The Wicked Flea (9 page)

The officer paid no attention, mainly because she was busy talking into a mobile phone.

“Pia, shut up!” Sylvia ordered.

“I can’t believe she’s a cop,” Pia went on. The leash had finally been passed to her. As she snapped it on Zsa Zsa’s collar, she asked rhetorically, “Does she look like a cop? No! How was anyone supposed to know? She never said she was a cop. Did she?”

“Certainly not,” declared Ceci, who, of course, hadn’t witnessed the beginning of the episode. “She just went running up to Sylvia and made a
very
threatening move toward Zsa Zsa, and then she lost her balance and fell. No one assaulted anyone.”

Stepping forward, Noah tried to take charge and restore peace. “Officer, there seems to have been a misunderstanding. Let’s try to get this straightened—” The cop cut him off. “There’s no misunderstanding. What there is, is assault on a police officer.”

Sidling up to me, Wilson whispered, “What a fiasco! Sylvia
did
push her. For heaven’s sake, don’t mention this to Mrs. Waggenhoffer! I suppose I’d better go call a lawyer. Except there’s probably one here. Do you think I should ask?”

The notion struck me as ridiculous.
Is there a lawyer in the park?
“Ceci, I think we should leave,” I said.

“Walk out on Sylvia?
Abandon
her?” Ceci was aghast. “Holly, I’m surprised at you! Are you feeling all' right? We can’t just run off. After all, we’re witnesses!”

Although it seemed only seconds ago that the officer had summoned help, a siren wailed, and a cruiser sped into the park and came to a halt near my Bronco. The owners whose dogs were still loose got busy retrieving and leashing their animals. A few people joined the circle around Sylvia and the cop. The sensible ones strolled casually off. I envied them. Meanwhile, two uniformed men leaped out of the cruiser, which they left with its lights flashing and front doors open, and made a dash to assist their fellow officer. Like everything else about the incident, the response seemed disproportionate to the trivial nature of Sylvia’s crime, if she’d even committed one. The only law I’d seen her break was the leash law. Was it illegal to call a cop a moron and a bitch? I didn’t think so. It was possible that Sylvia had pushed or maybe tripped the runner without knowing that the woman was a cop, but she hadn’t socked her in the jaw, pulled a gun, or otherwise committed an act of violence. Yet here she was, in handcuffs! Under arrest! Here in this pretty park in the Safest City in America. Weirdly enough, instead of normalizing the events, the presence of the uniformed cops only added to the sense of unreality. For one thing, the guys in uniform were incredibly handsome, with movie star looks too good to be real. Both were young and tall, with broad shoulders. One had short blond hair and fair skin, and the other, as if chosen by a casting director as the perfect foil, had short black hair and espresso-dark skin.

“One of the nice things about Newton,” Ceci commented smugly, “is that it’s always such a pleasure to call the police, not in
this
instance, really, but our police are so handsome that it can’t be an accident, can it? The world is full of ordinary-looking people, so you’d think the police in Newton would be ordinary-looking people, too, but they’re not, obviously, and it’s nice to see that affirmative action hasn’t changed things, has it!”

As Ceci babbled, the uniformed men, however handsome, led a protesting Sylvia to the cruiser. The reality of her predicament was now apparent to her and to everyone else. The anger had left her face, which was pale and tearful. Still, she had the presence of mind to shout instructions to Wilson and Pia about calling a lawyer and meeting her at the police station.

“We’ll be there, too!” Ceci impulsively promised at full volume. “Holly, we need to go there right away so poor Sylvia doesn’t have to face this trauma all alone. Headquarters is in West Newton, which you could reach by going back to my house, but that’s the long way around, really, so we’ll take the... what do you call it? Hypotenuse, just the way we learned in geometry, about squaring sides.” She paused. As if the matter were of pressing importance, she asked, “Who
was
that man with the hypotenuse? Pythagoras! That’s who it was. We’ll do just what Pythagoras said.”

I refused.

