Angel Food and Devil Dogs (13 page)

After letting myself into the house, I had to disarm the burglar alarm quickly. This is a stressful job because a loud beeping ticks off the seconds you have to enter the special code before the alarm decides to let out with its screaming horns, buzzers and sirens. I managed in time. The alarm system in my building is much easier to use. Much more forgiving.

I petted the jet-black cats as they wound around my legs.

"Hi boys."

Griswold said, "Merf."

Wagner said, "Ow."

I grabbed the shovel and went back outside and began to toss large fluffy scoopfuls aside. There was no wind at all. It was still and quiet. The only sound was the scraping of the shovel as I cleared down to the pavement. Inside, Griswold and Wagner jumped to the front sill to watch me. I waved to them. Griswold stretched his paws over his head on the window glass as though he was waving back.

Just three cars went by during the forty-five minutes I worked. I stopped and leaned on the shovel for a time to gaze around at the job I'd done to see if it would pass Mews muster.

Down the street, I could see someone coming toward me on the sidewalk from the east end of the Mews. I could tell it was a woman by the way she moved and by her silhouette against the unshoveled snowy sidewalk, behind her. She'd passed 11th Street and was just a few houses away. Before I could possibly be sure on an intellectual level, I knew in my soul it was Kathryn Anthony. My heart began to race and I strained my brain to think of something charming to say. She might remember me, or she might think I was some late night crazy, armed with a big garden tool. In instances like this, when hoping to impress, it's always best not to scare the person to death by popping out of the dark, wielding something that could be mistaken for a giant ax.

Her face was turned toward the center of the Mews. No hurry, just moving steadily along. As she got nearer she passed under a streetlight. She was wearing her calf length dark tweed coat and her red scarf wrapped once around her neck, then tossed over her shoulder. No hat, hands in her pockets, boots with a medium heel. She must have been wearing a dress or skirt because I couldn't see pant cuffs below the hem of her coat. This was a pretty formal outfit for what must now be about 2:00 AM. Maybe she'd been on a date and was just coming home. I had mixed feelings about that.

She was fairly close when she turned and saw me. There was no one else on the street. She hesitated. Then she saw the shovel and figured I must be a Mews homeowner on a late night quest to fulfill my civic shoveling responsibility.

I said, "Good evening Dr. Anthony, it's quite late for a moonlight stroll." Oh crap, what a pompous thing to say. Don't be a jerk, stop trying so hard, my internal voice yelled.

She stopped, smiled, tilted her head to the side a little and said, "Oh, please call me Kathryn. Nearly two o'clock in the morning is no time to be formal. It's very late for shoveling sidewalks too... is this where you live?" she said looking up at the house, in a voice that caused my stomach to flutter.

I looked too, like I had to see whether it was my house or not. Geez, take a deep breath and stop being an addlepated teenager.

"No, it belongs to some friends of mine. I promised I'd shovel their walk while they were away and I didn't think I'd have time tomorrow."

She nodded and took some steps nearer, then said, "It's not really too cold is it? It's so still." She paused to look again toward the center of the Mews. Then she said with a tired sigh and a hint of amusement, "After a day like this, I just needed to go for a short walk and I couldn't resist seeing the moon on the crest of the new fallen snow."

"Tough day?" I asked leaning on the shovel, trying to be calm and not trip over it.

"Boring, frustrating, tedious, parts of it were pointless... Oh! I sound like such a malcontent," she laughed.

"Are you just coming home? Now? From work?" I asked in amazement.

She shrugged, "I had meetings all day. Tonight, I was reading graduate thesis proposals in my office. I wanted to finish because I just couldn't go on with them for another day. So I stayed late."

"Is this a solitary walk?" I asked gently.

"Are you done shoveling? Would you like to walk with me? You're welcome to."

I thought dramatically, Is the sun hot? Did the Titanic spring a leak?? Are the worst homophobes, conservative ministers who cruise men's rooms??? But I answered evenly, "That would be nice. Just let me put the shovel back in the house."

I sped up the steps, leaned the shovel back in its place in the foyer and patted Griswold and Wagner goodbye.

Griswold said, "Merf."

Wagner said, "Ow."

