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MY MONDAY DELIVERY to Abraham Kurst was a slice of pork loin with green beans, rice, and of course, gravy. When I showed Danson the meal he said, “Mrs. Burner, this guy doesn’t deserve all the work you’re putting into this. He should get a cold bologna sandwich and a celery stick.”
“I promised,” I told him, “so I’m keeping my word.”
The young guard frowned. “Yesterday he punched Robby and messed up his face.”
“How did that happen?”
“Well, the men who are in here a lot, the ones we know are okay, we don’t always lock them in their cells.”
I figured Robby was the man who’d expressed envy at Kurst’s meal the day before. A trusty. “Robby helps out around here?”
Glancing down at his booted foot, Danson gave me a sheepish grin. “It saves us a lot of running. He gets his own coffee and stuff, and he doesn’t mind waiting on the ones who are locked in.”
“Like Mr. Kurst?”
“Yeah. Last night when Robby took Kurst a soda, he said something smart like, ‘Say pretty please and I’ll give it to you.’ He was just kidding around, but Kurst grabbed him by the shirt, pulled him up to the bars, and punched him.” He shook his head. “Poor guy has a split lip and a couple of loose teeth.”
I had to force myself to face Kurst after that. I wanted to turn around and leave and forget that awful man. He’d damaged dozens of beautiful dogs. He was no doubt responsible for many who’d died under his control. He was rude to me and to the staff. He was mean to his fellow inmates. Jail didn’t seem to be softening him at all.
Today would be my last day delivering the meals in person, I decided. I had the dog commands. From now on I’d leave the food with Danson, who got paid to put up with men like Kurst.
He waited at the visiting-room table, managing to imply without a word that I was late and therefore unworthy of a greeting. Looking at the bag I carried he demanded, “What have you got in there for me?”
I set out the dishes without saying anything. He dug in, shoveling mouthfuls of food to one side as he talked. “How you doin’ with your mission to save the flea motels?”
Quelling the angry response that would give Kurst satisfaction I said, “Pepe has calmed down a lot, and Mollie is doing better too. I’m pairing English commands with the German, so her new owner will be able to communicate with her.”
“Doing better, eh?” He was displeased, and I guessed he’d hoped my efforts would fail. If the dogs weren’t his to bully, he’d rather they were dead. Shoving the empty main dish container back at me, he unwrapped the foil I’d stored fresh rolls in. “I thought I beat everything but the sound of my voice out of their heads.”
“They’re done with you,” I said coldly. “They’ll be companions now, not slaves.”
Around a mouthful of popover he replied, “Slaves are good, long as you ain’t one of ’em.”
I took out a square container that held a dessert of my own invention: bananas, a sweet crust, pudding, and lots of whipped cream. Holding onto it I said, “What more can you tell me about the dogs?”
“They’re dumb.”
“Mr. Kurst—”
“They’re useless.” He was enjoying himself, but I held the dessert back until he relented. “The collie bitch has a neat trick,” he said. “She’ll get stuff for you.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Whatever you want.” He grinned. “She can bring you a can of beer right out of the fridge.”
A beer-fetching dog wasn’t something I found useful, but I asked, “What’s the command?”
“If you want her to fetch something, say ‘Bringen,’ in a loud voice. When she hears that word, she’ll start looking for what you mean. When she gets close to it, you say, ‘Bringen! Bringen!’ She only gets fed if she gets it right.” He reached out and took the dessert from my unresisting hands. “Saved me getting out of my chair lots of times. Collies are cowards, but they ain’t stupid.”
As I left the jail, irritation must have shown on my face, because Danson said, “Don’t let him get to you, Mrs. Burner.”
“He doesn’t have a good thing to say about any of the dogs he raised, even the ones that were his companions.”
He shook his head. “You kinda wish somebody could show him what it feels like to be treated bad and not understand why.”
I sighed. “I guess Karma doesn’t show up when we want it to.”
He glared at the doorway between us and Kurst. “Well, it should.”
I stopped to visit my mother-in-law before returning home. Though I had to repeat most of what I said several times, Harriet understood there would be a Christmas gathering in her honor. She asked me to trim her hair, claiming the stylist at the facility “butchered” it. I didn’t mind doing it, and I draped a towel over her shoulders and began cutting.
“I love Christmas,” Harriet told me as I worked. “Is it tomorrow?”
“We’ve got a few weeks yet. More time to plan, right?” I’d considered bringing her to the house, but leaving The Meadows tended to disorient her, and Barb’s home held no memories for Harriet.
“Make sure Audrey brings that cheese casserole,” Harriet ordered. “It’s the only decent thing she makes.” I agreed to pass the word on, aware such comments were what made Audrey unwilling to come anywhere near Harriet. “What are you going to bring?”
“I thought maybe those cookie truffles you like.”
She licked her toothless gums just thinking about them. “I think I’ll make a cheese ball. How about that?”
