Groomed For Murder: A Pet Boutique Mystery (9 page)

I was more convinced than ever that Daniel’s death had something to do with the development, but we were no closer to knowing why he died or who killed him. We would probably never find the answer unless we could figure out what, exactly, Daniel had been staring at.

Eight

A
s Sean, Rena, and I made our weary way home, we’d just turned onto Maple for that final block when my friend Taffy Nielson, owner of the Happy Leaf Tea Shoppe, bustled out of her store to grab me.

“Izzy,” she said, her sugar-sweet voice tight with tension. “I need your help. I think I have a . . . a vermin.”

“A vermin. Singular?” Rena asked.

“Yes.” Taffy shot a glance just up the street to where Richard Greene was sweeping the steps of the Greene Brigade.

“I’m not really sure I’m going to be of much help, Taffy,” I said.

“Yes. You will be of tremendous help. Just come with me.” She looked like she was trying to control my mind with her fierce gaze. I’d never seen Taffy, a tender biscuit of a woman, show such fierce determination.

For whatever reason, she wanted me to follow her, so I handed Packer’s leash to Rena. “Thanks for indulging us,” I said to Sean. “It may seem like a dead end, but who knows? Maybe we saw something today that will unlock the whole mystery.”

“Anytime, Izzy.” Sean smiled one of his lopsided smiles, and I felt my heart twist in my chest. When he smiled like that, all I could see was my dear friend from high school who had harbored an unrequited crush on me. It made me want to travel back to that more innocent time, before I’d broken Sean’s heart and Casey had broken mine.

Rena and Sean went their separate ways while I allowed Taffy to pull me into the tea shop. The inside of the store was as sunny and soft as Taffy herself. The walls were painted a pale buttery yellow, and blue chintz tablecloths draped the tiny round tables, each set for tea service with china pots covered in quilted cozies and a scattering of votive candles arranged artfully. The cash register sat on a pastry counter that, come Monday morning, would be overflowing with finger sandwiches, macaroons, and petits fours. Behind the counter, the walls were lined with apothecary jars filled with teas in all manner of flavors, from simple English breakfast to complex herbal concoctions.

“Okay,” I said, “what’s really going on?”

“I really have a vermin. Ish. Vermin is kind of judgey, but he’s been getting into the bags of herbs I keep in back, and I’m terrified he’s going to dash across the floor when I have customers in here.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“It’s that guinea pig,” she stage-whispered.

“That guinea pig?” It took a second for the penny to drop. “Gandhi? Gandhi is alive?” I couldn’t believe it. Last I’d seen poor Sherry Harper’s orphaned guinea pig, he was fleeing from the wrath of Richard Greene. He’d dashed out the back door, right past my aunt Dolly, and disappeared into the cold winter night. I figured there was no way he could have survived a Minnesota winter, but I guess the pig had more sense than I had given him credit for. I suppose if he had survived Sherry’s benign neglect, he’d learned a thing or two about fending for himself.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know where he is right now. I’ve only caught a couple of glimpses of him. I can’t bear to bring in an exterminator, but I can’t have him in the shop. Besides, if Richard Greene finds out he’s still around, he’s going to be even more determined to close down Trendy Tails.”

She was right, of course. One of Richard’s primary objections to our store was the possibility that nuisance animals would affect the buildings around 801 Maple. Gandhi had proved him right once before, and another pig sighting would send Richard into the stratosphere with righteous indignation. He was already giving us a hassle over the barkery. . . . Giving him more ammunition could prove fatal to our business.

“Thank you so much, Taffy. I’m sorry if Gandhi is causing you problems, but I swear I’ll help you catch him.”

Taffy sighed. “I know you will. And it’s hardly your
fault. I just need to protect my herbs from the little guy and make sure no one sees him.”

“Maybe we can get him to wear a tiny mask and cape.”

“Phantom of the tea shop,” Taffy giggled.

“I can make that happen.”

We both cracked up.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Taffy asked when we came up for air.

“I would love one. Too bad there aren’t any goodies.”

Taffy slid around the counter to begin boiling water and getting the leaves ready to steep. Her head was down as she worked, but I could see her blush.

“What?” I asked, my eyes narrowed as I searched my friend’s face for some sign of what was causing the flushing that crept across her cheeks.

“What, what?” she parried back.

“Oh, come on. I mention treats and you look like you’ve just accidentally flashed Reverend Wilson.”

That teased a smile from her.

“It’s nothing,” she demurred.

