Dirty Tricks: A Kate Lawrence Mystery (5 page)

BOOK: Dirty Tricks: A Kate Lawrence Mystery
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Four

 

Monday was Margo’s day at Vista
View, so
Strutter
and I planned to keep things
covered at Mack Realty. I’d become so accustomed to having fresh coffee waiting
when I walked into the Law Barn every morning, it was disappointing to find the
office dark and no appetizing aroma wafting from the copier room after we let
ourselves in. The place seemed particularly empty without my daughter Emma
clattering around on the second floor and running up and down the stairs, now
that she and her real estate lawyers had grown their business and left for
bigger quarters in Glastonbury.

“That’s funny,”
Strutter
reported as she turned on the table lamp in the
lobby and went to stick her head into May’s temporary office. “Wonder where she
is?
 
Do you think we should give her a
call in case she had car trouble or something?”

I checked my watch, which
confirmed that it wasn’t quite nine o’clock yet. “Let’s wait a bit. Maybe the
contractor’s crew is taking the day off, and she’s sleeping in for once. I’d
hate to be the one to spoil that after the past few weeks she’s suffered
through.”

“Since when is
bunking in with us temporarily such a hardship?”
Strutter
teased. “Seems to me she could have done worse.” She filled a pitcher and
poured water into the pot while I measured out the coffee and added it to the
basket. “She could be sitting all by herself at Starbucks, nursing a latte
while she rides on their WIFI.”

“I actually did that during the
freaky October snowstorm a few years back that knocked out our power for four
days,” I remembered with a shudder.

“I remember it in my nightmares,
same as everyone else who had small children at that time,”
Strutter
agreed. Her daughter Olivia had been barely two when the storm had devastated
Connecticut. “Thank God it wasn’t January, is all I have to say about that.”

“Amen, sister.
Anything
special on your agenda today?”

“A whole lot of
paperwork and maybe a walk down Old Main Street at lunchtime to enjoy the
leaves.
It’s so beautiful right now, and the last of the Scarecrows
Along
Main Street exhibits are still up. How about joining
me?”

I shook my head regretfully. “Love
to, but with Margo out, I guess one of us should stay in the office. I’ll walk
down to the corner after you get
back,
maybe get an
ice cream cone for my lunch.” The hand-scooped cones at Main Street Creamery
were among my favorite things about Old Wethersfield and would only be enhanced
by the gorgeous autumn weather we were enjoying.

As we headed toward the
half-staircase leading down to Mack Realty’s office, we were startled by the
sound of the Law Barn’s big front door swinging open to admit May. Judging from
the look on her face, the fall sunshine wasn’t doing it for her today.

“Hi, ladies,” she greeted us.
“Sorry to be late, but you would not believe the morning I’ve had. Is there
coffee?” She looked toward the copier room anxiously.

“We had a little trouble
remembering how to make it, since you’ve been spoiling us rotten for the last
week, but we managed to throw together a pot,” said
Strutter
.

May’s forehead smoothed out
fractionally. “Thanks,” was all she said as she made a beeline for her
temporary office. She tossed her laptop bag and purse on the desk and pulled
out her cell phone.
Strutter
and I took the hint and continued
on our way down the stairs. Whatever had May frowning apparently required a
little space.

By eleven o’clock we had slogged
through the weekend backlog of phone messages and begun to fill in the few
blank spots on the office calendar with appointments and showings. Having our
calendars on Outlook made it possible for whoever was doing the booking to
check everyone’s schedules at the same time, if that was necessary. It was a
great help, when it worked, but not so great during a power outage.

Strutter
left shortly after noon for her Main Street promenade. Promising my grumbling
stomach an ice cream cone a bit later, I wandered up to the lobby level in
search of a cup of instant broth to tide me over. As I passed May’s door on the
way back, she peered over the top of her computer spectacles and waved a
greeting.

“Come on in and say howdy, if
you’ve got a minute. Sorry I was such a grump earlier, but I had quite a
night.”

