy at the gate to come arrest her if she hadn’t.” When we
did
call, said deputy told us she had flashed a piece of paper. He assumed she was an invited guest arriving late because of her vehicle and demeanor. He hadn’t noticed the monkey.

By the time Lance and I had dressed his wounds and returned, the live auction should have been in full swing. Instead, someone had given Stan the microphone, and he was holding forth. “That’s why you need monkey sanctuaries,” he was explaining.
He’s turning a disaster into a success. Only Stan. Or Art . . . Art could have done that.
For a moment my heart ached. “It takes special training to know how to handle these primates. Apes get more attention, but they aren’t the only animals in need of safe havens. The public service Midwest Primates provides is vital to the state of Ohio.”

I glanced around and found Natasha near the stage, all too casually sipping. From a distance, I couldn’t tell if the beverage was the wrong color, though color wouldn’t have shown if she used vodka. I thought it unusual enough for her to be away from her grandfather that I poured her a fresh glass myself and wordlessly held it out in exchange. She accepted with rolled eyes, and I threw the other one away without checking the contents. After all, maybe it hadn’t contained alcohol.

Once I had retrieved the mic and set off the rest of the evening’s festivities, I hid away and called my mother one last time. “We’re
fine
,” she insisted, though I could tell from the strain in her voice they were not. “I read to the kids and tucked them in together half an hour ago. Sara’s only been up twice since then.”

“And their meds?”

“
Yes
, Noel. I gave the children their medications.” There was a long silence. Finally, she sighed. “Don’t ask questions about the food all over your kitchen ceiling, all right?”

Dear Nora:

My husband’s run off with the housekeeper. Thanks for nothing.

Worked to the Bone

Dear Worked:

Good riddance to bad rubbish. Be sure you get a fair shake in court. I’m sending my attorney’s name. You’ll love him. I want to hear by next week that you’ve called.

Nora

Natalie Forrester nursed the last of my gourmet coffee. The shambles of my kitchen surrounding us included an oatmeal mountain, all of my pans, and something gloppy and brown that dripped onto Natalie’s hand from the ceiling. “Pudding.” She licked her finger idly clean.

Typically, a pair of foster parents wouldn’t have had this much contact after a child was transferred, but there was nothing typical about our adoption of the twins. The Forresters had made themselves unconditionally available to us early in the process, and two and a half months in, we were still taking them at their word. Natasha was visiting her grandparents in the respite home for the day, and we needed their help.

In the living room, her foster children were vying for control of the video game console with William and Sara. “Take turns,” Lance told them for the umpteenth time.

“Or it’s the dungeons and salt mines for all of you,” Adam added.

“Dungeons!” shrieked Sara, setting up a general hue and cry of “Dungeons, dungeons, dungeons.”

“Come on, Lance. I haven’t got enough arms to carry all of them. You take those two.” Adam swept by with Sara and another girl (Macy? I had already forgotten her name) under one arm and a little boy under the other. Lance followed with William and the Forresters’ third child (whose name also escaped me). They all trumped down to the basement.

“Why are they so
happy
when you’re here and so miserable when you’re not?” I drank my own coffee, the first cup of the second pot, made from an inferior brand. The compulsion to clean was nearly uncontrollable.
Look! They’re out of the room! I can pick it up.
It was hard to make myself remain still, sipping away like Natalie was an old friend dropping by for brunch, not the rescue train rolling in to save Lance and me from ourselves for the fourth time in as many days. It didn’t matter she was nearly a full decade younger than I. Natalie was the wiser party here.

“I have to be honest. You and Lance aren’t equipped for this.”

“I noticed, Natalie, but I’m not giving up. I need help, not . . .”