Catwalk (7 page)

fourteen

“Is there a no-trespassing
sign?” Norm had a leg
al pad and the document that had ruined my previous evening laid out on the table next to his
huevos rancheros
and was switching back and forth between his fork and his pen. I wondered how long it would be before he stuck the nib of his eight-hundred dol
lar Montegrappa into his eggs. That would be tragic. Norm loved that pen.

“Where?” We had been talking about Thanksgiving plans, so the question caught me off guard.

“Rasmussen's place. You sure you don't want to eat?”

The whole lawsuit thing had made me queasy, and I shook my head. “Not that I noticed. It was dark. I'd be surprised if there was, though, in that neighborhood.”

“Did Mrs. Rasmussen ask you to leave?”

“No. In fact, she wanted to help us with the kittens.” I told him how Rasmussen the husband had reacted to that.

Norm made a note and took a bite, all with the proper implements. “Okay, if she is joint owner of the property, you're in the clear. I'll check.” He switched implements and smiled at me. “How did you get into the shed?”

“Studio.”

“Whatever.”

“It was open. Jay just nudged the door a bit wider. The window was open, too. That's how Gypsy got in, I suppose.” I studied my mental snapshots of the place. “Something was weird, though. Have you ever seen a tidy artist's space?”

Norm caught the server's eye and pointed at our coffee mugs. “Everett Bannister is pretty neat.”

I knew the name and had seen Bannister's paintings, but I'd never
met him. “Is he? Still, this studio seemed like a prop. The only painting
I remember was a finished one, framed and hung. There were no works-
in-progress, no sketches or studies, none of the usual chaos my arts
y friends all create when they work.”

Norm raised an eyebrow at me.

“Right. I don't know what it means, either,” I said. After the server
refilled our coffees and took the dirty dishes away, I asked, “What about his threat to report Jay as a vicious dog?”

“I'll check some cases, but I don't think it will go anywhere.” He made another note. “Can you pull together copies of his certificates, therapy dog and whatever, and also get statements from experts
who know him? Maybe the police in Indy from when he found that kid?”

“Sure. I have the newspaper clipping from that.”

“If Rasmussen put his hand on you uninvited and in a threatening manner, your dog has a right to growl.” Norm reached across the table and took my hand. “And, Janet, he didn't bite the guy.”

“So this is all just smoke and mirrors? He can't really do any
thing?”

“He can make you spend some money, but I can't imagine the court ruling in his favor. And if he insists on proceeding, we'll fight back.”

“That odious man. I'd like to …”

“Shhh.” Norm shook his head slightly. “I'd like to, too, but until this is settled, stifle yourself. Make no threats, call him no names, say nothing that you don't want repeated in court, if it goes there.”

“But I'm talking to you.”

“In a public place.” He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “Janet, Charles Rasmussen has a lot of friends in high places, and a lot of money, so as your attorney, I advise discretion.” He leaned back and picked up his water glass, then said, “As your loving brother-in-law, I say a pox on him.”

“That I'd like to see,” I said, and started to laugh as an image of Rasmussen covered in spots formed in my mind. Then I asked, “How?”

“How what?”

“How will we fight back?”

“Ah. Well, for one thing, we can call Neighborhood Code Enforcement and see if they will cite him for leaving his building open to entice pet cats into danger.”

That made me laugh, but not for long. “But what danger?”

“Didn't you say he threatened the kittens?” Norm shrugged and
went on. “It was a trap. He would have grabbed them and killed them
if you hadn't stopped him. And I have friends in NCE. One thing, though. Alberta needs to be sure all her pet licenses are in order and all her pets are up to date on rabies vaccinations.” He paused. “I'd recommend that you and Tom do the same.”

“Already done. Mine, anyway.”
Oh, sure, maybe three years ago,
whispered the prissy little angel on my shoulder. “The vaccinations, at least. I'll check the licenses.” I would have, too, if I'd remembered.

We spent another few minutes on more pleasant subjects. Norm and Bill had moved into my mother's old house, the house Bill and I grew up in, and were putting the final touches on a complete kitchen update. “Bill is more relaxed since we moved than I've ever seen him. Sometimes I think he loves that old house more than he loves me.” I knew from the crinkles around his eyes that Norm knew better, and that he spoke from a place of deep happiness.

“You guys should come to the agility trial this weekend. Come watch the boys,” which was Norm's term for Jay and Drake and Leo. “Did I tell you we're putting on a feline agility demonstration? So even Leo gets to go this time.”

