Mary pulled up to the curb and stared at the row of townhouses. She looked down at the address written on the back of her grocery list then again at the tired-looking building. So this was where poor old Cliff lived after he lost his wife, his house and his practice. She sighed, unsnapped her seat belt and climbed out of the car.
‘There you are. Dan’s inside.’
Naomi came down the stairs of the middle townhouse, the one with the dead bush in the pot on the front porch. Mary shook her head in wonder. Naomi was the only woman she knew that still wore high heels. High, high heels. She wasn’t much taller than Mary, at least Mary didn’t think so. It was hard to tell because she wore those torture chamber shoes all the time. How she stayed on her feet all day in those things, Mary couldn’t begin to fathom. But then, she was younger than Mary and didn’t have her soft curves. In fact, she had no curves at all. Naomi was practically straight up and down. Mary sighed. She wasn’t. She ran her hand down the side of her sweatpants, the ones that fit snugly over her hips. Why was Naomi the only person she knew who made her feel self-conscious? She’d put on her new – to her – Santa Claus sweatshirt before she left, thinking it was nice and warm and would wash easily. Perfect for packing up someone’s belongings. Naomi wore knit pants that wouldn’t dare bag at the knee, a silk shirt Mary was sure wouldn’t wrinkle, and her makeup wasn’t mussed. Mary wore no makeup. Was the fifty cents she paid for her sweatshirt at St Mark’s rummage sale such a good deal after all? Deciding this wasn’t the moment to worry about her wardrobe, she climbed the stairs.
‘Have you already been in there?’
Naomi nodded. ‘Did you call O’Dells?’
‘Yes. They’re going to take care of everything but the casket. We have to pay for that, so we’ll have to go over tomorrow after we find out how much we have to work with and pick one out. I have a budget from the church charity fund but it’s not much. I hope Cliff left something.’
‘I don’t imagine he did.’ Naomi sighed deeply, turned on her spiked heel and headed for the front door. ‘I still can’t believe …’ The rest of her sentence was lost in the squeak it made as she wrenched open the door.
Mary followed her inside with reluctance. She couldn’t shake the feeling she was intruding, walking into someplace she had no business being. However, there didn’t seem to be an alternative, so she continued on into the middle of the room, stopped and looked around. There was only one way to describe it. Depressing. A sofa, whose flowered pattern had long since faded into nothingness, sat against a long wall. A square end table of no particular design sat beside it and a matching coffee table in front of it. The end table held a wooden lamp that looked like a Walmart special and a collection of magazines. Dog faces looked up from the front covers. The coffee table was equally sparse. Aside from dust, it held nothing but a TV remote and a plate with what were probably the remains of Cliff’s last meal. No pictures graced the wall behind the sofa, no pillows softened it. A recliner, its vinyl worn through on the arms, sat at an angle facing the small TV. It was a flat screen, the only new thing in the room, and easily fit on the small table that separated the two bookcases on the wall opposite the sofa. A small dining set that also looked suspiciously like Walmart almost filled the tiny dining area. A lovely old mahogany buffet was wedged along the back wall. There was nothing about it that suggested Walmart. It was the only piece, and the only wall, that held anything personal or decorative. The top was covered with pictures. So was the wall above it. The only other available space in the room held a battered rolltop desk and an elderly swivel chair. In the chair sat Dan.
‘You finally got here. Good.’ Dan turned from the scarred old desk he’d evidently been searching through and smiled at her. ‘Did you talk to O’Dell’s?’
Mary nodded. ‘All I have to do is find a casket that fits the church budget. I don’t suppose Cliff left any money we can use?’ She looked at the piles of bank statements, bills and letters and blanched. ‘Dan, should we really do this? Go through all of Cliff’s things?’
His voice was grim. ‘I got a warrant. The courts might frown on us if we didn’t follow all the legal steps.’
‘Oh.’ Mary wasn’t sure being legal made her feel any less like a snoop, but there didn’t seem to be anyone else to do this. Besides, there might be a clue as to who killed him and the other question that plagued her: why? ‘Do you think there’s enough to bury him?’
