Читать книгу Doggone Dead - Dane McCaslin - Страница 10

Chapter 3

“That’s Nora Goldstein.” I gestured helpfully over my shoulder to where Nora stood, her mouth hanging open. “I’m her friend.”

“Oh, thanks a lot, friend,” Nora hissed as she walked past me. “Come in, won’t you?” This last comment was directed toward the three officers in her doorway, but they remained where they were, the Three Fates of law enforcement, waiting to spin the outcome for another suspect. Nora gave a great sigh. “Well, can I at least get my bag?”

While they waited for Nora to retrieve the leather messenger bag she liked to carry, I tried to make small talk.

I gave the three officers my brightest “end of the year” smile, the one that usually felt like it stretched from ear to ear. They stared silently back at me like a class full of students unprepared for a pop quiz. Well, if it was a test they wanted, I had question numero uno locked and loaded.

“Wouldn’t it make sense for me to go with Nora? After all, I was with her when we found—found the, you know.” I lamely gestured behind me. “Besides, she’s my best friend. I know she’ll want me there.”

Still nothing from the three amigos. Maybe they hadn’t studied before showing up. I sighed and folded my arms, waiting for Nora to get back in here and save me from feeling as though I’d been ambushed by an unannounced visit from the principal.

“All righty, folks. Let’s get this show on the road.” Nora was back, brown leather bag slung across her body, its somber style clashing horribly with the neon spandex outfit she’d changed into.

The bright blue stilettos she’d put on in place of house slippers gave her another three inches in height and an extra wiggle in the hips. All together, she was going to give the Portland Police Department something to look at. And, judging by the expressions on their faces, the three officers were already enthralled by the Nora Goldstein show.

“Nora, I’ll go with you, share the load, so to speak.” I detected the slightest quaver in my voice and cleared my throat, throwing my shoulders back hard enough to pop my neck. Ignoring it, I said, “Two heads are better than one and all that jazz, right?” There. I was going to play the part of the loyal friend to the hilt, even if it meant the hilt was buried in my chest too. And I’d make sure Nora remembered this.

“Only if you’re confessing that you’ve got something to do with the death, Miss—Ms.” One of the officers elbowed the other, a wide grin on his round face.

My cheeks burned. “Absolutely not.” I was as indignant as a cat with its tail caught in a screen door and my voice was almost as screechy. I modulated my tone, conscious of the amused expression in the officer’s eyes. “And it’s Miss Franklin to you, young man.” I drew myself up to my full height of five feet nothing, my chin jutting out like the bow of a ship sailing full tilt into harbor. “I had nothing to do with it and neither did Mrs. Goldstein. And you can put that in your pipe and smoke it. If you smoke, that is. Personally, I’ve always found it to be a disgusting habit.”

I shot Nora a triumphant glance, ignoring the stifled snort of laughter coming from one of the officers. My brilliant repartee would send them packing, their proverbial hats in their hands. This would be even better than Holmes and Watson or Poirot and Hastings. Franklin and Goldstein—another dynamic duo, Portland style.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s what they all say.” The detective motioned impatiently for Nora to step into the hall, rudely imploding my dream. “Mrs. Goldstein, we need to go.” He craned his neck around to stare directly at me. “And for your information, I don’t—oh, never mind. If I find out you had something to do with this, Miss Franklin, you can bet I’ll be back for you.”

“It’ll be okay, Sis. Don’t you worry. And just ignore Mister Sunshine there.” Nora patted her frizzy hair into submission, her fingers lingering for a moment over the spot where the fake ponytail had been. “Make sure you send the boy to the next job, all right?”

“And what job might that be?” the plainclothes officer asked as they walked off. I heard Nora laughingly reply, “Scooping poop, Officer. Scooping poop.” What did he think she meant? Another murder?

Closing the door behind them, I slowly turned around and faced the empty room. I was alone in Nora’s apartment. Alone with a recent crime scene. Where someone had died. Quite messily. My stomach lurched and I hastily took a drink of my cold coffee. I didn’t believe in ghosts. I really didn’t, but I wouldn’t put it past Linda Fletcher to hang about, if only to give Nora a hard time. Eternal feuding, Portland style.