“I'll be there. Bill leaves Friday for Europe.”

My cell rang just as Norm was signing the credit card receipt and my heart did a little sidestep when I saw the number.

“What's wrong?” Norm was watching my face.

“It's Shadetree,” I said, meaning the retirement center. “Hello?”

I expected to hear the calm contralto of Jade Templeton, the facility's director, but the voice on the other end was pitched at frantic and the only words I could make out were
die
and
love
and
next week
.

“Mom, slow down. I don't know what you're telling me.”

Norm mouthed, “Okay?” and I signaled him to go. He had mentioned another appointment, and I figured if Mom was ambulatory and talking, I could manage whatever was going on. We left the café together and I got into my van while I tried to make sense of my mother's hysteria.

“Mom, are you sick?”

The sobs that answered tore a hole in my heart.

“Mom, please tell me what's wrong. I'm on my way, but tell me …”

The phone went quiet, and then Jade Templeton spoke. “Janet. It's Jade. We have a bit of a situation here.”

fifteen

Tom and I talked
as we walked the dogs around the field behind Dog Dayz. I had raced to Shadetree after the call from Mom, spent
about an hour there, and then raced off again to take photos for several new associates in one of the big real estate firms. They wanted location shots as well as conventional mug shots, so the whole thing took almost four hours—half an hour taking photos, three-
and-a-half driving to the locations. It paid well, but when I made the appointment I hadn't planned on squeezing those hours in between a heart-broken mother, a pending lawsuit, and agility practice. I felt frazzled and could only speculate on how I looked
since I refused to look in a mirror. I also felt slightly dyspeptic from
the blend of anger and sadness roiling inside me.

“You know the really weird thing?” I asked Tom, more or less rhetorically. “I almost wanted her to slide into that other dimension so that maybe she wouldn't hurt so much.”

Tom shook his head. “So, someone who works at Shadetree called this Tony guy's son and …”

“Son-in-law.”

“Okay, they called his son-in-law and tattled on Tony for sleeping with your mom?”

“That seems to be the gist of it. And he goes by Anthony.”

Tom's jaw muscles tightened and twitched, and he said, “How is it anyone's business other than To…Anthony's and your mother's?”

I didn't answer.

“And why does the son-in-law have anything to say about it?”

“Apparently he's paying the bills, and he's worried about his reputation, if you can believe that. Some sort of wheeler dealer.”
What's with all these belligerent rich guys who think they should run other people's lives
, I wondered. First Rasmussen, now Marconi's son-in-law. “As if anyone cares what two elderly people are up to anyway.”

“Who is he? Anyone we've heard of ?”

I shrugged. “Jade didn't mention his name.” A few more people and dogs had come out to the exercise area, so I lowered my voice and said, “You should have seen their faces, Tom. They were both devastated. It was like Romeo and Juliet for octogenarians.”

Tom gave me a look that dropped an iceberg into my stomach. “Oh, no, I don't think
…
Mom's not sui
…
They wouldn't, she wouldn't
…
I mean, why …” I let the thought trail away. We were almost to the back door, but I gestured for Tom to go in without me. “I'll be there in a minute.” Jay trotted by my side to a more private spot, and went back to sniffing while I made the call. Jade had left for the day, but Jerry Warner, her assistant, was there.

“You know about my mother and Mr. Marconi, right?”

“Well, yeah, I think everyone does.”

Everyone did not know about their impending separation, though,
including Jerry. I filled him in and said, “Look, they seem pretty, I don't know, desperate. Sad. I'd really appreciate it if someone could check on them, you know, not to keep them from
…
Look, I'm worried they might
…
” I couldn't make myself say the words, as if saying them might give them power.

Jerry got it. He assured me that he himself would keep an eye on my mother.

“What about Mr. Marconi? Or the two of them together?”

“Marconi lives in the assisted section. Has an apartment there.” I had wondered when I met him why he was in a nursing home. That explained it. He had privacy, but also maid service, prepared meals, and access to entertainment and companionship. “But I don't think he's here anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think his family already took him away. They were getting into a car when I got here. I thought it was for the weekend, but …” A computer beeped in the background, and then Jerry said, “Yeah,
here it is. His son-in-law checked him out. Doesn't say for how long.”

Talk about the morality police
, whispered my little voices in cho
rus. I told Jerry I would call back in a couple of hours to be sure Mom was okay, grabbed my training bag from my van, and stepped into
the warm, rich dogginess of Dog Dayz.