“Uh-uh. Spill it.”

She poured boiling water from the electric kettle into the pot and covered it to steep.

“Okay, fine. I’ve started having a caterer provide my sweets and savories.”

“Mmm. I’ve noticed that you’ve had a bigger selection lately. But that’s hardly a reason to blush,” I prodded.

“Well, my caterer is Ken West. And, uh”—she squinched one eye closed as though she was already wincing from my reaction—“we may be dating.”

I confess, Ken West would not have been my choice for my sweet friend. He’d engaged in some sketchy shenanigans to secure the capital for his new restaurant—shenanigans that involved Hal Olson, a strip club, and a certain someone who went by the name Cherry. I could hardly criticize the man for fighting tooth and nail for his business, but there had to be a line, and blackmail was surely over it. Besides, he rubbed me the wrong way. He always seemed disdainful, like Merryville and everyone in it were somehow beneath him.

Still, if my friend saw something good in Ken and he was smart enough to see what a catch she was, I’d darned well keep my mouth shut.

“What do you mean you ‘may’ be dating?”

“We’ve been hanging out a lot. Talking and, uh, stuff. But we haven’t really had an opportunity to go on a real date. Like dinner or a movie.”

“Oh.”

“And you can’t tell anyone. Ken’s busy running his catering business and putting together all the renovations and menu for his new restaurant. He doesn’t want his backer, Hal Olson, to think that there’s any competition for his time and energy.”

“Oh.”

Alarm bells were ringing like crazy. Ken’s reasons for keeping his relationship with Taffy secret seemed pretty lame. I’d had so many girlfriends in college who’d had that kind of relationship with guys.
Baby, I’d rather hang out here with you than go to some stupid party. I’m really into you, but why don’t we keep this to ourselves? Our little secret. Just so none of our friends try to break us
apart.
And then, after the novelty wore off, the guys disappeared, and the girls realized they’d been played.

Still, Taffy was a grown woman, and I was hardly one to give romantic advice. After all, I’d been duped for fourteen years, not just a few weeks.

“Well, I can’t say that I saw that coming,” I said.

Taffy laughed. “Me neither. We’re so different. I’m such a homebody, and Ken is an aggressive businessman. He’s incredibly fit, and I’m a little soft around the middle. We’re really just night and day. But somehow it works. He actually treats me like I have a brain, and he’s an interesting man when you get past all the brash talk.”

I must not have looked completely convinced.

“Sorry, Izzy. The heart wants what the heart wants.”

This I knew. I’d only learned that my childhood BFF Rena was gay, but since she came out to me, we’d talked a lot about our respective love lives (or the lack thereof). I knew that Rena’s attraction to curvy ladies was as much a part of who she was as my attraction to tall men. We don’t get to make decisions about whom we desire, only about what we do about that desire. Finally, Rena was starting to act on her emotions and had gone on a couple of dates with Jolly Nielson, Taffy’s older sister and a truly talented jeweler. And I was starting to let the light creep into my soul to uncover any feelings I might be harboring for Sean Tucker, who’d been relegated to the role of friend ever since I’d gotten dizzy and puked all over him in the fourth grade.

With Rena on my mind, I decided to pick Taffy’s brain for gossip on my good friend.

“You know that Rena and Jolly have been seeing each other, right?”

Taffy nodded, but she didn’t look thrilled.

“What?” I prodded.

“Well, I love my sister so much, and I really cherish my friendship with you and Rena. I’m just afraid that if something goes south, it will make it hard for me to remain neutral.”

“Do you have any reason to suspect that things will go south?”

Taffy took a dainty sip of her tea. She shook her head, sending her halo of golden curls bouncing around her cherubic face. “No, not really. It’s just that my sister has been burned a few times in the past couple of years, and I know Rena hasn’t dated anyone for a very long time. I just hope that Rena’s not using Jolly as a trial run. That it isn’t a training relationship. Because it definitely isn’t to Jolly.”

I grinned. “So Jolly’s pretty into Rena, huh?”

Taffy moaned. “My sister falls hard and fast. And then when it ends, she’s a total disaster.”

“Don’t be so sure it will end. Rena and I have actually been talking about our love life, and she’s told me that she’d like to spend more time with Jolly. They’re both so busy that it’s tough, but I think Rena is smitten.”

Taffy tipped her chin down and smiled up at me through her lashes. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Oh gosh, if they got married, we’d practically be sisters.”