“Oh, how so?”
I asked, not wanting to appear too curious, although I was. I took my usual
perch on the window sill and sipped cautiously at my chicken broth. The instant
hot water function on our coffee maker dispensed searing liquid guaranteed to
remove the skin from the roof of one’s mouth and at least one lip, as each of
us had learned the hard way.

“I was up most of the night
dealing with wildlife,” May retorted, “and not the good
lookin

masculine variety you’re probably thinking. What do you know about bats? Please
don’t go all
girlie
on me and start shrieking.” She
dropped her glasses on the desk and rubbed her eyes wearily. Despite her
perfect grooming, she was showing a few more of her years today than usual.

“I wouldn’t do that,” I assured
her. “As a matter of fact, I know quite a bit about bats, at least the kinds
that live in this part of Connecticut. The house where I raised my kids had a
pretty good stretch of woods behind it and across the street, where the
railroad tracks came through, so bats were a common sight, especially at dusk.”
I smiled, remembering. “I loved that they were voracious mosquito-eaters,
because we were plagued with the things, but I became even fonder of the ugly
little beasts after one decided to have her baby on my daughter’s bedroom
windowsill. It was quite a biology lesson for my kids, who were shocked to
discover that bats are mammals just like us.”

“Hmmm, very good, I’m impressed.
So with all of those bats around, did you ever have one get into your house?”

“Oh, sure, a
couple of times.”

“How did you get them out, by
chasing them with a tennis racket or a broom and trying to club them to death?”
she jeered.

I frowned at the assumption.
“Of course not.
Bats won’t harm you unless they’re rabid,
and rabies in the bat population around here hasn’t increased more than a
single percentage point in years and years. I read somewhere that more people
die of bee stings than bat bites. All those idiotic movie scenes that show
people covering their heads and screaming and flailing away with brooms and
whatnot are just stupid. Bats are
echolocators
. All
you have to do is close any doors leading out of the room the bat’s in and then
open a window. It will soon sense the opening and be very happy to get the heck
out. Why do you ask? What happened, May?”

She sagged back against her chair
and stared past me out the window. “Well, the short version is, some bats got
into my house last night through an unscreened window. Tommy—that’s one of the
young men who are
workin
’ on the house—took that
screen out to be repaired yesterday, and I guess he left the window open a few
inches, although that surely doesn’t sound like Tommy. He’s a real stickler
about
makin
’ sure everything is locked up tight
before they leave for the day. I think I remind him of his mama, and it makes
him a tiny bit protective,” she smiled. “Anyway, by the time I stumbled
downstairs to find out what was
bangin
’ into things
in my living room, the poor thing had knocked itself out and was just
lyin
’ there on the floor.”

“That must have given you a start,
all right.”

“Well, I’m basically a country
gal, and critters don’t give me the vapors, for the most part. I can do without
snakes, though. It’s something about the way they slither. I don’t wish them
any harm, mind you, but
catchin
’ them does give me
pause.” She frowned and closed her eyes.

“May? What happened to the bat?
Was it alive?”

Her eyes flew open.
“Oh, sure.
I scooped him up on a paper plate and carried him
out the back door and put him on the lawn.
 
After about a minute he started
movin
’ around
and got airborne. He flew around in a loopy circle a couple of times and then
straightened out and went on his way, thank goodness.”

“Wow, good for you! Not one woman
in a thousand would have done that, especially all alone in the middle of the
night. No wonder you’re tired out.”

She chuckled drily. “Oh, there’s
more to the story than that.” She got up from her chair and started pacing
briskly, pumping her arms up and down. “Got to do something to get the blood
moving, or I’ll never get any work done today.
 
Anyway, I came back inside and got myself a drink of water, and would
you believe it? There was another bat
flappin
’ around
the downstairs. I didn’t want him to knock himself unconscious like the first
one, so I closed the door between the living room and the kitchen and opened up
the unscreened window as wide as it would go. Sure enough, he went right out in
a minute or two, so I closed the window and went back to bed. For a while, that
is.”