I tried to re-arm the alarm efficiently, but set off the blaring horn for a split second. It gave off one piercing whoop, which probably woke everyone in the Mews. I hoped, since it was only one honk, that maybe all the Mewsians would think they had had a collective epiphanaic dream and then all go back to sleep.

When I got back outside, Kathryn asked in surprise, "What was that noise?"

"Um noise, you mean like an earsplitting blaring horn? I didn't hear anything," I replied with a grin.

"Uh huh," she laughed, "I didn't either." Dimples made her amused face radiant. My God she was gorgeous, I could barely stand it.

"I'm not very good with their house alarm. They just changed it to a more
sophisticated
system, which as far as I'm concerned means more complicated to use. The Wolf Alarm 5000 Company monitors it. They should change their name to the Cry Wolf Alarm." We both turned in the direction she'd been walking and continued along the sidewalk side by side.

She said, "I just talked to my father on the phone yesterday. He keeps getting telemarketing calls from security alarm companies. He was so pleased with himself, he told me he'd hit on the perfect foil to their sales pitch. When they say they want to sell him a burglar alarm, he tells them he's against them, and when the salesman asks him why, Dad says, 'Because I'm a burglar'."

I laughed. "Where does he live?"

"Portland... Maine, near my brother."

"And your mother?"

"I don't hear from her much, she lives in Georgia."

Her tone signaled don't go there, so I didn't say anything but, "Uh huh."

We were at the middle of the western end of the Mews. There was a beautiful rowhouse with a grand piano visible in its dimly lighted front window. On the far wall, over an ornate fireplace, was a dark Pre-Raphaelite painting with a tiny spotlight over it. We both stopped to look, as the owner had obviously wanted passersby to do.

"The piano looks like it wants to be played," she said, "I wonder if anyone ever does or if it's just an ornament... there's no music on it."

"Do you play?"

"When I have time. I don't get many chances to play an instrument like that though. It's not exactly something you can tote around with you."

"Maybe you should take up the harmonica?"

"Probably a good idea... or maybe the kazoo," she laughed lightly.

"Or the sweet potato... what's the other name for that?"

"Ocarina?"

"There you go... handy for purse or pocket... but not quite the same tone as a baby grand." We walked a little more slowly, looking at the facades of other 100 year old homes. "Are you living in a Mews rowhouse?" I asked.

"Oh, I wish. I'm subletting an apartment in the Hampshire from a faculty member who's on sabbatical. I had to get a place in a hurry and I needed something furnished, so I took it for a semester with an option for next semester if I choose."

"Do you like living there?"

"It's OK," she said conversationally. "The building does have charm. Vintage Nick and Nora Charles. The thing that's most odd is living in someone else's space. Every bit of the place is covered with Joe's things, and he has a lot of them. Every inch of wall space, every bookshelf, every drawer and closet has his sensibility. He does have good taste, but they're not
my
things. Which makes me feel like..." she paused trying to think of the right word.

"A guest? An intruder? An accidental tourist?" I suggested.

"Well, all of the above... but, I shouldn't complain, it's not bad. I guess I'll probably be there next semester too. In the summer I can look for something else."

"Irwin will be going on winter break soon, will you go away?" I asked deeply interested in her reply.

"I don't usually go anywhere for the holidays... it never seems to work out. Going to Maine in winter is rarely a wise move. I get about four weeks off. I might go someplace warm, just to break the winter up. I lived in California for much of last year and I'm not used to this weather yet. I'd like to go walk on a warm beach somewhere, but I'm not a sun worshiper or anything like that. I get sunburned too easily."

"Fair skin. I can see why you'd avoid the sun. I do too. My sisters, well, they're actually my stepsisters, can sit on the beach for hours and they never get anything but a lovely tan. I just scorch... Northern Florida is comfortable in the winter. My friends Farrel and Jessie have a place there."

"I've heard it's nice, I'll try it some time, but I have to admit, I've been in so many airports in the last few months, I'd rather not fly anywhere for a while," she said earnestly. "In fact, after all the flights I've had to take, I'd be happy if I never flew anywhere again."

"It sounds like you've been moving from place to place for a long time. Are you going to stay in Fenchester now?"

