Authors: Carlene Thompson
“But you’ve been through so much—” Bethany protested.
“When Chris says she wants to be alone, she wants to be alone,” Tess said gently. “She’s the most stubborn woman alive and there’s no use arguing with her. But before we leave, we’re searching this house. After all, that rat didn’t get in here by itself.”
“You think there are more rats?” Bethany asked fearfully.
Christine noticed Tess’s attempt to control laughter. “No, I don’t think this one was brought by his friends. I think the
person
who brought it might still be hiding in here.”
“Oh, good heavens, how stupid of me!” Bethany had exclaimed. “I’m not usually this dim-witted, Chris. I’m just—”
“Jumpy. So am I,” Christine said. “But I think Tess’s idea is a good one.”
The three of them toured the whole house, where they found not even a window unlocked. “Then how did someone get in to leave the rat?” Tess had asked.
“I don’t know, but the police are better at discovering points of entry than we are,” Christine said. “At least we know no one is here now. So you two scram.”
After they’d left, Christine ran upstairs and turned on the shower. While she stripped off her running shoes and jeans, Rhiannon appeared.
“At last!” Christine exclaimed. “I thought you’d run back to the Prince house to live with Pom-Pom.” The cat stared at her with big golden eyes, then weaved around her legs, rubbing silken fur against the skin. “And how could you let someone get into our house with a
rat
? Oh,
because the rat was almost as big as you, you decided not to defend your turf?”
Actually, Christine was vastly relieved to see the cat, whom she’d been afraid had run away in fear or perhaps even been killed and buried by whoever had invaded this house. She hadn’t expressed her fears to Tess and Bethany. Bethany probably would have cried, and Tess would have called endlessly for the cat in her loud, rough voice that would send Rhiannon into hiding for the rest of the day.
While Rhiannon sat loyally by the glass door, Christine spent twice as long as usual in the shower. The hot water eased some of the soreness from her arm muscles that had rigidly held the weights so long yesterday, and a bar of glycerin soap softened her dry skin that bore bruises on her thighs from her attacker’s grinding hipbones. The memory made her shiver.
She shampooed her hair twice, rubbing easily over the stitches in her scalp, wondering if she should let her hair grow long. But her short style was so easy to maintain—a little gel, a little blow-drying over a circular brush, and she was done. Five minutes, tops. She had a great complexion, as Tess often commented, and wore only powder, lip gloss, and mascara. She never bothered with jewelry except for a watch. She spent all day handling and showing the stuff. Her only beauty obsession was her nails. Well-manicured nails were a must for modeling rings and bracelets to best effect for customers, and she often felt like she spent an inordinate amount of time applying nail polish.
When she emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a cozy fleece robe, Rhiannon sat calmly on the bed having her own bath. “Getting ready for company?” Christine asked. “You’ve always been vain. But then, I guess I am, too.”
She wasn’t really concerned with her appearance other
than being clean, though. She had taken her time showering because she needed time to regroup, to collect her thoughts, to literally catch her breath before calling the police. She needed not only to calmly discuss finding the rat but also to report the phone call she’d received at the hospital last night.
The shower had calmed her. Breathing was not such an effort now, and she certainly felt more presentable. She slipped on black corduroy jeans and paired them with a copper-colored sweater to give her face more color. She still looked pale, so she added blush on both cheeks and a touch of peach shadow on her eyelids. That was much better, she thought as she looked in the mirror, although the bruise on her temple still showed a glorious blue-purple. “Cheer up,” she told her reflection wryly. “In two days the bruise will be an attractive greenish yellow.” She slid her feet into black suede loafers, then went downstairs.
Before she called the police, she brewed a pot of coffee and sat down to rest for what seemed like the first time in hours. Had it been only two days ago she’d been working at the store, slightly bored because business was so slow? That was before the body had been washed ashore by the flood, before she was attacked, before the anonymous call to her hospital room, before the rat left in her refrigerator. Really, couldn’t whoever was in charge of life give her a break for a while? Maybe just one afternoon, enough time for her head to stop throbbing? Which reminded her, because she’d left the hospital before the doctor signed her release papers, she hadn’t gotten a prescription for pain medication. That would teach her to break the rules.