Tom had already removed Drake's collar and leash and had a slip-lead on him. Rhonda Lake was on the course with her sweet Golden Retriever, Eleanor, and several other dogs in the same size group were waiting ringside. I noticed Candace Sweetwater near the spectator chairs. Her little dog was snuggled into her arms and her sullen son was slumped in a chair, legs flung out in front of him and head drooping toward the e-gadget in his hand.

I added my name to the wait list for the next group, found an empty chair, set down my bag, and got Jay ready to run. As I was heeling him to warm up, Giselle Swann waved from the next ring where she and her Maltese, Precious, were practicing the weave poles. They emerged from a series of weaves and Giselle called, “I need to talk to you, Janet.”

“Let me get one run in, okay? I'm after the next dog,” I gestured toward the course-practice ring. “There are only two of us at this height,” meaning I couldn't switch with anyone because they would be changing the jump heights after my run. Giselle nodded and started her little dog back through the weave poles. Precious may hit nine inches at the shoulder and seven pounds dripping wet right after a meal, but he's a big dog on the agility course. I stopped to watch him rip through the weaves. His tail wagged the whole way and as he tore past the last pole he let out three sharp “Yippee” yaps.

Jay also had a happy run when his turn came. A little too happy. He held his stay at the start line, but the instant I signaled him to run he switched to I-have-a-better-idea mode. Like many lightning-fast, shockingly smart dogs, he likes to make up his own challenges if the human is too slow with the next directive. I had positioned myself at the third obstacle, the chute, so was able to signal the first three obstacles easily enough—bar jump, tire jump, chute—but after that I played a game of catchup and redo. If we had been competing, we'd have scored a nonqualifying run when Jay flew up and over an unscheduled A-frame. After that, I was late arriving at another bar jump, so my goofy dog jumped it, jumped back toward me, spun around, and jumped it again. He also took an extra trip through the tunnel and an unplanned on-and-off at the pause table. When we left the ring I was panting, Jay was bouncing and grinning, and everyone else was laughing.

Almost everyone. Peter Birdwhistle, a recent transplant to Fort Wayne, spoke as we passed him, “You need to discipline that dog and tighten up your run. I can help you if you like.”

Yeah, right
, I thought. Peter's Golden Retriever was a nervous wreck. Obedient, yes, and fast and accurate. But he lacked the joy we see in most Goldens and most agility dogs.

“Or I could run him for you sometime.”

That made me turn around and ask, “Why would I want you to do that?”
Because I'm too old and fat and, wow, treat this dog-sport thing like a great way to have fun with my dog, win or lose?

“Well, you know, to get the best scores …”

“Peter, I know you're pretty new here, so let me put your mind at ease. I don't do this to win. I don't do it for scores. And I don't have a dog so that someone else can play with him.”

Peter's head tilted back ever-so-slightly and his eyes narrowed. “Suit yourself. Shame, though, a dog like that …”

Sylvia Eckhorn walked up, wrapped an arm around my shoulder
, and said, “Janet, that was great! I love watching you and Jay. He's such a spectacularly happy dog!” She squeezed me, let go, and made a quarter-turn away from me. “Oh, hi. Peter, is it?” She smiled. “Janet and Jay have
such
a great relationship.”

Peter excused himself.

She looked at me and shook a wild blonde curl out of her eyes. “What a dweeb.”

Giselle joined us, Precious wrapped firmly in her arms. “That guy
is too serious.”

I bent down and kissed the top of Jay's head. “Whatever. It's his problem, not ours, right, Bubby?” Jay sneezed.

“So, Janet?” Giselle had lost about thirty pounds, gotten some style, and gone back to school in the past six months, but she still spoke as if every statement were a question. “I really need to talk to you, but,”
she glanced at her watch, “I have study group in half an hour? Can I, you know, talk to you tomorrow?”

We made plans to meet at the Firefly for coffee. It was close for me, and Giselle could get there easily between classes at the university. Then I found Tom and told him I was going to go on home and call again to check on my mother. He had an early class and I had a morning photo shoot for a local cat rescue group, so I declined an invitation to follow him home. It seemed like the right plan under the fluorescent lights of Dog Dayz, but a blanket of pure loneliness draped itself over me as I settled into my dark van.
You know,
whispered a voice as I started the ignition and turned on the lights,
you could do something about this.
I drowned her out with the oldies station.