A loud knock on the door sent me to my feet as though there was an ejector button in the sofa. With a trembling hand, I opened the door to see a grinning Brent standing there with a small puppy wriggling in his arms.

“Look what I found, Miss F.” He held out the dog for me to see, a proud smile on his broad face. “Wanna hold her?”

“Keep that thing away from me.” I quickly backed away from Brent and his furry companion. “I’m allergic to dogs. And you can’t bring it in here. Where’d you get it, anyway?” I stared at the small puppy, its eyes a warm brown in a rather endearing face. It was cute enough to make me wish I could hold it.

“It’s a her. See?” He held the puppy up so I could view its nether regions.

I backed up even farther. “I’ll take your word for it, and it’s a she, not a her.” I watched as he cuddled the tiny dog close to his dress shirt, now wrinkled beyond redemption. “And you still can’t keep it—her.”

“That’s what I said, a her. And I know. I’m watching her for the client.” He spoke the last word with relish. “So, you wanna watch her while I go on the next job?”

“Absolutely not.” My voice was firm and the smile slid off his face. “You either take her with you or back to her owner. Bringing animals to Mrs. Goldstein’s apartment is not part of the agreement.”

“Speaking of, where is Mrs. G?” He stepped farther into the apartment, bending down to set the puppy on the ground. It instantly squatted, leaving a small wet spot on Nora’s immaculate carpet.

“Brent, get that creature out of here! I not only need to clean up after a dead body, I’ve now got to clean up after a dog.” I glared at him, hands on my hips.

“Dead body? What dead body?” He grabbed the puppy to his broad chest as though it could act as a shield, staring at me with both eyebrows hovering around his hairline.

Oh, fabulous. I’d let slip exactly what we’d wanted to keep from him. So much for my carefully concocted oven inspection story.

“It’s complicated.” I sighed as I flopped back onto the sofa, patting the cushion beside me. “Here, sit down while I explain. Staring up at you is giving me a neck ache. And keep that dog on your lap.” I gave the adorable bundle of fur a hard stare. I didn’t want this one to leave its calling card on Nora’s carpet.

With as little fanfare as possible, as Brent was the type of student who needed only the basics in order to comprehend a new concept, I told him about the ongoing clash of personalities between Nora and Linda and the many nasty tricks they’d played on one another.

“And to be honest, Brent, I wouldn’t have put it past her to fake her death in Nora’s kitchen to give us a heart attack.” I clutched at the front of my shirt, recalling the ride to the apartment from the coffee house. “It’s almost how I feel when you drive.”

“What’s wrong with my driving?” He sounded hurt, a great big child sitting there clutching his puppy.

It made me feel guilty. For about a second.

“Let’s say I hope you clean up after dogs better than you navigate Portland’s roads.” I slapped my palms against my thighs and stood, gesturing to the front door. “Now get that dog back to her owner and make sure you take care of the rest of the jobs, all right?”

With a pouting Brent sent on his way, I worked on scrubbing up the evidence of the dog’s visit, glancing occasionally over my shoulder toward the kitchen. I hated the idea of the mess I knew was in there, but I wasn’t that enthusiastic about cleaning it up either.

“Yoo hoo! Is anyone home?”

Nora’s apartment was busier than The Friendly Bean on payday. I turned around from where I was working on restoring the carpet to its pre-puppy state to see the building’s concierge standing there, her eyes wide as she stared at me.

“Can I help you?” I managed to get to my feet without falling over, each knee sending out a warning shot as I straightened my legs. “Nora isn’t here at the moment.” I stared back at her, noting her hair looked worse than Nora’s did, if that was even possible. I made a mental note to find out whether they saw the same stylist.

“Actually, I ran up here to see if there was anything I could do to help you. To help Nora, I mean.” She edged farther inside the living room, looking around curiously as she did. “So, where did she find the body?”

“Body?” I managed to insert an element of surprise into my voice, tilting my head to the side like an inquisitive robin. Or maybe a tropical bird. I was beginning to feel very much out of my comfort zone, what with Phoebe Hayward, the Portland PD, and now the concierge moving in and out of Nora’s apartment like some Neil Simon farce. “What body might that be? And I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name. I’m Gwen Franklin.” Rubbing my damp hand against my leg, I held it out.

