The Death of Perry Many Paws (32 page)

Who had broken into our house and why? I was convinced someone had been in that house even though no one seemed to agree with me. And what was the meaning of the monogrammed handkerchief that suddenly appeared after the break-in. And then disappeared a few days later. I had no idea what kind of follow up I could do to try to figure out who broke into our house and why but I could do a more thorough search for the handkerchief. If Mycroft could open drawers I would suspect him of taking it. Just in case, I would look at all his hidey spots to see if the handkerchief made its way there.

My “suspects” list was rather pitiful. Syra was on there, of course. I wasn’t sure if I was convinced she was being secretive solely to protect Bing from learning about his parentage or if there were another motive involved. Syra’s mother and Franklin had been friends so maybe there was some old hurt that she finally felt needed righting. Maybe Franklin had been writing unflattering things about Hetty in his autobiography—assuming that is what he was writing. Once again, her motive could have been to protect Bing. Then there was Ryan and his friends. I didn’t think there was much of a motive there for premeditated murder. If Ryan had killed Franklin it would have been a spur of the moment thing. A prank gone very bad. Maybe Ryan got caught in Franklin’s cottage and panicked. I hoped it didn’t happen like that. It would be such a waste of a young life all because of a moment of panic.

Most likely Franklin was killed by someone unknown to me. An old enemy who would probably be in his or her 80s now. Or maybe someone cutting across our property at just the right moment to see Franklin in the cottage counting his money and figured he would be easy to rob. Franklin put up a fight and things went bad. Maybe Franklin recognized the would-be robber and the robber felt he needed to kill to protect himself.

I pushed my empty plate away and stirred the ice in my glass. I had three napkins full of scribbles and no answers. But somehow I felt much better listing everything out. After my confrontation with Syra I felt emboldened and less leery about questioning my friends to get answers. I added one more thing to my to-do list—talk to Policeman Donny. Not about Diane, of course, but about the investigation. Claudia had pawned the police off on Cam. Cam had listened to what they reported but hadn’t really questioned them. As a member of the family, didn’t I have the right to know what information they had? I would call and make an appointment to talk to Donny. But first I would need to find out his last name.

am woke up on Sunday morning with the urge to cook. I have never had this urge but I’ve heard it is a legitimate desire and we need to accept the fact that some people experience it. Cam has a hard time cooking for two, so he suggested we invite his friend John, the one he plays squash with and whose son is the second string quarterback at the high school. Cam had been going with John to the games in case his son played but so far no luck. John is delightful and fun and having dinner with him would be a treat. Unfortunately, if we invited John, good manners dictated that we invite his wife, Jingle. Her maiden name had been Bell and her parents thought that was cute. It had a nice ring to it but personally I would have saved it for my dog’s name. Her brother’s name was Liberty. The former Jingle Bell was now Jingle Sullivan and the whole thing didn’t make sense anymore. Obviously her parents had not been thinking ahead unless they had already picked out someone named Jangle for her to marry. That would have worked nicely.

I’m not overly picky about whom I associate with, but if I’m going to enjoy your company you must at least have a somewhat developed sense of humor. I’m not talking about sharply honed political wit or
New Yorker
cartoon humor. It doesn’t need to be real high brow. A good pratfall when you walk into my house is perfectly acceptable. The
problem with Jingle was that she had no sense of humor. DOA humor. Nothing. I would think that even if you weren’t born with the humor gene or nurtured by parents with a sense of humor, you would have developed some funny coping mechanisms to deal with a name like Jingle Bell. Not even in the most politically correct, mature, sensitive kindergarten class would you not have been made fun of with a name like that. Even the teacher probably made fun of her. Jingle was so literal that I wondered how many years it took her to realize she was not actually a bell but a little girl.

To make matters worse, when Cam called to invite John and Jingle he also invited their son, the wannabe quarterback. His name is John-Winston. There is actually a hyphen. You were expected to call him by both names. John-Winston this and John-Winston that. It’s annoying to listen to and more annoying to have to say. But you can’t spend the night trying to avoid saying two people’s names. I can sail through the evening cleverly avoiding addressing one person by their name but trying to do it with two people is just beyond me. So somewhere in the course of the evening I’m going to have to break down and say John-Winston and Jingle and I’d hate myself for it in the morning.

John-Winston is a handsome kid with manners that make me feel like a cavewoman. He’s always been mature beyond his years, is impeccably groomed and never seems to make a false move. If you put him next to Grace’s stepson Ryan you wouldn’t think you were even looking at two animals of the same species. We had the Sullivans over for a casual cookout last summer and two days later John-Winston sent me a thank you note and flowers. He’s sixteen. That’s just not normal. He seems a bit unreal, like the
Stepford Wives
.

When the doorbell rang at six o’clock sharp, I had to answer it because Cam was up to his elbows in dinner preparation. I took several deep breaths and reminded myself that this, too, shall pass. It would most likely pass very slowly, but it would pass. Jingle stood tentatively
on our front porch until I formally invited her into the house. Her hair was perfectly coiffed and stood out around her head like an auburn halo. Her makeup—and there was a lot of it—was expertly applied. She had a fresh manicure. Her perfume was light and floral. Her slacks were pressed and creased and hung exactly to the top of her shoes, obviously tailored because she was barely five feet tall. She weighed about 100 pounds dripping wet. Maybe less. She was probably close to my age but looked ten years younger. She smiled and handed me a big box of Godiva chocolates. Couldn’t fault her for that.

