The Death of Perry Many Paws (11 page)

“Isn’t that going to get you into trouble? Don’t you need to deliver something on a deadline?” Syra asked.

“Tim’s being lenient because of the situation with Uncle Franklin. He thinks I’m not myself because I discovered the body. He’s right about that, although wrong about that being the reason I’m having trouble writing. But I’ll let him keep thinking along those lines as long as it gives me time.”

“But is time going to solve anything?” Grace asked. “I don’t think time is going to change your mind and it doesn’t seem like it will change Tim’s, either.”

“You’re right, but I just don’t want to think about it right now or write anymore, so it gives me time to forget about it temporarily.”

“I’ll just think about it another day— that’s what my mom used to call the Scarlett O’Hara solution,” Bing chimed in. “I do it all the time and it usually works.”

Like they had been pulled by a strong magnetic force, Grace’s and my eyes met. Bing went on to tell a story illustrating how the Scarlett O’Hara approach worked, while Grace and I both mouthed the word, “mother?” and carried on our own wordless conversation:

Bing does remember his mother
.

That means she was there when they were growing up
.

That also means they must know her name
.

So that means Syra was lying when she didn’t know who Hetty Foster was
.

I think we should show the picture to Bing
.

I agree. But how can we do it without Syra knowing?

I have no idea
.

I had a throbbing headache from having telepathic conversations with Grace. Now Grace was giving me the emphatic “look over there” eye signals and I glanced quickly at Syra. Perched at the edge of her chair, she had started fidgeting when Bing mentioned their mother. The sweater sleeve she was knitting was becoming shorter and shorter as she rhythmically pulled out stitches and stared at her brother, willing him to stop talking. Their telepathy was apparently not as well honed as mine and Grace’s because Bing just kept chatting away.

Suddenly Syra threw her knitting on the floor and yelled out, “What is the deal with that sweater, Diane? Why are you showing so much boob?”

Well, that was certainly a conversation stopper.

Diane’s head jerked from Bing to Syra and her hand flew up to her chest. Oh dear, this is it. The whole affair accusation is going to be out in the open in a minute and, although I longed to know what was going on with Diane and the cop, I definitely didn’t want to know it under these circumstances. Diane continued to stare at Syra and tears streaked down Syra’s face.

“I don’t see why you have to dress like that now,” she sniffed. “You know my situation.”

“Oh God, Syra. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean anything …”

“Then why do you have to dress like that now when you have never showed off your body before. I feel like you are flaunting your figure when I …”

Everyone jumped to Diane’s defense, assuring Syra that Diane didn’t mean anything by her outfit, that we all knew Diane better than that, that we all were more sensitive than that, that we all were more caring. Syra burst into tears. Diane burst into tears. Bing burst into tears. Even Mycroft began to whimper. I started counting my breathing, the exercise I use to bring me into the current moment. Then realized I didn’t want to be in the current moment and switched to my serenity scene to take me away from the current moment. I had almost escaped when Grace jumped up and announced, “Syra, it has nothing to do with you. Diane’s having an affair with the policeman and is wearing sexy clothes for him!”

Conversation stopper number two.

I was immediately wrenched out of my imaginary walk through the garden and back into reality. “Jesus, Grace,” was all I could say.

“Well, we all know something is going on,” Grace said. “I mean, well, don’t we?”

Bing shook his head. “I don’t.”

“Oh Bing, you’re clueless,” Grace countered. “The rest of us couldn’t help but notice Diane flirting with the cop and then talking about him all the time. It’s obvious something is going on …”

“Nothing is going on!” Diane denied, face flushed with anger. “What’s wrong with you? You’re supposed to be my friends. You all think this? Why is everyone against me?”