“Sounds good.”
I would make the cheese ball, and Harriet would think she had. I almost envied her dementia. It might be restful sometimes to believe I was as efficient, capable, and independent as Harriet thought she was, no matter how untrue all of those things might be.
When I got home, I took Mollie and Buddy for their walk. They would never be friends, but they’d come to mutual tolerance, so it was pleasant despite the chilly wind in my face. Christmas decorations had appeared in the homes along our street, and I made a mental note to get our stuff out. Though Barb wasn’t a big holiday fan, Dale was like a little kid at Christmas time. He’d be willing to help me lay garland on the porch rail and put electric candles in the front windows.
When we returned, me with red cheeks and the dogs with chilled paws, Dale removed Buddy’s leash while I took Mollie to her spot in the dining room. “Gabe stopped to say he delivered furniture to someone named Ginger today,” he said when I returned to the kitchen. “I guess you’re supposed to know why that matters.”
“Ginger was present when Frannie asked the Farwell kid to snoop into her boyfriend’s past,” I said. “She’s been out of town, though Rory spoke to her by phone.”
“Well, she’s home now. I guess Gabe thought you’d want to talk to her yourselves.” Dale handed me a note in Gabe’s familiar scrawl. “He left the address.” A grin stole across his face as he added, “He’s also working on finding the Grammar Nazi for you.”
“Really?”
“Yup. His current theory is that it’s Art Buckowski.”
“The county commissioner? Why?”
“Something about him being a rock climber in his youth.”
I nodded. “Obviously such a person would feel the need to scale billboards and correct imperfections.”
Dale chuckled. “I told him you’d check it out.”
“Of course. I’ve always wanted to arrest a local politician. So good for the agency’s reputation.”
Gabe was right about one thing. I wanted to know exactly what Ginger Parks had heard Frannie say. Being somewhat nervous about interviewing strangers, I almost called Retta. Still, I hadn’t done much to help the agency in the past week, and she’d mentioned having something to do that afternoon. With a sigh of determination, I took the address and headed for my car.
Ginger Parks lived with her parents, who were both at work. Ginger herself was getting ready to go out but let me in when I explained who I was and what I wanted. She said we could talk as long as I didn’t mind her finishing her makeup while we did.
“We understand that sometime in late October, Frannie got disturbing news about her fiancé.”
“Yeah.” Ginger stood before her bathroom mirror, applying enough foundation for a Phantom of the Opera production, while I hovered in the hallway. Though I was a little fascinated by the array of cosmetics spread out on the vanity, I tried to keep my gaze focused on the family photos on the walls across from me. Blending and covering, Ginger said, “Like I told Chief Neuencamp, somebody left a note on Frannie’s car windshield that said she should look into Steve’s past love affairs.”
“The note wasn’t signed?”
In the mirror’s reflection I caught the “Duh!” expression that passed over her face. “I thought there was something bothering her one day when we had coffee.” She grimaced. “We came out of the restaurant just as Oscar drove by in his Vette.” Her eyes met mine in the mirror. “Oscar ‘happens’ to show up where Frannie is a lot.” She started on her eyes. “Anyway, he pulled up to the curb and Frannie went over and crouched down to talk to him. I didn’t hear all of it, but I’m pretty sure she told Oscar to go to Ward River and find out if Steve had ever been engaged before.”
“Why ask an old boyfriend to do something like that?”
I thought I knew the answer, but Ginger confirmed it. “Because Oscar will do anything Frannie tells him to.”
“Did she tell you about the note when she got it?”
“No, but after Oscar took off I asked her right out. She was kind of funny about it, but she admitted it said Steve was a slime-ball when it came to women.”
“Did she believe that might be true?”
Ginger thought about that as she drew a smooth black line across her left eyelid. “She didn’t want to. I mean, they had plans. She’d booked a hall and hired a caterer and all that. It made her nervous.”
“Exactly what did the note say?”
Taking up her mascara, she jabbed the brush in and out a few times to fill it. “I don’t know. I think Frannie was sorry she told me about it.” Considering Ginger’s reputation as a gossip, I had to agree.
“Did she have any other reason to doubt Steve’s intentions?”
She started on her lips, outlining them with a pencil. “Well, it was kinda weird that he didn’t want her to publish any engagement notices.” She made it sound like Deline had asked Frannie to hide national secrets. “He said the wedding wasn’t anybody’s business but theirs.”
“Did Frannie agree to that?”
Ginger’s reflection smiled slyly. “Well, we sorta cheated. She didn’t put it in the papers, but she did announce it online.”
“On social media.”
“Yeah. Steve was into football, not Facebook, so she figured he’d never know.” She filled in the outline she’d made with bright red lipstick. “Guys don’t get it, but girls want their friends to know they’re getting married.” Stopping the application momentarily, she met my eyes in the mirror. “And we want our enemies to know it even more.”