“We shouldn’t get too far ahead of ourselves. After all, they’ve only been on a few dates. But they do make an adorable couple, and love does seem to be in the air in Merryville these days.”

Now, if I could just catch a little of that romantic juju for myself . . .

*   *   *

When I got home, I called Jack Collins at the station to thank him for expediting the clearing of the crime scene so Trendy Tails could open normally the day before. When he answered the phone, he was wearing his full-on cop persona.

“Happy to do it,” he said in his no-nonsense, you-have-the-right-to-remain-silent voice.

“Just thought I should let you know, we talked to Dee Dee Lahti at the construction site on Badger Lake. Did you know she’s Steve Olmstead’s sister? Well, anyway, she is, and so he helped get her a job there. She confirmed that Daniel was snooping around down by the work site, but she didn’t know what he was looking for.”

“Wait. Who’s ‘we’? And why on earth were you out at Badger Lake talking to Dee Dee Lahti?” Jack’s tone had gone from all business to mild alarm in the space of a few sentences.

“Relax. It was just me and Sean and Rena, and we went out there to see if we could find something hinky.”

“Why?” Now he was starting to sound a little angry.

“Because Richard Greene said that he’d seen Daniel down there several times, and we figure whatever story he was working on must involve the construction
site. And the story he was working on is what got him killed.”

“Okay.” Yep, definitely angry. “First, you and Sean and Rena are not cops. You should not be doing coplike things. Second, there’s no hard evidence to suggest that Daniel was working on a story at all, much less one that got him killed. And third, if you are
right
, if something at that construction site got him killed, you should be running like crazy in the other direction.”

“Nonsense. Of course he was working on a story. And of course it got him killed.”

I could practically hear Jack’s teeth grinding. “Izzy McHale, you’re missing the point. You need to back off so you don’t get
yourself
killed.”

“Would you miss me?” I teased.

“Yes. As a matter of fact I would.”

I was taken aback. I’d known Jack Collins all my life. He was one of those boys who pulled pigtails and planted whoopee cushions. Every year, when we taped our brown paper bags to the back of our chairs, he got caught stealing my valentines. But we’d never been all that close. Sean, Rena, and I were the three musketeers, and once I started dating Casey, I hardly had time for anyone else. Besides, Jack hung out with the jocks. He was in a couple of my AP classes, but he was real quiet there, kept to himself; it was only when he was with his fellow football and hockey players that he came out of his shell.

“Thank you.” It sounded lame, but I couldn’t figure how else to respond. “I appreciate your concern and all, but I really need to make sure my aunt Dolly doesn’t go to prison. You can see that, right?”

I heard him shift his posture on the other end of the line. “Yes,” he said, voice softer now. “I know how much Dolly means to you. And for what it’s worth, I won’t let them close the case until we’ve examined every possible angle on this murder. I can’t save your aunt if she’s guilty, but I’m going to make sure we look under every rock before we prosecute her.”

“Thanks, Jack,” I said, genuinely touched.

He laughed gently. “Don’t give it a second thought. My mother would have my hide if I didn’t look out for Dolly. Your aunt has quite a fan club. I’ve had half the Methodist Ladies’ Auxiliary call me, and Richard Greene has ‘just stopped by’ the department twice already.”

“That’s my Dolly. Always the life of the party.”

“Emphasis on ‘life,’ Izzy. Like I said, protect your own. Stay out of this investigation.”

I hung up the phone with nothing more than a simple good-bye. I wasn’t about to make a promise I couldn’t keep.

Nine

A
s we were wont to do, the whole family gathered at my parents’ house for Sunday dinner. The immediate family—Mom, Dad, my sisters, and I—were always in attendance. We rounded out the ten-person dining table with a variety of people. I had asked Rena to join us, which she usually did. In fact, I think my mother would throw me out to make room for Rena.

This particular week, though, she’d asked if she could bring Jolly with her. Jolly was luscious, a cloud of raven black ringlets surrounding soft features and balancing out a tiny, curvy body. She and Rena had been hanging around more with each other over the past couple of months. I think it started as Jolly helping Rena find entrée into the Merryville gay community, but all signs now pointed to a budding romance. The two of them showed up together with a bottle of merlot and a hand-tied bunch of tulips.

The big surprise, however, was that my sister Lucy brought Xander Stephens. Xander was tall but scrawny, six foot three but no more than one hundred and seventy-five pounds. I saw the glint in my mother’s eye when she showed him to a place at the table. Xander was a challenge my mother appeared determined to conquer. She would make sure the boy left at least five pounds heavier than when he arrived.

