Catwalk (6 page)

eleven

Tuesday morning found me
cranky. Before I could get up, I had to unwind the sheet that had me swaddled into my bed, and Leo and Jay didn't make the task any easier. Jay thought it was all a great new game and flopped on top of me to add to the fun while Leo grabbed my toes through the covers. “Oww! Get off!” Sadly for me, I couldn't help laughing at the pair of them, which made Jay wriggle and Leo pounce all the more. “Come on, you big oaf! Let me up! I need to go! Oww, my toes!” When that didn't work, I forced my voice into com
mand mode and said, “Off!” Leo leaped from the bed and raced out the door. Jay stilled himself and looked at me as if he couldn't believe I wanted to stop all the fun. I looke
d into his eyes, trying to make myself all alpha bitch, but he knows better and slurped my face. I hate to made my dog feel bad, but I
really
needed to get to the bathroom. I softened my voice and said, “Come on, Bubby. Please get off.”

He hopped off the bed.

I freed myself, stumble-slid over a couple of magazines I'd dropped
off the side of the bed as I finished them, and staggered out of the bedroom. My watch said eight-twenty. I hadn't slept that late in months, maybe years. Not that I wouldn't love to sleep late most days, but between Jay and Leo, and friends who call at obscene hours (because hey, don't photographers get up to catch the early light?), it rarely happens. Even so, I hadn't slept more than a couple of hours. Alberta's letter and Hutchinson's warning kept me tossing until the late wee hours, and then they infiltrated my dreams. I couldn't decide whether the queasiness I felt was prompted by apprehension or last night's leftovers.

I glanced in the mirror and restored a modicum of sanity to my hair with a jaw clip. I decided to load up on caffeine before I attempted any other repairs, and felt even grumpier as I reached for the doorknob. A movement near my feet made me look down.

When I replaced the carpet in the hallway with pet-friendly vinyl, the bathroom door was left with a two-inch clearance. I looked down at the toes of two white paws poked into the bathroom and a smaller orange paw and forearm feeling around the tile floor. Leave it to the critters to make me feel better.

My cell phone played the Beatles' “From Me To You” just as I started the morning kitchen routine. I decided this was a full-pot morning and set the coffee maker to work, fed Jay, fed Leo, let Jay out, toasted a bagel, let Jay in, and picked up the message. Tom said he was going to take Drake to Twisted Lake for a run and swim after his morning classes and offered to pick me and Jay up if we wanted to go along. According to the microwave clock, I might just catch him before his nine thirty class. I did, and declined.

“Come on. You'll feel better if you get out in the gray November light.”

“I would, but I really have to go see Mom. I'm not likely to get there Friday, and Thursday's iffy.” I didn't have to add that I didn't like to let too much time go between visits for fear that I would miss what was left of my mother's cognitive presence. Every visit was different and I never knew what I might walk into. Sometimes she knew me and Bill and even Tom. She was always happy to see Jay when I took him along, although more often than not she called him Laddie, the dog of her young heart. But there were more and more of the other days now, and I was terrified that soon there would be none of the good ones.

We agreed that there was no reason for Jay to miss the fun of a lake visit, so Tom said he'd drop by my house, pick him up, and bring him back later in the afternoon.

“And, Janet, don't worry about that jerk what's-his-name. No one's going to take him seriously.”

I wasn't so sure, especially if Hutchinson was right and Rasmussen really did have friends in high places. I sat staring at my bagel
crumbs while I considered my next move. The letter Alberta showed me the night before mentioned my name, sort of. It said “Jane
McFall,” but they would correct that boo-boo if Rasmussen went through with his threat. He couldn't get the police to arrest Alberta and me for criminal trespass, so he had already filed in civil court, citing “civil trespass.” I didn't even know there was such a thing. I considered whether to call my lawyer, meaning my brother-in-law, Norm, now or after I was served. That might not even happen, I reminded myself, and I decided that the call could wait, at least until I'd had my shower.

Two hours later I sat at a sun-drenched table across from my mother, who had been paging through
Fine Gardening
when I arrived. She was fully present, at least for the moment, and was gushing and blushing by turns about one Anthony Marconi.

Tony Marconi?
whispered Janet Demon.
Really?
But Mom was so buoyantly smitten with the guy that I held my tongue.

