Dead Canaries Don't Sing (34 page)

Max returned with the poodle, trying to entice me into another round by dropping the slimy toy on my foot. “Nick, it’s kind of late and I’ve had a rotten day. I’m beat. I’m going to read a while, then go to sleep.”

“I’ll keep it down. I know you like it quiet when you’re trying to sleep.”

I threw up my hands. “Be my guest.”

Seething, I retreated to my bedroom. Cat abandoned me, choosing to doze on Nick’s chest instead of mine. But Max jumped onto the bed, bringing along a gnarled piece of rawhide that he chomped noisily. Lou stretched out next to him, as usual taking up three-quarters of the bed. At least they stuck by me. When it came to loyalty, there was nothing like the other members of your pack.

“I have to leave the door open,” I called to Nick. “Otherwise, all the heat—what there is of it—will stay in the living room and I’ll freeze.”

“Suit yourself.”

As I lay in bed, I could hear the television next door. Every once in a while, Nick laughed or cleared his throat or moved around, causing the couch to creak.

I had to admit, it felt kind of nice, having somebody in the next room.

Having
Nick
in the next room.

I pulled the pillow over my head.

I was wondering whether I would fall asleep that way or suffocate when I heard a soft knock on the door frame.

“Jessie?”

“Mmm?”

“Are you still awake?”

“Yes.”

“There’s something I wanted to ask you.”

“What?”

A long pause followed. “Is it okay if I take a shower?”

“Sure.”

“The noise won’t bother you? Or the light?”

I noticed he didn’t ask me if having him parade around my home practically naked would bother me. I lay on my side, watching Nick walk back and forth between the living room and the bathroom in nothing but a towel.

Damn, I thought furiously. He’s doing this on purpose.

I knew I could have turned around. There was nothing to keep me from lying on my other side. I could have closed the door. It wasn’t
that
cold.

Realizing that I actually liked having Nick around, hearing his soft, off-key singing in the shower, filled me with resentment.

I was back to lying with the pillow over my head when I heard another knock.

“Hey, Jess?”

“Mmm?”

“Are you awake?”

I sighed loudly, then peeked out. “Yes.”

“There’s something else I need to ask you.”

A really long pause followed. Then Nick said, “Do you think it’s dumb for us to sleep in separate rooms?”

I sat up in bed. My heart was thumping and my throat felt thick. But it was the buzzing in my head that made it so hard to think straight.

I wanted to say yes. I wanted it more than I could remember ever wanting anything in my life.

Even if Nick had staged this whole thing, using the break-in as an excuse, I no longer cared. I wanted him here. I loved having him here. The only thing that would have made it better would have been having him right next to me, in my bed.

But I knew there was only one answer to his question.

“Good night, Nick. I’ve got to get some sleep.”

I hugged the pillow tightly against my chest. It was the best way I could think of to protect my heart.

Chapter 17

“Histories are more full of examples of the fidelity of dogs than of friends.”

—Alexander Pope

The good news was that we made it through the night, Nick on the couch, me behind a barricade of pillows and puppies.

The bad news was that I didn’t exactly sleep well. I tossed and turned until dawn. And Nick’s snoring had nothing to do with it.

Instead, I obsessed about Tommee Frack and our conclusion that Barbara Delmonico was guilty. True, she’d confessed to Claudia, telling her in no uncertain terms that she intended to kill him. The timing was perfect, she had powerful motivation, and she certainly had the opportunity.

The problem was, there were too many loose ends.

Like the way Pomonok Properties kept coming up. Not only had the firm left George Babcock to become Tommee’s client; Joe DeFeo had already established a relationship with Tommee long before the switch became official. Then there was the fact that at the beginning of November, a representative of the firm had approached the Athertons, trying to buy their land. The Athertons had said no—and a few days later, a dead body had shown up in their backyard.

But there was more. I’d been followed as I drove around Norfolk County, trying to learn as much about Tommee Frack as I could. My next-door neighbor had received a threatening phone call, warning me to mind my own business. I’d found a canary feather tucked conspicuously into my windshield wiper. My home had been broken into, even though whoever had gone to all that trouble clearly hadn’t been the least bit interested in my valuables.

