Dirty Tricks: A Kate Lawrence Mystery (9 page)

“Hear, hear,” I affirmed. “
Strutter
and I took a shine to you about thirty seconds
after meeting you, so I vote for throwing that theory right out the window,
May. Something is going on, that seems clear, and we need to get to the bottom
of it so you can enjoy your new home and your houseguest in peace. Right after
that, we’re going to make getting you acquainted with your new neighbors a
priority, like maybe throwing you a housewarming party they’ll never forget.
How does that sound?”

May managed a
quavery
smile and dabbed at her eyes with a napkin.
 
“That sounds wonderful, frankly, and the best part
is
knowing
somebody is in my corner on this.
 
I can’t tell you how pitiful I was beginning
to feel, but victim is not a role I’m willing to play. Thank you so much, both
of you. Now I’m getting out of your hair and going to work.”

Seven

On Thursday morning we all got to
the Law Barn early. I’d called
Strutter
the previous
evening to fill her in, and she and Margo and I pulled our cars into the lot
within a minute of each other, exchanging sheepish grins as we registered the
presence of May’s sedan near the door.

“Guess we all had the same
thought,
checkin
’ up on Auntie May,” Margo
acknowledged, obviously relieved. “Thanks, partners.”

“Your aunt has become our friend,
too,”
Strutter
pointed out, inserting her key into
the lock on the front door and pushing with her shoulder. The door creaked
open. “We need to get some oil on these hinges. It sounds like the
Inner Sanctum
.”

“Besides, I need some good coffee
for a change. May has spoiled me for my own brew,” I chimed in.

“How do you know about
Inner Sanctum,
Strutter
?”
Margo asked. You’re too young to remember that old radio show. The only reason
I do was a local station in Atlanta carried reruns one summer. They were so
scary my parents wouldn’t allow me to listen to them, so of course, I hid in my
closet with my little radio and a flashlight and gave myself the willies every
chance I got.”

We trooped into the lobby and were
reassured by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the sight of May at her
desk, computer glasses firmly on her nose. As we clattered in, she looked up
and beamed at us. “Getting an early start,” she quipped, “or are you just eager
for the latest installment in my adventures?”

Margo’s smile wavered for just a
second before she clamped it back into place. “Is there a latest installment,
Auntie May?”

May regarded her niece fondly and
got up from her desk to give her a quick hug. “As a matter of fact, there is
not. Isn’t that a nice way to start the day? And I have an idea on how to end
it, with cocktails and canapés in my freshly painted, newly renovated, totally
adorable house. What do you say, ladies?”

We agreed enthusiastically before
grabbing coffee, hoisting our bulging briefcases and plunging into what turned
out to be a hectic day.

The hours flew by in a whirlwind
of phone calls, showings, document processing, client meetings and other normal
Thursday activities. The pace broke only twice, once for a quick lunch of
microwaved
soup and later for the ten minutes it took
Strutter
to show a couple of prospects the upstairs space
at the Law Barn.

“Not interested, huh?” I
sympathized when she trudged back down to our office far too soon.

“Oh, they liked it all right, said
it was charming and roomy and nicely located, but they quickly decided it was
far too big for their needs. We’re going to have to get Benny to think about
subdividing up there.”

Benny was our landlord, and I had
a feeling
Strutter
was right. I’d gotten the same
reaction from other lookers.

At a few minutes after five, I
switched the office phone over to our answering service, and we followed May
through the creaking front door to the parking lot. “Add oiling the hinges to
Benny’s to-do list,” I told
Strutter
as we headed to
our respective cars.

As our little caravan made its way
up Old Main Street and across the Silas Deane Highway, I admired the foliage
and well-tended gardens in the fading autumn sunshine. In a few short weeks
Daylight Savings Time would end, and we would be plunged into the early
darkness most of us dreaded. No matter how many years we’d already experienced
it, the transition always affected everything from how well we slept to when we
accomplished our errands, most of us opting to scurry to the warmth and light
of our homes at day’s end rather than negotiate commuter traffic in the dark.
Doing so was inescapable for a few months and was made more odious by freezing
cold and assorted precipitation, but we did what we could to mitigate the
awfulness during the first weeks of the time change.

