The Case of the Invisible Dog (5 page)

“I will make this as short as I can. I suppose you have noticed that Shirley is
rather…unusual?”
I nodded my head. “Shirley has been under my care for many years now. I am her psychiatrist.”

“Okay,” I said, surprised. Shirley didn't seem to have any awareness whatsoever that there was anything the slightest bit wrong with her.

“I suppose you are wondering what I'm doing here?” she asked with a half smile as she crossed her legs and folded her hands on top of her lap, kind of like she was settling in for a long chat, not the short visit she'd promised just a minute ago.

“Yes,” I said. “I mean, is it okay for you to be talking to me about her? Isn't it all supposed to be confidential?” I shuddered at the thought of Phil McGuire talking to anyone I knew about anything that I had ever said to him. I kept a lot hidden, but still. I had told him enough.

“Normally that's true. Shirley is, shall we say, a special case. There are reasons for my being here. Reasons that serve to protect her. Let me ask you this. Does Shirley seem to be under any sort of delusion? Anything that I should be concerned about?”

I hesitated. It wasn't as if Shirley was trying to hide it, what with the clothes and the hat and the way she talked. “Well,” I said. “I'm not sure exactly how it works in her head. But she seems to have some kind of an obsession with Sherlock Holmes.”

“In what way?”

“In every way. Right down to the stupid hat.”

“Has she said anything to you about why she has this particular obsession?”

“No.”

“Ah.” Dr. Morgan stared at me for a moment and then looked away, deep in thought. “I think that there is something you need to know, even though some might say I'm violating patient
confidentiality,”
she said before turning back to look at me again. “However, Shirley is no longer under my care and was not so when she confided in me. I have been thinking of closing up my practice for some time anyway, and her well-being is more important to me than the risk of losing my license.” Dr. Morgan took a deep breath and rearranged her legs before proceeding. “Shirley believes that she has finally discovered the truth about herself, and she believes that this
truth
explains everything and makes me unnecessary. After receiving her brief letter informing me of this, I went to visit her to find out why she thought she no longer needed to see me. Shirley told me she has discovered that she is the great-great-granddaughter of Sherlock Holmes.”

“Discovered how?” I asked, as I absorbed this new piece of information, which sounded worse than my idea that she was just trying to imitate him.

“
That
she did not share with me.”

“But…how could she think she was the great-great-granddaughter of a fictional character? That doesn't make any sense.”

“He is real to her.” Dr. Morgan uncrossed her legs and folded her hands, squeezing them together as she spoke. “Of course it isn't all that unusual for individuals to believe that great characters from literature are real. They become part of our collective imagination.”

“But that wouldn't make it normal to believe that you're the great-great-granddaughter of Scrooge, or Robin Hood, or Romeo and Juliet.”

“Perhaps. But is being ‘normal' all that wonderful?” Dr. Morgan asked wistfully.

I had so many answers to that. But all I said was, “I don't know. I guess it's just better than being crazy.”

“I'm sorry. I don't mean to be glib.” Dr. Morgan looked down and stared at her hands for a moment before suddenly unclasping them as if she had just become aware of how tightly she'd been squeezing them together. “I guess I'm trying to put the situation in a positive light because I am actually very concerned. Does Shirley actually think that she's the great-great-granddaughter of Sherlock Holmes? Or is it just a game that she's having at our expense? That's why I would like you to keep an eye on her for me.” Dr. Morgan opened up the brown leather purse she'd set beside her on the couch and pulled a business card from the side pouch. “Let me give you my card. It has all my numbers. If her behavior seems to become—”

“Look, Dr. Morgan,” I interrupted before this went any further, “if Shirley really believes that she's the great-great-granddaughter of Sherlock Holmes, I don't know if I can keep working for her. Do you know what we're doing tonight? We're going to sneak around some guy's backyard looking for an invisible dog.”

“An invisible dog?” she asked, startled, momentarily losing her composed expression.

“Okay, that part isn't crazy. It's kind of a long story, but she somehow managed to get this client—”

“She has a client?”

“Yes, and he…That doesn't matter. The point is, I don't think I'm cut out for this.”

“Oh, but you are!” Dr. Morgan exclaimed. “You're perfect. You're exactly what Shirley needs. Someone grounded and down to earth.”

“I barely know her. If you're this concerned, shouldn't you talk to someone in her family?”