Mom leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “He's so sexy!”
The corners of her lips, her eyebrows, and her shoulders all flicked up and back down in unison.

“So when do I get to meet him, Mom?”
And exactly when did these tables get turned?
I was thrilled to see my mother so happy, but a little concerned that Anthony Marconi might not be entirely real for anyone but her.

“Right now.” She was looking past me and smiling. A dapper elderly man stepped up to the table, took her hand in his, and kissed it, sending her into a giggling fit. Still bending toward her, he smiled into my mother's face and her eyes glowed with a light I hadn't seen in them since my father got sick.

Marconi turned to me and bowed slightly. “You must be Janet.”
Although he appeared to be in his mid-eighties, his skin was smooth
except for a looseness along the jowl. His eyes were a warm blue ringed with laugh lines, and his salt-and-pepper hair was thick and curly. “I've heard all about you and that lovely dog of yours. Jay, if I'm not mistaken?”

I looked at my mother. She hadn't remembered Jay's name in at least a year. Not within my hearing, at any rate. She didn't remember
my
name half the time. That's why she was living here in the first place. I wondered if Anthony Marconi had flipped some switch in her brain that would hold off the evil force of dementia a bit longer.

Marconi pulled up a chair and the three of us talked for another half hour or so. Somewhere around the ten-minute mark I realized that Mom and Marconi were holding hands. Twenty minutes in, I noticed something in their body language that bespoke an intimacy beyond casual acquaintance. When I left, I glanced back at them from the exit and knew it for sure.

Fine by me
, I thought, and smiled all the way home.

twelve

I had just linked
my camera to my laptop when Leo strolled in, scratched his ear, hopped onto the table, and sprawled across my keyboard.

“Leo
mio
,” I said, slipping the backs of my fingers across his cheek and down the length of his silky orange back. “Quiet around here, huh, buddy?” I glanced at the clock on my laptop. “They'll be back any time now.”

Leo narrowed his eyes and chirp-meowed at me.

“Really, they will, although I hate to tell you, they'll smell of lake water.”

Leo yawned and turned belly up, rolling several commands onto
the keys and sending my photo management program into flashing seizures. I gently but quickly scooped his orange furry highness off the keyboard and onto the floor, where he feigned indifference, swiping a paw twice with his tongue and then strolling off with his tail crooked like an orange candy cane. The images on my computer screen were still dancing when I looked at it. They quickly ran through all the commands Leo had rolled out and I let out a long breath as the screen went still. Everything is backed up, but I still didn't relish having to redo my newly edited files.

“Okay, then,” I said to the image on the screen. Leo's rollover had opened a new file, and I was looking at a stunning rooster, his feathers shimmery blue-black, his comb a proud scarlet. It was one of many photos I had taken in July at the county fair. I smiled at the handsome bird and was closing the file when the phone rang, the kitchen door banged open, and Jay and Drake rushed me, all wriggle and wag, doggy grins and damp fur.

“Whoa, guys!” I pleaded as my chair rolled backward across my dining-room-cum-office. It came to rest against the wall and Jay popped his paws onto my shoulders and stared into my eyes, his whole being vibrating from his two-inch tail to his grinning face. Drake wormed his head into the space between me and Jay and
wham wham whammed
his tail against the wall. I lifted Jay's paws off my shoulders, pushed him back, and let him down gently. “Come on, boys, give me a break! Off!” I tried to sound stern, but was laughing too hard to make it work. Still, both dogs obeyed and kept their feet on the floor. Leo watched from a corner of the counter, eyes half closed, nose and tail both twitching.

“Looks like boys' afternoon out was a success,” I said.

Tom grinned at me from the kitchen doorway.

“We had a great time.” Tom peeled off his faded navy University of Michigan sweatshirt and ran a hand through his graying hair. “Nothing like a good game of fetch and a bracing dip in the lake when it's forty degrees out.” He mock shivered.

“It's not! I was out in just this,” I said, indicating my long-sleeved T, “and wasn't cold.”

“Sorry I missed that,” said Tom.

“Funny guy.”

“Temp has dropped a bit, and the wind is coming up,” he said, then glanced at his watch. “I need to go home and get some dry clothes. Can I interest you in some dinner in, say, two hours?”

“Hmm. Depends. What do you have to offer?”

He raised his eyebrows and grinned at me. “Well …” He dragged the word out. “But first, for dinner, how about linguini with clam sauce?”