‘Doesn’t look like it.’ Dan put a checkbook down on top of a pile of bank statements. ‘Cliff’s landlady paid me another visit before you got here. Seems he was about three months behind on his rent and she had served him eviction papers.’ He picked up an official-looking sheet of paper with a heading in red screaming ‘Notice to Pay or Quit.’ ‘She wants his stuff out and wants it out now. I think she feels bad, but she says these apartments are her only income and she needs to get this one rented. I talked her into giving us until sometime tomorrow. Les says we can store all his things in the storage room at St Mark’s until we can find his daughter. We’re going to have to pack up all of Cliff’s belongings and get them over there by tomorrow afternoon or she’ll put them out on the curb.’
Mary looked around the apartment once more. It shouldn’t take long. But the storage room? She knew it well. She used it for many of the events that went on and had planned to use it again to store the donations they would soon be collecting for the annual rummage sale. She groaned inwardly, wondering how they were going to manage. That they would, somehow, she had no doubt, but hoped Dan found the daughter soon. ‘Did he leave a will?’
‘Not that I’ve found.’ He frowned and waved a hand at the piles of paper stacked on the desk.
‘I haven’t found an address book either, and no one I’ve talked to can remember the daughter’s married name or even what state she lives in.’
He was stopped by a sharp intake of breath. They both turned. Naomi held a picture in her hands, staring at it.
‘Did you find something?’ Dan pushed his chair back and started toward her.
She didn’t answer, just kept staring at the picture.
Mary followed Dan. She caught only a glimpse of a small poodle before Naomi clutched the picture to her breast. That it was of a dog wasn’t a surprise. Naomi’s reaction was. She looked over at the buffet. The top was covered with pictures of dogs. Mary didn’t recognize any of the animals, but she knew a lot of the people.
‘Why, that’s Ray Blackburn. I’d forgotten he had a police dog.’ A beautiful German shepherd sat beside a slender young man with bushy black hair, almost dwarfed by his police equipment. He grinned from ear to ear. His dog looked equally happy. ‘That was taken the day Ray and Spike graduated from the canine academy. I’ve never seen Ray so happy. Before or since.’ Dan paused to stare at the picture. ‘Where did … Ray must have given it to him. Cliff took care of Spike.’
Mary nodded, but her attention had been caught by another picture, obviously taken in a show ring. ‘Isn’t that Luke? Luke from the library? My goodness, he looks so young.’
Naomi, her picture still clutched tightly to her breast, glanced up. ‘Why – yes. That’s Luke when he was a junior handler. That was years ago. Why would Cliff … He was the one who ruined Luke’s chances for a scholarship. Neither Luke nor his parents ever forgave him. What’s he doing with that picture?’
Luke must have been in middle school when it was taken. There was no mistaking that slightly awkward look so many of them, especially the boys, had at that age. Luke looked more put together than most. He also looked happy. Happy and about to burst with pride. He held a huge blue ribbon in one hand, a dog lead attached to a large and elaborately groomed poodle in the other. A scholarship? At that age? What was Naomi talking about? She didn’t get a chance to ask.
‘What’s that picture you’re holding, Naomi? You’ll have to put it back. We’ll have to do an inventory of all this stuff and …’
Naomi turned the picture over and held it out for them to see. A small black poodle stood proudly in front of an elaborate sign bearing the words, ‘Best in Show.’ A woman in a black and silver pantsuit knelt beside him, holding his lead. A distinguished white-haired man holding a large silver cup stood next to them. ‘It’s Merlot,’ Naomi whispered. ‘This was him winning the West Coast Specialty last year. It was the last show he went to before he was stolen.’ Her eyes clouded over with tears, her words almost buried in the sobs she tried to suppress. ‘I had it at the winery, up on the wall in the tasting room. One day, a couple of weeks ago, it was gone. We looked everywhere but couldn’t find it. Cliff must have taken it. Only, why? Why?’ Her voice became stronger. Her eyes no longer threatened tears. Instead, they radiated anger. ‘Bill was sure I’d lost it. He was sure I lost Merlot too. As if I could. He kept asking why would anyone take his picture, or him, for that matter? The dog was famous. No one would dare. But someone did. Todd Blankenship saw him in the backseat of a car. He said he didn’t realize what dog it was until later. Cliff didn’t steal the dog. So why did he take the picture?’
Mary looked from Naomi’s angry eyes to the picture of the lovely little dog to Dan.
He didn’t look any happier than Naomi, but his voice was soft. ‘I have no idea, Naomi, but I’d like to find out.’