After Bowers left, I grabbed my purse and locked up U Behave. Stepping out onto Maricopa Drive, I planned to go directly home to check up on Auntie, but at the last minute, I walked around the corner onto Main Street and past the Prickly Pear. As I swung open the door to Canine Camp, a cacophony of barks and whines greeted me. A young woman stepped out of the office, and when she saw who it was, she took a startled step back.
Charlie is Seamus’ wiz bookkeeper. She’s an accounting student at the community college, and her mastery of figures belies her young age and trendy looks. I’d never seen her wear anything but black, and her dark hair currently sported purple streaks that matched the amethyst stud in her nose.
When I said I was there to talk to Seamus, she shot a worried look toward the dog pen. Seamus stood inside the exercise area, and Bethany clung to his side like a Siamese twin.
Okay, maybe she didn’t actually cling, but she was standing pretty close to him, shoulder’s squared and confident. The animals loved her vibe, and they wriggled and grinned and begged for pets and kisses, which she doled out from an endless supply as if she were a doggie love fairy. Her calm expression reflected the patience of a mother, and there wasn’t any doubt that she was at the top of the food chain. I bet that Chauncey wouldn’t merely roll over and grunt if she asked him to get off the couch.
Maybe Charlie thought we’d have a cat fight. Hardly. It’s not as if Seamus and I had gone on more than one date. Possibly two. And they weren’t really dates. I’d been fishing for information about Seamus’ best friend, a murder suspect at the time, so dinner qualified as work, except for that one goodnight kiss. But it was a nice kiss.
Seamus waved, and Bethany looked at me with interest. As they waltzed over, I turned my attention to the forlorn, brown eyes of the Jack Russell terrier on the other side of the fence. The breed is usually pretty peppy, but this little guy seemed lethargic. I reached my fingers through the wire to encourage him to come closer.
“That’s our newest addition.”
Seamus scratched the dog’s ears. He held out a ball, and the canine cocked his head, his short tail wriggling. Seamus tossed the ball, and the terrier took off like a shot, beating two beagles and a boxer to the prize.
“Poor thing misses mommy,” I said as I stood.
With Bethany at a safe distance retrieving the ball, Seamus leaned close to the fence, panic in his green eyes. “You weren’t, I mean, you didn’t—” He waved his hands in the air and rolled his eyes in circles. I hoped that wasn’t an accurate imitation of what I looked like when he’d seen me read the golden retriever last month.
“No. I didn’t. It’s common sense,” I snapped.
Bethany wandered back to his side, and Seamus introduced us with a fumbling awkwardness that made me certain the two were a couple.
“Bethany, I’d like you to meet Frances. She’s, uh, we know each other from, that is—”
I took pity on him. It would take a master storyteller to explain his peripheral involvement in the investigation of Margarita Morales’ murder, including our two non-dates, and Seamus wasn’t gifted with a raconteur’s tongue.
“I’m Frankie, one of the local shopkeepers. I was hoping for some advice. I’m pet sitting a bird, and I have no idea what to feed it or how to take care of it.” It occurred to me that buttering up Petey with a favorite treat might make him more talkative. “Are they fond of a particular snack?”
“Didn’t the owner give you instructions?” Bethany asked.
Ahh. The owner. How to avoid mention of the murder. “It was an emergency situation.”
“What kind of bird is it?”
The question annoyed me. It was a simple and logical query, and I would have loved to have leaned casually against the fence and spouted off genus and species and blah-blah-blah, but all I had to offer was my ignorance.
“It’s big and white with a terrifyingly large beak. And it has long feathers on the top of its head. And it’s noisy. I think it’s a cockatoo.”
“Yes. A cockatoo.” Bethany nodded. “They eat seeds, nuts, grains, and it might enjoy a little fruit.”
She picked up on my relief and laughed. “Nothing live or wriggly.”