Chapter 12

On the following Tuesday morning, five days after Sylvia’s altercation at the park and her subsequent arrest, I had a call from Ceci’s sister, Althea. I should mention that Althea Battlefield, BSI, almost never asked favors of anyone. The letters after Althea’s name signified her membership in the Baker Street Irregulars, an elite society of devotees of Sherlock Holmes. Revered by her fellow Holmesians as a sort of Irene Adler—
the
woman—she was universally acknowledged in Sherlockian circles to possess an intelligence that combined Sherlock’s rationality with the limitless brain power of his brother, Mycroft. Like Mycroft, Althea seldom ventured far from her lodgings. In her case, the reason was not a sedentary disposition, but the physical infirmity of great age. As Ceci always took pains to emphasize, Althea was the elder sister. As I’ve probably made clear by now, Ceci was the silly one. Anyway, Althea never made frivolous requests. Consequently, when she phoned to ask for my help, I had to say yes.

“Two Adventuresses are calling on me this afternoon,” Althea explained. The capital
A
rang in her voice. Althea’s eyesight was poor, but her hearing remained acute, and she didn’t shout. The capital pealed and chimed to distinguish the exalted New York visitors from run-of-the-mill, lowercase female adventurers who might pop in to advance some nefarious scheme by questionable or ruthless means. Indeed, Althea was herself an Adventuress, which is to say, a member of the ultra elite Adventuresses of Sherlock Holmes.

“The game is afoot!” I dutifully replied.

A lower-case, lower-class adventuress would have gone on to offer a trumped-up excuse for begging me to get Ceci out of the house or might even have spat out the truth. Capitalized Adventuresses, however, are extremely genteel. Althea didn’t feign concern that Ceci would be bored by the Holmesian visit, and she didn’t say outright that even in the presence of three Adventuresses, the game would never really get afoot with Ceci underfoot. Rather, she took the refined course of trusting me to use my common sense. “Could I prevail on you, Holly, to take Ceci and Quest to the park?” she asked. “My visitors are due here at two o’clock, and they don’t have time for a long visit. I expect they’ll be gone by four-thirty.”

I agreed. About a minute after I hung up, the phone rang again. This time, it was was Ceci, who said, “I have a tremendous favor to ask you, not for myself, really, for Althea, who really does enjoy life, you know, despite the toll the years have taken on her. She’s considerably older than I am, although we avoid mentioning it, but there it is, and facts are facts, and the fact is that she has friends stopping in this afternoon, two of them, Sherlock Holmes lunatics just like my sister and my late husband, of course, Ellis. These two are Adventuresses of Sherlock Holmes, which Althea is, too, ridiculous name, it makes them sound like women of ill repute, and the three of them are going to gab nonstop about the Canon and the Master and copper beeches and speckled bands and dancing men, which I can follow, more or less, but half of what they say about teapots and lions is completely lost on me, and the truth is that it’s very boring to sit and listen to people go on and on in some foreign language you don’t speak and don’t care to learn, besides which if I’m here, despite all good intentions, I’ll spoil the fun.” She stopped to catch her breath. “I don’t want to be rude and go running out of the house on my own as if I want to avoid the Adventuresses, so could you possibly
insist
that I have to go somewhere with you? Anywhere at all!”

“I’d be delighted,” I said.

“The park would be lovely,” Ceci said, “and the Adventuresses are arriving at two, so we can get there when it’s still nice and sunny out and before too many other people get there, but if we stay long enough, Douglas could turn up, has he called you yet?”

Rowdy and I picked up Ceci and Quest at quarter of two. Rowdy, as usual, refused to admit that a monumental black male dog was occupying space in the Bronco that properly belonged to Kimi or to no one. As we drove to the park, I half-envied Rowdy his ability to pretend that Quest didn’t exist. If I’d known the secret of Rowdy’s mental knack, I’d have applied it to blotting out Ceci.

“Things at the park have really not been the same since that policewoman arrested poor Sylvia,” Ceci rambled, “although I have been going there just the same because I feel that it’s important for Quest to have the physical and mental stimulation, and I must admit that in terms of Zsa Zsa, things are better because miracle of miracles Sylvia has been keeping her on leash lately, not that Zsa Zsa is the nicest dog in the world even on leash, but it does help, has Douglas called you? Or have I asked you that already?”