At Wolcott Hill Road, the first of
two long streets that ran along the highest ridges of our hilly town, we turned
left and performed a short series of turns that led us to Wheeler Road.
 
After a couple of short blocks, the pre- and
post-World War II houses on small lots curved appealingly around a circular
cul-de-sac that boasted a small green and a carefully tended maple tree. It was
a neighborhood that had seen more than a couple of generations come and
go.
 
In the standard real estate cycle of
the past, couples moved in, raised their families and often ended their days in
the snug bungalows and Cape Cod-style cottages, at which point the houses
changed hands, and the cycle began again. That wasn’t the case with the big
four-bedroom, two-and-a-half bathroom houses constructed in the last couple of
decades. Those changed hands as soon as the kids were grown and gone, and Mom
and Pop downsized.

May’s house was a charming Cape
Cod with an attached garage. When she’d first seen it, Margo told me, she’d
been stunned by the fact that the garage and house didn’t have a connecting
door. “What’s the point of
havin
’ an attached garage
if you have to lug your groceries through the rain and snow?” she had
spluttered, and that alteration had been among the first on her to-do list for
the contractors once her purchase was completed. Now, after pulling into the
garage and waiting for Margo,
Strutter
and me to line
our cars up in the driveway, she waved us up three stairs to the door that
opened directly into her pretty little dining room.

“I know it’s a little odd to have
an exterior door in the dining room,” she admitted, “but short of moving the
garage, what else could I do? And now, ladies, feast your eyes on my beautiful
new home.”

She turned the doorknob and opened
it for about half a second. A loud, canine snarl stopped her cold. She quickly
pulled the door shut and took half a step backward.

“You have a dog?” Margo asked in
disbelief. She was on the small landing behind May and turned to share this
astounding news with
Strutter
and me on the stairs.
“You’re not even comfortable around my wonderful Rhett and Sassy.”

“I do not have a dog. At least I
didn’t have one when I left the house this morning,” May huffed. She appeared
lost in thought. “The thing is, how
did they get
the
dog in here?” she said almost to herself.

“How did who get the dog in there?
Who are you
talkin
’ about, Auntie May?”

May flapped her hands at us in a
shooing motion, and we obediently retreated down the stairs to allow her to
pass us.

“Whatever you do, don’t open that
door. I have a bone to pick, no pun intended, with one of my lovely new
neighbors. I’ll be right back.”

“
Ohhh
,
no you don’t,” we all chorused, and
Strutter
spoke
for the rest of us. “We’re coming with you, and don’t even bother protesting.
If someone in this neighborhood is deliberately harassing you, we want to know
about it. More to the point, we want
them
to know we know about it and are not pleased, to put it mildly.” She put her
arm around May’s shoulders and looked at Margo and me, who were nodding in
agreement.

“Just think of us as your goons
for hire. Lead on, May,” I confirmed.

Our odd little procession followed
May down her driveway, where she stopped for a moment to reconnoiter. Then she
abruptly turned right and marched across one edge of the little circle to a
house three removed from her own. It was set farther back than the others on
the circle and was somewhat screened by a couple of tall oaks to one side of
its driveway. May proceeded directly to the front door and pressed the bell
firmly as we waited on the street, trying to look as if we meant business. Not
receiving an answer right away, she rang the doorbell again, this time leaning
on the button for an extra second. No answer.

May came back to where we were
standing. “The dog in my dining room lives in this house, I’m sure of it. He’s
a barker, which annoys me mightily, so I’ve had occasion to scout out the
source of the ruckus.” She glared out at the street, trying to figure out her
next move. “I suppose I could call the police,” she said finally.

“If it comes to that, I’ll call
John,” Margo assured her. “The animal control officer will be gone for the day,
but John is wonderful with dogs. I’m sure he could
wrangle
this one for you.”

As we continued to debate, a
well-worn Honda sedan drove around the circle, slowed and pulled past us into
the driveway. Its driver, a harassed-looking blonde on the far side of forty,
peered at us in confusion before getting out of the car. She opened the rear
door to unbuckle a small girl and collect a sack of groceries.

“Can I help you with something?”
she called, nudging the door shut and beeping the car locked. I noticed the
house did not have a garage. The little girl ran past us to the front porch,
waiting for her mother to unlock the door. As soon as she had done so, the
child yanked it open and disappeared inside. “I’ll be in shortly, Beth,” the
woman called after her. She deposited her groceries inside the door and walked
toward us with obvious reluctance, probably fearing religious proselytizers or
local political campaigners at what must be the end of a long workday.

