twenty-one

My mother recognized me only about sixty percent of the time, but she was always happy to see Jay. Granted, she often called him Laddie, and maybe she thought he was Laddie, a Collie who died before I was born. Jay doesn’t mind, and his presence both perks her up and calms her down, so I take him with me to Shadetree Retirement Home as often as possible. He’s a certified therapy dog, and as patient as I am antsy around the residents.

It’s not that I don’t want to be compassionate. I’m just clumsy about it, and the stress of wondering whether I’ll be spending any given visit with my mother or a stranger inhabiting her body just makes me worse. Clumsy or not, I’d been visiting several times a week since we moved her to Shadetree a year earlier, and I was happy to see how Mom had regained some of her faculties since she started seeing Tony Marconi. As I parked across from the front door, I whispered a request to the universe that this would be a good day for Mom.

I had bathed Jay the night before—I always do after close encounters of the woolly kind—so he was clean aside from some dry plant matter stuck in his britches. I gave him a quick going over with his brush, then used it to touch up my own wild hair. Too bad Bill isn’t here, whispered Janet Devil. Seeing me use my dog’s grooming supplies on myself makes my brother crazier than usual, so naturally I do it in his presence whenever possible. Fifty years of siblinghood and we’re still pushing each other’s buttons. Oddly, dealing with our mother’s problems over the past months has brought us closer than we’ve been since grade school. I was smiling about that as I checked my murky reflection in the van’s window. Between the wind and the dampness of impending rain, I was a curly mess. I did what I could, tossed the brush back into the van, and went to find my mother.

Jade Templeton, Shadetree’s manager and reigning angel, smiled at me from the far side of the main lounge. She was holding Percy, her Toy Poodle, for a resident to pet. Seeing Percy always twists my emotions in confusing ways. I’m glad he landed with someone who loves him, and if a dog can have a vocation, Percy seems to have one for spending time with lonely old people. The twist comes from the reason he’s here at all. Jade adopted Percy when his owners were murdered. Now, a year later, another man was dead, another dog homeless. I just hoped that Bonnie was alive and uninjured, and that someone would find her soon. I’d had enough of murder. I’d had enough of it months earlier, and yet the specter of violent death was back. Don’t jump the gun, Janet. Ray Turnbull really might have committed suicide.

As if sensing my thoughts, Jay bumped my knee, and I shook off the dark thoughts in favor of a cheery visit. We can usually find my mother in the atrium, soaking up the sun surrounded by the raised beds of the therapy garden. Mom is the self-appointed head gardener, and the way she runs the operation, you’d think she was overseeing work at Kew Gardens. Bossy as she is, everyone seems to acknowledge that she deserves the job. Whatever else she may forget, the names and needs of all the plants are at her memory’s every beck and call. Today, though, the only person in the atrium was a man I had seen but never met because he was usually sound asleep. He was tucked into a wing chair with a blanket across his lap, a book in his hand, and a walker by his side. I left him to his nap.

Jay and I struck out for the smaller lounge at the back of the building, and halfway there, Jay started to pull. He always knew where Mom was before I did. And there she was, tucked into a recliner facing the picture window. She was focused on the Fine Gardening magazine in her hands. I might have interrupted more gently, but Jay had no such compunction, and he shoved his nose up under the magazine, grinning and whining at her. She started to laugh, tossed the magazine onto the end table, and bent to kiss my goofy dog.

“Jay! How are you, sweetheart?” Jay popped his front end into her lap and leaned his head into the cradle of her arms.

A long breath of relief left me. Mom’s here.

“Hi, Mom.” I was pulling a red-flowered armchair around to face her when she reached for me. My mother has never been much of a hugger, but lately she’s much more touchy-feely. I wondered if that came from Tony, too. We hugged each other as well as we could with a fifty-pound dog in the way, and I sat down across from her. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine, Sweetie.” She had a new softness about her, a calm and, odd as it sounds, a glow, as if a quiet fire were burning inside her. “And how are you? All set for the big day? It’s only two weeks now.”

“Do you want me to get him off you?” Jay was leaning into her lap. Gentle or not, he’s a load even for me, and I’m not frail.

But she shook her head and kept stroking his cheeks and ears as he squinted in ecstasy. “Have you found a dress yet?”

Gaaaa. I haven’t worried about dresses in longer than I care to say. My wardrobe is decidedly animal friendly, which means mostly pants of various lengths, stretchy, comfy tops, and running shoes. Admit it, whispered my inner nag, you’re more frightened of dress shopping than you are of rustlers and murderers. Encountering the missing sheep and Ray’s death in a single thought sent my mind down a path that had nothing to do with clothes shopping.

Were the events connected? The police didn’t seem to think so, but a link seemed more plausible now. Still, how exactly would the two crimes be connected? If Ray was involved in the theft, why take the sheep from the weekend event? As far as I knew, he had access to them all the time at the Winslows’ farm. Then again, removing sheep in the daytime would be nearly impossible, I thought. Summer’s weaving school and wool shop were on the property, so she was rarely gone. Evan was a graphic designer, and he also worked from home. Ray might have been able to steal the sheep at night since he knew the Winslows’ dogs, but that too seemed foolhardy to me.

No one else would pull it off, though. I was sure of that. Nell, the Winslows’ English Shepherd, had the run of the place, although I had no idea whether she was loose outside at night. Still, she would hear intruders even if she were inside. And then there was Luciano, Summer’s hundred-pound Maremma. He’d been raised with the flock and was very protective, and although he loved Summer, he was none too fond of anyone else. Summer always secured Luciano in the barn before any dogs other than Nell were allowed near the sheep, but Summer had mentioned more than once that he was loose with the flock at night. Trying to get past him really would be suicidal. So it made sense that the theft took place away from their farm. The question now was whether Ray was involved, or whether he found out something and died for his trouble. And the bigger question—did he commit suicide, or did he have some help? His swollen, twisted fingers suggested a struggle, although I couldn’t picture how fighting could cause that kind of damage. Had someone broken his fingers on purpose?

Hutchinson had mentioned security cameras, and by now the coroner might have an opinion about manner of death. I’d have to remember to call Hutch when I got home, although I knew he might not tell me much. I was pondering how I might wangle the information out of him when I noticed my mother watching me, a bemused smile on her lips and one eyebrow raised.

“Janet, dear,” she said, leaning across Jay to pat my knee, “shopping for a dress won’t kill you.”