Then there was Tommee himself. He’d known everybody. His picture hung in the offices of companies he didn’t even represent. Politicians flocked to his funeral. But when you came right down to it, all he was was a PR guy.

Then there were all the others I’d come to suspect, people who were at least as likely as Barbara to want Tommee Frack gone and buried. George Babcock, for example. He had more to gain from Frack’s death than anybody, whether he had known what was in Tommee’s will or not. If he hadn’t known, he could have wanted revenge. If he had known, he could have wanted what he thought was his due.

But there were other suspects, too, like Jonathan Havemeyer, whose loyalty Tommee had never fully appreciated. Even the employees of Tommee Frack & Associates could have had a vendetta against him. Brad O’Reilly, who seemed too good to be true. Wade Moscowitz, who had fled the public relations field and the entire business world after just a few months’ involvement with Tommee and his operation.

Then, of course, there was Merrilee. I couldn’t forget the altar to her ex she’d constructed in her spare room. I couldn’t forget how intense she was, either. Merrilee was a regular Miss Haversham, quietly raging as she waited for the return of the man everyone else knew would never come back.

Through all my ruminations in the silent darkness that night, I kept hearing Wade Moscowitz’s warning.

“My advice, Dr. Popper,” he’d said, “is to stay as far away from this as you can.”

Of course, Nick had told me the exact same thing. But this was different. Wade knew Tommee and he knew what he’d been involved in.

Wade’s warning was still playing in my head when the sun started to come up and I finally drifted off to sleep, too exhausted to think anymore.

When I woke up, I found myself facing another impossible situation. I could already hear Nick moving around in the living room, probably getting dressed. I considered lying low until I heard him leave. But I could hear Max scratching at the back door, his subtle way of telling me he needed to go out. So I pulled on a robe, then banged loudly on the wall before venturing out of my bedroom.

“It’s okay,” Nick called back. “I’m decent.”

As I peered around the corner, the irony of needing to be cautious wasn’t wasted on me. I saw that he had his pants on, although he was shirtless and sockless. The sight of him half-clothed—the muscles in his shoulders and back, his taut skin, even the way his khakis dipped down provocatively in front—jolted me awake.

“Sleep okay?” I asked casually.

“I guess so.” He caught my eye, then looked away. “All things considered.”

I didn’t dare ask what he meant. I was too afraid he’d compare this past night with the last time he’d slept here.

“Want some coffee?” I offered halfheartedly.

“No. I’m going. Suddenly, this whole thing seems like a really bad idea.”

“You may recall that I wasn’t the one who invited you.”

“Hey, you’re the one who keeps getting into situations where you need my help.”

“I don’t need your help! I don’t need
anybody’s
help!”

“I’m sure.” He tugged on his shirt. “You’re completely self-sufficient, right?”

“You got it.”

“You can manage anything that comes up totally on your own. You don’t need anyone.”

“Exactly.”

“And you certainly don’t need me.”

I didn’t have an answer. At least, not a quick, uncomplicated one.

I didn’t think I needed Nick. But that didn’t mean I’d ever stopped wanting him.

Damn! I raged. Why does everything have to be so convoluted where Nick Burby is concerned?

“You don’t have to answer,” he said softly. “I already know what you’re thinking.”

He grabbed his socks, slipped his bare feet into his shoes and headed for the door.

“Wait!” I cried.

He turned. A look of hope flickered across his face.

“Do me a favor, Nick. Don’t talk to Harned. Not yet.”

“Excuse me?”

“Now that I’ve had a chance to sleep on it, I’m not so sure Barbara is our murderer.”

“What?”

“I mean, I know she told Claudia she wanted to kill him, but that doesn’t mean she actually went through with it. Besides, there’s so much more to Tommee Frack. I realize there’s somebody I need to talk to again.” I shrugged. “The bottom line is that I need more time.”

“Whatever.” He cast me a look of complete exasperation, then disappeared out the door.

I could have dwelled on the fact that the house suddenly seemed profoundly empty once again. Instead, I put on a pot of coffee and got into the hottest shower I could bear.