“No one’s against you, Diane,” I assured her. “It’s because we care about you that we’re worried you might be getting into something that …”

“I just told you nothing is going on! I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” She took a deep breath. “I have a new sweater. So what? Since when can’t we buy something new, and a little different? Why does this suddenly have to escalate into me being insensitive of Syra because she had a mastectomy or me having an affair? Can’t I just buy
something new without it having to
mean
something?” She grabbed her cardigan and yanked it back on. “If you want to talk about something suspicious, why don’t we talk about why Grace is living with Tamsen and why Ryan was at the police station yesterday talking to Donny.”

“Who said Ryan was at the police station? Why didn’t I know that?” Grace was back on her feet, looking around the room as if for the answer. Mycroft lumbered to his feet and began to sniff around. Awesome bloodhound.

Diane slapped her hand over her mouth so hard I was sure it would leave a red mark. “Oh my God. I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

“Well you have to say something now!” Grace looked like she was going to grab Diane by her new V-neck top and shake her. Syra and I both jumped up and ushered Grace back to her chair, patting her comfortingly on her back. For some reason, Bing continued to just sit there and cry.

“It’s just that Donny told me …”

“Who the hell is Donny? Oh yeah, that must be your boyfriend …” Grace rolled her eyes.

“He’s not my boyfriend! Do you want to hear or not, Grace? If you were living at home you’d know, because Hugh was at the police station with Ryan all afternoon yesterday. Do you even know what’s going on in your own family? Do you even care?”

“Of course I care!” Grace grabbed a pillow and began to sob into it. “It’s just so hard being a family. I don’t know how to do it.” I put my arm around Grace and hugged her and said soothing nothings until she calmed down. Syra blew her nose on a napkin and stuffed it in her purse. Diane had stopped crying and was just mad now, glaring at all of us. Mycroft’s sniffing expedition had ended in Bing’s crotch and Bing was absentmindedly petting the old hound while the tears continued to stream down his face.

“Diane, can you tell us what this Donny guy said? I assume he’s the policeman you are, uh, acquainted with.” I continued to pat Grace’s back while questioning Diane.

“Well, I’m not supposed to say anything. I lost my temper and it spurted out. But I guess it’s OK to tell because if Grace had been home she would have known …”

I shook my head. “Please don’t start that again, Diane.”

“OK. OK. All I know is that Ryan and Hugh went to the police station, on their own, and brought in a shirt of Ryan’s. It had human blood on it …”

“Oh God ...” Grace groaned.

“I don’t know what they talked about but they were there all afternoon and then they went home. That’s all I know.”

“No one was arrested?” I asked.

“No, they just talked.”

“See Grace, it’s not as bad as it sounded,” I tried to console her. “And it’s good that Ryan and Hugh went there on their own rather than having someone come pick them up for questioning. They are trying to do the right thing so it means there is a good reason for the blood, something that has nothing to do with Uncle Franklin.”

Diane cleared her throat. “Well, it is good that they went down there on their own with the shirt … but … well …”

“What?” I snapped.

“It was Franklin Behrends’ blood all over the shirt.”

Grace screamed and Bing burst into tears.

This was definitely the worst WOACA meeting we’d ever had.

Dinner was quite subdued that evening. After the meeting broke up, Grace starting calling both Hugh and Ryan and couldn’t reach them.
She’d driven over to the house but no one was home. In frustration she’d left phone messages and a note at her house and returned here in time for dinner. I hadn’t been grocery shopping in recent memory and even Cam, the most creative of cooks, was unable to produce a dinner out of what was sitting in our near-empty cupboards. We ordered in pizza and wings. I was starving. I didn’t need to take a test in a woman’s magazine to know I was an emotional eater. I’d had a brief conversation with Cam and filled him in on the disastrous WOACA meeting. We agreed not to bring up either Ryan or Hugh unless Grace did. Cam had found all his high school yearbooks so he had those at the table and we flipped through them, constantly wiping our hands on napkins between bites of pizza and page turning. While Cam was fervently looking for the boy named Close, Grace and I were checking out hairdos and making fun of the pictures of Cam.