"I think so. I've been traveling for years, and it was interesting, but I don't want to travel for work any more. I guess I'm just getting too old for it." She said the last part with an amused tone as though she'd just figured it out. That she planned to stay in the neighborhood made me absurdly happy, even though I knew very little about her. We were starting to walk east on the north side of the Mews now. We were only two blocks away from the Hampshire apartment building and closing fast. This stroll was going to end too soon unless I calculated a stalling tactic.

"Let's walk over to the Monument," I suggested gesturing across the street. Washington Mews is a two by two block square with four distinct quadrants. They include an arboretum and a bocce court. Dead center is the Soldier and Sailor's monument honoring Civil War veterans. It's an impressive memorial, one of the few in the country that honors both armies.

Life-sized statues of men in Union and Confederate uniforms occupy the first level. Steps ascend several more levels to the base of a typically phallic obelisk that's etched with quotes from presidents, generals, and poets. On the highest level, four park benches face each compass point. I swept the snow off a bench when we reached them. We sat under the Gettysburg Address facing east toward the moon.

"Top of the world," she said softly, without any sarcasm. Because it did feel that way. The snow distorted the landscape, making everything seem even and smooth. The contrasting dark shadows cast by the bright moonlight created a surreal depth like a black and white photo with no gray tones.

"I'm channeling DiChirico," I said thinking of the surrealist painter famous for odd shadows and dramatic perspective.

She turned toward me resting her arm on the back of the bench, propping her head against her gloved hand. She looked incredibly beautiful. The cold tinted her clear porcelain skin slightly pink at the cheekbones. The bright moonlight brought out the auburn highlights in her hair and the dark blue in her eyes.

She said, "I talked to Max Bouchet last night, he told me everything he could. He said you were heroic!"

"Did he tell you about Daniel Cohen and Connie Robinson?"

"Daniel's quick thinking in fighting the fire and Connie throwing that marble pedestal out the window? Wasn't that something? And the look on Daniel's face when she did it? He told me about that too," she said shaking her head lightly, imagining the scene.

"I'm sure Max Bouchet didn't mention his own heroics. He took a huge risk to save Bart."

"No, he didn't tell me that, what did he do?" she asked with interest.

I told her about Max crawling under the table to help pull Bart out of the fire, finishing with, "He was amazing in the press conference. I was very impressed."

"Max is an impressive man. I've known him a long time... But, what a terrible thing to happen to Bart and Georgia... I feel so odd about it. Almost guilty that I only escaped it all by luck." She looked thoughtful and concerned, "Max says Bart and Georgia will be all right but I've heard Georgia was very seriously burned. Is Max being honest about their recovery or is he trying to be the up-beat positive administrator?"

"She's in intensive care. Burns can be tricky. I think Bart will be fine, but it's hard to tell about Georgia. She's young and strong, she has that going for her."

"What really happened? Can you tell me?"

Max Bouchet was sure that Dr. Kathryn Anthony was not a suspect in Carl Rasmus's murder. He was probably right. The strongest evidence pointed that way, but before I talked about the case with her, I needed just a little more information from a few other people. Soon we could discuss the whole thing. But now just wasn't a good time to talk about murder and arson. We were alone together in the moonlight. First encounters are rarely cast in such a romantic setting. I really would be a fool to spoil the moment with a discussion about crime.

"It sounds like Max Bouchet told you everything about the fire. As for the rest of it, I have to get some more information before talking about it... I'd like to discuss it with you later in the week though. In fact, I'd really appreciate talking to you about it tomorrow afternoon or maybe Friday, after I've had a chance to collect a few more pieces of information? For now though, let's skip talking about work..."

"All right then, I won't ask you any work questions now." She paused for an instant considering me. "I'm free late in the day on Friday. Tomorrow the only time I have free is lunchtime, but someday, I'd like to ask you if your job is anything at all like being Nancy Drew."

I laughed, "It's more like being Joe Friday, especially when I was actually on the police force. All that stuff on Dragnet that seemed to be so painfully slow and boring, really is painfully slow and boring, even more so. I haven't been a
P.I
. on my own for that long, but so far it does seem to be a little more interesting than being a police officer. Probably because I get to pick the cases I want to work on. On the other hand, there is the actual question of earning a salary... which is much more regular when you're a union cop. Were you a big Nancy Drew fan?"