“That…would not be a good idea. Not unless absolutely necessary. There is only her sister, Myra, and their relationship is…no. Tammy, this may sound strange to you, but there is a chance that this Sherlock Holmes fixation may actually end up
helping
Shirley. She is gifted with a great imagination and many talents, but she has always had trouble finding her place in the world. Some of the greatest people in history have had similar difficulties.

“I can't give you the specific details of her life. That
would
be a violation of her privacy. But the fact that she has managed to create that office and that little world for herself…she's never found anything to truly absorb her attention. Add that to the fact that she has talked someone into letting her take a case—well, maybe we're all a little bit crazy. But it isn't hurting anyone, is it? Maybe it's what she needs for now. A chance to act out her little fantasy until it runs its course.”

“I don't know,” I said. “I'll have to think about this. I don't know if I can go in there day after day pretending that she's the great-great-granddaughter of Sherlock Holmes,” I said, thinking it was too bad I was so attached to food, clothing, shelter, and DVDs. Otherwise the decision would be an easy one.

“But you will go with her tonight? Let her enjoy an hour or two of acting out this fantasy of hers?” Dr. Morgan asked fervently. “It is one thing to imagine the world of Sherlock Holmes; it will be something else to live it. There's a very good chance that she may discover that it's not at all what she expected. And if this is nothing more than a game for her, then I would wager that tonight's little adventure will satisfy her and be the end of it.”

Her eyes stared at me hopefully as she clutched her purse. I had sort of planned on calling Shirley in a little bit with some excuse as to why I couldn't go with her tonight. But if it would mean that much to her…it had been a long time since I'd felt as if I could do myself any good, let alone anyone else. And wandering around someone's backyard for an hour probably wouldn't kill me.

The pizza guy was due any minute. There was a new Sara Lee coconut cake in the refrigerator going to waste. And those two terrible DVDs starring people I hated weren't going to watch themselves.

“Okay,” I said so Dr. Morgan would go away and leave me to my simple pleasures. “I guess I can do that much.”

It was dark and quiet by the time I left my apartment. I'd thrown my wallet, compact, some protein bars, a flashlight, and a bottle of water into a canvas tote bag, which I tossed into the backseat of my car. Based on my extensive knowledge of thrillers and spy movies, I was dressed from head to toe in black for my nighttime mission: black jeans; black loafers; a black turtleneck; and a warm, black hoodie. I had actually toyed with the idea of smudging some black charcoal on my forehead, nose, and cheeks, but decided that was probably overkill.

When I arrived in downtown Springville the only light I saw, besides the one from the Highlight Bar, was the light shining from Shirley's office. I grabbed my keys and left the tote bag behind, and kept a good watch around me as I made my way from my car to the back stairs. It was spooky being out there by myself at that time of night, and I jumped at every little sound I heard.

I carefully made my way up, glancing around as I went. When I had made it about halfway, I heard voices coming from inside the office. It sounded as if Shirley was having an argument with someone. Since I had never seen another person cross our doorstep besides myself and Shirley and Matt (who I was pretty sure would never make another appearance), I couldn't imagine who she was talking to. I didn't want to barge in if it was something personal, and after my conversation with Dr. Morgan I was half afraid it might turn out to be Shirley arguing with no one but herself, so I stopped to listen.

“I tell you, everything has been arranged!” Shirley exclaimed loudly.

“Arranged?” a woman shrieked with a sneering tone. “How many times have I heard that before?”

Everything was
arranged
? What exactly did that mean?

“You will lose this bet,” I heard Shirley say loudly and forcefully. “Your mockery is misplaced. This is
not
like the other times!”

“And how many times have I heard
that
before, too?” The woman let out a short, bitter laugh. “These little games that you
arrange
always end in disaster.”

“The joke has gone too far. This is not a game,” Shirley said in a lowered tone that I had to strain to hear. “I had hoped you would see the difference.”

It was silent for a moment, and as I stood there
wondering—again—what
I had gotten myself into, and debating whether I should run like hell as far away from Shirley Homes as my legs would take me, I heard footsteps stomp noisily toward the door. Before I could turn around or back away the door was suddenly flung open, and Shirley stood there in the doorway waving her cane toward me.

“Any moment now,” she exclaimed, “my assistant, Tammy, will be walking up these stairs and—” Shirley stopped abruptly midsentence and did a double take as she spotted me.

“Hi,” I said as casually as I could, giving her a smile and a small wave. “I'm not late, am I?” I asked nonchalantly, trying to give the impression that I had just arrived and hadn't heard a thing.