She immediately handed him a basket of cheese straws. He ducked his nearly hairless head and, without looking my mom in the face, took one and passed the basket. My mother’s sigh was dramatic. Like William Shatner dramatic. I shot her a quelling look, but got nothing but a shrug in return.

Dolly was the last guest to arrive. She hustled in wearing a silk tank top, a pair of skintight jeans, and brilliant white track shoes on her feet.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she said breathlessly as she plopped into her usual seat at the table. “Didn’t mean to keep everyone waiting. I was on the phone with Nora Miller, telling her all about my ordeal.”

“Nora Miller?” Mom asked. “Why, she hasn’t lived in Merryville for at least fifteen years. You’ve never once mentioned that you keep in touch.”

“Don’t really,” Dolly conceded. “But extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that I’ve been going through my old address book making sure I call everyone. Had to track Nora down through her niece Miranda Stone. Thought I’d never find her.”

Mom sank slowly into her chair. “You mean you’re actually telling everyone you know about being arrested?”

Dolly flipped her hands palm up and shook her head. “Well, of course. I want them to hear it from me and not on the nightly news.”

Dad chimed in, “Dolly, I don’t really think—”

“Oh hush, Clem,” my mom said. “Dolly, the national news isn’t going to cover this story.”

“You never know, right, Clem?”

We all looked at my dad.

There was no right answer to this question. If he agreed with Dolly, my mother would give him the silent treatment for the rest of the night. If he disagreed with Dolly, she’d yammer at him all night. Either way, he was hosed.

Taking the only prudent course open to him, he grabbed a cheese straw and shoved it in his mouth.

“I still can’t believe you’re worried about what people you knew eons ago are thinking about your arrest. You were
arrested
. . . . Shouldn’t you be worrying about that? I mean, Dolly, you could really go to jail. Aren’t you a little bit afraid?”

Dolly closed her eyes and cocked her head. “As a matter of fact, I am not. I’ve decided I like that big, sweet cop, and I know he’s still investigating. He’s not giving up on me yet. Plus, I have Izzy and Rena and everybody helping me out, too. They’ll find the real killer, and I’ll never even go to trial.”

Rena and I shared a panicked look. Sure, we were trying to find the real killer, and we’d even done it once
before, but we couldn’t offer Dolly any guarantees. It worried me that she was putting so much faith in us. It was a mighty weight to bear.

I helped my mother bring in a carved ham, fresh green beans, mashed potatoes, creamed corn, and two seitan sausages for me and Rena. We began the ritual of passing the plates around, everyone serious in their efforts to load up on my mom’s incredible cooking.

As we settled down to dig in, my dad cleared his throat. “So, Jolly. I’ve seen your work. You do a fine job.”

“Thank you, Mr. McHale.”

“Mmm. Well, I was just wondering if you and our Rena are a thing?”

Jolly had her mouth open to answer, but my mother beat her to the punch with a shocked gasp. “Hush, Clem! That is none of our business.”

“I just . . .” He let his sentence trail off into silence in the face of my mother’s withering stare.

“I’m so sorry, Jolly. We don’t mean to intrude. But . . . we do care very much for Rena and we won’t take kindly to someone breaking her heart.”

Both Jolly and Rena turned bright red.

“Now, Xander, tell us a little about yourself.”

Xander looked up, but it was Lucy who spoke.

“Xander is from Milwaukee. He’s got a degree in math from Lawrence, and he’s supersmart.”

Mom cut in. “Lucy, why don’t you let the boy speak for himself?”

Lucy thinned her lips and looked pointedly at my father, then back to my mother.

“Well, I . . . ” Mom sputtered before clamping her lips closed. “That is different. Clem has had his whole life to talk at this table. This is Xander’s first time.”

Mom’s logic made no sense at all, but that didn’t really matter. From the outside, my parents seemed to lead a very average life. They were both retired high school teachers (Mom in English, Dad in history). Edie and Clem McHale had three stair-step daughters, Irish triplets, some might say. They lived in a comfortable suburban house. Clem did woodworking and Edie played canasta with all the other ladies in town.

But once you got a good look inside, you could see how cockeyed it all was. Dad didn’t carve spoons or walking sticks. . . . He carved little trolls and demons and mushrooms, and he was building himself his own orc-filled kingdom. And my mom had started reading all these books about self-actualization. According to Dolly, Mom was trying her hand at writing erotica, and she’d let her inner bossiness come out in full force.