“I’m Patsy, Patsy Reilly.” She took my hand and gave it a brief shake before dropping it and tucking her hands inside her pockets. “And I’m talking about the body they hauled out of here not too long ago.”

“Oh, that body.” I gave a short laugh, trying to sound as if there were so many bodies in and out of here I couldn’t keep track of them. “She was in the kitchen. The body was, I mean. And Nora was as well. In the kitchen.” I was babbling now, but I was darned if I was going to give out any more information. “It was Linda Fletcher,” I added helpfully and then could have bit my tongue.

“Really? Linda Fletcher, huh?” Patsy started toward the kitchen, her face avid with interest. “Those two hated each other. Are you sure Nora didn’t do it?”

I hurried after her and jumped in front of her to stand in the kitchen’s doorway, effectively blocking her from going any farther without physically moving me out of the way.

“I’m positive she didn’t do it. And if you aren’t going to help me with the cleaning, you should probably go back downstairs and do whatever it is you do.” I folded my arms across my chest and affixed my sternest expression on my face, the one that could quell an entire classroom full of rowdy teens. “Now, please.”

“Fine.” She gave an injured sniff, turning around and heading across the room. “You think you can keep the riffraff out of here by raising the rent, but it still doesn’t work.”

“If you’re referring to Nora, she isn’t riffraff! And I’ll thank you to knock next time,” I yelled as I charged to the front door, giving it a hearty slam behind her retreating back.

Feeling suddenly exhausted, I walked over to the couch and dropped down, curling my legs up and closing my eyes. Dealing with bodies and puppies, not to mention crazy stepchildren and the police department, had worn me out.

I woke to see Nora’s face bending close to mine, a concerned expression in her eyes. Startled, I sat up and managed to bump my forehead against her chin, sending me back against the cushions in a daze.

“Gwen? How many fingers am I holding up?”

I opened my eyes, squinting at Nora’s hands waving in front of my face.

“I have no idea, especially since you won’t keep your hand still.” I struggled back up, this time more slowly, and waited until the room came back into focus. “So, how’d the PD visit go?”

“Fine.” She shrugged, bending down to unfasten the straps on her shoes as she kicked them off. “That’s better.” She groaned as she sank down beside me. “I swear, I think I’m getting too old to wear those things.”

“Never,” I replied promptly. “You’ll be wearing stilettos when you’re eighty.”

“Which is exactly how old I’m feeling at the moment.” She bent over and rubbed her toes, giving them each a tug until they popped. “That’s better. And I need some decent coffee pronto. The stuff they gave me at the police department looked and tasted like last year’s river sludge.”

“No problem.” I got to my feet and then paused, cognizant of the newly cleaned spot in front of the couch. Should I tell her? No. I headed toward the kitchen. It could wait. I’d let Brent tell her so he could take the blame and the fallout. With that cheery thought, I made a fresh pot of coffee, determinedly ignoring the crime scene leftovers behind me.

Once Nora had gotten one cup of coffee in her and started on the next, I broached the topic buzzing in my head like a crazed wasp. Why had they focused in on her? Did they think she killed Linda Fletcher?

“Oh, that.” Nora impatiently batted away my questions. “Apparently, they start with the nearest person to the crime scene, and, since it’s my apartment, that would be yours truly. Believe you me, Gwen, by the time I got finished with those clowns, they didn’t know which end was up.” She smiled suddenly, that mischievous glint I recognized back in her eyes. “I did kinda point out that you were on the scene as well.”

“Hang on there a minute, ‘bestie.’” I spoke automatically, using the air quotes that usually made me cringe. “I had nothing to do with your little tiff with Linda. If anyone is a suspect here, it’s you.”

Nora gave a head toss, acting as though the faux rattail was still in place. It made her look like she had a bad case of nervous tics in her neck. “Just returning the favor, sweetie. Now, how about more coffee?” She held out her empty mug, her smile as bright as the sun on a beautiful Portland day.

Oh, Nora. I had to love the gal. I really did. We might butt heads, but we were fiercely loyal to each another, jealously guarding our friendship against outside disruptions— like a visit to the Portland Police Department.