“Sold.”

“Boy, this commuter relationship is complicated,” he said.

It wasn't the first time he'd broached the subject, and if I were honest about it, the idea of consolidating our resources had more than a little appeal. But giving up my autonomy scared me. I didn't want to get into it right then, so I ignored his comment.

“I'll bring the salad.” Meaning I would stop at the Scott's salad bar on my way there. “Should I bring Leo?” I didn't like to leave Leo home alone, so if I was staying away for the night, the orange guy either came along or stayed next door with Goldie.

When Tom and Drake had gone, I took Jay to his grooming table in the garage. I pulled a few burrs from his fur, worked rinse-free shampoo into his coat, and blew him dry. I'll never win a housekeeper-of-the-year award, but even I don't want my bed, couch, and carpet to reek of wet, muddy dog. When Jay was cleaned up, I took a quick shower, pulled on clean jeans and a light-weight sweater, and sat down to read emails for a few minutes. Tom and the promise of a quiet, cozy evening with him and Leo and the dogs kept creeping into my thoughts, though, and I decided it was time to hit the road.

Tom was right, it had cooled down a few degrees since the last time I was outdoors. I loaded the boys into the van and went back in to grab a warmer jacket. My laptop screen caught my eye as I scurried past the kitchen. I'd forgotten to shut it down. My inbox was open and before I closed my email program, I cast a quick eye over the new messages. Several newsletters, a couple of ads that should have gone to the spam file, and a couple of emails from actual people. The most recent was from Giselle Swann and carried her usual subject line—“i need to talk to you, giselle.” She never capitalized her name or pronoun, which was right in line with her level of self-esteem.
Now, now
, whispered Good Janet.
She's working on it and she has come a long way.

It was true. Giselle had responded to major emotional trauma by losing weight and gaining a sense of personal hygiene and style. She had also enrolled in the nursing program at the IPFW campus, and that seemed to suit her. On the other hand, she was still putting pastel bows in her male dog's topknot, and making him look like a Shih-tzu instead of a Maltese.
Like you're so perfect
, I thought, glimpsing my wild hair in the screen reflection.

Right below Giselle's email was another with no subject line. I knew the screen name. AltaWelshies. That was Alberta, invoking herself and her Welsh Terriers. I thought about opening it, but closed the program and shut down my computer instead. They both could wait.

thirteen

A pickup truck I
didn't recognize sat in front of Tom's driveway. My headlights revealed that someone was behind the wheel.
Probably checking directions or something
, I thought as I pulled in behind it. I got Jay out of his crate, slung my purse over my shoulder, picked up Leo's carrier and the bag with the salad, and struck out across the grass toward the front door. A car door slammed behind us and Jay and I whirled around.

“Janet MacPhail?” The voice had a Southern edge to it. Its owner had an edge of her own. She was nearly six feet tall, boney thin, and a tad stooped, as if she had carried one too many heavy loads.

That article about predators popped into my head again, and I almost said
no, not me
as she strode toward us. Even as I fessed up, the obvious question skittered through my mind—
how does she know
who I
am, and more to the point, where to find me?
She wasn't exactly threat
ening, but she didn't smile, either. Still, Jay seemed alert but unconcerned, so I figured I wasn't in immediate danger. As soon as I confirmed my identity, the woman reached into her fringed buckskin jacket and withdrew an envelope from the inside pocket, pushed it into my hand, and said, “You've been served.”

The truck pulled away, and Tom stepped through the front door to find me gaping at the letter in my hand. I could just read it by the street light and felt a stew of nausea and anger bubble up in my belly.

“Come on, let's do this inside.” Tom picked up Leo's carrier, draped his other arm around my shoulders, and steered me toward the house.

When everyone was settled inside, Tom handed me a glass of wine and looked the question at me. I was too angry to say anything
suitable for polite company, so I emptied the glass and handed it back to him. When the refill was in my hand, Tom said, “So, what's that all about?”

I was being sued for civil trespass, vandalism, and a few other violations of Charles Rasmussen's property and person. I set the glass down and said, “Next time I see that guy, I'm inclined to commit a few more violations on his person.”

“That's my girl.” Tom took the letter out of my hand and went on. “Don't get too worked up. This stuff won't go anywhere. It's too ridiculous. The police already refused to arrest you, right? That's what Hutchinson said?”