May
stepped
away from the rest of us to meet her halfway. “I’m afraid I don’t know your
name, since we haven’t met, but I’m your new neighbor,
Maybelle
Farnsworth.” I noticed she did not offer to shake hands. “I’m here because your
dog seems to be tied up in my dining room, and he isn’t happy about it. Neither
am I, since he seems unwilling to allow me to enter my own house. I need you to
come and get him. After that, I’d like to know how he got into my house and
why.”

The blonde gaped at May for a
moment before looking to the rest of us for confirmation.

“It’s true,” Margo assured her.
“Big
fella
, brown, likes to bark. Sound familiar?”

“It does sound like Duke, but it
can’t be him. He’s in his pen in the back yard. My son put him there this
morning before school.” She headed down the driveway to the rear of the house
with us trailing after her. A large, chain link pen under yet another oak tree
took up about half the back yard, but no dog was in evidence, and the gate,
complete with dangling padlock, hung open.

“Oh, dear, Rudy must have
forgotten to lock it. But how on earth did Duke wind up in your house?”

“That’s the jackpot question, all
right. Perhaps you could ask Rudy about it.” May turned on her heel and stalked
back to the front yard. “After you collect your dog, that is,” she threw over
her shoulder as she continued back to her house.

Still confused, the woman joined
Strutter
, Margo and me, and the four of us followed in
May’s footsteps.

“Sorry about Auntie May’s temper,”
Margo offered as we trudged along. “She’s usually the most gracious woman I
know. I’m her niece Margo, and these are my business partners, Kate Lawrence
and Strut … uh, Charlene Putnam. We own Mack Realty down on Old Main Street. In
fact, we handled the purchase of May’s house, although I think all of us are
beginnin
’ to regret it.”

“Carla Peterson,” the blonde
offered distractedly. “My children and I have lived here for two years since my
divorce from their father.
With Duke, of course.
I
inherited him as part of the divorce settlement,” she added with bitterness.
“My ex-husband knew Rudy would be miserable without him, so if I wanted full custody
of the kids, he said, it had to be a package deal.” She sighed as we followed
May up her driveway and back into the garage, where May gestured for Carla to
go up the short flight of stairs to the connecting door into the house.

“Go right on in, if you think he
won’t tear your head off. I’m not so sure about me.”

Carla managed a tight smile. “Oh,
Duke’s just a big fraud, all bark and no bite. That’s what makes him a good
watchdog, I guess.” She turned the knob and opened the door, sticking her head
inside to a chorus of growls and barks. “Duke, stop it now! You know perfectly
well who I am.”

The dog settled immediately, and
Carla let herself through the door without hesitation. Soon her soothing words
mingled with a few poor-me doggie whimpers, and she emerged with Duke on a
leash. The dog lunged down the stairs, dragging her after him, and ran onto
May’s front lawn, where he raised a leg and relieved himself mightily.

That done, Carla
dropped the leash and ordered, “Home, Duke!
Go home.” Without waiting
for a second invitation, the dog tore across the intervening properties and
down Carla’s driveway to his pen, tail between his legs and dragging his leash.
We watched him go. “The poor thing has been tied to your dining room table leg
all day long, but he was a perfect gentleman. No matter how badly he had to go,
he didn’t make a mess. At least that’s something I don’t have to apologize for.
There seems to be plenty of other things, though.”

She squared her shoulders and
looked each of us in the eye in turn. “Ms. Farnsworth, I’m Carla Peterson, and
the first thing I’d like to apologize for is not coming over here and
introducing my children and me properly weeks ago.” She extended a hand to May,
who gave it a perfunctory clasp. Clearly, she was not mollified. “It’s been an
especially hectic time for us. It’s end-of-year closing where I work. I’m an
accountant,” she added in an aside to the rest of us, “and September is always
hell. Then to add to the fun, Rudy’s soccer team qualified for the regional
play-offs and then the state championship, so I’ve been arranging rides and
doing a lot of driving myself. Team sports are great for the kids but not for
the parents, I’ve discovered.”