She’d come back with a new dose of energy, sore feet aside, and now was beginning to get a good-sized caffeine buzz as well. The woman would be climbing the walls soon if I didn’t rein her in quickly.

“It’s been a long day for me.” I surprised myself with a wide yawn. “I’m going to need to get some shut-eye soon or I won’t be good for anything tomorrow.”

“Party pooper,” objected Nora. “It’s only seven thirty. And speaking of pooper, how’d our boy do today?”

“It’s already past my bedtime.” I stood, swaying slightly. Maybe I did need to see a doctor. I’d heard of athletes getting concussions from tripping over untied shoelaces. “And Brent did fine. In fact, he did better than fine. In my opinion, if we can figure out how to swing it, money-wise,” here Nora gave a deprecatory snort, “I vote we take him on as a full-time employee.”

“There’s no issue with the money. And I’ll take your word for it since you know him better than I do.” To my amusement, she yawned loudly as well, tapping her mouth with shiny fake nails. “Oh, stop grinning, you. I need oxygen, that’s all.”

“If that’s what you think.” I reached out one hand and pulled my visibly tired pal to her feet. “Come on. Walk me to the door and lock it behind me, okay?”

“How’re you going to get home?” Nora let me lead her to the door, her words almost swallowed up by another gaping yawn. “And don’t tell me you’re calling Brent. I won’t be able to rest if you do.”

I laughed, shaking my head as I stepped into the hall.

“I’ll walk. It’s not that far, and, besides, I need to sort things out in my head or I’ll be the one not sleeping.”

“Well, be careful out there. I don’t want to lose my best friend because she gets hit by a crazy Uber driver.”

“I’ll try to stay on the sidewalks and out of the street, all right?”

“As if that would make a difference with the kid driving.” Nora smiled at me and I could see the bags under her eyes. Knowing Nora, they’d be designer bags, of course. “I’ll see you in the bright and early.”

“Absolutely. And I’ll bring breakfast.”

Her door was already closing, and I waited a moment longer to listen for the sound of the safety lock being turned. Satisfied, I walked toward the elevator, purposely keeping my eyes averted from Linda Fletcher’s empty apartment.

* * * *

I managed to combat next morning’s sluggishness with a cup of Organic Sumatra from Portland Coffee Roasters. Dark and perfectly smooth, it provided the figurative kick in the pants I needed after a rather restless night. I flipped on the radio to the local news station, only half listening, as I threw together an easy breakfast casserole to share with Nora and Brent.

“…helping the police with their initial investigation. Mrs. Goldstein said as she was leaving the police station, ‘If you want to catch a killer, you need to be a little quicker than these guys,’ followed by a laugh. We asked Portland PD if they had a response but so far have heard nothing. Back to you, Brian.”

I had to smile. Only Nora could get away with saying something that far out, and in front of the media to boot. Of course, only Nora had been targeted by the police at this point. Who would be next? I’d lain awake longer than I’d wanted to last night, despite the walk home, trying to figure out who might want Linda Fletcher dead, or—and this troubled me far worse—who might want Nora dead and had killed her verbal sparring partner by mistake.

I was still thinking along these depressing lines when Brent arrived to drive me to Nora’s.

“Good morning, Miss F.”

Brent’s greeting was cheerful and I answered in kind, trying to set aside my current worries.

“How did the rest of your day go after you left Mrs. Goldstein’s apartment yesterday?”

“It was cool.” He pulled out into the road without checking his mirrors or looking over his shoulder. I shut my eyes and held onto the casserole dish as if it was a lifeline. “And guess what? That last lady told me that I could have one of her new puppies! Now how’s that for a work bonus?”

“Very cool, as long as your mom’s okay with it. That might be two dogs too many, in my opinion. And just an FYI, Brent. I didn’t mention anything to Nor—Mrs. Goldstein about that puppy accident, all right?”

“No worries. I wasn’t planning on saying nothing either.”

He looked over at me and grinned, completely missing the stop sign at the end of my normally quiet street. I didn’t bother pointing it out, or the grammar issue, but held on tightly, muttering my one and only prayer as we sped towards Nora’s luxury apartment building and another day of mayhem.