When the coffee was ready, Christine took three bracing sips, then called police headquarters and asked to speak directly to Deputy Winter. Another deputy had wanted to give her the runaround, but she could be forceful when the
occasion required, although she didn’t think of herself as an aggressive person. “Well, all right,” the deputy said in annoyance, “but you just about missed him. Winter, got some woman here on the phone hell-bent on talkin’ only to
you
. Must be sweet on you.”
“Deputy Winter here,” he said in a moment.
“This is Christine Ireland and I wanted to talk to you in particular because you’re already familiar with our situation,” she explained, embarrassed by the other deputy’s accusation. “When I got home from the hospital today, I found a dead rat in my refrigerator.”
“A
what
?”
“A rat. Not a mouse. A really big river rat. Dead, thank goodness.”
“Nice welcome home gift. Did you throw it out?”
“No. I didn’t think I should tamper with a crime scene.” How stupid and melodramatic that sounded, she thought. “I mean, I don’t think this was a joke. It must be some kind of crime to do this to someone.”
“It is. How about I come over and take a look?”
“I would certainly appreciate it.”
“I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
Ten minutes later Christine saw the silver Crown Victoria with the six-pointed gold star painted on the side pull into her driveway. That would make it two days in a row, because he’d been here yesterday looking for the diary. Christine opened the front door and tried for a light tone. “So nice to see you again, Deputy.”
He seemed to take his cue from her. He smiled and removed his hat. “And meeting again under such pleasant circumstances is all the nicer. I trust you have a snack for me in the refrigerator.”
“I guarantee that no hostess has served you one like it.”
Christine didn’t know why she felt relieved as soon as she saw him. She had no answers as to who had attacked
her, called her, or violated her home, but the edge of terror that had been vibrating under her skin for hours seemed to dull a bit as soon as Michael Winter stepped into her home.
She caught a glimpse of the door across the street opening a crack so the elderly Mrs. Flint could catch as much of the conversation as possible. She probably had her hearing aid turned up as high as it would go, Christine thought, but she still raised her voice: “I’ve made coffee. A gourmet blend.”
“Nothing like gourmet coffee and a river rat to get the circulation going in the morning.” The deputy turned his head and called, “Don’t you agree, ma’am?”
The door across the street slammed.
“How did you know she was there?” Christine asked.
“Eyes in the back of my head. Comes with the profession. She’ll now move to the front windows and peek through a crack in the curtains.”
Christine looked. The curtains parted an inch. She began laughing. “I think you have ESP, Deputy Winter.”
“No. Just experience.” He stood directly opposite her. At five-ten, Christine looked most men in the eyes. She had to look up about three inches into Michael Winter’s mahogany gaze. “I can smell the coffee from here,” he said.
“Better the coffee than the rat. He’s shut up tight in the hydrator drawer of the refrigerator.”
“I’ll take a look at him first. Then maybe you’ll offer me a cup of coffee.”
Rhiannon was stationed at the top of the stairs. She peered at the stranger curiously but made no move to run for the bedroom. “That’s Rhiannon. She was Dara’s cat,” Christine said as she saw Winter glance at the animal. “She and Patricia’s dog, Pom-Pom, didn’t get along, so I took her when I moved out of Ames’s house.”
“Was Dara really attached to the cat?”
“Extremely.”
“And yet Dara’s father believes she ran off and left the pet she loved.”
“He’s come up with several explanations for her abandoning the cat. He’s stumped when I ask why Dara never even mentions Rhiannon in her letters.”
“Those letters,” Winter muttered. “I don’t think Mr. Prince can keep them to himself much longer. They need to go to the police lab.”
“Good luck with prying them away from him.” Christine led Winter into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. “The hydrator drawer on the right contains Ricky the Rat. I don’t think I can look at him again without getting too queasy for coffee and a doughnut.”
“You didn’t tell me you had doughnuts,” Winter said.
“My friend Bethany brought them. I’m going to wait in the living room.”
She listened to the deputy pull out the drawer, then mutter, “You’re one hell of a big, rank rat.” Then he called out to her, “This one’s bigger than most I’ve seen. Someone went to a lot of trouble to find you a prizewinner!”