“On the contrary,” Shirley said, as a triumphant smile spread across her face. “You could not have timed it any better. See!” she exclaimed, pointing at me with her cane and then looking back over her shoulder. “I told you she would be here. Come in, Tammy. I was just telling my sister, Myra, all about you. She seems to think that you sound too good to be true,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “And yet here you are, in the flesh.”

Shirley stepped back and I went up the last two steps and walked into the office, curious to meet Shirley's sister, especially after my conversation with Dr. Morgan and her reluctance to talk to Myra. And now it was my turn to do a double take. It was hard enough to believe that there was one Shirley Homes in the world; now I saw that there were two. The only noticeable difference between them physically was that while Shirley was model thin, Myra was extremely overweight. Shirley wore her standard dark pants, white shirt and plaid jacket, while her sister was dressed completely in bright purple, including a huge pair of lightly tinted purple glasses that made her flashing eyes seem twice as large.

“Unbelievable,”
Myra said with a sneer, looking me slowly up and down, and under her gaze I started to feel ridiculous for the way I was dressed, as if looking for an invisible dog in the middle of the night was a legitimate, serious undertaking. “You have actually found another person to help in this ridiculous charade. Unless this is all just…Tammy? Where is it that you and my sister are going this evening?”

“Myra,” Shirley said with quiet severity. “Now you are beyond merely insulting me. I have never lied to you.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps I have just never caught you at it. I repeat, Tammy, where are you and my sister going this evening?”

“To look for an invisible dog,” I said simply, because…well, there was really no other way to put it. And I had a sudden desire to put Myra in her place.

“Amazing,” she said, peering at me through her glasses. “Well, I guess that explains the outfit. Myra Homes,” she added in a slightly aggressive tone, thrusting out her hand to envelop mine in a fleshy grip.

“Tammy Norman,” I replied, wincing slightly as she squeezed my hand. “It's nice to meet you.”

“Is it?” she asked with raised eyebrows. “We shall see.” Myra mercifully released my hand and after one last penetrating gaze and a shake of her head, turned back toward Shirley. “I guess I will leave you to it, then.”

“Oh, you don't get off that easily, Myra,” Shirley said with a much lighter tone as she closed the door. “I believe we had a small wager, did we not?”

“Yes, we did,” Myra said, still looking at me like I was some kind of medical specimen. “You shall have your gift in the morning. A brand-new copy of
Berringer's Complete Guide to the Herbs and Teas of Ancient Mesopotamia.
”

“Not a gift, Myra,” Shirley said smugly. “A gift does not have to be earned.”

“Touché. I'll have your well-deserved reward here first thing in the morning.”

“Better make it an afternoon visit. We might have a late night ahead of us.”

“Not too late, I hope,” I said, trying to sound lighthearted but already feeling that sense of dread that was soon to become my constant companion.

“We can always hope,” Shirley said with an impish grin. “But you should know that these little adventures of ours will often lead us down unpredictable paths. Come, Tammy, it's time we were on our way. Myra, I trust you can lock up after us?”

“Of course. And good luck with your
invisible
dog.”

“It won't be a matter of luck, Myra,” Shirley told her as she pulled a long black woolen jacket off the coatrack and put it on. “I have never relied on luck.” Then she pulled that plaid cap out of one of her coat pockets and straightened it with a flourish before placing it firmly on top of her head. It was the first time she had worn it in front of me, and it made her appear—there's honestly no nice way to put
this—absolutely
ridiculous. Anyone looking at her would immediately know that she was some sort of Sherlock Holmes impersonator. As I watched her button her coat I was now very grateful that it was pitch black outside, and that she hadn't also taken out a pipe to puff on. “Come along, Tammy,” Shirley demanded as she grabbed the brown cane out of the umbrella stand, “before our invisible dog disappears into the night.”

“I hope you know what you're getting yourself into,” Myra whispered as Shirley marched out of the office with her cane and started down the stairs.

“I do,” I whispered back, feeling suddenly protective of Shirley.

“You know she's an absolute cuckoo bird, right?”

“I'm not sure I'd put it quite like that,” I said, wincing at Myra's callous words and attitude.

“I don't take any pleasure in saying that,” Myra added smugly. “But I hate to see you get sucked into one of her little games without knowing what you're in for.”

“Tammy!” Shirley yelled from the bottom of the stairs. “Are you coming?”

“Coming,” I called back and then turned toward Myra. “And what am I in for?” I whispered.

“Tammy!” Shirley bellowed impatiently from below.