John-Winston followed her in and leaned down to give me a kiss on the cheek. That totally freaked me out. He’s not a relative. I barely know him. He’s sixteen. Creepy. I dodged it and shook his hand. He was dressed from head to toe—probably socks and underwear too—in J. Crew. I wish Cam dressed like this. I liked it. He was big, like his dad, but had skin like his mother’s, soft and pimple-free. Shouldn’t all sixteen-year-old boys have pimples? At least one or two? I think John-Winston found the rites of puberty too pedestrian, so skipped them altogether.

Finally John entered and gave me a big bear hug. I like John. He’s totally natural. He and Cam had been friends since high school. There were probably a lot of things John understood about Cam better than I did. Cam once told me that if he could have had a brother, it would have been John. If he’d been Cam’s brother maybe he would have had better taste in women. Or maybe not. In some ways Jingle reminded me of Claudia. Petite. Perfectly groomed. Perfectly mannered. Perfect pain in the ass.

Cam came rushing out of the kitchen to greet everyone and to pour wine while I passed around shrimp and crab pastries that Cam had made this morning while I was reading the Sunday paper. The guys talked about the high school football game yesterday and how John-Winston almost got to play. Apparently yesterday’s game was the
closest he’s gotten to getting off the bench all season. Jingle crossed her legs at the ankles and folded her hands in her lap, listening intently to every word John-Winston uttered. I sat with my feet up on the ottoman, not the coffee table, and began plotting my New Orleans novel. I was thinking that my heroine might be acquainted with a pirate and maybe create some sexual tension between them. It had to be subtle, though. I wasn’t writing a bodice ripper; this was going to be a historical mystery. I never understood the allure of bodice ripping. If I had a beautiful lace and silk bodice and some guy, in the throes of passion, began ripping at it, he’d better be prepared, once his throes had died down, to sew it back together. I reached for another shrimp pastry and noticed that everyone was looking at me expectantly. Uh-oh. Apparently I had the floor but I didn’t know what I was supposed to say. Cam came to my rescue.

“I think it should be within the next six months or so, isn’t that right, dear?” Behind everyone’s back Cam made the motions of opening a book. Someone must have asked me when the next Perry Many Paws book was coming out. I decided to not elaborate in case I was misreading the cues.

“Yes, that’s right, sweetheart.” Everyone nodded and went back to talking about high school football and John-Winston’s plans for college. I heard them mention something about a football scholarship and I wondered how one received a football scholarship when one never actually played in a game. Then I drifted back to my own thoughts.

I planned for my still-unnamed heroine to have a romantic interest in a man who had somehow retained his money after the Civil War and was building a thriving business in New Orleans. He and my heroine had been courting prior to her family losing everything. His family would no longer acknowledge the relationship but there was still some smoldering interest between the two young people. Yet, lingering in the background was the question, how had his family managed to hang
on to their money when everyone else lost theirs? Then there would be the French pirate who was totally unsuitable in all ways except that, in his own way, he was an honorable man. I’d also throw in an older wealthy man who was willing to take in the impoverished heroine and her entire family—for a price. Was she willing to pay it to restore her family to its previous status and wealth? She’d definitely toy with the idea. After all, he would be handsome and charming.

Everyone stood up and headed to the dining room so I assumed Cam had announced dinner. I had to pull myself together, or risk winning the “worst hostess ever” award. We didn’t have name cards (how gauche) so Jingle spent several minutes trying to arrange the seating so we would be boy-girl. There were only five people so it seemed like it could be resolved easily, except apparently it was proper not only to be boy-girl but also to mix up families for enhanced conversation. Once we were all seated to Jingle’s satisfaction Cam served dinner and conversation resumed.

I turned to John-Winston and, since I was looking directly at him, assumed I could ask him a question without addressing him by name. “Do you happen to know Ryan Kelly? He may be a year behind you in school.” I saw a flicker of distaste cross John-Winston’s face as he set down his utensils and turned to me.

“Yes, Mrs. Mack, I believe I know who you mean.”

“Do you have any classes together or spend any time with him? He’s the stepson of a friend of mine but I don’t know much about him.”

John-Winston nodded his head understandingly although what it was he understood was beyond me. “He’s a year behind me so we don’t have any classes together. I see him in the halls and the cafeteria once in a while, but I don’t believe I’ve ever spoken to him. He’s not interested in sports.”

“Yes, he doesn’t seem like the sports type from what little I’ve seen of him,” I agreed.

“I believe he comes from a broken home,” Jingle announced, lightly touching her napkin to her lips.

“He did, but he has two parents now. His home has, I suppose, been glued back together,” I clarified, perhaps a tad sarcastically. Jingle shook her head slowly, the professionally applied auburn highlights in her hair catching the light of the chandelier.

“I’m not sure a child ever fully recovers from a broken home, mended or not,” she replied. It was just like having Claudia to dinner. I wish Jingle had a sidekick like Sybil to lighten the mood. I guess that was John’s job.

Cam wisely changed the subject to funny things he and John had done in high school together. Jingle and John-Winston looked on with distaste. My mind wandered back to yesterday morning when I had been eating my bagel and reading the paper and thinking about Uncle Franklin. Something had come to mind that seemed important at the time. It was just before I looked at the calendar, noticed my doctor appointment and gone into a tailspin of activity. I felt I had lost an important thought. What was it? Something about sitting at the table, eating breakfast, enjoying the morning newspaper.