The phone rang. Again. Mary paused in the act of slipping another tray of pumpkin/cranberry muffins in the oven and glared at it. Who was it this time? She’d already answered it six times and it was only nine in the morning. Why did all these people think she knew what had happened to poor old Cliff? She shut the oven door and looked at caller ID. Bonnie Blankenship. She needed to talk to her.
‘Hello?’
‘Mary, it’s Bonnie.’
‘Bonnie, yes. You’re on my list to call. Did you manage to get the dog food?’
‘Six cases.’ She sounded pleased with herself. ‘And, Mary, I talked to Evan at Furry Friends pet shop into donating some dog collars and leashes. He’s going to throw in some food dishes too.’
‘Great. There are so many families out there that have pets they can’t really afford to feed. Adding pet food and supplies to our Christmas Can Tree Food Drive was brilliant. When can you deliver what you collected?’
‘That’s one of the reasons I’m calling. I can’t. Todd took our truck to the hardware store this morning, my van won’t start and all I have is the MG. Can you possibly come out and get this stuff? I think we can get it all in your trunk.’
Mary blanched. She had to get these muffins over to the Holiday Bake Sale at the St Stephen’s Lutheran Church, be back in time to meet Dan at the Mendosas and be at city hall to open the Christmas Can Tree Food Drive by two. They were going to lay the first layer for the Christmas Can Tree. All the local press would be there. As chairperson, she was going to put down the first can. She also needed to make sure the city crew cleaned up Maple Street as promised. The extravaganza was fun; the mess it left the next morning wasn’t. The homeowners cleaned up their yards. The city did the street, but not without some persuasion. She didn’t really have time but they needed that pet food. She’d promised the Humane Society that this year pets would be included in the yearly food drive, and she’d been the one who’d pressured Bonnie, as president of the Santa Louisa Pure Breed Dog Club, to help out. If she didn’t have that pet food today, their contribution wouldn’t be in the paper or on the local TV nightly news, which was part of the deal she’d cut. If she hurried, she’d have just enough time for a shower before these muffins had to come out of the oven. She set the timer, told Bonnie she’d be there in an hour and sighed. She was getting too old for all this.
There were three new messages on the machine when she got out of the shower. She didn’t bother to listen to them until she had the muffins cooling on the rack. Her box was already almost full; these could go in just before she left. The Lutherans were raising money for the Shelter for Abused Women and their children so they’d have something special for Christmas, a cause close to Mary’s heart. The thought of what those women went through – but then, most of the causes she helped raise money for were close to her heart. She’d felt guilty when she had to turn down the chairmanship for their fundraiser, but between the Victorian Christmas Extravaganza and the Christmas Can Tree, she couldn’t do it. But she could still help by donating some baked goods, and pumpkin muffins always sold well. Hoping three dozen would be enough, she turned her attention to those messages. One was from the Santa Louisa Post, wanting an update on how she thought the Victorian Christmas Extravaganza went. Another was from the city maintenance department. They were on the job, but Dan’s people wouldn’t let them near St Theresa’s, and it wasn’t their fault if that part of the street didn’t get cleaned. The third was from Evan. Could she stop by and pick up the leashes and things he was going to donate? He couldn’t leave the store. No one asked what she knew about Cliff, thank God. Not that he’d been out of her thoughts. She couldn’t seem to shake the picture of him, lying there, the blood … Why? That was the question that kept going round and round in her head.
If this had been a few years ago, she would have wondered if it had been someone who suffered from one of his ‘mistakes.’ Was it three years since he’d lost his license? No, closer to five. That was a long time to hold a grudge over what happened to your cat or dog, no matter how beloved they were. Although spaying Alma Maxwell’s Champion cocker spaniel bitch, who was in the vet’s for a pregnancy exam, was pretty close to unforgivable. Cliff had got her mixed up with another cocker spaniel because he’d been drinking. There had been several others, she couldn’t remember them all, but that had been the mistake that had cost him his license. Father D’Angelo had also testified against Cliff at the veterinary board hearing. What was it Cliff had done? Whatever it was, Father D’Angelo’s cat had died, and he’d been distraught. How distraught? Father D’Angelo was hardly the murdering type, even though the children had thought the man in the manger scene was him. He’d really liked that cat; he’d told her once it was his best friend. Mary shook her head as if to clear all those memories. That was five years ago. Cliff no longer practiced as a vet; he’d paid for his sins and stayed sober for, well, at least two years now.
If any of those people wanted to kill him, and she wouldn’t have been surprised if, at the moment it happened, the thought had crossed more than one mind, they would have done it then. No one would carry a grudge that long, surely? So, what had he done to get himself killed now? She sighed. Dan was going to have his hands full with this one. She put the last few muffins in the box, closed the lid, reached for her car keys and purse and headed out the back door.