“More or less.”

“Well, there you go.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Call
Norm after dinner and make an appointment. He'll know what to do.”

“An appointment? He's my brother-in-law.” I was still getting used to saying that, but it was true. My brother, Bill, had married Norm in New York, and even though Indiana doesn't recognize the marriage legally, everyone who mattered to their lives does.

“Exactly why you don't clutter up his evening with business. But you'll feel better if you let him know something's up, and make the appointment. So do that much.”

Smart man, that Tom. I took a deep breath and felt the oozy heat of the alcohol wind around me. I stared at the glass in my hand and sank into my own little emotional world. The last time I was served with legal papers, that simple act was the start of months of nastiness as my unemployed cheating soon-to-be-ex husband dragged me through a vicious property settlement over shockingly little property. And he didn't have Rasmussen's resources to play with.

Suddenly I felt I was being watched and looked around. Tom was gazing at me from the edge of his recliner, his expression concerned but patient. Leo had assumed a Bast-like pose on top of the bookcase, tail wrapped around his front feet and half-closed eyes fixed on my face. Jay and Drake lay side-by-side, sphinx-like and focused, eyes wide and worried and kind.

I sipped a little more wine and said, “Right. You're right. Let's eat.”

Everyone jumped up at once. Tom let the dogs out and turned the heat up under the water and the clam sauce. I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face.

“Do I have time to call Norm before we eat?” I asked when I came back to the kitchen.

“If you can do it in under ten minutes.”

I opened my phone to make the call and saw that I had three new messages. I debated for a moment, then called Norm and told him the basics. I declined his offer to look at the letter right away and suggested we meet for breakfast near his office the next day. I glanced again at the message notice.
Good girl
, whispered Janet Angel as I dropped my phone into my tote bag. It's so hard these days to disconnect from the e-world and i-world that I was trying very hard to wrest control of my time from all the gadgets in my life. It was a small victory, but I ignored the messages for the moment. I'd see what they were after dinner.

Have I mentioned that Tom is a terrific cook? It's true. I can barely boil water, mostly because I don't care to do much more than that. If I can't eat it as is or nuke it to readiness in a few minutes, I'll go out for it, thank you. The salad I had assembled for us at the carry-out salad bar was about as creative as I get in the kitchen.

Tom had also been right about my state of mind. I felt much calmer since I'd spoken to Norm.

And then the phone rang. Not mine. Tom's. But he held it toward me and said, “For you.”

“What?”

He waggled it at me. “I'll make coffee.”

I scowled at the phone but took it.

“Janet, I guess you didn't get my messages. It's terrible! That man is a monster!” I heard a wheeze, then, “She's here with me and I told her not to go back over there, but I don't know that she's really safe here either. Do you know who we can call?” Wheeze. “I thought maybe that cop, er, police officer friend of yours, the woman, you know a woman cop, don't you? I think a woman would be better.”

“Alberta, slow down. What are you talking about?” Of course, I already knew the answer to my next question. “
Who
are you talking about?”

“Louise. Louise Rasmussen.” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “She's going to have a shiner and she won't show me but I think he hurt her arm, and she's limping and her lip is split.” Alberta paused for a few seconds. “But this time I think she's had enough.
She's been frightened and hurt before, but I think she's finally angry.”

The image of Louise after we tracked Gypsy and her kittens came to me. Something in her posture had changed as Alberta walked with her from the studio to the house. When she came back
to the studio
that night, she was like a different person. I wondered why she hadn't left right then, before her husband hurt her again.
Why didn't
she just leave
, I wondered. But I knew it wasn't that simple.

“Oh, man.” I felt my fist double up. I did know a woman cop—Jo Stevens was Hutchinson's former partner—and I thought about some of the domestic incidents she had told me about. “Alberta, are all your doors locked? And your alarm system on?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Her voice was muffled as I heard her say, “I don't think you should take a shower until after the police see you, dear,” and then, to me, “She said she fell down the stairs, but I got the truth out of her.” She wheezed and coughed. “Someone should shove
him
down the stairs.”

“Alberta, I think you need to get her out of there. Get her to a safe place away from there.”

“The police are on their way.”

“Will she press charges?”

There was a long silence, and then she said, “I don't know. I hope so.” Alberta's dogs started to bark, and she said, “They're here.” And she was gone.