“Oh, no.
Don’t tell me there was another one,” I groaned in sympathy.

“I won’t bore you with the details
of my activities between then and dawn. Suffice it to say there were many, many
more bats in my house—at least a dozen.” She stopped pacing and put her hands
on her hips. “You can’t tell me they all found their way in through a
cracked-open window. Why would they even want to? It’s still perfectly warm
outside, and the mosquitoes are plentiful. No, that’s what’s got me riled up,
Kate. Those bats were put into my house quite deliberately by a person or
persons unknown to frighten me. It’s the only explanation, but the question is,
who would want to scare the
bejesus
out of a sweet
little
ol
’ granny lady like me? I don’t even know
anybody around here well enough to have gotten on their bad side.”

I couldn’t help smiling at her
self-portrait. “I really can’t imagine anyone taking you for a little old
grandmother type, sweet or not, but this does have the earmarks of a prank.” I
thought for a minute. “You don’t think one of your workmen did it, do you?”

May grimaced. “See, that’s the
trouble with this sort of thing. Without any idea in the world about who might
have it in for you, you have no choice but to suspect everyone. In answer to
your question, no, I don’t really think one of those nice young men did it. In
fact, when Tommy and the others showed up this
mornin
’,
they all put on a darned good show of being outraged on my behalf. I thought
poor Tommy was going to cry, he felt so bad about leaving that window open. I
told them all I actually have a soft spot for bats, and if any of them had a
spare hour or two one of these days, I would surely love to have them build me
a couple of bat houses and nail ‘
em
up for me.”

“Which not only made Tommy feel
better but let them all know that if one of them was responsible for this
little caper, it didn’t succeed in frightening you, right?”

“Right,” she agreed, “just in
case. That’s what I mean. Now suspicion is my constant companion.” She sighed
and dropped back into her chair, replacing her computer glasses on her nose.
She tapped a few keys idly, scanning the material on the screen. “If I was
still in Atlanta, I’d have some thoughts about suspects. As Margo has probably
told you, I’m not one to sit quietly by if something is happening in the
community that I don’t agree with. I have a big mouth, and I’m not afraid to
use it, as my Douglas used to say. I’ve ruffled more than a few feathers in my
time south of the Mason-Dixon Line, but up here?
 
I can just about find my way to the
supermarket, let alone know anything about local politics.”

Watching her at her computer, I
had a thought. “Wait a second, try this one on. Didn’t you tell me you’re in
the middle of an open submissions period for Romantic Nights, where anybody can
send in a romance manuscript to be considered for publication?”

She nodded, clearly perplexed.
“Yes, and it’s been a
doozy
, too.
Wanna
-be
authors are
comin
’ out of the woodwork. I get tired
just thinking about the number of submissions I still have to screen. Why?”

“Well, you obviously don’t plan on
publishing all of them, so that means you have to reject some, doesn’t it?”

“Some!” She emitted the famous
Farnsworth snort of amusement. “Let’s see, I’ve gotten more than a hundred
submissions so far with another week to go, and I have four open slots on this
year’s production schedule. So yes, I’m
rejectin

some.
Your point?”
She peered at me over the top of
her specs.

I considered the wisdom of what I
was about to say but decided to say it anyway. “You’ve told us quite a lot
about writers’ sensitive egos and general touchiness. Is it possible that one
of the ones you’ve rejected is vindictive enough to want to get even in some
way?”

May’s jaw dropped. “You have got
to be kidding me. For one thing, that’s just insane. For another, this is a
virtual business. I operated it in Atlanta, and it’s still registered in
Georgia, but now I’m
runnin
’ it here in Yankee
territory. I do almost everything on line and via email, so about ninety-eight
percent of these submissions are coming from people who have no idea in the
world where my office is, let alone where I live. Thank God,” she added almost
to herself. “Anyway, the idea of one of them creeping around my neighborhood in
the dark,
stuffin
’ bats through my window, is just
too …” and here she burst out laughing.

BOOK: Dirty Tricks: A Kate Lawrence Mystery
12.68Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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