“All these kids look so happy in these pictures,” Grace sighed. “I don’t remember seeing Ryan smile since his mother died. I’ve been a terrible stepmother.”

“He hasn’t really given you a chance,” Cam said. “He’s been in a depressed and hostile mood since you and Hugh married. It’s not you. Maybe the three of you could go for family counseling.”

“We should. I just hope we aren’t doing it in a jail cell.”

“Here he is! I found him pictured in the French Club photo. See?” Cam handed the book around and pointed at a skinny, sullen boy who could give Ryan some competition for most unhappy teenager. “His name is Sylvester. Sylvester Close.”

“He looks so sad,” I commented. “What was he like?

“I can’t remember much about him at all except that he wasn’t a whiz in gym class. If your name was Sylvester you wouldn’t be very happy either. What were his parents thinking?”

“Maybe it was his father’s name,” Grace offered. “But if it was, that leaves out the possibility that he’s Edmund Close’s son.

I continued flipping through the yearbook I’d been assigned and suddenly noticed something, “Uh, Cam …”

“Yeah?”

“If you look at the back of the yearbook, there’s an index for each person. It lists their school activities and the pages they appear on in the book. It’s faster than looking at each page and reading each name …”

“Damn. Why didn’t I notice that? OK. Everyone check their indexes to see if there are any other Closes listed.”

We all dutifully flipped to the back of the books and checked the indexes. The only Close any of us found was Sylvester. The French Club had been his only activity all through high school and he appeared in the club group picture and his class picture and nothing else.

“Was he voted most likely to do anything other than speak French?” I asked. “Who has his senior yearbook?”

“I have the senior year. Let’s see … oh look how cute Cam’s senior picture is! ‘Most likely to be Secretary of State’. Quite an honor, Cam,” Grace said. “Here’s Sylvester Close. Still not smiling. Maybe he didn’t have any teeth. ‘Most likely to bury us all.’ Yikes. That’s a little foreboding.”

“Most likely to bury us all? Oh my God, did they think he was some kind of serial killer?” I asked. “That is truly creepy. I think we need to find out what happened to him. Do you think he’s still in town? Do you think he had actually already killed someone by the time he graduated high school?” Cam took the book from Grace and looked at it. Grace and I shuddered and grabbed the last two chicken wings.

“Uh, Tamsen …”

“Yes, dear …”

“If you continue looking in the back of the book you’ll see ads from well wishers …”

“So?”

Cam pushed the book toward me and pointed to an ad on the last page:

Best wishes to the class of 1976 from the Close Funeral Home

For some reason we all thought this was hysterical and were still laughing when all the dishes were cleared from the table and Grace’s phone rang. She excused herself and went into the living room to answer it. Cam and I rinsed dishes and loaded the dishwasher. After we had finished, I remembered that all the dishes in there were clean and I had forgotten to unload it. We ran it anyway. Cam filled three bowls with chocolate macadamia nut ice cream and we headed for the library and waited for Grace to join us. She looked tired but smiled gratefully when I handed her the dish. We let her eat a couple bites in peace and then couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Was that Hugh? What’s going on?”

Grace nodded and put down her bowl. Her spoon fell to the floor and no one noticed except Mycroft who reached out a paw and pulled the spoon to his mouth. “That was Hugh. They’re home now and saw my note and got all my phone messages. He apologized for not telling me what was going on but Ryan made him promise not to until they got home. It was part of the agreement that persuaded him to go to the station and talk to Officer Donny.”

“Diane’s friend.”

“I think so.”

“So what precipitated this trip to the station in the first place?” Cam asked. “I’m assuming the shirt started the whole thing …”

“Exactly, and things snowballed from there. Hugh took the shirt in to the University to have it tested by his friend in the Biology Department. That guy reported to Hugh that it was human blood and
Hugh freaked out. Between Hugh and Ryan there is a lot of freaking out that goes on …”