“I’m complimented beyond belief,” Christine said. “He’s probably infested with plague-carrying fleas, too.”
“We don’t want to get excited over plague on top of everything else. The state lab will let us know if he’s sick.”
“You’re going to send that thing to the lab?”
Winter answered gravely, “We have to make certain this wasn’t a homicide, ma’am.”
Christine smiled. He was still trying to take the edge off her nerves. It was working. Slightly.
“I have our friend in a plastic bag and I have to pass through the living room to get out to my car,” he warned
her. “Close your eyes or turn your back. Please don’t scream and faint.”
“If I scream, Mrs. Flint will be over here in a heartbeat. She can’t pass up that kind of excitement.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if she turns up even if you don’t scream. Not out of curiosity, mind you. Just to make sure you’re all right.” He walked past her, holding the plastic bag to his side. “I’ll be back to look around and see how the intruder entered.”
After he’d gone outside, Christine went into the kitchen and pulled the hydrator drawer out of the refrigerator. She’d pour some strong disinfectant in it, then give it a good scrubbing before it went back into the refrigerator. She looked at the refrigerator and for a moment thought recklessly, I’ll get a new one that’s never been befouled by a rat. Then reason took over. This refrigerator was one year old. She was being silly.
In a minute, Winter returned. “I assume you’ve searched the house.”
“Yes. My friends Bethany and Tess were here when we discovered the rat. They went all over the house with me.”
“Would you mind going again? I’d like to do my own search, and I’d be more comfortable if you accompanied me.”
“To protect you in case we run across a
live
rat?”
“Well, that of course,” he replied in mock seriousness, “but mostly so you’ll be certain I’m not taking anything or rifling through underwear drawers.”
Christine laughed. “I never for a moment mistook you for a pervert who’d check out my underwear.”
“You’d be surprised how many women think that’s exactly what I have in mind if a bedroom search is necessary.”
“Maybe they’re just hoping,” she returned, then turned bright red at the inappropriateness of her comment. Michael Winter cocked an eyebrow at her. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“It sounded flattering, but flattery won’t get you out of searching the house with me,” he said easily. “Let’s start upstairs.”
“There are three bedrooms upstairs, one of which I’ve turned into a kind of office, although Rhiannon seems to think it’s hers. She’ll probably try to glare you to death if you enter. She’s extremely territorial.”
“My daughter had a cat,” Winter said. Abruptly a shadow seemed to fall over his face. Christine knew he was divorced. The daughter probably lived with his ex-wife, but something told her not to ask any questions about the child.
“Pets teach children responsibility,” she said lamely. “When Jeremy and I were children, we always had pets. Usually dogs.” As they neared the top of the stairs, Rhiannon dashed into Christine’s bedroom and hid under the bed. “So much for cats protecting you.”
“Once in a while one comes through. I knew a couple who were awakened by their cat sitting on their bed yowling its head off. Turned out their four-year-old child was having a seizure in the next room.”
“Good heavens!” Christine was genuinely surprised. “I thought only dogs did that kind of thing.”
“Don’t let Rhiannon hear you say that. Let’s start in this room.”
Twenty minutes later, they had worked their way to Jeremy’s basement apartment. “This place is great!” Winter exclaimed.
“Do you think so?” Christine asked, pleased. “It sounds awful to say I’m making my brother live in the basement. But I wanted him to have privacy.”
“This isn’t like any basement I’ve ever seen,” Winter said.
“It was the basement that convinced me to buy this particular house. The land behind it slopes down and the basement opens onto that big, flat expanse with the patio. Jeremy can come and go without having to enter through the upstairs. That will make him feel more independent.”
“And so much light comes in through those sliding glass doors, even on a drab day like this. I’ll bet he loves it.”
“I think he does. I wanted him to move in several months ago, but Ames asked if he could stay through the holidays. I don’t know why, though. I don’t believe he really pays that much attention to Jeremy, and he annoys Patricia. With everything that’s going on now, I’m going to insist Jeremy move in here as soon as possible. The atmosphere at Ames’s can’t be good for him.”