She had. Repeatedly. I was almost sorry to have to admit that Douglas hadn’t called, not because I had any romantic interest in him but because I’d have liked the chance to discuss Dr. Foote with another one of her patients. Specifically, I had the unaccountable sensation that something about me made Dr. Foote nervous, and I wondered whether Douglas sensed that he had that same effect on her.

When Ceci and I finally arrived at Clear Creek Park, only a few other cars were there, and the big field was empty. The unseasonably warm weather was persisting. The temperature must’ve been sixty, and the still air gave the sun a summery warmth. Although the trees had dropped most of their leaves, the grass remained green.

“What a perfect day for a walk!” I told Ceci, without adding that standing around in a field was not my idea of fun and that it wasn’t Rowdy’s, either.

Ceci voiced an objection. ‘That
man
skulks in the woods. The pervert, I mean.”

The dogs were out of the car now. Anticipating a walk on the trails, I’d put Rowdy on a long retractable lead. He was bouncing around, his tail flying like a banner over his back. Quest was a bit beyond the bounce and wag stage of life, but at least he hadn’t sunk to the blacktop and fallen asleep. Gesturing to Rowdy and Quest, I said, “Ceci, with these two big dogs around, no one is going to bother us. Their combined weight must be over two hundred pounds, and they love us. I don’t think we need to worry. The exercise will be good for everyone.”

Her expression remained hesitant. Hoping to lighten her attitude, I added foolishly, “If the exhibitionist tries anything, the four of us will chase after him, and the dogs will catch him, and then you and I will perform a citizen’s arrest!”

Tickled by the notion, Ceci agreed to a walk and even led the way to a trail that began at a small footbridge spanning a dark, oily-looking stream and then entered the woods. Quest, for once, required no cajoling. Lumbering along, he reminded me of the grizzlies I’d seen on a TV show about hibernation. Ceci, in her pink-beige quilted jacket, personified traditional, civilized femininity. Taking advantage of Quest’s burst of energy, she was stepping briskly along at a pace that matched Rowdy’s and mine when all of a sudden that damned Zsa Zsa flew out of the underbrush only a few yards ahead of us and, as if determined to ruin our walk, flattened her ears, lowered her tail, put her hackles up, and came to a menacing halt. Her narrowed eyes were fixed on Rowdy. If Ceci hadn’t been there, I’d have sworn loudly. As it was, to my astonishment, Ceci spat, “Damn it! What is wrong with Sylvia! She knows better than this! Zsa Zsa, bad dog! Go home!” My temper snapped. Rowdy had emerged unscathed from his first encounter with the nasty golden. I had no doubt that he’d win a second fight. If Zsa Zsa tore one of his perfect ears or scarred his face, he wouldn’t care. But I would! No one had the right to hurt any dog of mine. And absolutely no one was going to ruin the looks of one of the best show dogs I’d ever owned! All at the same time, I reeled in Rowdy’s lead, called to him, and pulled the boat horn and my car keys out of my pocket. Zsa Zsa had probably been blasted with horns and alarms so many times by now that one more roar wouldn’t bother her, but the aerosol can of noise was the only weapon I had. Pushing Rowdy behind me, I gave my keys to Ceci and ordered her to take Quest and head for the car. Frightened, she obeyed me and did it silently, too. Then I directed the inadequate weapon at Zsa Zsa and pushed its button. Over the sick-sounding clamor, I shouted at her, “NO! Go away! Go home!” Confident of not being overheard, I spoke bluntly. “You stinking, rotten, miserable bitch, make one more move, and I’ll strangle you with my bare hands! Disappear!” In desperation, I scanned the ground, spotted a rock the size of a baseball, picked it up, and gripped it in my right hand. Zsa Zsa hadn’t departed, but she’d stopped moving toward us and no longer seemed to be on the verge of attack. Keeping one eye on her, I began to take small, calm steps back down the trail toward the car. “Watch me,” I whispered to Rowdy. “Let’s not start trouble with her. Good boy!”

In almost no time, we reached the little footbridge. To my relief, Zsa Zsa wasn’t following us. I picked up the pace, and Rowdy and I soon reached the Bronco. Only then did I remember that Ceci couldn’t get Quest up into the car by herself. I apologized to her, put Rowdy in his crate, and boosted Quest into the back.