I still had work to do, and for once I wasn’t going to let my confusion over Nick stand in my way.

By the time the dogs were walked, all the animals fed, my hair dried, and three cups of coffee consumed, I was a new woman. I was ready for a full day of calls. But I was really looking forward to what I had planned for after my day’s calls: a meeting that I hoped would give me some crucial answers.

As I was about to leave, I checked to make sure I had everything I needed. Appointment book, maps, cell phone, notebook . . .

It wasn’t there.

I rummaged through my purse, checked every tote bag I owned and looked through the clutter on the table. I couldn’t find my notebook anywhere.

I searched the cottage, figuring I might have left it someplace unusual. The table next to my bed, the kitchen counter, the bathroom . . . the notebook wasn’t in any of those places. Max and Lou pranced around beside me, barking happily as they made their usual assumption that we were embarking on some exciting new game.

“Not now,” I told them. “This is serious.”

I checked my car, performing acrobatics in order to get a good look under the seats. Then I ransacked the van. Finally, I went back into the house.

All my clues, all my phone numbers, all the pieces of the puzzle that had consumed me for the past two and a half weeks. All missing.

“Damn!”
I said aloud, cursing my carelessness.

“Awk!”
Prometheus chimed in. “Damn you, Nick Burby! Damn you!”

When was the last time I’d seen the notebook? I was positive I hadn’t brought it to the Silk ’N’ Satin the night before because I’d known I wouldn’t have a chance to jot down any notes until I got home. And by then it was late, and when I’d walked in the door I’d discovered that someone had broken in . . .

An unpleasant warmth swept over me. Was it possible that whoever had been in my house had stumbled upon my notebook, realized what it was and taken it?

I told myself I was taking this paranoia thing a bit too far.

It has to be somewhere, I thought. Chances are I’m the one who lost it. Sooner or later, it’ll turn up.

These things always do.

When I walked into Dream Catcher amidst a wind chime fanfare, Wade looked up from the copper bracelets he was patiently arranging in a cardboard display unit. He didn’t seem the least bit surprised to see me.

“Dr. Popper. I had a feeling you’d be back.”

I glanced around, checking for his sidekick, the girl with the golden locks and the empty smile. From the looks of things, he was alone.

“You have to tell me what you know,” I demanded. “Last night, someone broke into my house. I’m sure I’m being followed. I recently found out that just before his murder, Tommee’s newest client, Pomonok Properties, tried to buy the Atherton Farm, where his body was dumped, and had the door slammed in their face. Somebody left a canary feather on my car—and when Tommee’s body was found, a canary was buried a few feet away. And a couple of weeks ago, my next-door neighbor, a woman in her seventies who wouldn’t hurt a fly, got a threatening phone call late one night, warning me to mind my own business.”

He looked stricken. “And I take it it’s too late for that.”

“It’s way beyond too late, Wade. I need answers. For all I know, other people’s lives are at stake here.”

“Let’s talk in back,” he said. “Summer will be here soon.”

It took me a few seconds to realize that Summer was his employee, not a season. I followed him into the room with the chair shaped like a big hand.

He sat down on the futon. “Why don’t I tell you a story?”

“A story?”

“A story that may be true . . . or it may be nothing but a story. Let’s leave it at that, okay?”

I was catching on. “Okay.”

“Once upon a time, there was a man named . . . let’s call him Tommee. Ever since he was a little boy, Tommee wanted to be at the center of things. He wasn’t accomplished at music or science or even business—and he certainly wasn’t what you’d call popular.

“But he discovered he had a special ability. He was what you’d call a people person. He was good at making other people feel important.

“He was also good at getting their names in the paper, because he had a genuine knack for infusing others with the same enthusiasm he felt. This ability endeared these people to him, though they didn’t really care about him; they cared about what he could do for them.

“But Tommee had one more talent. He was great at bringing people together, then standing on the sidelines and letting them do what they did best. Making deals, trading favors, networking. Over the years, Tommee’s reputation grew. As word got around, more and more people began to notice. People who realized they could benefit from Tommee’s very special talents.” He hesitated. “People who realized he could do even more for them than get their names on TV or in the newspaper.”