My sisters took after our mom. They were strong-willed, set in their ways, and tended to run roughshod over people whenever it suited them.

I, on the other hand, was like Aunt Dolly: flighty, trusting, easily distracted, and sometimes downright foolish.

We were the perfect Midwestern family with a heart of pure neurosis.

“Go ahead and tell us your story, Xander.”

“There’s not much to tell, ma’am. Like Lucy said, I’m from Milwaukee.”

“And . . .”

“And I own a record store?”

My mother sighed. This was not going as she had hoped. She turned to Lucy, who smiled smugly.

“Xander doesn’t just own a record store. He has a whole Internet empire where he sells to collectors all around the world. He scours estate sales and flea markets finding the most gems in the dirt. Oh, and did I mention that he moved to Merryville to start this record business
after
he sold this app he created in college for like a bazillion dollars?”

We all turned to look at Xander, who ducked his head and forked up a big bite of mashed potatoes.

He was wearing a button-down shirt of indeterminate color, its collar all wonky, and a pair of jeans that were cut for a scarecrow and still were falling off his scrawny hips. His left leg bobbed up and down like he was ready to bounce right out of the house.

I couldn’t blame him.

“I, uh,” he mumbled. “I did okay. It wasn’t a bazillion dollars, though.”

Everyone just kept staring at him, like the poor boy was an alien who had beamed into my parents’ dining room.

“So,” I said, taking pity on him, “how’ve you been doing, Dru?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do
you
mean, ‘what’s that supposed to mean’?”

“You know there’s nothing new going on. I go to work, I go home, I cook dinner, I knit, I snuggle with Poppy, and I go to bed. You don’t need to rub it in.”

“I wasn’t trying to rub it in,” I insisted. “I was just making conversation.”

“Girls,” Mom cut in, “that’s enough. At the end of the day, all I want to know is when I’m going to get some grandbabies.”

“Mom!”

“Mother!”

“Holy crap.”

On that one point, the McHale sisters agreed. Baby pressure was entirely off-limits.

Mom stuck her tongue out. Then she turned to Rena and Jolly. “That goes for you ladies, too. Rena’s babies will be my grandbabies, too. And I don’t care how you get them, whether you adopt or do that in vitro thing.”

“Mom,” I hissed. “Rena and Jolly are just good friends.” I wasn’t sure that was true, but I wasn’t about to give my mom ammunition. “You can’t be pushing them to have babies yet.”

“She’s right, Edith,” Aunt Dolly said. “You’ve got three beautiful girls who are making their own way in the world, all with good jobs, none of them in jail or high or anything. Count your lucky stars and stop with the baby nonsense.”

“Well, fine,” Mom said. “You know I love you all to pieces. I just sometimes get carried away.”

I reached over and patted her hand. “We know that, Mom. But can we just eat now?”

She laughed. “You’d better. I don’t want this food going to waste.”

Xander looked up at my mom with a crooked smile. “I won’t let that happen, Mrs. McHale,” he said as he reached for the plate of ham and served himself another slice.

My mom smiled like he’d hung the moon just for her.

She leaned toward Lucy. “I like this one,” she whispered. Before Lucy could respond, Mom held up a hand. “I know. I know. I’ll be quiet now.”

The rest of the meal was filled with casual chitchat and gentle teasing. Mom even let Dad tell a few jokes. They weren’t funny, but we all laughed anyway.

When Mom and Dru disappeared into the kitchen to dish up peach pie and vanilla ice cream, I leaned over to speak quietly with Dolly.

“What you said earlier? I’m really touched, Dolly. But you shouldn’t put too much faith in us.”

“What exactly is too much faith, dear?”

“I mean you should be relying on Jack Collins, not a bunch of rank amateurs, to get you off the hook for murder.”

Dolly gently patted my hand. “I have a great deal of faith in Jack Collins, but he’s just doing his job. You and Rena and Sean love me.”

I felt a well of panic building in my chest. “Yes, we love you so much, Dolly. But we’re not professionals. There’s no guarantee we can pull this off.”

“Oh dear,” Dolly soothed. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I know you have other obligations, and you’re an
amateur. You may not be able to help me, but I have faith in your efforts. That you won’t give up on me. That’s all I could possibly ask.”

Despite the crowd in the room, I couldn’t resist pulling Dolly into a fierce hug.

No matter what, I wouldn’t give up on her.