“Bethany worked at an avian rescue,” Seamus announced. His chest swelled, and his eyes shone, as if she had single-handedly saved a species from extinction.
“How nice. Do I, um, have to take it for walks or, er, let it fly around?”
Bethany’s dimpled smile froze. “I wouldn’t. You have to be careful. They have the intelligence of a four-year-old, and they can be, um, destructive.”
I assured her I would keep my guard up and thanked them for their help, and then I turned and walked out. Once I made it around the corner, I leaned my head against the stucco wall. Do I take it for walks? I guess, if I had really tried, I might have been able to look like a bigger idiot. As it was, I had come off like the sidekick in Young Frankenstein.
“The brain came from someone named Abby Normal.”
Speaking of abnormal people, it was time to check in with Auntie.
I wasn’t in the best mood when I arrived home, which was why the whispers and giggles of conversation that came from the kitchen were as welcome as a case of mange.
The hearty tones with a country flavor belonged to my aunt, but I didn’t recognize the second voice. It was light and breathy and prone to fits of giggles. I dropped my purse and the bag of bird food I’d picked up on the coffee table, nudged Emily away from my ankles, stepped over Chauncey’s prone body, and eased my way through the living room, curious and suspicious. My fears were confirmed with my aunt’s next statement.
“Ooh. The World. You couldn’t ask for a better card. Something good is coming your way.”
There was a combination gasp and giggle before the other woman spoke. “My niece—”
“There’s definitely a woman indicated. Yes, definitely a female influence. A b—”
“A baby!” The woman squealed and clapped. “You’re right! She’s due any day and I’m so excited. Will it be a girl or a boy?”
Lowering her voice, Auntie said, “In my profession, I really shouldn’t say this, but—” She paused for effect. “Isn’t it much more fun when it’s a surprise?”
This was followed by more giggling. “You’re right. Don’t tell me!”
As if Auntie had any idea of the child’s gender. I debated whether to interrupt the love fest or wait until the visitor left before I read the riot act to my aged relative for violating house rules. My aunt had donned her professional persona, Madame Guinevere, and was reading the tarot cards.
As annoyed as I was that Auntie had usurped my authority in my own home, I admired her technique. Ever the pro, she had managed to avoid specifics. The more general the exchange remained, the bigger the chance there was for a believable and exciting prediction. And by just letting slip a “b”, she’d allowed the client, believing Auntie was about to say baby, to fill in the facts. If that hadn’t produced results, Auntie would have put on a thoughtful expression, as if consulting with her spirit guides, and then tried another letter.
“All I can say,” Auntie continued, “is that you can expect something wonderful, and soon. Be on the lookout.” She picked up the World card and handed it to her client. “You can keep this as a reminder.”
I crept toward the doorway to get a peek, but Chauncey, sniffing around the bag of bird food, knocked my purse onto the floor and yelped with surprise. I ducked back into the living room, and cover blown, called out, “I’m home!”
When I walked into the kitchen, all signs of a reading were gone. The petite client had the white, soft, curly hair of a bichon frisé. She wore a pink linen shirt and matching Capri pants and looked to be a thoroughly nice woman. Auntie loomed large on the other side of the table. She had donned her purple Muumuu, the one she always wore for readings.
Auntie and the woman looked up, as innocent as Emily after she’s destroyed a stuffed animal.
“This is Sharlene Walker, your neighbor.”
We exchanged greetings. “What are you ladies up to?” I slipped a peek under the table and eyed the closed cupboard doors with suspicion. Those cards had to be here somewhere.
“Sharlene was just admiring your—” Auntie scanned the kitchen looking for something to compliment.
“Your cups,” Sharlene piped in, holding up her yellow mug. Realizing she held a Quickie Lube giveaway, she added, “Too many people agonize over the perfect pattern. It’s refreshing to see a casual approach.”
Auntie nodded approval and raised her Economy Mart mug. “And I’m proud that you support your local businesses.”
“Er, thanks.”