“Nothing. You'd better go,” Myra said, her look of condescension replaced by a more thoughtful expression. “And good luck,” she added, giving my shoulder an awkward pat as Shirley called out for me once more.

I took a deep breath, and then made my way down the stairs as fast as I could.

“Tammy!” Shirley barked, tapping her cane impatiently on the sidewalk. “You know how much I value your help, and I do appreciate the sacrifice you're making this evening by missing your regular television viewing. But you cannot keep me waiting. When you are upstairs and I am downstairs calling for you, then you must hurry. People are depending on us. Sometimes the fate of a person's life can change in a matter of seconds.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled. It wasn't easy to stand there being lectured by someone wearing that ridiculous hat.

“We'll say no more about it. Come. We must find some means of
transportation,
and it won't be easy. The streets seem to be deserted this evening.” Considering her appearance and the way she kept twirling her brown cane, I was very grateful for that fact.

“I have a car,” I said, pointing at my little white Camry parked in front of Hobson's Bakery, inches away from where we were standing, and the only car visible in either direction.

“Excellent, Tammy, excellent. Is it by any chance this little white car parked in front of Hobson's Bakery?”

“Yes.”

“Exactly as I thought. Simply a matter of observation and deduction. While standing here I noted that the white car in front of Hobson's Bakery had been parked in a somewhat haphazard manner, indicating the driver is either unskilled at parallel parking, in a hurry for an appointment of some kind, or both. Your flustered expression when I found you on the stairs outside the office, combined with your inquiry as to whether or not you were late, quite logically led me to the conclusion that this is, indeed, your car. I shall not presume, however, to make any assumptions regarding the skill that you may or may not possess as a parallel parker when given sufficient time to complete the task. And speaking of time, I think we need to be on our way. I believe our invisible dog shall find that he has interrupted the sleep of our Matt Peterman for the last time!”

Five minutes later we were on our way to Matt Peterman's house. He didn't live far from Shirley's office. Springville is a small town, and, like much of North Carolina, it finds itself caught between the past, the present, and the future. There are still some family farms on the outskirts of town, but they're starting to disappear as the population grows. Merilee Community College borders the northwest side of town. Built in the late 1800s, with ivy-covered brick buildings and two large white columns in front of the administration building, it has been used as the backdrop for a couple of movies that were filmed here while I was in L.A. The irony does not escape me.

The downtown area is struggling, like most small downtowns, and the business owners do their best to bring in customers with specialty shops, cafés, and boutiques. The historic city hall building was refurbished before the recession hit, and a new recreation center was added. During the summer there is a farmers' market three mornings a week in the town square, and on Friday nights they have concerts and art fairs.

When I was in high school I could hardly wait to leave, but now that I'm back, I've started to grow very fond of Springville and I appreciate how it's held on to many of its small-town roots. I got really tired of living in Archerville when I was with Wayne. It's only about fifteen minutes away down the interstate, but growing so fast that it often took me twenty minutes to crawl through all the intersections once I got on the off-ramp to head home.

Following the directions that Shirley gave me, I headed down Broad Street, toward the south end of town. We passed the
Springville Voice
office and a few small businesses before entering the residential area. The first three blocks on the left-hand side were taken up by the town cemetery, which is truly beautiful. Now that it was early spring, a lot of the grave sites were decorated with bouquets of daffodils instead of the plastic flowers many people use during the winter.

“That is what gives me hope for humanity, Tammy,” Shirley said, pointing over at the cemetery as we passed by.

The fact that sooner or later every member of humanity died? That's what gave her hope? And I thought
my
outlook on life was bleak.

“I am,” Shirley continued, “as you have probably realized by now, a person who values human intelligence above all else. Human emotions are, for the most part, puzzling to me. They are so often irrational and lacking in basic common sense. And yet I am aware that it is the emotions behind a case that will sometimes provide the most vital clues. That is where your assistance will be most valuable. Your mind may be commonplace and ordinary, but you are a person who understands the human heart. I use the word heart as a metaphor, of course, since its only real function is to pump blood through our veins.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, feeling my jaw start to clench. Besides the stress of having to pretend that her behavior was perfectly normal, I was also getting tired of Shirley telling me that I had a commonplace mind.

“But flowers on a
gravestone—take
a right at the next street—the sight of them always moves me. I believe that I do understand the impulse that places them there. And I admire it. In spite of everything, no matter how much people have suffered, the human race has never lost its fundamental faith that there is a grand design behind the trivia of our daily lives. Some people mock faith; I believe having it takes courage. The case for God is one that shall never be supported by any solid evidence.”