After an awkward silence, Sharlene rose, thanked Auntie for her hospitality, and said she needed to get home to make dinner for her son.
“He drops by once a week just to make sure I’m fine.”
Once she left, Auntie was quick to criticize. “Acts like he’s doing her a favor. He only lives a couple of miles away, and maybe if someone paid more attention to the woman who gave birth to him, he might notice a thing or two.” She frowned. “That woman is in trouble.”
“Did you do another reading? I told you—”
“I don’t need the cards to tell me when someone’s got problems.”
“Problems? A pregnant niece is a problem?”
Auntie tsked. “If you only pay attention to people, Sissy, you can see a lot. We should have a party and invite all your neighbors. It would be fun, and you could get to know them.”
“I don’t want to know them. I’m not a people person.”
“That’s because you won’t make an effort.”
She let the subject drop, and I poured out food for my pets and then grabbed a handful of the nuts and seed I’d picked up on the way home. Cautiously lifting the cover just a hair, I fumbled with the door and threw the food into the dish, but I wasn’t fast enough.
“Meow! Meow! Squawk!”
Emily growled a response but didn’t look up from her dinner bowl.
As I dropped the cover back down, Auntie commented that the poor thing needed some sunlight. “There’s vitamin C and D in sunlight. Or something that’s good for you. And it must be so boring to look at the inside of a cage all day, especially since you keep throwing the cover over the poor thing.”
“Tell you what. You let him out when I’m not here, but make sure you lock Emily in my bedroom first. I don’t want to return Elvira’s pet in pieces.”
I remembered Bethany’s warning, but dismissed it. How destructive could a four-year-old be?
“And make sure the doors are closed, because I don’t think he’d come back if he got outside.”
Meatloaf and green beans were on the menu tonight. Auntie had decided that my mustard yellow tray was a favorite serving dish, but I slipped a few paper towels under the main course and felt the odds of surviving lead poisoning turn in my favor.
“Did anyone else stop by while I was gone?”
“No. Were you expecting someone?”
“Not Bowers? Or Detective Gutierrez?”
“No one.”
I pushed my meatloaf around with my fork. “So, did you remember anything else about Elvira that you should tell the police?” I peered up through my lashes.
Auntie chewed, a thoughtful expression on her face. Then she swallowed and said, “Not a thing.” She sprinkled her green beans with pepper. “How did today go?”
I studied her for a moment. Her gaze was steady, her mouth relaxed, and she wasn’t fidgeting. It didn’t look like she was lying to me.
“Everything went fine.”
While we ate, I updated Auntie on the hunt for Penny’s wedding dress. She cooed and clucked in all the right places, and I was just about to forgive her for bringing murder into my home when she said:
“There’s a wake of sorts tonight.”
“A wake? Tonight?”
“The Baking Channel thought it would be nice to have a little get together in Elvira’s memory, and they invited everyone from the premiere. It will give me the opportunity to follow up on some of those business cards I handed out.”
“You plan to use a woman’s memorial to network.” I could feel my lips and eyes scrunch in disapproval. If Auntie stayed much longer, I was going to need Botox to get rid of the expression lines.
“Don’t be naïve. I bet half the business that gets accomplished in this country takes place at funerals and weddings. People see folks they want to catch up with, there’s usually alcohol to loosen up tongues, and they’re feeling generous about life, especially at funerals.”
I resigned myself to another trip to Saguaro Studios.
“So,” I said casually. “Mom wanted me to ask. You didn’t kill Elvira Jenkins, right?”
I would have felt better if she’d burst into protests and bluster. Instead, Auntie stared off into space and said, “Your mother always was a smart one.”
I dropped my fork. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She gets right to the point. And of course you told her I was with you all night and couldn’t possibly have done it.”
I remembered her stalking off when Elvira stopped by to chat. How long was she gone? I couldn’t remember.
“Of course you didn’t do it,” I said, and I wished I felt the conviction of my words.